and here’s somebody completely new. warning for themes of depression and suicidal thoughts/ideation
. . .
your name is rusty, and you’re nothing remarkable. you don’t remember many things, but you remember the warmth of your mummah’s breast and your siblings nestled against your sides. your mummah never talked, but you remember cuddling up against her and feeling the vibrations of her humming, your siblings only letting out small chirps and cries. sometimes you heard the voices of humans, disinterested and uncaring, but your mind could never make out any words, only noise.
this is your life for the first month - eat blindly, take comfort from your family’s presence, feel your mummah hum to avoid listening to the incoherent speaking, sleep, repeat. you don’t know much, but something in your heart tells you that your mummah is trying to sing, the tune sounding familiar despite having never heard it before. your eyes are stuck together almost uncomfortably; you want to look at her, but even when you think you’re ready, they feel held together by something sticky.
you don’t know how to speak, and, given the silence, your siblings don’t either. how could you know? your mummah doesn’t speak, and you can’t understand what the humans talk about. as your teeth start growing in, you think that surely this can’t be all there is, when you feel yourself get grabbed and lifted into the air. you yell in surprise and fear, the hand roughly pinching your scruff, but your family can do nothing as you’re ripped away from all you know.
you never got to see any of them. you only have memories of their shapes and warmth.
you can’t see where you’re taken, but everything is suddenly louder, and the garbling speech of two humans keeps ringing out, almost grating against your ears. you recognize the voice of the person holding you, but the second is completely unfamiliar. after what feels like a few forevers, you’re passed along between the two. the second person’s hold on you is much more gentle, almost cradling you to their chest, and you instinctively lean into the touch, reminded of your family. a few more things are said, and you leave with the nicer person.
their grip on you shifts at one point, and you’re overwhelmed by the new sensations that hit your fur, crying out, but they just stroke your head. there are brief loud noises before you’re settled down into their lap. there are more unknown noises, but you just curl up tighter until it stops.
eventually, you’re lifted again, and you hear speaking right before warm water splashes down onto your face. you scream, your bowels voiding themselves, and you shake your head and blink to get rid of it before freezing.
you blink again. once. twice. your eyes are finally open. there the person is, staring down at you with dull eyes; yet he smiles as you as you whip your head around. this isn’t where you were before, you know this, but with your vision comes an overload of sudden information. you are a fluffy, made to spread love and happiness. you stare back at the person - if this isn’t your home, and he took you here, then this must mean he’s your-
“daddeh?” your voice is rough, sounding strange to even yourself, but he just nods.
“i am now, little buddy,” he takes a moment to look you over, then mumbles to himself, “…i’m glad that place didn’t completely stunt you. i could really use some company.”
you blink in confusion, but he just continues. “well, either way, you need a name… what about rusty?"
you perk up, tail starting to wag. “weawwy? tank 'ou, daddeh! wusty wub namesies!”
he chuckles lightly. “of course, rusty. now c’mon, i have to show you around! my place isn’t very fancy, but…” he trails off, looking slightly upset, so you hurry to comfort him.
“dats otay! wusty wub nyu homesies!” you reassure. your daddeh smiles again, though it looks almost forced this time. nonetheless, he starts walking around the house and telling you where your stuff is.
he isn’t kidding - the house itself isn’t small for one person, but a lot of open spaces are cluttered by clothes and random objects that you don’t know the names of. there are still clear paths to traverse, and a few spots are reserved for you, but that’s about it. to you, however, it’s more like a palace, with more things than you ever imagined existing.
your daddeh is patient while you ask about anything and everything you see, giving you skettis once you’re done and clearing a spot on something called a couch. you spend the rest of the day watching something colorful that you barely understand yourself, but your daddeh looks happy, so you go along with it.
