(I’ll likely revisit my unfinished stories in the future. In the meantime, peep this shit.)
Tap! Tap! Tap!
It was one of those nights again.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
“Fucking come on…”
A rather disgruntled man trundled over towards the front door of his home. It was a rather nice night outside. There was a cacophony of bugs chirping and squeaking, which the man had grown to slightly appreciate. It provided a nice level of white noise.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
He could recognize that sound from anywhere. The sound of soft leathery hooves tapping against his front door. The man would open the storm door, and then gently pushed the front door outward. As much fun as it was to just swing the door open and pulverize their little face, the man just couldn’t do with the incessant crying and screaming that would follow, especially if said creature was a mother, or was not otherwise alone. While he had gotten some good results with them in the past, it usually took a lot of time and effort.
“Oof!”
A low, soft voice squeaked. He hadn’t opened it too hard. The man turned on his porch light, and squat down to get a better look at what itinerant little fluffy had made its way onto his porch that fine evening. Whatever it was, it was slowly making its way out from behind the door. It sounded alone, leaving the man feeling a sense of relief. Eventually, it made its way to the doorway with their eyes meeting at last. The man was met by the sight of a rather filthy looking fluffy; a unicorn with a seaweed green coat that was matted down with a sandy yellow mane that likewise looked matted and filthy.
“D-Dummeh m-mi-misdew! Am smawdy! G-Gib smawdy nubbies nao!”
The man raised his brow as he noticed something out of the ordinary with this fluffy. He sounded like he had some kind of head-cold, and his face looked exceptionally swollen. As if he had kissed a bee directly on its stinger. He could barely hold back his laughter. “W-What? Are you serious?” he asked, standing back up. The sudden movement would cause the fluffy to hop backwards slightly, his cheeks puffed out. For added emphasis, he stomped his hoof against the cold concrete porch. “Oow! Owchie, owchie…” it muttered to itself, as it uneasily lowered its leg back down. He seemed hesitant to put any extra weight or stress, leading the man to believe that its leg was injured. Not from the porch, but from someplace else.
“You want food?”
For a moment the façade slipped, and the fluffy nodded his head. “Y-Yesh! Fwubby wund’ nubbies, pwea—” its eyes widened as it realized this, which served to fluster it further. “Nnnnh! Shaddap, dubbeh!” The man rolled his eyes. “You’re no smarty.” The man said, reaching out to grab the fluffy by the scruff of its neck. “W-Weggo! N-Nu wike bad ubsies!” the so-called smarty protested, its ears pinned to the side of its head. He was afraid. “If you say please, I might give you something to eat, and help make you feel better.” The man said, as the fluffy went limp. Fortunately, he hadn’t yet quite pissed and shat himself but that could easily change. “B-Buh fwubby amb’ smawdy! S-Smawdy nu hab tu say pwease!”
The man rolled his eyes, and with his other hand delivered a flick to the fluffy’s forehead. “Eeep! N-Nu gib huwdies…” the fluffy sniffled. The light reflected quite nicely off of the snot leaking from his nose as well as the tears dripping from his eyes. The gears in his mind began to turn, turn, turn some more…until finally, he began to swing himself in his grasp. “…Fwubby say pwease, nice bistuh be nyu daddeh?” he asked, his hoarse voice becoming hopeful. He almost seemed happy that he didn’t have to pretend anymore.
“Hmm…sure. If that’s what you really want.”
The fluffy’s eyes widened, swollen mouth agape. “W-Weawwy?! F-Fwubby hab’ nyu’ howsie?!” the fluffy squealed, as the man placed his hand under his back, and released his neck. “Yeah. Sure, pal. But first, we need to get you cleaned up. Maybe see about doing something about that bee sting or something…” the man said, as he hit the porch lightswitch with his arm, and pulled the door shut with his free hand. “Daddeh gon’ make fwubby cwean an’ pwetty?” the fluffy asked, as they made their way to the other end of the house; specifically, into the bathroom.
