Safety (H83R, reposting from Reddit)

Author’s Note: One may be asking themselves how this one story can fit into three fluffy genres. The answer is simply: fluffy genres are stupid, and they placate stupid people. Enjoy the read!

An open lot in a neighborhood is an uneasy reprieve for fluffies in the big city most of the time. A big, empty, unruly field filled with ragged grasses, weeds and trash, all enclosed by rusty fencing, was not the nicest looking place to call home. It was still leagues better than the alleyways which had entrails and viscera strewn about every which way. The remains of fluffies flattened or otherwise bludgeoned to death by some singing and dancing monster with the worst kind of sorry stick.

These fluffies calling the vacant lot home were scared beyond belief after coming across these grisly scenes and the whole herd made a conscious decision to squeeze through the jagged holes in the fence so as to not become a part of the carnage. A few fluffies were now worryingly sick after sustaining booboos.

Some young colts and fillies fell under the weather slipped away in their feverish sleep. The adults, conscious of their condition, left them be in the sicky pile, unaware that they were already gone. They believe that the young fluffies will recover with enough sleep, so they don’t bother the bodies left behind. The parents hover close by, and pensively dig their hooves into the ground in their nervous shuffling.

Elsewhere in the wide field, a few of the restless fluffies prod around the wrappers, styrofoam cups, and plastic bags scattered around in the grass expectantly. They are disappointed time and time again to find that the tasty human foods are all gone. Some of them come across the same junk more than once, but the disappointment is renewed each time.

The more practical fluffies try to eat the grass and weeds. They are tough and do not taste good. While chewing the uncompromising plants, these fluffies think about how much they miss the food they found after tearing open the icky sacks that the humans put in the alleys and big smelly sorry boxes. Living off the garbage was sad most of the time, but sometimes there were really good nummies! But these nummies were all the same for as far as their large eyes could see-- up until the fence, that is.

It did not take long before the mental toll of living in the field set in.

“Smawty, fwuffy nu wike wibbin’ in fiewd nu moa. Babbehs go foweba sweepies fwom meanie booboos! Nummies am awfuw! Bwite baww ebbywewe an’ nu pwace to be coow!” The complaining fluffy lets out huus of utter despair to move the stoic leader of the herd.

The smarty bows her head solemnly.

She is a pegasus that had long since lost any notion that her wings made her special. In fact, most days she wished she didn’t have them. Most days, she wished she wasn’t born. But the weight of responsibility for the others in the herd, the knowledge that without her guidance, most of them would die in the next dark time, kept her in this tiring frame of mind. It did not help her at all to listen to her herdmates cry about things she could not change, or complain about the decisions she made when there were no other better alternatives.

But she still listened, and expressed her wordless condolences. The fluffy equivalent of, “shit happens” and, “it really is just like that sometimes”.

One hot day, a young filly lingers longingly next to the fence while the herd is roaming to the other side of the lot. Tears well in her eyes as she dwells on the unfair circumstances of her life. “Nu faiw! Nu faiw!” She stares out at the buildings on the other side of the street without really seeing them. The sounds of the city are a distant, indistinct blend of stimuli that her brain parses without absorbing.

When the passerby spoke to her, the filly could have only marveled at how the human appeared out of nothing. “Hoomins awe amazin’!” she gasped, staring up at the person with such astonishment, she might as well be looking upon the face of God.

Which in all fairness, was exactly what she thought she was doing. God in this case was a youth of about sixteen years, in clothing ranging from dark gray to black. She was one of those kids that looked like they were trying to be dark and edgy, but in reality just appreciated how neutral and low maintenance shades of black were.

Except for hot days like today.

“… So you’re not sad?” the girl asked, perturbed by the whiplash of emotions the little creature demonstrated. Bipolar much?

The fluffy gasped again, but this time she was appalled. “Nu! Am hab wowstest saddies! Dis mos’ saddies pwace to wib! Nice wittow wady, pwease be nyu mummah?”

The passerby raised a brow and glanced up to the shapes across the muted greenery. “Isn’t that your family over there? I don’t think they’d be happy with me just taking you away. Not that I could-- this fence being a thing and all…”

The filly shook her head vehemently. “Dummeh hewd! Ma’e babbeh wib hewe, nu gud! Babbeh kno’ whewe howe in fencie is!”

“Sorry, I’m not going to take you.” The teenager thought of her mother, and how upset she would be if she brought this fluffy home. Not that she wanted to take her in the first place. Those sentiments were not aided one iota by how willing the fluffy was to abandon the herd just so that she could have a shot at a better life. No, the girl knew too many people like that as is. She saw no worth in some pet with the same mentality.

