Red Conan & The Snake Daddy - Part 01 - Red Conan's Sorrow - By Hornlarry (Booru ID 39212)

Note - *the first part of this story was just called Red Conan, but I have decided to merge it with the Snake Daddy story, as their paths with criss-cross and intertwine a lot. I am also merging Snowflake’s babies into this story, as trying to write three different interlinked stories at the same time was insane in terms of continuity.

All these stories follow on from Jelly & Snowflake and Jelly’s Sorrow*

Link to Index of Hornlarry Stories

“Who knows what the Snake-Daddy came for?
To hit fluffies with sorry sticks? or murder them?
It was never known,
for the Snake Daddy went north,
and the foals went south.
No one would ever know that my lord’s
herd had ever lived at all.
His was a tale of sorrow.”

Red Conan was in a cardboard sorry box. The lid was closed, and Red Conan knew that he was riding on the back of a metal vroom munstah. He could hear it growling for a long, long time. Such a long time passed that Conan had to poop in the box. He hoped his new daddy would not be angry with him.

Some time later, the box lid opened, and some nummies were thrown in to the box. Red Conan saw that it was some kind of human nummies, in a little cardboard box and paper bag. His new daddy had eaten most of it, but had left him the scraps. He didn’t know what any of it was, but he nummed it greedily none the less, as he didn’t know when more nummies would come. Later, he had to pee and poop in the box again, so he tried just to go in the lowest corner of the box, that way the poop and pee would roll away from him. On and on the vroom munstah growled, and Conan wondered where it was carrying him and his new daddy. Conan tried to make a nest in the cardboard box that the nummies had come in and laid down to sleep. He tried to be brave, but ended up crying for his lost mummah, who had gone to forever sleepies.

The vroom munstah stopped. Red Conan could hear another hoomin talking to his new daddy. The hoomin opened the box lid and looked inside.

“Oh, just a fluffy? That’s fine, there’s no restrictions on bringing them into the United States. They’re not contraband.”

The box lid was closed, and the vroom munstah started growling again. It carried them further and further. Conan wondered if it was taking them to the ends of the earth, where the Giant-Munstahs and the Sky-Daddahs lived, like in Owd mummah’s stories. He wished he was with owd mummah now, or Bit O’Honey and her mummah, or with Jelly. He wanted love and hugs and milkies…

He laid down to sleep again.

More nummies were thrown in. This time it was meat, with a bone in the middle, and crispy bits on the outside. It tasted good, but it was salty, like the earlier nummies. Red Conan ate, but was really thirsty. He needed wawa badly. He decided to risk calling out to his new daddy, even though he knew some hoomins gave you the sorry stick if you shouted.

“Daddah! Daddah! Wed Conan need wawa… am fiwsty…” he yelled, and kept yelling, until the vroom munstah stopped.

“What’s that? You’re thirsty? Oh fuck yeah, you must be, here have some of this.”

Daddah reached down into the box, and picked up Red Conan. New daddah was a bit rough, but it wasn’t bad upsies or hurties. He opened a hoomin sized cup with a fizzy brown wawa inside of it. Conan took a sip. It was super sweet! Red Conan liked it a lot. The hoomin scooped Red Conan’s poop out of the box and threw it off of the vroom munstah’s back. He left the box open now, and the vroom munstah started growling again.

“We can have the box open now. I was worried the border guards would take you off of me. I’m your new master. You can call me Master Carl.”

“Mastew Cawl?” said Red Conan.

“Close enough,” Master Carl laughed, “Do you have a name already?”

“Am cawwed, WED CONAN,” Red Conan said proudly, hoping his new daddy would like it.

“Red Conan? That’s awesome. You know, you look a lot like a famous fighting fluffy called Red Baron. That’s why I bought you from the shelter in Canada. I’m gonna train you up, and when you’re fully grown, you’ll be a famous fighting fluffy too, you’ll see. We’re in America now, the land of the free.”

“Amewica, da wand of da fwee,” Red Conan said, making his new daddy laugh again.

Snowflake awoke from a wonderful dream. She had been playing in a special outside-place. It was a garden, and she was running through long green carpet nummies, playing with other fluffies. She had babies, and friends, and nice special friends. Her herd was led by a fluffy Unicord stallion, who was white, like her, but with a rainbow mane. He was beautiful, and he loved Snowflake, and she loved him.

But then she woke. Snowflake was not beautiful. She was an ugly one-eyed fluffy, crippled with no back legs, although at least she had some wheels to get around with now. And she had babies, her wonderful, wonderful babies, her babies that… wait, where were her babies?! Waking up fully, she called out for them:

“Babbehs! Babbehs! Wewe babbehs gone? Mummah am scawed!” she yelled, but there was no answer.