The bathroom was quite spacious. In the corner was a large wooden cabinet, and infront of it was a large table. Buckles and straps adorned the corners, though the fluffy could not parse their purpose or use. His nose wrinkled though at the strong smell of antiseptic. “Smeww ickie in hewe!” the fluffy chirped, as the man laid him down onto his belly, splaying his legs out. He was for the most part silent, only affording his new little fluffy toy ‘mmhm’s, ‘yeah’s’ and the like. He dug around in the cabinet for a few moments, before producing little yellow pills. “Swallow these.” The man said, holding them to the fluffy’s muzzle, who then gave them a quick sniff.
“Hmm…dis nu amb’ nubbies…awe dey?”
The man let out a soft sigh. “They’re going to help you feel better. I know you hurt yourself out there somehow.” He said, as he felt the fluffy’s tongue against his palm scooping the pills up. “Ooh! Fwuffy wook fow nubbies, buh buzz buzz munstahs gib fwubby huwties…” he said, shivering slightly. It seemed like a distressing memory for him, as he brought his little hooves to his face. “I see. You got off pretty easy, all things considered.” He said, as he looked at the fluffy’s injured leg. It seemed bruised. “Hehe! Fwubfy am’ fast! In ow’ hewd, fwubfy nubmie findew. Fwubfy onwy ge’ widdew huwties dis time.” he said, proudly puffing out its chest. It sounded like the swelling was going down, at least.
“You’re going to need a name. I think I’ll call you Sting.”
The fluffy now known as Sting’s eyes widened. He had never been given a name before! “W-Weawwy?! Sting WUB nyu nambesie! Fank yu, daddeh!” he cheered, writhing in what only the man could imagine to be some sort of celebratory dance. The man took a sidestep towards the mirror and sink. The reflection was that of a rather rotund and exhausted looking middle-aged man; his eyes sunken in combined with his frizzy hair grew outward, giving him the appearance of a withering old clown. The sink did not match the general décor of the bathroom, as it was far more industrial in design.
“Hop in. You’re filthy.”
Sting would stick his rump in the air, flitting his tail and stretching himself and his legs as if he were a cat. “Huuh? Sting nu wook pwetty?” he squeaked quizzically, cocking his head. “That’s right. Now, I’m going to clean you. Come on.” The man said, lifting Sting up. The almost closed, box-like nature of the industrial sink caused feelings of anxiety to creep into his mind, from where he did not know. “B-Buh…b-uh…d-daddeh…” Sting squealed, as he vainly struggled in his new master’s grasp. “S-Sting am gud fwuffy! Nu wan’ go in da sowwy boxie!”he cried, but it was for naught. The man was beginning to grow somewhat irritated, and so quickly thrust Sting inside. As he was surrounded by his dim reflections in the metal, Sting buried his face into his hooves.
“D-Daddeh! Pwease! Sting nu wike dis!”
Silently now, the man slowly turned the faucet. He turned it just right, for he knew just how sensitive fluffies were to the temperature. Sting’s eyes widened in terror as he scampered and pushed himself into the sink’s corner. “HUUHUU! NU WIKE DIS WAWA! PWEASE, HEWP STING!” he sobbed, as an especially watery discharge of shit squirted from his ass. The man shook his head slightly and pulled his stained t-shirt up and over his nose. “It’s good water. Trust me.” He said, as he grabbed Sting, and held him under the faucet. “NUUU! NUUUUUU!” Sting protested; his eyes shut fast. His little fluffy heart was thundering in his chest now. It was almost too m…ahhh…
“Oooh….”
Sting was left silent. The mildly warm water gently cascaded down his head and back, thoroughly soaking him. It felt as though he was being wrapped in a gentle, wet embrace. The wave of terror and anxiety that had washed over his fragile little mind receded just as quickly as it came. “See? Not bad, right?” the man asked, as he gently lowered Sting onto the sink proper, where he layed down on his belly. “Mmm…Sting wub wawm wawa huggies…” he sighed, as the man reached for a small pink bottle. On the front was a joyous blue fluffy hugging an equally enthusiastic soap bubble. He flicked the cap open and squirted some onto his hand and began to gently massage the shampoo into Sting’s fetid pelt.
