Sometimes you understand why so many people are fluffy abusers, or just completely apathetic. Not because the little creatures deserve it, every living thing deserves compassion—at least until it does something to forfeit it, you have personally murdered a few babbeh-enfers and monstuh-mummahs and will certainly do it again without losing a wink of sleep—but because actually giving a shit about any of them is such a good way to get your heart broken. Being a part-time rescuer with a foster-fail and a nurse mare looking after a rotating cast of orphan foals, you have Seen Some Shit, but this, this is… extra sad. It always gets to you when fluffies cry, because they sound like little kids, and they’re always either crying about totally inconsequential shit, or something absolutely devastating that no one should ever have to face, especially not someone so small.
Like right now, at three a.m., with Sundae sitting there on the saferoom floor like a combination of a little white cloud and a teddy bear, pink mane and tail just providing punctuation as she buries her little face in her hooves and huu-huu’s away about wanting to be a mummah again, but being, “so so scawed of wowestest enfies!”
Sundae is far from the first traumatized fluffy mill survivor you’ve ever worked with, but she’s the dearest to your heart and has also absolutely been Through It. Excellence is always punished, and since she has lovely colors and is intelligent and well-behaved, she has trauma from weird abusive fuckers after hours, and abusive stallions, as well as regular live-breeding and from artificial insemination, which is otherwise your go-to for this kind of thing.
You sigh and sit down next to her, scooping her up into your lap. By now she knows you only give good and emergency upsies, so it calms her down instead of freaking her out. She’s doing her best not to make a lot of noise, you only know to be here now because of the baby monitor, but Milly the nurse mare is starting to wake up, and a few of the foster foals are peeping. Milly starts mumbling the mummah song, and you smile, watching her manage things even though she’s still half-asleep. Milly is an absolute treasure.
“It’s okay, Sundae,” is all you can say, hugging her. “We can find some babies without a mama, maybe.”
Sundae nods, sniffling. You know she would make a great adoptive mother. Not a nurse-mare, she’d get too attached, but a wonderful mother. “Sundae know dat,” she says, sniffling. “B-but, but… Sundae wan’ special huggies, too. Sundae wan’ mebbe haf special fwen’, but Sundae so scawe.” She looks up at with those big, golden eyes, and breaks your heart all over again when she says, “Sundae like special huggies, Sundae no wan’ be scared.”
Well, shit. Time to start getting creative. Of course you have mare enfie toys, you’re a grown woman, you understand that a bitch got needs. So far Milly seems completely satisfied with that. You think she might even be whatever the closest thing fluffies have to gay, always talking about ‘pwetty mawes’ and ‘dummeh stawwions’. At least Sundae isn’t like, literally afraid of anything in her ‘special place’ anymore, you’ve seen her use them, that’s one hurdle crossed. But stallions and, disgustingly, strange men, still make her nervous as hell. Apparently most of the ‘mistuhs’ who worked the mills were just punching a clock and not complete degenerates, but a few of them were ‘meanie mistuhs’, and several legal cases related to complete degeneracy within the closed mills are still on-going.
Looking up what to do for sexually traumatized mares who still want babies of course leads to a lot of adoption services and programs, and trying to figure out what to do for those who want to get the courage to breed again leads you into a whole weird area that you’d rather not talk about and makes you glad you use a VPN. Finally, after several late nights looking at shit that makes you wish you really could bleach your eyeballs (XXL Fuckffies from BioPhallus?! Christ!) you find an actually promising lead. You know from bitter experience that a lot of organizations claiming to consider the emotional well-being of fluffies are actually doing nothing of the kind, but at least you now have one to ask about.
You give Sunshine Feels Respectful Studs a quick phone call to make sure they actually exist, and then make a few more phone calls to friends of yours who are the type of person to know a guy who knows a guy. By asking the right people, you can get the pen-side truth about just about any fluffy business in the area. You try to do your due diligence for any fluffy in your care, but you’re not taking any chances with Sundae.
Author’s Notes:
@PonePone - couldn’t resist the shout-out to to XXL Fuckffies, let me know if you want me to take it out
To the community at large - does this go in Controversial? I don’t know if the blink-and-miss-it mention of total degeneracy counts or if the concept of enfie babbehs is going to come up eventually or not.