Dragging herself out of her nesty, she tried to put her wheels back on. It was too hard though. Mummah-Claire had shown her how to take them off, which she could do on her own if she wanted to rest or sleep, but putting them on really needed a hoomin to help her. Snowflake was desperate though. Where were her babies? Why couldn’t they hear her? What if something had happened to them? She struggled with the wheels for a little longer, then gave up. She would have to drag herself across the floor to look for them, but where could they be?

Snowflake dragged herself around the other side of the Claire-beddy, and then she saw it. One of Claire’s SOX had gotten jammed in the big hoomin daww. It was open just enough that the babbehs could have got through it, and that led to… the Kit-Chen woom! Snowflake made her way across the room as quickly as she could, dragging her blistered leggy stumps behind her, ignoring the pain, just wanting her babies to be safe.

“Babbehs! Wewe am yu babbehs!?!” she called out again, but there was still silence.

Snowflake managed to drag herself up to the SOX. It smelled of baby fluffies, and she could see some red fluff on the edge of the daww. Strawberry and the others must have come this way.

“Babbehs!” she called out, “Whewe am yu! Come back! Da kit-chen woom am DANGEWUSS! BERRY BERRY DANGEWUSS!!!”

Snowflake could not drag herself through the gap created by Claire’s SOX. She could just about fit her snout through the gap though, and could see through it a bit. In the distance, she thought she could see some fluffs, red and yellow and blue, and a little bit behind them she could see Nutella, hiding out of their view. It was the babies! But they were next to… oh no… the Doggy Daww! It was how she and Jelly had escaped all those weeks ago, and it led to… it led to a very dangerous place.

“Babbehs!” she called out again, but then she heard another fluffies voice, a stallion’s voice, talking to her babbehs through the doggy daww.

“If fwuffies wan go to Sketty-Wand,” the stallion was saying “Den fwuffies got to meet da Snake Daddah. Da Snake Daddah giv Bwue wots and wots of Sketties. Sketties evwy dawk tiem, at a Chuwch of Sketty-Wand.”

“Nu! Babbehs!” Snowflake was still yelling, but her babies were listening to the strange fluffy’s story, as it spoke to them through the doggy daww.

“To get to sketty-wand, dewe aww twee wuwews, wuwew da fiwst, no bad poopies,” Blue explained, “Wuwew da second, do wat da Snake Daddy say, and wuwew da fird, bwing wingey-pointy munstah fwuffies to da Snake Daddah. Dat am suwe way to get into Sketty-wand.”

“NNNUUUUUUUU!” cried out Snowflake, not wanting her babies to believe the story, and feeling terrified that this Snake Daddy, whoever he was, wanted them to bring Nutella to him.

“Babbehs! Nu wisten to mean outside fwuffy! Dey is DANGEWUSS! Wiww huwt fwuffies! NUUUUUUUU!”

Phil slept awfully. Things were going great, but he couldn’t sleep for shit. At last night’s ceremony, there were too many fluffies to count. He had tried to get Wanda to do it, but she said they just kept moving around. His best guess was 450-500. They had brought him TWO more Alicorns, although both were injured, male and young, with not great colours. Still, Jakes buyer had still given them $5000 for the pair.

Jake’s Reptile World franchise was bringing in a steady cash flow, but was boring as hell, apart from feeding time. The Church of Sketty Land on the other hand was exciting, but was losing money most of the time. What with the catering costs and the animal control bribes, Phil was spending several hundred dollars a night, and only getting back a hundred or so for snake food and pretty coloured fluffies that he could “reset” with a quick zap to the head and sell on. But then every so often, he would get an Alicorn, or two! He told the fluffies not to hurt them (as injured Alicorns would not sell so well) but the fluffies said the Alicorns had tried to resist them. Phil resented sharing the money with Jake sometimes, but then Jake found the buyers, and was splitting the Reptile World franchise money and sales profits from his store with him fifty-fifty, which was a few hundred a week, and Phil needed that money to keep Sketty-Land going. More fluffies meant more chance of Alicorns. Even though he was losing money most nights, some nights it paid off big. In a way, it was like gambling.

When he got a big pay off, he liked to party. Wanda was now his high priestess of Sketty Land, and that girl could do some very special things with her pussy. He had her friends Sarah and Emily join him sometimes, and he’d take it in turns to fuck them one by one, fingering the other two as he did. They were all so high on cocaine that sometimes he got back into his delusional Snake Daddy rants again.