“You know, sometimes the grass isn’t greener on the other side,” she said to the fluffy.

“Gwassies? Whewe gwassies? Odda-whewe!?” the fluffy reared up and braced against the fence, searching for grass that simply wasn’t there. The girl felt the urge to bury her face in her palm, but resisted.

“Wow, you’re stupid.” She couldn’t stop herself from saying that much, though.

The fluffy’s ears drooped and she started to sob. “Sowwy fo’ be dummeh! Jus’ wan’ gud nummies and wub!”

“I’m sure your family loves you plenty. Maybe you should try loving them the same?” the girl suggested, before turning her back on the filly and continuing with her day.

The fluffy broke down into bitter tears then. Not for any emotional breakthrough, but for blowing the best chance thus far at getting a person to take her with them.

A little while later, another fluffy close to the fence encountered a person walking by. This time, he was a man in his twenties, gruff and gaunt-looking. He was made scrappy from a life of disadvantages and he moved with a chip on his shoulder. This was not someone who took kindly to fluffy begging.

So of course, the fluffy tried it.

“Pwease nice mistuh! Nee’ nummies! Nee’–”

“Shut the fuck up and eat the grass you shit on, idiot,” the man spat as he walked by without so much as looking at the stallion.

“Huu huu… wowstest heawt huwties… tummy saddies…”

But then the man came back, a wicked glint in his eyes as he said, “Actually, dumbass, I’ve got an offer for you!”

The stallion immediately perked up. Bipolar much? “Offew! Am dat nummies?”

“No, retard-- well… sure. Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“Yes, buh, no? Fwuffy confused!” The stallion huu’d.

“Wow, that didn’t take long, peabrain. Listen-- don’t have an aneurysm trying too hard here, now: I’ll give you a chocolate bar if you give me your leg.”

The fluffy frowned deeply and tucked his legs underneath him as he lied on the grass much like a cat would. “F-fwuffy nee’ aww weggies–”

“Then you don’t really need this chocolate, then.”

“NU! Waid!” The fluffy squinted his eyes shut and cried quietly to himself. “How mistuh wan’ weggie?”

“The fuck kind of question is that, moron? How are you going to give me your own leg? Is that what you want to know? Figure it out, dipshit.”

The stallion winced as though the words had physically hurt him to hear, as much as they damaged his self-esteem and fluffy need to be coddled at all times. The man delighted inwardly knowing the source of all this distress was the fatty’s want for sweets.

The fluffy held out a foreleg and looked away. “Hewe, takie weggie, huu huu huu.”

“Um, no. Retard, having me take your leg isn’t the same as you giving me your leg. Try again.”

“Wetawd am twyin’!” The fluffy sobbed, wracking his brain for the solution to this dastardly puzzle.

“Oh my god, you think I named you-- okay. Right. Take your time, Retard. My bad.”

After several minutes of the stallion stewing in his hesitation, the fluffy took action. He bit into his leg, just above the elbow joint. The man wondered if he should double down on the semantics and demand the whole limb from the shoulder. The fluffy’s wails preempted him.

“Pwetty fwuff in mouf! Huu huu, fwuff am fo’ be on fwuffy, not nummies!” This did not stop the stallion from continuing. Gnawing. Ravenous gnawing, as if the more unhinged he got in his attempt, the more he didn’t have to think about the hair he was scarfing down. Or the pain. Or the blood.

“Holy shit, you’re actually getting some headway on this…” the man murmured underneath his breath as his eyes widened with pleasant surprise.

After some thrashing, the fluffy yelped and fell over. There had been a subtle pop, and the man was left wondering if the fluffy dislocated its shoulder, or if it succeeded in breaking its bones. Either way, the amputation looked like it was going to stop here.

“Owies! Owies! Owies! Owies!” The pain was so great, the fluffy couldn’t even articulate, ‘wowstest owies!’. This was genuine debilitating pain, the kind that sent throbbing pulses through the nerves, the kind that these child-minded fuckwits never dealt with regularly.

“Welp. I ain’t getting that leg, then,” the man noted lackadaisically. “Not that I could get it through the links of this fence, anyway. Not that I had any candy for you.” The man smirked, shrugged, and started walking away, having been thoroughly entertained.

The stallion was too busy suffering to acknowledge that he had injured himself for nothing.

Across the way, the smarty pegasus hung her head.

It really is just like that sometimes.

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You know fluffy genre tags aren’t required, right? You don’t have to use them. lol

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Pretty much the only thing that matters to be marked is abuse and explicit enfie baby stuff. Even then you still get hugboxxers coming in to complain, but then you just poke Virgil with a stick and let him rip their face off.

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