Stompie came on screen, a spring in her step. “Hello, my lovely Stompers! It’s time for Stompie’s Streamies!” The intro played and the logo came on screen.
“It’s come to my attention recently that I get a LOT of domestic fluffies. So much so, that a lot of them don’t realize the danger they’re in. So I wanted to do a comparison video between feral and domestic fluffies…and how they react to danger.” Stompie grinned beneath her mask. “First up…domestics. Since we’re far more familiar with those.” Stompie reached under the table and brought up a fat pink mare with a blue mane and tail. She was muzzled. Stompie took it off, and the fluffy instantly started talking.
“Dank yu fow takin off moufie howda, nyu mummah! Mummah wan babbehs! An sketti fo bestest miwkies, an toysies! An-“ suddenly the muzzle was put back on.
“See, there’s a reason she was muzzled.” She said dryly. The fluffy still seemed to be trying to talk, despite the muzzle on her. There was muffling coming from her as she continued to try to babble, on her rear. Her fur was pretty and shiny, but she was fat. Clearly she’d been loved once, but was either given up for brattiness, or more likely, being annoying.
“And now…a feral. I actually found the feral first, and got a domestic with the colors to match. I had to wash her, since she stank to high heaven.” She lifted up a fluffy of considerably less heft. She had no muzzle, and instead of babbling and looking around, the feral was scared.
Stompie grinned. “We see the first difference right away. The feral knows she’s in danger. She probably smells the blood and shit. Probably bits of other stuff I use down here. Ferals are more situationally aware. They have to be to survive in the wild. See, this one is smart enough to not beg me for her life.” Stompie patted the feral on the head, but roughly. More like sharp hits on the top of her head, eliciting whimpers.
“You can also tell just by looking. Ferals are usually dirtier. Even if they live in a herd, you can’t get all the dirt off and can’t brush fluff in the forest. So they tend to be dirtier, and leaner. No regular feeding times for them.” She jabbed a finger into the belly, which made the feral yelp and stagger to the side. “And they’re slightly better at holding their bladder. Not a lot. They are shitrats, after all. And I emptied them.”
Stompie moved over to the domestic. “Now…these ones tend to be fat f*cks. You can try to put them on a diet, but they’ll whine and bitch about it. At worst they’ll try to sneak food, and in my opinion that’s the time to kill them slow. I recommend starving. And keep em in a cage or carrier so they can’t sneak anything.” Stompie jabbed a finger into the fat mare’s stomach and a yelp was heard through the muzzle. The mare finally seemed to think something might be wrong. She looked up questioningly, never having asked why her ‘nyu mummah’ wore a scary mask and white shiny apron even though she wasn’t cooking. Suddenly her hoofsie was grabbed, and she saw another fluffy have their hoofsie grabbed and stretched out. The mare made a face and tried to scoot away. She knew what that ugly fluffy was! It was a feral! Old mummah told her to stay away from dirty, ugly ferals! That fluffy had pink fluff too! It wasn’t nearly as pretty as hers!
Stompie showed the hoofs to the camera. “As you can see, domestic fluffies have softer hooves. They live inside. It makes it much easier to push tacks into them. A feral’s hooves are often a bit more calloused. What you can do is use a file to shave the callouses down…and a bit more.” Stompie grinned evilly beneath the mask, feeling the feral hyperventilate. “It’s a bit more fun to have a fluffy that knows they’re in danger.” She told the camera.
She let the domestic mare go, and grabbed a file. Not a nail file, but a metal industrial looking file meant for grinding down tough materials. “Lets try to turn a feral mare into a domestic!” She said. She got out a file, and kept a hold on the feral’s leg. She held it out, and began to run the file over it.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEE!” The feral screamed, trying fruitlessly to pull away. It was no use. It was too weak and Stompie was too strong. The first swipe certainly did get rid of light callouses on the fluffy’s hooves…and a lot of flesh as well.
“Oopsie!” Stompie giggled. “Did a little too much. Oh well.” She ran the file over the feral’s hoof pad a few more times. “Hm…think that’s soft enough?” She held the bloody hoof up to the camera. She grabbed the next hoof, the fluffy still reeling and screeing in pain. She was a bit more gentle with the file not out of any sense of kindness, but to prolong the pain of this task. She slowly filed away the callouses, then the flesh of the pads, until it was about even as the other. “Those better heal nice and smooth…or I’ll have to file them again.” She threatened sweetly.