He and Wanda loved to feed the reptiles, and Jake had just had a new big ass Boa Constrictor shipped in, which Jake had bought from him with some Alicorn money. As much as he liked persuading fluffies that Sketty-Land lay in the belly of a giant snake, it was far more amusing when they were not willingly going to their deaths. Sometimes he would DELIGHT in telling them that Sketty Land was all a lie, and then slowly torturing them by making them watch their friends getting eaten. He would leave them starving and eating their own and each other’s poop in a large glass tank, and randomly feed one of them to Maximilian, or his new Boa constrictor, when the time felt right.

Now though, nothing felt right. He just wanted to sleep, but was too wired from the coke. He tried to hug Wanda a bit, but it didn’t help. Eventually, sleep found him, and with it, he found strange dreams.

In his dream, he was standing in an abandoned amusement park. Debris, half eaten sketties and dead fluffies were everywhere. One of the fluffies was sitting in a fire, but did not seem to be afraid, even as the flames caught its fluff alight. It looked up to him and spoke with cold dead eyes that were entirely black:

“Dis onwy da beginin” the fluffy said, as the flames ignited the fat beneath its skin, "da end wiww come fow us aww. It wiww end da onwy way it can,” the fluffy continued, as the flesh melted from his face, “Fwuffies wiww dwon in da fiehs, an earfs, and wa-was. Aww faww down. Aww wiww pewish.”

Suddenly Phil was awoken from his dream by the sounds of someone kicking in his front door! Phil was shitting himself that it was a drug dealer, or someone come to rob him of his Alicorn money, but in the end, it was just the cops. They dragged him, butt naked out of his bed, and threw him into a police van. Wanda and some clothes followed a few minutes later, with lots of screaming and bitching.

Phil was in trouble

“So,” the cigarette smoking man said, “Phillip Cachioli…” he paused to blow smoke in Phil’s face. Phil stared the cunt down. This guy might be some government goon, but he was the fucking SNAKE DADDY.

“You admit to preaching about this so called “Sketty Land” to the fluffies, to causing the beginnings of a mega herd, and to bribing government officials, in this case, animal control.” The man tapped his cigarette into the ash-tray on the table in front of him. The cell was small and cramped, and the night was hot and sticky. Phil really wanted a cigarette, but when he had asked the man had ignored him. “Furthermore, you have imported illegal snakes into Canada, and we have found large quantities of illegal narcotics in your apartment, not to mention hookers.”

“FUCK you asshole. Those shit-rats are pests, and I’m feeding them bullshit so I can feed THEM to snakes. I’m doing the city a fucking FAVOUR. They should give me a medal.”

The cigarette smoking man just took another drag, and breathed out flowing ropes of smoke, that wafted their way towards the ceiling of the tiny police interrogation room.

“I don’t really care about the snakes, or the drugs, or the girls. I’m not a cop Mr Cachioli, I work for an agency concerned with Fluffy control. Do I really have to remind you what happened to Cleveland? And the megaherds? What happened the last time some fools started talking about Sketty-Land?” the government cunt was trying to stare Phil down now, but Phil wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“A city Mr Cachioli. A whole city was lost. The wildfires that were spread by running, burning fluffies, the pestilence from their rotting corpses, and the shit. Oh gods the shit. Didn’t you watch the NEWS Mr Cachioli? The aerial footage?”

“Yeah, I saw it,” Phil admitted, “I just don’t give a fuck.”

“Well perhaps you should Mr Cachioli. You see, far from just being an American issue, this is one that affects us here in Canada as well. When the mega-herds finally dispersed, a large proportion of them ended up here in Canada. And here they have spread disease, blocked sewers, and caused all kinds of environmental health issues. Nothing we can’t deal with of course, but that has been because they have been isolated, in small herds of 5 to thirty or so individuals. Nothing has caused them to swarm again, nothing, that is, until you started telling them about Sketty-Land. Do you appreciate my concerns Mr Cachioli?”

Phil stared right at the G-man, wanting nothing more than to feed him to an Anaconda.

“Go fuck yourself,” he said, “With a rusty chainsaw, in the ass.”

Months had passed for Red Conan.

Master Carl had fed him up on a hoomin food called BUWGEWS.

He had made him push a wheely-stick thing, around and around and around. It had been really boring, and Red Conan wanted to run and play with other fluffies, not push the boring wheely-stick. But he had to push it, or he got the sorry stick. Still, pushing the wheely-stick and eating BUWGEWS made Red Conan grow up BIG AND STWONG. He also got special milkies, called MIWK SHAKES. They were really good too, and really sweet.

