Terminology Of Fluffy Fiction
The genre of fluffy works which emphasizes fluffy violence, pain, and suffering. You may not like it, but about half of the community is here for the carnage so please spare us your opinion.
Not even once.
Your persistence is admirable, but ruinous. But who am I to stop you from seeing humanized fluffies and the frequent debauchery they get involved in, you’re already reading the fluffy community glossary lmfao.
With the most recent policy amendment, anthros are no longer considered part of the mainstream fluffy mythos. One is more than welcome to retain anthros in their individual headcanons and post to the anthro/non-fluffy category, but anthros should not leave this particular niche.
Some of you have these sprawling narratives of how anthros are derived from fluffies in your heads, but while you were thinking them up, artists flooded submissions with thinly veiled “fluffy”-furry porn. So, you can post your anthro worldbuilding novella in its appropriate topic where it can be properly appreciated.
BABIES. BABIES ARE THE BEST THING EVER. BABIES FIX EVERYTHING. BABY, I COMPARE YOU TO A KISS BY A ROSE, ON THE GRAY. THE MORE I GET OF YOU THE STRANGER IT FEELS, YEAH.
Also known as “foals” to the uncultured. Most headcanons agree that creating more foals is a fluffy’s ultimate goal in life. Fluffy litters tend to be large, which supports the trading economy of fluffies based on the rarity of their color combinations. However, this emphasis on abundance can lead to fluffies prioritizing their babies based on desirability, difficulties rearing all of the young, or a combination thereof.
The exponential population growth of feral fluffies due to the ridiculously short breeding cycles is the basis of the ecological disaster headcanon, in which fluffies must be culled in wilderness and urban settings to control their numbers.
“Fwuffy nu noh wad fwuffy am, ow wewe fwuffy iz.
Fwuffy jus’ noh dat fwuffy mus’ ma’e babbehs.”
Any nonconsensual sexual activity between fluffies; which is just a fancy way of saying “fluffy rape”. Sometimes referred to as “bad special huggies”, which is the fluffy equivalent of saying, “Any nonconsensual sexual activity between fluffies”.
Whether accidental or deliberate, the end result is the same: there’s fluffy waste outside of the litter box. This is the leading cause for fluffy misery most of the time, because unpredictable crapping is a fluffy hallmark. Except for when it isn’t.
“Avocado isn’t a chronic pooper!” - Oculus coining H83R’s favorite phrase to this very day.
Your parents probably told you that they love you and your sibling the same.
I can’t speak in regards for your parents, but in some headcanons, this is a fucking lie when it comes to fluffies. They will pick favorites by intent or blunder. Often the so-called best foal will share physical traits with the parent, most often the color of the pelts, manes and tails.
Mother fluffies are usually the most likely to pick a favorite in the fluffy parent pair. Makes sense, seeing as she gave birth to the fucker.
Bestest babbehs are almost always fated to be entitled, overly coddled dipshits, like a few members of Fluffy Community. Thus, they are predisposed to being smarties in adulthood. Much like a few members of Fluffy Community should they ever be given any form of authority over others.
A pregnant mare, known as a “Dam”, yells this at the top of her lungs to signal that her water broke, and the delivery of foals is imminent. Yes, fluffies are too dumb to differentiate giving birth from taking a wicked mean shit. Makes me laugh all the time.
In this genre, fluffy existence is nothing but pain. Dying is anguish. Hope itself is a cardinal sin. Why are we still here? Just to suffer?
The prospect of a happy ending is a foregone conclusion: a stern no. All the odds are stacked against the fluffy, the world is cold and hostile, and even if something fortunate happens, it comes at the cost of physical and mental distress.
Bleakbox is bleak for a reason. Depression lies ahead.
The defacto fluffy toy: wooden blocks! Fluffies call them “bwockies”. Paint them different colors so that fluffies think they’re pretty. Place letters on them of you want, but fluffies can’t read most of the time. Place numbers on them, but anything over the number four is probably going to cause the fluffy to have a brain aneurysm.
Fluffy blood. See: “Huwties”. Juice may be misspelled to better match fluff-speak conventions, IE: “boo-boo joose”, “boo-boo joosies”.
The sun. It’d be pretty cool, if not for the millions of degrees of heat generated by the process of nuclear fusion within its core. The sun, being a star, combines the nuclei of hydrogen atoms into helium, which releases energy in the form of photons and heat. Earth orbits its star, Sol, at a distance of around ninety-three million miles (one astronomical unit, AU). This distance is referred to as the “Goldilocks Zone”, where conditions on the planet are optimal for life as it is currently understood by science.
When the sun is up in the sky, fluffies consider it to be “bwight-time”, which is their term for daytime.
Fluffies that have the hankering for the flesh of other fluffies. The concept has a few interpretations, though.
Some believe cannibal fluffies have distinct patterns of the eyeballs denoted by bands of concentric circles of different colors and are bred with the purpose of hunting other fluffies.
Some are of the belief that any regular fluffy may cross the mental gap which separates members of the species away from what it considers food. These fluffies may be psychologically disturbed, or suffering from acute starvation.
Because fluffies are stupid creatures, they may resort to cannibalism in situations which are not nearly so dire, just because they got the impression that food is scarce.
It is not uncommon to see a mother fluffy eating her less desirable foals as a result of her mate taking too long to return from scrounging, for this exact reason.
Chirpies, or “chiwpy babbehs”, are the most new of fluffy newborns. They cannot open their eyes and they are nigh incapable of their own locomotion. All they can do is peep and cheep like baby birds, hence the name.
In some headcanons, severely abused fluffies will mentally revert to this stage. Some fluffies may chirp on purpose to illicit sympathy from their tormentors. This
rarely never works.
Winter, the “cowd-times” for fluffies. For most people it’s a time of religious festivity as the winter solstice marks the start of another cycle of renewal on the frigid surface, while the other hemisphere lives it up glad they’re not dealing with winter’s bullshit.