“WEGGIE HUWTIES! HUUUHUUU!” The feral cried, but did not ask why it was being hurt. She knew humans were bad. She tried to run away when this human showed up! She wasn’t quick enough.
“Now for the back legs!” Stompie said. She saw the fluffy tense, and try to hop of the table…but it was too slow with flopping to its stomach and trying to jump. Stompie pretended to be too slow until the fluffy tried to flop off the table. She grabbed it by the back leg and a ‘pop’ was heard as the fluffy dislocated its back leg.
“SCREEEEE! WAI WEGGIE HUWT!?” Apparently the fluffy didn’t know about dislocations.
“Aw, look at this! Your leggie is so much more flexible now!” Stompie wiggled the leggie, enjoying the screams of pain that came from the feral. A quick glance at the domestic showed Stompie it was in a puddle of its own pee, staring with wide eyes. It had…no survival instinct apparently. It tried to cower and hide with its hooves over its eyes despite still sitting.
Stompie began to file that leg, not bothering to set it. It would only cause the fluffy relief, and she couldn’t have that. It wouldn’t kill the fluffy either. Stompie got to work on the final leg. When the feral tried to jerk its last hoof away, Stompie gave a flick to the dislocated leg. The fluffy screamed, nearly passing out as the last leg was filed.
“There we go! They’re not rough anymore!” Stompie claimed. She flicked the feral’s hooves, making it scree in pain.
“Alright. Second. This fluffy is WAY too skinny! We should fatten her up.” Stompie brought out an auto feeder. “This should help give that fluffy some fat.” Stompie pushed the tube down the feral fluffy’s throat before turning it on. The top was filled with the cheapest kibble that could be bought. It was mostly used as punishment by how horrid it tastes. “This…is essentially garbage.” Stompie said. “Unless you’re trying to abuse your fluffy, you shouldn’t give them this brand. That being said, I buy it in bulk.” She told them, holding up the bag it came from. She bought the big, 50 lb bag. “Normally they don’t last more than a meal or two, but they need to be fed somehow, right? Plus some of them are being raised to breeding for a special little stream I’m planning. I need a few families, and I need them to do a few specific things before they participate.”
Stompie turned her attention back on the auto feeding. She fed the fluffy until its belly was distended, but not burst. She cheered as she pulled the tube out. “There’s an art form to this, but I’m not too good at forced feeding. It’s easier to just kill them by it.” She smirked at the bloated, bloodied feral. “Hm…something isn’t right…” she said, tilting her head. Then she snapped her fingers with a smile. “Ah, that’s right! You need a smile!” Stompie got out the big staple gun. “To quote a certain someone… ‘Why so serious? Let’s put a smile on that face!’” Stompie moved in, pinning the corners of the feral’s mouth into a too wide smile and stapling the corners in place. It was a grotesque expressions, considering the feral was still openly crying, the tears staining the fluff around her face. “Now, lets give her something that makes everything better. Babies!”
Despite the fear, both mares lit up. Babbehs made everything better…or so they thought. Stompie rummaged around, and pretended to be sad. “Well, I planned to give you both babbehs, but there’s bad news. I only have one. Only enough for one of you to be a mummah.” She pulled out out a foal that was pink with a blue tail nub. Its eyes were barely open.
Stompie looked at the camera, and held up two dye bottles by ‘PwettyFwuff’. “These are fluffy safe dyes to use. Normally I don’t give a shit, but I needed this fluffy to be as happy as possible before this show. The little one doesn’t even know she’s actually a piss yellow color.” She set the dyes back on the floor, and set the foal on the table between them. “Well, I can’t tell who the fluffy looks like. You both look like domestic mares!” Stompie said, pretending to be tough. “Lets let the little one decide. Little babbeh, who do you want to be your mummah?” She asked, letting the foal see them both.
The little foal, who only had its see places open for a day, looked at the two big mares. The babbeh sucked on her hoof as she decided. One had a yicky smell around her. The babbeh looked at her fur. It was pink! Just like the mare. She looked at the other. She was pink too! But… Her hoof fell out of her mouth as she took in the other mare. No…the munsta! She had no hoofsies! Her tummeh looked weird and she had a scary expresssion! “Peep! Munsta! Nu num babbeh! Chirp!” The foal squeaked and tried her best to scramble to the domestic mare, even as it brought her into the puddle of pee she’d made.