There was only one problem. The Milk Shakes made Red Conan have the worstest teeth owwies. Master Carl said it was because of the sugar in them, and had to take Red Conan to a person called a DENTIST. The dentist gave Red Conan a strange smelling thing that made Conan have strange laughs and floaty feelings. He started to think he was floating, and saw the Dentist like the man in the moon. Then the dentist pulled out all of Red Conan’s owwie teeth, but it didn’t hurt at all. Then he put in new, sharp, metal teethies, like a Shark has, Conan’s master told him. When he woke up, his jaw ached horribly, but his new teeth were amazing.

Then, one day, Master Carl said that Red Conan was “ready.”

“Weady fow wat daddah? Um… Mastew Cawl?” Red Conan had asked.

Master Carl said nothing, but put Conan into a big carry box, and took him to a big hoomin place.

Red Conan could smell lots of humans and fluffies in the place. The sounds of human shouting and fluffy screams and screeing filled the air, and it reeked of sweat and blood and cigarettes.

“We’re here. Its your big night Conan,” Master Carl said, “I’ve got a lot of money riding on you, don’t let me down.”

“Money? Down? Wha?” Red Conan asked, having no idea what he was here for.

Then, he was thrown into a pen, surrounded by shouting screaming hoomins. Opposite him was a large blue stallion, covered in scars, and wearing big metal hooves! A human shouted that the first fight would be Blue Meanie versus Red Conan. Then the blue stallion charged at Red Conan!

Conan didn’t know what to do! Why was the Stallion trying to hurt him? It hit him in the nose with its hooves, and tried to stomp him again and again. Red Conan tried to run, but there was nowhere to run to. The sides of the pen were too high, and everytime he tried to get out, hoomins just pushed him back in again. He tried to call out to daddah, but Master Carl just stared at him. It was a mean look.

Then, the blue meanie stomped Conan on his back. It really hurt, and Red Conan knew he would have to fight to survive. He spun around and gored the blue stallion with his horn, but the blue stallion was big and fat, and his fluff was matted and greasy, he laughed and kicked Red Conan with his metal covered hooves again. Conan knew how to get him though. He waited until the Stallion reared up and then pretended to gore his face with his horn. Blue pulled back just a little, to avoid a horn to the face, but in doing so he exposed his neck to Red Conan’s metal shark teefies.

Red Conan bit down hard, and didn’t let go. He felt Blue’s blood pouring into his mouth, and when Blue finally fell down into forever sleepies, he grinned his red smile of victory.

Red Conan fought many other fights over the next few weeks. His master fitted a metal cone onto his horn, which he called Red Conan’s sorry stick. Red Conan impaled many a foe upon the sorry stick.

"He did not care anymore.
Life and death…
…the same.
Only that the crowd would
be there to greet him…
…with howls of lust and fury.
He began to realize
his sense of worth.
He mattered.
In time, his victories
could not easily be counted.
He was taken to the East…
…a great prize,
where the war masters…
…would teach him
the deepest secrets.
And he also came to know
…the pleasures of mares,
when he was bred to the finest stock.

But always there remained
the discipline of sorry stick."

Later one evening, Red Conan was celebrating another victory with his master and other fighting fluffies and their hoomin masters. One of them announced another victory

“Fwuffy am won again!”

“This is good,” agreed Master Carl, “But what is best in life?”

The fluffy looked thoughtful, and then responded “Da open gawden, wotsa nummies, babbehs widing on da back, and mummah, giving tweaties.”

“WRONG!” Yelled Master Carl, "Conan, what is best in life?

Red Conan spoke:

“That is good!” roared master Carl.

Next - Snowflake’s Babies - Part 03 - The Beach

Link to Index of Hornlarry Stories


No Cleveland tag? Do you guys even know the story of the Fall of Cleveland???


Please give that asshole Phil some face bashin, since he didn’t care cause he is a fuckin drug addict snake daddy hope they do something bout him really fast since he doesnt fuckin care

Now added snowflakes babbies been drag by those moronic cult fluffies! Where is everyone!!???



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Virgil is trying to lessen tag bloat as, unlike the booru, we cannot afford to have too many tags. So story-specific tags are actually discouraged. We’re trying to work things out, though I forsee the need to create an index post on all entries of Fall of Cleveland at some point in the future.

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That’d be cool. I appreciate the Fall of Cleveland is a really big story, but it’s a big piece of Fluffy lore and it’s a shame it’s not on here

@meganonymous is currently working on reuploading the entire story to this site: [Fall of Cleveland 1] “The Fluffy Prophet” (Author: Vanner) (Artist: MarcusMaximus) {FB ID: 862 & 866}

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Oh cool - I’ll link to this in my story Index :smiley: