Your vision swims and the world pitches sideways. Your final thought before your head cracks upon the sidewalk is the following:
That’s not a fluffy.
Fluffies don’t smile like that.
After like 6 months dormant I present to you: The fucked up things I can make when off my meds! It’s a fluffy possessed by the angry ghost of a murdered human.
(If you remember which of my stories this one’s from u get a cookie :3 )
Made this while listening to phonk at eardrum-busting volume