. . .
over the next few years, you learn more about him. it didn’t take you long to realize that your daddeh does not like doing much. you have a routine of waking him up in the morning, because he’ll be asleep for the rest of the day if you don’t, and you push him to play with you. when you asked, he just apologized and explained, it’s… a bit complicated, but i have something wrong with me where i get sad much easier than i’m supposed to. it’s harder for me to wake up and do anything.
from then on, you took it upon yourself to help him as much as you can; you’re meant to love, after all! he took you in and gave you everything, it’s the least you can do for him. despite being haggard himself, he goes out of his way to make you happy, buying high quality kibble and more toys than you knew existed. even the piles of junk around your house start shrinking as he focused more on you.
you don’t fully understand why he’s sad, but you know that that doesn’t matter - he just is, as he described himself. he’s told you he has a lot of inheritance money, whatever that means, so he has enough to take care of you for years. you two spend most of your time together, sleeping in the same bed and spending most of the days watching tv or playing, with you just trying to keep a smile on his face.
it… mostly works. during the day, he’s been getting more cheerful, but at night, sometimes he grabs onto you and cries. he cries over his own mummah and daddeh, who went forever sleepies; he cries about how selfish he feels with how he’s using the money they passed onto him. you don’t fully understand - he’s the most generous person you know, but he doesn’t share the sentiment.
so you double down. you start praising him when you can, and even if it doesn’t work, his affection is real. as long as you can keep him happy, then everything is okay. he’ll be okay.
this cycle continues for most of your life, but you aren’t worn down by it. if anything, being able to help your daddeh is the best thing; you love each other, and he makes you happy, so it’s only obvious that you make him happy too. you’ve even convinced him to talk to other people more, taking semi-regular walks in the park so both of you can get fresh air and interact with others.
the thought of a special friend and babbehs doesn’t cross your mind once, not when you’re already so content. besides, you already have a job; though it’s fun to play with other fluffies sometimes, they aren’t your main focus, not even when mares press themselves against you suggestively.
so, despite doing what most fluffies would call boring or unpleasant, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
. . .
you’re settling down into your daddeh’s bed as usual, curling into a ball as he lays next to you. it’s been one of the better days, but now it’s nighttime, so you encouraged him to join you earlier than he usually does. he really needed it, and you can tell because the moment his head hits the pillow, he’s asleep.
you give him a fond look before closing your eyes to follow. this is routine, and you already can’t wait for tomorrow. you managed to talk your daddeh into going on a date with a pretty lady that’s nice to the both of you. for now, though, you need to sleep so it’ll come sooner.
you doze off successfully for a few hours before something bright flashes through your eyelids, a gross smell assaulting your nose. you blink blearily before snapping up, quickly realizing what’s happening. everything is uncomfortably warm, orange flames dancing around the room. it’s consuming the curtains, slowly creeping over to the bed, and you hurriedly start shaking your daddeh.
“daddeh!” you cry out, pushing his shoulder roughly with your hooves, “daddeh, ‘ou nu can sweep! dewe am fiwe! gotta weabe!”
you ignore the heat coming closer and the smoke permeating your nostrils, pushing him so hard that his arm falls limply from his side. “daddeh, wake up!” you bite onto his sleeve, tugging, but it’s no use. you aren’t strong enough to move him even a little bit, and you can already feel the smoke making you dizzy.
the fire draws closer until the bed sheets are caught, and you look over your shoulder to see the bedroom door is still open. yet you curl up next to your daddeh, pressing your face against his still chest. you know he’s gone, how could you just leave?
your entire being was taking care of him, and you still failed. is this your fault? could you have stopped this? you weep into his shirt, ignoring the pain of your skin melting, waiting to follow him. you faintly hear a door being broken down far away, but you ignore it, screwing your eyes shut.
why did this happen? why did this happen? why did this happen?
you just don’t understand.
. . .
to your surprise, you wake back up. half of your vision is dark, and it’s hard to focus on anything, but you know you’re in somebody’s arms. the heat is gone, the air finally clear. there are people in front of you, and you can barely make out what’s being said from only one side.
“-ll you could save was a fucking shitrat?”
“the owner was already dead! what was i supposed to do?!”
a scoff. “should’ve just left it to die. i mean, look at that thing.”