Stompie smirked, and patted the feral’s head as she cried. “Aw, too bad. It looks like a dirty feral can never be a domestic.” She said. “No housie. So go away.” Stompie set the fluffy on the floor, in view of a secondary camera. She set it right on its hooves, knowing each step was agony for the feral.
“SCREEEEEE!” The feral immediately fell to its belly. “Huuuhuuu! Weggie owies!” It sobbed. It didn’t want to move, but the hoomin munsta crouched down with something pointy looking. Then she was jabbed in the rear! “SCREEE! OWIES!” The words were a little malformed with the staples still in her face. She kept trying to get up but her hoofsies hurt so bad! She tried to drag herself but kept getting pointy owies!
“Hm. I guess she’s too slow. I guess we know what that means! A classic stomp for my Stompers!” Stompie clapped her hands. She hitched up her apron to her mid calves to show off the classic, heavy duty stomping boots. She raised her foot up, held it there for a dramatic pause…then BAM! She stomped down hard on the fluffy’s middle. Shit and intestines shot out of one end, blood out of the other. The spine was clearly broken, yet somehow the fluffy still lived, if not in incredible amounts of pain. “One more stomp!” Stompie cheered, then landed the stomp this time squirrel on the head. “There we go! All dead!” She said.
She looked at the horrified domestic mare and child. “For being such good fluffies, I think you deserve a treat.” Stompie said. She out a treat from her apron pocket. This treat was a sickly green. The type of green cartoonists made something to tell the audience it was poisonous without verbally telling them. The green one went to the adult, who ate it without a moment’s hesitation. “Nummy! Sketti tweat!” The mare said, and hugged her new babbeh.
The babbeh hugged back, but soon heard not pretty noises. She looked up and gasped as her new mummah was coughing and choking. The babbeh was let go of, and peeped in pain as her poopie place now hurt! She peeped in fear as this new mummah fell over.
Stompie gasped. “Not again! Babbeh, you killed another mummah! That’s the third one!” She said, as if horrified.
“Nuuu! Huuhuu! Nu wan kiww mummahs! Wan mummah! Wan huggies!”
“Well, I can’t be your mummah! Not after you killed three! You’re going back into the sorry box!” Stompie said, shoving the urine soaked babbeh back into a small foal sized sorry box.
“Now…we’re going to run a little test. We’ll see how long it takes for a domestic to notice another fluffy’s distress, as opposed to a feral.” Stompie brought out a blueish grey fluffy with a green mane by the scruff of its neck. Its mouth was open in a scream of pain, but no sound came out.
“He’s mute. Which works well for this. I would have had to cut his tongue out otherwise. The point is for them to pick up on pain if the fluffy can’t tell someone he’s in pain.” Stompie said. The mute fluffy was pretty beat up. “The family didn’t want this one anymore because he managed to keep getting hurt and banged up. The teenager dropped him off her. I doubt that’s what the parents wanted, but oh well. You watching, kid? This one’s for you.” She checked something under the table, likely the list of the fluffy’s names. “Lets see…his name was Gabe.
Next Stompie brought out a fat red monochrome domestic unicorn. A stallion, much like the mute on the table. Stompie struggled a bit with the rolls of fat, which shook as the stallion whined about needing nummies and being ‘su hungwy’ with ‘tummeh owies’. “You could lose quite a few pounds, Fatass.” She said. She checked the container, and laughed. “Turns out, his nickname really was Fatass. His family called him Fredrick at first.”
“Huuuhuuu! Nu caww Fweddy bad namsies!” The unicorn sobbed, flailing his hooves uselessly. The fluffy was so fat he resembled a fully pregnant mare. His hooves just barely reached the ground. He could have been mistaken as one if it weren’t for the genitals literally dangling in the air. They were pretty useless, considering the fluffy liked food more than enfs.
The last participant was another earthy, but this one was green with a yellow mane. Both shades weren’t bad, so he wasn’t a poopie fluffy. Stompie smirked as the fluffy shook, clearly knowing something wasn’t right.
“Hello, little fluffies. You’re here to play a game!” Stompie declared. The fluffies all perked up, even the feral.
“Nyu gamesie?” The domestic asked, its tail wagging so fast it was a blur. The feral’s tail wagged tentatively, its eyes desperately wanting to believe that this was just a big misunderstanding. That this mean lady did just want to play a game.
“That’s right?” Stompie stepped close to the mute fluffy, having to work around him so the camera could see. She got a rubber band, and looped it a few times around her fingers…before snapping it over the genitals of the mute stallion. She stepped back as the mute started to flail in pain, its arms waving as it tried to scree. His mouth worked yet no sound came out.
“Haha! Dummeh fwuffy! Dat not dancies! Dis dancies!” The fat fluffy proclaimed, and made a face as if he was constipated and wiggled his arms and legs while making a raspberry noise.
Stompie grimaced and looked at the camera. “I don’t know who taught him that…but it’s horrifying.” She said.
The feral didn’t look so sure. “Fwuffy alwite? Nu wook su gud…” he said. It looked like he was more aware of pain the fluffy was in.
The mute fluffy likely couldn’t have responded, even if he wasn’t mute. He was curled into a ball the best he could do, his tail covering himself. Perhaps if he hadn’t done that, the feral could see what was going on.
“Don mind dummeh fwuffy! Wan pway!” The domestic shouted, apparently not catching on.
Stompie looked at the camera. “As you can see, the ferals are more keen to seeing pain or discomfort to fluffies. So we don’t need these subjects anymore.” She turned to the two fluffies. “How about we play Push?” She suggested. Both Fluffies were cheered. Stompie winked at the camera. “You first.” She said to the red fluffy. She rolled him, a little more force than necessary, right at the feral.
The feral had been on the edge of the table and the domestic was quite a lot heavier than a ball. The feral was knocked off the table and fell to the floor, ‘Screeee’ing the whole way down. He splattered on the floor, luckily caught by the other camera. The blood splattered the bottom part of Stompie’s apron, but the fat domestic couldn’t see due to the folds of his neck.
“I guess he didn’t want to play. I guess we get to play. Lets play drums!” Stompie brought out two spiked sorry sticks. “I don’t have any drumsticks, but this will have to do!”
The domestic got wide eyed to see not one scary sorry stick, but two! “NUUU! SOWWY STICK NU FO PWAYIN!” He yelled, trying to run away. His legs could just barely brush the ground, but could gain no purchase on the slick metal table.
Stompie smirked and began to use the sticks like makeshift drumsticks. She had no clue how to play the drums, but she headbanged like she knew what she was doing, and pounded the fluffy with the sticks.
“OWIES! NU MOWE! FWUFFY SOWWY! NU KNO WHA DID BUH PWOMISE NU DU IT AGAIN!” The fluffy screamed. It couldn’t even run away from its perceived punishment.
Eventually Stompie went too hard, and the swing cracked the fluffy’s vertebrae.
“Wha? Why weggies nu work!? Nu can few weggies!” The fluffy was panicking, his head wiggling a bit.
“Whoops. I wanted that to go on longer.” Stompie said. “I guess we’ll just focus on its head!” She began to go at it again, focusing on the red unicorn’s face. She took out both eyes, and knocked off the horn. Finally the fluffy perished. Stompie shoved him off the table, laughing as he landed on top of the other two fluffies. “Well, my throwing game is on fire, at least!” She said.
She turned to the mute. “And then there was one.” She smiled evily, and the mute shuddered. “Want me to make the hurties go away?” She asked, holding up a pair of scissors.
The mute had eyes the size of saucer at this point. He farted in fear, and might have shit if he had anything in him.
“Say something or I’ll take silence as agreement.” Stompie snickered as the fluffy tried his absolute hardest to make any kind of sound and failing. “Too bad.” She snipped off his privates in one movement, laughing as the fluffy was rolling around in pain once more. She’d also cute his tail pretty badly, a two for one. “Nice!” She said.
Stompie leaned forward, her forearms using the fluffy like a pillow, slowly crushing the life from it. “Well Stompers, that’s the show for today. I’m gonna be doing a fluffy myths episode. Comment suggestions below of myths you want tested…or even if you know the outcome and want to see it again. Also comment suggestions for other themed streams. See ya!”
The fluffy had perished. With that, Stompie signed off.