Not fluffies, though. Winter’s bullshit means that fluffies freeze to death on their way to drop a deuce or take a piss, with their foals cheeping away on their shoulders.
Though in fluff-speak this word directly means “daddy”, some with particular interests may opt for it meaning “father” in general. There is no kink shaming on fluffy community; only silent judgment.
Daddeh may be used in reference to a fluffy’s biological father, or a male owner. It can be inferred that fluffies are too simple to conceive of the gender spectrum and nonbinary individuals, but some may overlook this quirk of fluffy intelligence for the sake of LGBT+ inclusiveness.
Dancing, as said by fluffies. As foals and adolescents, fluffies can stand upright and wave their forelegs about without grace or rhythm, while teetering back and forth on their rear hooves in a similarly crude manner. Fluffies refer to this activity as being a “dancie babbeh”.
One could only imagine that if fluffies did have any sense of tempo, they would inevitably invent their own version of the floss given sufficient time. And that is terrible.
Dancing is one of the greatest pastimes for fluffies, along with stacking blocks and singing. Like stacking blocks and singing, a fluffy can be considered a “good” dancer despite completely lacking any finesse or skill.
As fluffies advance in age, they become too heavy to stand upright, so an adult fluffy’s dancing is limited to sitting on its haunches while flailing its forelegs about. This is why some find it greatly amusing to coax fluffies into standing up to dance, only to have their bodyweight snap their weak bones for the trouble.
The fluffy word for anything related to the dark. From nighttime – “dawk-time” to the shadowy corners of a dimly lit room, fluffies are terrified of the dark. Granted, they are terrified of many things, but few things are recognized as such in the overall fluffy lexicon as the concept of dark. The only other thing as terrifying to fluffies as the dark is “wawa”.
“FEAW OB DA DAWK! FEAW OB DA DAWWWK! HUU HUU, FWUFFY AW-WAYS FEEW SUMFIN AW-WAYS NEAW! SU SCAWY!” - the fluffy cover of Iron Maiden’s “Fear of the Dark”.
This is the height of fluffy wit right here. A fluffy calling something dummeh – “dumb” – and stoopi – “stupid” – is big meanie poopie pants time. When a fluffy breaks out this heat, you know shit just got serious.
Whenever I see one of you losers bitching about someone’s art or story decisions, I just imagine a fluffy in tears shouting " dummeh" over and over again. There is practically no difference.
The fluffy word for “ears”. With such inspired naming conventions, it is a small blessing that fluffy doctors are not a thing.
Mating, as understood by infantile creatures created to be sold as a toy-pet hybrid. When performing sexual acts, fluffies will pant the word “enf”. The act of mating takes a lot out of fluffies, and they don’t have a whole lot to begin with, frankly. When requesting to mate, a fluffy may utter a variation of, “Can fwuffy ma’e gud enfies wif 'ou?”. The subject of this request may or may not be a viable breeding partner, but credit where credit is due: fluffies generally understand consent. Most of the time. Maybe.
In some headcanons, fluffies are primal creatures that operate on baser instincts. According to this logic, the only thing separating a fluffy from any other animal on Earth is its ability to speak and its unnatural color combinations. Thus, if a stallion is denied the opportunity to mate for a prolonged period, he may opt to release his sexual frustration on defenseless foals. These defenseless foals are the stallion’s “enfie babbehs”.
NOTE: Mares can rape foals too. Currently there is only one piece of content depicting this, but there is nothing preventing a female fluffy from sexually abusing foals as “enfie babbehs” as well.
Fluffies need to make babies. It’s in their DNA… the cobbled together mess of nucleotides that it is. Mares will bitch ceaselessly about wanting to be knocked up, but stallions get… r o w d y.
Which is just a funny way of saying they will commit rapes. “But that’s just headcanon,” a number of you will protest. Shut up. It’s enfie-pal time.
An enfie-pal is straight up a fluffy “fuck-buddy”. This arrangement is only enjoyable for the one doing the fucking, though. Like the litter-pal, an enfie-pal is a pillowed fluffy restrained in some manner of container. The enfie-pal almost exclusively lives in the litter box due to its role as a shitting sex doll.
The enfie-pal can be a spayed mare. However, a budget enfie-pal is just another stallion with a vulnerable stallussy. I wrote it like that because I resent you fuckers.
Of course, oral is always an option, since enfie-pals are also toothless. Gumdrop gumjobs for days.
“This isn’t part of my headcanon”; call the police, they can’t un-enf the enfie-pals, you legion of bitch-sluts.
There is a reason why fluffy doctors aren’t a thing. It isn’t just because fluffies are stupid, and fluffy doctors would only prescribe hugs – which are absolutely valid reasons in of themselves for why fluffy doctors aren’t a thing. Fluffy doctors aren’t a thing because their anatomy textbooks would be fucking stupid.
“Eyesies” are eyes. See-places – “See-pwacies” are also eyes. You’ll never guess what a fluffy’s nose is called.
For every fluffy that has a good, loving home, it seems like there are fifteen or more trying to make it day by day while exposed to the elements and predators. From forest herds, to alleyway strays, these fluffies bear the brunt of reality while existing in an indifferent world. The trusting among them die quickly. The jaded live according to random chance, as even their best precautions can fail at a moment’s notice.
A small genetically engineered chimeric creature. The specific composition of DNA sequences does not matter for most narratives, unless specified by a creator. Read: headcanon. Generally compact body build with four stubby legs and a short snout.
Common traits include: a rudimentary form of speech that replaces "L"s and "R"s with "W"s; a combination of singular colors for manes, tails, irises, and coat color; a rounded shape overall; limited intelligence ranging from just enough brainpower to breathe, to child-like problem solving; inefficient digestive system that creates more feces without actually absorbing many nutrients; difficulty controlling bowels and bladder; propensity to dislike being immersed in water; propensity to drown when introduced to any sufficiently deep body of water, read: bathroom sink; generally fragile and thus prone to serious injuries, read: death; born with innate cowardice.
There are four types of fluffies:
Unicorn, a fluffy with a small horn. Sometimes depicted as being the focal point for additional abilities. Sometimes they are sharp enough to injure other fluffies. Often merely cosmetic.
Pegasus, a fluffy with diminutive wings. These wings are almost always vestigial in nature and only serve an aesthetic purpose. Pegasus fluffies still try to fly regardless. It is generally hilarious. And fatal.
Earthie, a standard fluffy without horns or wings.
Alicorn, a fluffy with both horns and wings. Depicted as being feared by all other fluffies due to their inability to comprehend the combination of horns and wings. Also depicted as being much more monetarily valuable than the other fluffy types due to their rarity of birth, and scarcity of survival as the other fluffies tend to kill them at first sight. May or may not be more intelligent than the average fluffy. OC bait.
Pet-co, but exclusively for fluffies.
Pretty straight forward as far as fluffies go, actually. This store is a ubiquitous franchise in some headcanons that not only provides all of the necessities to raise a fluffy, such as food and accessories, but also the fluffies themselves! Adopt a fluffy today and continue to perpetuate the capitalistic nightmare! This message sponsored by Hasbio and Hasbio subsidiaries.
A fluff-pile, “fwuff-piwe”, is the usual sleeping arrangements of a herd of fluffies in most stories which feature fluffy society. A fluffy’s pelt, despite its density, is shown to be piss poor at serving as actual insulation, which is partly the reason why the winter season is so deadly for them. Food scarcity, predation and fluffy stupidity ignored.
A fluffy’s best natural defense against the cold is huddling up with the other members of the family unit and sharing body heat. Ergo, a fluff-pile is often literal in its application: smaller fluffies clambering over bigger fluffies, with the young at the very top of this oddly visual hierarchy. The herd’s smarty, or smarty-friend, is normally the foundation around which the rest of the herd assembles.
Depending on headcanon, a fluff-pile presents the danger of the base-fluffies being crushed under the weight of the herdmates above them. Because fluffies are stupid.
The fluff-pile is an integral survival tactic for feral fluffies. An ostracized fluffy experiences emotional anguish for sure, but being banished from the fluff-pile is often a death sentence for creatures too dim to understand what capital punishment is. Except for when they do; see “Sorry-hoofsies”.
Honestly, if your friends aren’t willing to be living blankets for you, they’re hardly friends at all in my book.
Not to be confused with the discord server of the same name.
The general methodology in which fluffies bastardize written language, so that they can bastardize spoken language in the minds of the reader. Consult this guide for tips on how to write fluff-speak.
Sometimes called “Fluff-TV”, possibly due to being nothing but filler. Fluffy-TV is a television station that caters its visual media entertainment to fluffies. Almost as straight forward as Fluffy mart. Mainly used as an advertising path directed toward the owners of fluffies. In some headcanons, Fluff-TV is a brain-rotting memetic device which subliminally programs fluffies into wanting Hasbio approved product placement. If only fluffies had the IQ to appreciate Rick and Morty. Or SpongeBob.
What’s better than industrial abuse?
Industrial abuse that fluffies enact on themselves, of course. Feral fluffies give their foals to a colorful vending machine, it minces the foals into ground meat, and then it serves them up as meatballs on top of a cheap spaghetti platter.
Yes little fluffies, buy another day of struggle with the future of your kind. The cost is too big to understand with itty bitty minds.
Another kind of industrial abuse is the foal-in-a-can. Like all good marketing gimmicks, it is straightforward and speaks for itself.
Take a foal from its mother at the moment of birth, stick it in a can with a receptacle for formula and waste, then put it on display in a vending machine. Repeat for all foals of the litter. Automate the method. Get the stock mare pregnant again and do it again.
Death is a scary concept. Scary concepts don’t sell well, and committee boards hate it when things don’t sell well. Consequently, the idea of death has been sterilized by fluffy logic into the term “foweba sweepies”. That foal in the selling bin isn’t dead, it’s just sleeping for a long time! What a silly lazybones!
But when a fluffy’s sensibilities have been challenged, perverted, and tortured beyond belief, the conditioning fails. This is when a fluffy will beckon death by crying, “wan’ die!”, marking the point where grim reality blackens their marketable innocence.
Upon orgasm, fluffies, usually the male participant, will cry out with the phrase “GUD FEEWS”. This signals that the fluffy’s reprodutive organs are delivering the proper neuro-receptive positive feedback response to ensure that fluffies continue to fuck without a care in the world.
For full disclosure, this definition was in fact added after the Roe V Wade decision of 06/24/22. This was not intentional.
The utmost priority of a fluffy owner has got to be litter-training their fluffies, or else they will be cleaning fluffy excrement out of every fabric and crevice in their home.
A fluffy will happily continue playing with its toys in blissful ignorance while poo spills from their behind into disgusting piles.
This is one of those instances where humans and fluffies are not as dissimilar as one would hope.
The parodical, !fictional! bioengineering department of Hasbro. According to the old lore, this entity developed the science behind fluffies in order to capitalize on the My Little Pony craze of - checks notes - 2012. Daggum, that’s a lot of effort to cash in on m e m e s. Don’t ask what year a fluffy story takes place in, either. Headcanon it.
The spelling of this concept may be just as variable as fluffies themselves to be frank. It’s a very simple concept too: it’s just the home of a domestic fluffy’s owner. Having a good home is the holy grail of a fluffy pony’s existence.
It’d be a shame if they stumbled down the stairs and fucking died because the owner didn’t lock them in a closet whenever they aren’t directly supervising them. See: “Safe room”.
One would be inclined to think a “howny-pwace” would refer to something else entirely, but no, in this case it’s not a euphemism for a boner. It’s the completely gender neutral term for a unicorn’s horn.
In the place without sunshine and rainbows, past the blackened hearts of man, dwells the insidious. The supernatural lurks in this genre. The macabre and ghoulish haunt the pixels on the screen. Toothy maws smile to bid thee welcome. I am afraid, and hopefully you are as well.
The “hawt-times” are the summer months. For most people, it is that time of year to get out of the house and go on adventures while the losers on the other half of the planet hunker down and bundle up.
Not for fluffies, though. The summer is a time where fluffies lie down and don’t ever get up again because the air is so humid, it saps away their energy until they dehydrate. Summer is a time where a fluffy walking on a sidewalk under the midday sun leads to it suffering third degree burns, complete with melting flesh peeling off of their bodies.
The sound of stupid fluffy blubbering. It does not take a lot to make a fluffy cry. One can fix their expression into one of generic anger, and a fluffy is bound to start sobbing eventually. The sound is the essence of the word “pathetic” distilled into audio, and filtered further into onomatopoeia.
“Huu huu huu, wai bwight-baww come upsies so fast? Fwuffy wan’ sweep moa’! Huu huu huu, nu faiw!”
The genre which emphasizes fluffy nurturing and the enjoyment of silly, light-hearted cuteness. You may not like it but roughly half of the community is here to see fluffies being happy, so please spare us your opinion.
Fluffy hugs. Fluffies think they fix every ailment. Seeing a fluffy trying to mend another bloodied fluffy back to health with a hug that causes even more pain is never not funny.
The fluffy term for injury. Because fluffies are fragile and weak, they are often beset by injuries. Depending on the kind of injury, a fluffy is prone to describe it with an adjective. For example: “buwny huwties” to describe injury from fire or acid.
Another unique example of “hurties” are the heawt-huwties, and “heart-hurties” can be summarized simply as debilitating emotional distress inflicted on a fluffy through psychological duress or through verbal assault, such as being called a doo-doo head.
It is unclear how many fluffy injuries are accidents or inflicted with intentional malice; these numbers may be equal.
Sometimes “owwies” is used instead of “huwties”, but the meaning is the same.
( I )
This is a special subgenre of abuse which amplifies the corporate, predatory capitalism that Hasbio, and the fluffy medium as a whole, presents as parody.
The intent is to be as inhumane, mechanical, and brutal as possible. Fluffies aren’t likely to be little cockney orphan children working the mills and presses here – that’s industrial weirdbox (?) – but they are most definitely the products of sordid enterprise. Conveyor belts, vats, assembly lines, and hopelessness.
Breeding mills: a metaphor for the real life exploitation and suffering of animals.
Food processing: fluffies are abundant, fat, and dumb sources of meat. The day of the dodo dawns again!
Textiles: fluffies don’t need skin! That skin is money!
Pillowing and milk-bags: It’s ugly work. That’s why it’s under this banner.
Extermination: not all extermination stories are industrial abuse, but when the culling becomes automated, efficient, and dare I say: profitable, that’s industrial abuse, alright.
( J )
One does not need to be a master-class artist to contribute to the visual gallery of fluffies, but there has to be a modicum of effort put into the work at the very least.
Jellenheimers are just especially crude attempts at drawing a fluffy. At least, that’s how they began as: amorphous red blobs without manes and tails and solid black dots for eyes. They were funny at first because, well, holy shit; what can a person do but laugh if they saw something so absurd?
But like any good inside joke, once it got out to the influx of new members, them motherfuckers ran it into the ground.
Please do not make jellenheimer OCs. It’s bad enough that we get fluffy and anthro-fluffy OCs.
( L )
Envisioned as biological automatic litter box cleaners, litterpals are miserable fluffies that lack limbs due to the express removal of their limbs, and teeth, due to the express removal of their teeth. They are stuck in a box where they will commence with the ingestion of feces excreted by other, happier fluffies. Because they lack teeth, litterpals cannot harm the fluffies that
shit poo down their throats. At most they can only offer oral sexual favors, whether consensual or not, and lick dirty behinds clean.
The question is “why”. The answer is “yes”.
The staple of fluffy mills that encapsulates the modus operandi of industrial abuse as a whole, the milk-bag is a mare that is pillowed, de-tongued and blinded. This fluffy is hooked up to a feeding tube – that may or may not be pumping extra lactating hormones into her body – and set in front of nursing foals for them to feed.
Milk-bags may be used individually or in a line assembly for efficient distribution of milk and bleak, bleak depression.
The fluff-speak word for milk – “miwkies”. The mammaries of a fluffy mare are thereby called milky-places – “miwky-pwaces”. If this makes you feel uncomfortable, you are in good company.
Typically mares only have two mammaries, much like real horses. However, these two are depicted as being engorged and breast-like, as opposed to teats. If this also makes you uncomfortable, welcome to fluffy community. The feeling rarely goes away.
Mouf-huggies – “mouth-hugs” – are what infantile fuck-hampsters call oral sex. Oral sex for a fluffy is usually forceful throat-rape.
At least it doesn’t last long.
Sometimes a person just wants the energy of ‘The Three Stooges’ but with stupid crayon-hogs that can’t count past four, because they only got four legs. There don’t need to be three fluffies for this; one is ample stupid enough and it’s bound to get itself killed at the end of a moronbox tale.
The fluffy term for “momma” , “mommy” and “mother” all in one. Those of a certain interest may consider defaulting to “mother”. There is no kink shaming on fluffy community; only silent judgment.
Mummah fluffies are recognized as the essential parental figure in most headcanons; these mares nurse foals and teach them the required skills to be good fluffies, whereas the stallions frequently perish or go missing due to a myriad of factors.
Mummah may be used in reference to a fluffy’s biological mother or a female owner. It can be inferred that fluffies are too simple to conceive of the gender spectrum and nonbinary individuals, but some may overlook this quirk of fluffy intelligence for the sake of LGBT+ inclusiveness.
The song that all mother fluffies innately know the lyrics to. Probably because their own mothers sang it to them so many times.
If there is one thing that a fluffy will ever remember in its life, it is the mummah song. Perhaps the act of remembering this one song takes up so much brain-capacity, fluffies don’t have much faculties left for everything else. At any rate, all fluffies can sing variations of the mummah song, due to their connection to it from birth.
Fluffies have no rhythm, so the song is sang atrociously off-key and staccato. It follows variations of, “Mummah wub babbeh, babbeh wub mummah, dwink wotsa miwkies an’ gwo’ big an’ stwong!”
Imagine tens of fluffies singing this god-awful “melody” all at once, at different intervals, overlapping, grating, and on loop until they get tired.
And this is why fluffies are the way they are. It’s still probably better than letting a toddler watch ‘Cocomelon’.
Anything that a fluffy cannot comprehend within the confines of its tiny mind. Unlike the works of Lovecraft, which dare to ponder a realm in which humanity is unwelcome, unfathomably small, and rendered deaf, blind and mute to the truth; a fluffy’s idea of a monster is a vehicle’s engine, regardless of size – “vroom-vroom munsta”. Or a dog – “bawky munsta”. Or a cat – “meow-munsta”. Or a bird – “wingie munsta”. Or an alicorn fluffy – “hornie-wingie munsta” Or a can rattling down the street because of a strong breeze…
Related to what feral fluffies consider their home. Markedly improvised or discovered quarters that they may bed down in. A far cry from their desired “homesies”, but as long as they’re with family, it shouldn’t be too bad.
Oh nuts, it’s raining…
A fluffy is able to start a family. The family is washed away in a flash-flood. These things happen. In the neutralbox genre, the world isn’t just cruel, it is uncaring. However, favor can change from misfortune to blessed serendipity, so at least that poopie babbeh has the chance to find a happy home some day!
A male fluffy’s genitalia. Also known as “no-no stick”, “peepee pwace”, and any other number of euphemisms for penis that one can think of.
Fluffies have a nuanced relationship with the sun. The sun provides fluffies with precious light and warmth, but in the summer, their beloved “bwight-baww” is downright deadly to them. It is no wonder that they’ve taken to calling the moon the “Nu-hawt-baww”: the light that doesn’t burn.
Fluffies, much like people who believe in astrology, are not versed enough to realize that moonlight is just reflected sunlight, and that the seasonal temperature is caused by the planet’s axial tilt.
The generic term for anything that a fluffy may consume as food. This includes the inedible.
Fluffies are stupid, so they will invariably pass over perfectly sufficient vegetation that they can graze on in favor of eating sugary treats and other such unhealthy, processed goods that their already strained stomachs struggle to digest.
Fluffies will pass over perfectly sufficient kibble and other basic fluffy-feeds formulated to work with their bizarre digestive tract, in order to ask for spaghetti, which has noodles that can clump up internally and create fatal complications for them. Because fluffies are stupid.
In some fictions, fluffies propose a moral dilemma about the sanctity of life and how mankind views itself reflected in its creation. Pillowfluffs are the brazen affront to this concept.
Extrapolating on the premise that fluffies are merely advanced toys, a pillowfluff is just a beanie baby with its legs cut off. This way, a pillowfluff owner can tastefully arrange their toy in a couch decoration, or other such display. They can have a companion to watch television with, or just a warm body in their lap to aid in circulation. When finished with the pillowfluff, the owner returns it to the litter box, confident that it won’t get itself hurt like a normal, rambunctious fluffy! Pillowfluffs are happy fluffs!
This should be rather self-explanatory. Fluffy solid/liquid waste. If domesticated, the fluffy or fluffies in question would do well to place their excretions in their designated litter boxes.
Some headcanons pin fluffy value on their coat colors. The more outlandish and rare the colors, the more expensive that fluffy will be. Thus, earth-toned fluffies – read: browns and dark greens – are considered the least favorably by man and fluffy alike, and mares will force the young to sleep amongst waste since they resemble feces in color, in addition to consuming it. This way, their milk reserves can be spent on more appealing foals.
Variations on this headcanon treat the poopie babbeh as an allegory for deeply rooted racism. This may be a stretch, but this is a perfectly valid outlook and that is okay.
Others believe that this behavior was ingrained in fluffies on a genetic and instinctual level as a way for Hasbio to increase its profit margins, by ensuring only the best color expressions survived to market.
Some vehemently reject the idea of a poopie babbeh and go out of their way to create content to vindicate mistreated foals and fluffies. While they are in their right to do so, these people are missing the
The anus of a fluffy, the “poopie-pwace”. There isn’t much more to say about this topic. Fluffy sphincters are popular targets for abuse because of fluffies’ association with defecation. It isn’t surprising to find fluffies abusing each other’s rectums, either.
What a bunch of assholes.
Fluffies have manners. They say “please”. Being polite and innocent can be their greatest aid, or horrible undoing. It’s almost a fifty-fifty split.
Bad things happen to good fluffies. This premise is the basis of many fluffy stories, but only the sadbox genre ramps up the tragedy of this fact. Watch as fluffies push with the entirety of their tiny mights against the lever which stays the cogs in the machine. Watch, and weep, as they fail to budge it.
Given the fluffy propensity for mortality, the idea came about to give them a space in the household where it would be nigh impossible for a dumbass fluffy to kill itself! The walls are padded, but they have to be pink and smell nice, or the fluffy will get sad, and probably develop some complication related to being sad. Like an even lamer version of Padmé dying from heartbreak. There probably shouldn’t be toys left unattended in it, because that may also put a fluffy at risk.
Which is something we have to take into consideration with a baby’s crib, so that’s actually somewhat reasonable.
Still, that’s a whole room of your house left to a fluffy and its shitter box. You… did give it a litter box… right?
Fluffies are called shitrats, but they squeal like pigs. Isn’t that something?
This screeching wail is the universal sign of extreme fluffy distress. The fluffy is either terrified for its life, has incurred some degree of injury ranging from the laughably minor to sickeningly gruesome, or any combination of the aforementioned.
A fluffy fear response. Fluffies have limited bowel and bladder control at the best of times. Frighten them, and you’ll be astonished at how much waste they can spray from their rectums and urethras at a given time. This is why the practice of anally corking and catheter tubing fluffies is essential for handling them.
Shitrat is a deragatory term for a fluffy. It is derived from fluffies’ tendency to defecate erratically at the slightest provocation, and the squeaking that their “chirpy babies” make. Being called this tends to inflict great emotional damage to fluffies. Ergo, a fluffy being named “Shitrat” is never not hysterical.
Spaghetti, but in practice, fluffy crack.
Hasbio was built on a 4chan meme in 2012, but spaghetti is an even older creed. What does Eminem have in common with the common anon of an image board?
They both can’t hold their spaghetti. And boy howdy, every time there’s some community shitshow brewing, it always smells like marinara. It’s the damnedest thing until the noodles start falling out of everyone’s pockets.
Never any meatballs, though.
Fluffies can’t get enough of the stuff. Some subscribe to the reasoning that fluffies love spaghetti because Hasbio scientists programmed this trait into them. This way, they would always be dependent on humans to supply their drug fix, since fluffies lack any of the attributes required to make pasta.
Hugboxers feed fluffies their sketties and abusers deny them of their coveted pasta. Sometimes weirdbox and horrorbox dabble with fluffies made of pasta but I’m sure they taste like shit.
Someone decided that fluffies have an afterlife. They went further as to decide they have a heaven in this afterlife. Of course fluffy heaven is nothing but spaghetti and other fluffies. Whether you uphold Skettiland or not doesn’t matter, as like with all faiths, all you need is one preacher to continuously prattle on about it and never let it be completely forgotten.
Shout out to Oculus for no particular reason.
Fluffies are believed to intrinsically follow herd mentality when they form social groups. Following this logic, fluffy society is shown as having a set hierarchy with the topmost position in a herd being the “smarty”.
A smarty can be a thinly veiled allegory for the corruption of an individual given power, the corruption of government, or a political figure that the creator is personally opposed to. Any portrayals of cloaked fluffies wielding scythes are purely coincidental in their resemblance to a certain staff member.
Smarties are often thoroughly incompetent leaders and must bully their way to authority, Lord of the Flies like. Despite this despotic and dictatorial aesthetic, smarties are just as often shown to be selfish cowards who will leave their herd to perish if it guaranteed their continued survival.
Depending on interpretation, a smarty-friend can be an exceptionally wise fluffy with enough sense to compensate for the otherwise braindead members of the herd, much like when one needs to do all the work on a group project in order to turn it in on time.
In the same vein, a smarty-friend rarely has peace in their life, as this fluffy has to constantly manage the bickering of child-minded herdmates while being a child-minded herdmate as well. Any resemblance to staff members is once again coincidental.
In summary, a smarty is a no-good buster bitch. A smarty-friend just wants to get through high school English class and PowerPoint keeps crashing.
If you guessed that a fluffy’s smell-place – “Smeww-pwace” – is its nose, you are qualified to be a fluffy doctor. I diagnose you with the most severe case of ligma imaginable.
Fluffies’ olfactory sense is the only sense that is consistently shown to be not only adequate for such a maladapted creature, but exemplary. Chalk it up to the more piggy aspect of pig-horse shitrat science.
Pheromones are a huge part of fluffy interactions, and some headcanons grant mother fluffies the ability to identify defective foals through smell alone!
Fluff-speak for song. Any song. A fluffy is likely to believe that any sound which repeats any number of times regardless of pattern, or lack thereof, is a song. This is why fluffy music is always terrible, according to headcanons.
The ideal solution for those who cannot stomach hitting their fluffy companions for their misbehavior. Rather than outright assaulting a fluffy for its mistakes, the sorry-box instead exploits the psychological weakness of the incontinent chimeras. A simple cage will force a critically social fluffy into an environment of isolation, even if it can see other fluffies through the bars. Depending on headcanon. If the box is a solid container, the fluffy’s fear of the dark will result in sufficient torment to correct unwanted tendencies.
If lacking a box, enclosing the fluffy in a polygonal shape will be enough to trap it in place for a time-out. Depending on headcanon.
“Sowwy-hoofsies”, along with “sowwy-poopies” are the means in which fluffies deliver righteous retribution to those which provoke their retarded ire, like a bunch of redditors breathing heavily from the exertion of clicking the downvote button repeatedly.
In execution, a sorry-hoofsies session boils down to one fat idiot fluffy flailing its forelimbs at another in a rage. Usually, this is accompanied by a scalding rebuke from the aggressor in which it explains its fluffy motivation for assaulting the other fluffy. Sorry-poopies are inflicted in a similar manner, with the main difference being that the aggressor faces away from the target in order to loose their bowels in an offensive gesture. Offensive in every sense of the word.
Unlike sorry-poopies, sorry-hoofsies tend to be fatal when inflicted upon other fluffies, since fluffies are only lethal to other fluffies, and when driven to violence, their retardation knows no measure or discipline. If the aggravated fluffy is somehow satisfied before killing the receiver of its blows, the unfortunate fluffy is left bloodied, battered and traumatized.
Fluffies suck at singing, so this fluffy is very unlikely to pull a Rhianna in this situation.
An implement used to discipline misbehaving fluffies through striking, or repeated striking. Often depicted as a telescoping baton, with variation. Ideally, in time, the threat of the sorry-stick will be sufficient to ensure the utmost best behavior from a fluffy-friend. All healthy friendships could stand to benefit from the stern lashings of a sorry-stick! Note: Hasbio is not liable for unauthorized use of Hasbio brand sorry-sticks in bedroom activities.
A fluffy’s mate. In most headcanons, a special friend is the holy grail of a fluffy’s existence, second only to foals made with aforementioned special friend. For as sex-crazed as some headcanons portray fluffies as being, the special friend is often a wholesome concept in which fluffies will genuinely love each other before instincts lead them to intercourse.
For this reason, rape is as heinous to fluffies as it is to humans. For this reason, fluffy rape is quite ubiquitous.
A more formal way for a fluffy to request sexual intercourse. While interchangeable with “enfies”, the connotation is that of a loving approach to a fluffy’s partner, as opposed to a smoothed brained, “you want some fuck?”
Fluffies may be dumb, but there’s being dumb with dignity, and then there’s just being gross. You hate to see it.
Special lumps – “'peshaw wumps” – are a male fluffy’s testicles. Since reproduction is a primary motivator for fluffy behavior in some headcanons, these organs are often the subject of cruel and unusual treatment. If you see a certain fox posting, there is likely to be fluffy ball-busting imminent.
Please do not tag her on posts which feature testicle abuse. Rest assured she will find her own way to them.
The phrase that fluffies use to describe a mare’s vagina – “'peshaw pwace”. There is probably a commentary to be made on how stallion penises are called “no-noes” but the testes are “special” but I am definitely not the one to make said commentary.
To splow’ is to “explore”. To be a splowin’ babbeh is to court death.
A splowin’ babbeh is an especially rambunctious newborn fluffy, just beginning to walk on its own or still in the crawling stage. This fluffy will wander off alone and blunder headfirst into danger or pleasure in equal measure.
I suppose that’s the spirit of exploration in its purest expression.
These are the relatively strong fluffies in a herd environment. “Relatively strong”, only for the lack of competition that can physically contend with them. These fluffies tend to be earthies, but as always, there are exceptions to this trend.
Smarties and smarty-friends both rely on ranks of toughies to support their position.
Smarties use them as enforcers of their will and protectors against outside threats. For their loyalty, these toughies bully the other herd members while enjoying the privileges granted to them by the smarty, which allow them to further exploit the herd.
Smarty-friends use toughies to delegate complex tasks and oversee the wellbeing of the herd. These toughies are shepherds for the less capable herd members, and in times of conflict, they will join the smarty-friend in mutual courage. They may die, but they will all die together as friends, defending those they love.
Fluffy entrails, through the eyes of other fluffies. While any sensible person is able to identify bloody fluffy guts as bloody fluffy guts, fluffies see strands of sinuous tissues and organs as a plate of pasta. The blood is sauce!
However, unlike regular sketties, tummy sketties horrify most fluffies, and rightfully so; if one’s tummy sketties are showing, then that fluffy is one-hundred percent fuckeried the fuck up!
Cannibal fluffies go nuts for some warm fluffy guts though. Because they’re cannibals.
Fluffies are naturally optimistic, idealistic, bubbly little
shitheads things. Since they are meant to spread joy, they do not partake in swearing, and their overly cutesy lisp is supposed to endear them to their target audience. Everything they do is meant to maintain a veneer of innocence and glee.
So when a fluffy states that it wants to die, it means that it’s been severely abused to the point of becoming disillusioned and despondant. It not longer cares about living, much less filtering its more somber thoughts. If it has been mentally broken, the fluffy may continuously repeat its desire to die in a loop. This is known as the “wan’ die loop”. Once in this state, the fluffy will stop caring about its bodily needs and become lethargically consigned to its end.
Water. The shadow of death incarnate in the oversize eyes of a fluffy, yet even worse still. Worse than the dark shadow of doom, because water is wet. Water is so ingrained as the bane of fluffy existence because it was among the first commonly accepted aspects of fluffy lore. Taken to the ridiculous extreme, a fluffy may drown after acknowledging the proximity of liquid water to itself, without ever being submerged.
Fluffy pony drowns
The genre for the random, bizarre and inexplicable nature of fluffies. This is for people who embrace the idea that fluffies are so stupid, they are able to break reality on a whim without realizing it. This is also where most fluffy parodies of other media end up under as well. Bazinga.
Use of “Bazinga” was completely ironic. ‘The Big Bang Theory’ is garbage.
At first glance one may think “licky-clean” is a wholesome term. It may bring to mind the visual of a cat on its back, running its tongue along its body, or grooming another cat while purring.
I hate to be the one to remind you that we are dealing with filthy fucking pig-horses.
Fluffies spray feces. Fluffies lick up the feces. The same fluffy cleans up its mess, or another fluffy does out of compulsion of fear, or a compulsion of responsibility. This is how bad-poopies are dealt with on a fluffy level; fear of punishment, or instinct to clean up after the foals.
It’s not enough to wipe up the filth with their tongues, though. They still need to clean the source. With their tongues.
Fluffies will complain about the taste regardless because they are idiotic.
Pegasi wings. But of course!
The litter box. The only thing standing between a fluffy and punishment a lot of the time. The rest of times, it is the fluffy’s own negligence or refusal that gets them the sorry-stick.
Literally translated, this word means “worstest”. It sounds stupid because it’s a fluffy word. While the word is supposed to represent the absolute most undesirable of all things, IE: “the worst ever”, fluffies don’t have the conceptual permeance to judge how terrible something actually is. A paper cut and an amputated limb are equal in how “worstest” they are in a fluffy’s mind.
Love. The thing that fluffies live for. This is not a figure of speech, either. Fluffies are for “huggies an’ wub”. The notion that the world would ever reject them is unfathomable to fluffies.
But fluffies are quite stupid, aren’t they?
Meta Terminology Of Fluffy Community
The lore, logic, or both, pertaining to one’s personal perspectives and preferences. In the case of fluffies, the traits and history that one subscribes to, as opposed to concepts that one rejects. Tends to be misconstrued as an excuse to create an offshoot setting that so happens to include fluffies by tangent.
Since the time before myself, (H83R c.2020) the community has had different ideas on how fluffies should behave. As far as I could gauge, this has always been a good thing. Variety is a good thing.
Except for a period of time that I did not experience: the time of the hellgremlin. From what I gather, this was a trend of portraying the most heinous of fluffy characterizations. Selfishness, cowardice, cruelty, sin; if there ever was a vice against the spirit of man, fluffies embodied it like a biblical plague.
To attack the heart of this matter: “hellgremlin” is an obsolete term and its use should be discouraged. The reason is simple: it is time to move on, and grow up.
The toxicity that killed the previous iterations of the following has been shed, but in the bare soil left in its place, a crippling immaturity has taken root. And it nearly snuffed out fluffy community… yet again.
Some cling to their dislike of badly behaving fluffies because of the past. They are welcome to dwell on past events. What they absolutely have no bearing on is how the community continues onwards.
If new and old creators alike want their fluffies to be horrible monsters, then that is their headcanon. That is it; there is no such things as hellgremlins anymore. If you, an audience member, take umbrage to it, move on.
Blacklist the creator if you feel so inclined.
Don’t demand them to change their art, or for their content to be put behind an arbitrary fence because of some kneejerk emotion.
If I had acted on the impulses of my emotional responses to this community, I would have turned my back on it more than a year ago.
This is fluffy community, but we are not fluffies. Stop expecting to be coddled here. We want to be cordial; we will not walk on eggshells.
The commonly accepted lore and logic of fluffies. For instance, most users agree on Hasbio creating fluffies for sale, with a security breach releasing imperfect products into the world that suffer from the drawbacks listed under the fluffy entry in this glossary. These details are usually broad-strokes storytelling, with the specific details of the narrative leading to divergent headcanons.
IE: Some hold onto the lore that PETA raided the Hasbio lab. Some use another entity, or a completely fictional faction.
There have been instances of creators attempting to push their headcanons towards becoming herdcanon by taking every opportunity to share them on posts that are completely unrelated to such discussions. Please do not do this, for it is obnoxious and annoying.
Indonesian national tournament
Young kid, right? Had to be like 14 maximum. One day during a Saturday Fluffcast he was commenting about how much it sucked living in squalor like he did in the chat. He also commented on his autism. And how when he jerked off, he’d just clean himself up with his bed sheets and they never really got washed all that much. He commented on how some of it would flake off as hard, sharp and pointy bits that he could use as throwing stars. Which lead to us joking about how Indonesian Autism is actually a secret martial art, and how he was training for the national tournament.
- General Lemon
LMFAO how repulsive.
Original characters, abbreviated to “OCs”, are reoccurring creations from artists and writers that circulate throughout their respective communities. While made in good fun, there are those that take OCs past their reasonable place in order to shoehorn them into prominence in the following. This is usually met with ridicule of the character and the creator responsible.
In regards to fluffies, OCs rarely contribute anything to the mythos besides gimmicky designs in artwork, so they are viewed with a negative lens overall. There are exceptions that are used as vessels to explore the world in which fluffies exist, but it is much more frequent to see creators make OCs for settings completely divorced from any canon.
Rule of thumb: fluffies should be the framework of a narrative, not a set piece or a backdrop of a different story. The characters should be devices which delve into themes and concepts within the fiction, the fiction should not be used to create characters.
TL;DR, oh look, it’s another green fluffy. How wonderful.
What comes to mind when one encounters the term “role-playing” can be a psychological indicator. There are the people whose minds go to ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ and 'World of Warcraft '; and then you have those who imagine inappropriate student-teacher, patient-doctor/nurse relations in the bedroom.
Regardless of which side of the fence one finds their self, RPing is usually an acquired taste for expressing one’s creativity with others in jolly cooperation.
And that’s all a bunch of happy bullshit that doesn’t need to happen on Fluffy Community threads, you fucking weirdos. Since internet RP’ers disproportionately tend to be a bunch of basement dwelling weebs, I will address y’all in the language you prefer: baka chūnibyō.
The concerted effort to incite controversy or generally derail topics. Even though there’s a category dedicated to nothing but shitposting and personal updates, many threads find themselves spiraling into shitpost territory if the subject rustles enough jimmies.
Sometimes shitposting is just lighthearted fun.
Now let me tell you here, if it weren’t for all these fat American morons in the community bringing their politics into how they want policy made on this site, we wouldn’t have so many problems. What can you expect from a bunch of gun toting smoothbrains that want to fill classrooms with lead instead of books. Americans, man.
Hey, calm down. I’m half-American.
I hate Mexicans just like everyone else.
THIS IS FOR COMEDIC EFFECT IT SHOULD BE OBVIOUS BUT ONE CAN’T TAKE ANYTHING FOR GRANTED WITH YOU PEOPLE
I personally prefer the term “butt buddy”, but perhaps that phrase is too emotionally charged for a community like this. That does not change the fact that being a white knight is still pretty fucking
happy. What is being a white knight? Aside from being insufferable, to be a white knight is to jump to the aid of someone embattled in a disagreement without prompting or justifiable cause. That person may even be the one in the wrong, but a white knight will defend them anyway… for reasons. Retarded reasons.
In regards to a fluffy, there’s always going to be people who see the crying, hurt imaginary creature and take it upon themselves to defend it from further harm… despite it being imaginary. These people will be disagreeable in the comments or make wish fulfillment content in which the poor fluffy gets away from the mean abusers, or what have you.
The easiest way to repel a white knight is to remind them how their internet gallantry is not going to get them laid.