“it’s still living, i couldn’t just let it suffer! look, i’ll take care of it, okay?”
“yeah, whatever.”
then silence. you can’t keep yourself awake any longer, and you drift off into dreamless sleep.
. . .
the next time you wake up, you’re in a cage. you still can’t see right, but now you notice that your front legs are completely gone - the nubs are singed, along with a good patch of your chest fur. you want to cry just looking at it, but you can’t bring yourself to. you just feel numb. none of this feels real.
eventually, somebody in white clothes notices you’re awake and rushes over. “hey, little guy! you were in pretty bad shape, but you should feel better now.” you don’t. “do you remember what happened?”
you pause. you don’t want to remember. you just give a small nod, and she gives you a look of pity. “…i’m sorry, but your daddy is gone.”
you look down, starting to tear up. “wusty am bad fwuffy,” you sob, “no could sabe daddeh.”
“oh, don’t say that, dear,” the lady crouches down to look you in the eye. “you’re only one fluffy; you did nothing wrong.” you shake your head and she frowns. “tell you what - we’re in a rescue shelter right now, and i’m one of the vets here. we usually try to get fluffies new homes, but for the time being, i can take care of you. besides, the fluffies here are less… judgemental than those at fluffmart.”
you sniffle, already knowing the response to what you’re about to say: “nyu homesies? nu wan nyu homesies. wan daddeh.”
“i know, dear, but you can’t go back there. i’m sorry.” she apologizes again, “but i promise we’ll take care of you.”
you just nod blankly, settling your head down. you want to go back home, but you know you can’t, so the closest is sleep. the lady sighs as she watches you drift off.
. . .
i have something wrong with me where i get sad much easier than i’m supposed to. it’s harder for me to wake up and do anything.
you think you finally understand.
a few weeks later, you’re moved to the display room with the other rejected and ruined fluffies. you spend your time laying down and sleeping, partially because there’s nothing else for you to do, but mostly because you see him in your dreams. sometimes you manage to save him, other times you watch your favorite shows with him or just relish in the feeling of being together.
but you wake up eventually, and every time, you’re still disappointed. what’s even the point? you’ve seen other fluffies get taken from here, but you know you’re too broken, too ugly. your scars are a reminder of your failure.
you’re half-awake one day when the bell rings. you ignore it as always, staring blankly at the side of your cage without a glance. with your good ear, you hear footsteps come closer, but only look over when the person clears their throat.
she’s an older woman, wobbling slightly despite her cane. she looks over to the sign next to your cage, then back at you. from this close, you can see the faint scars littering her face, eyes slightly glossy from behind her glasses. “rusty, hmm?”
you watch confused as she turns to the counter and says, with full confidence, “i’m taking this one.”
…what?
she looks back at you, shifting through her purse. “what, are you that surprised an old woman like me is here? my daughter stopped talking to me, so i’m all alone at home.” she laughs sardonically. “and, well, i don’t have too much time left. can’t get something lively i won’t be able to care for, but you seem outright depressed sitting here.”
she pulls some money out of her purse, staring at you with kind eyes. “so what do you say about living the last of our lives out together?”
you stay silent for a moment, trying to comprehend what she just told you. you don’t think you deserve another home, but you know your daddeh would want you to be happy without him. that’s all he wanted - for you to be happy. so you look the woman in the eyes. “otay.”
. . .
it’s not the same, it’ll never be the same - you’ll never be the same. but despite that, you eventually find yourself comfortable in your new home. the woman is nice, but unlike your daddeh, she’s strong-willed, something that helps you stay in the present. you’re both mostly homebound, so she fills the time with stories of her family and her childhood.
you don’t do too much, almost reminiscent of your old daddeh, and sometimes you do feel how he used to, but it’s few and far between now. the woman takes great care of you, and in return you offer her company and conversation, the only things she asks for. neither of you are in great health, but instead of being scary, the thought is comforting. you’ll see your daddeh again when you go forever sleepies, but in the meantime, you aren’t alone.
you think you’ll be okay again.