“Sting wub dis…wub yu, daddeh…”
This was perhaps the best thing to ever have happened in the fluffy’s brief life; by the man’s estimation the emaciated unicorn was likely either a colt or a very young stallion. Brackish water began to run off his thin little frame as the man then began to slowly rotate him onto his back. “Ooh! Ooooh….” Sting cooed, wiggling his back as the perfectly warm water drenched his belly. Soon, the fluffy’s coat went from an ugly seaweed green to a very pleasing forest green; his mane a nice cream color. The man would let him enjoy the warm water for a few moments more, before walking towards a closet to retrieve a freshly laundered towel.
“Bath time’s over, buddy.”
With that, the faucet was turned off, and the man deftly scooped and swaddled Sting in a nice, trained motion. Sting couldn’t be more happy—he cooed and babbled with delight as his face stuck out of his warm cocoon. “Look at that. Like a little baby.” The man said, as he carried Sting away. “Nu!” Sting protested, shaking his head slightly. “Nu am babbeh! Sting am big fwuffy!” he protested, until finally they made their way into the kitchen. His pupils dilated as he realized where he had been taken to. He felt a gentle tingle on his brain from his horn as he laid eyes upon the various foodstuffs that were lazily strewn around the kitchen. He hadn’t seen them before, but he knew one thing was for certain: they were ‘nummies’!
“Ooh! Sting am suuu hungwy! Suuuu hungies!”
Sting was perhaps laying it on a little thick, but the man seemed not to care. He would gently deposit the swaddled fluffy onto the floor, letting the damp little creature out of its cuddly cocoon. He was still damp, but it didn’t seem to bother him all that much. The man clicked his tongue. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to cook and didn’t want him to go nuts over spaghetti. He walked over towards the fridge and dug around, grabbing a half-empty milk gallon, and blindly reached to the top of the fridge, grabbing some cereal. “It’s a bit late for me to be cooking, so, have this.” He huffed slightly, as it was his favorite. Count Fluffula! It was his last box, and any amount was too good to share.
“Huwwy, daddeh! Sting hab wowstest tummy owchies ebah! Pweeeaaasee….”
The man rolled his eyes and acquiesced, pouring the two together in a bowl and sat it down at the fluffy’s feet. Almost immediately, Sting piggishly shoved his face into the bowl and began loudly chewing, smacking his lips, and slurping. “Mmmm! Sweedie nummesh!” he mumbled, as the man looked on. Eventually, the bowl emptied and was accompanied by a soft belch from Sting. “Hehe! Bestes’ sweetie nummies gib biggest buwpies!” he said, almost proud. As the man picked the bowl up and placed it on a stack of dishes already present in the sink, Sting waddled on over to his ‘nyu daddeh’. “Umm…daddeh…” Sting began, a bit nervously. “Yeah?” the man dryly replied, as he began washing the bowl.
“Wewe Sting gu fow’ make gud’ poopies an’ peepees?”
The man didn’t bother to look up from what he was doing. “Down the hall from here. Door with the rainbow on it.” He said, as Sting gave a nod and trotted off. “Hehehe! Sting suuu wucky! Hab bestes’ nyu daddeh ebah! Hope ow’ hewd ge’ nummed by munstahs…” he muttered to himself, as he wandered down the hall. He would soon find the door with the rainbow on it, but…there was something else that had caught his eye. A large door that had been cracked ever so slightly. The fluffy stared blankly at it for a moment before the curiosity welled deep within him. “Hmm…wat dis?” he thought to himself, trying to wedge his leg between the door crack. The door was far too heavy for him to move alone, but he could at least stick his head in.
“H-Hewwo…?”
The room was dark, but he could hear movement. Soft movement. Muffled cries. “HWWWWP!” “HWWWWP!” was all Sting heard before he felt a chill run down his spine, driving him to quickly pull his head out. Those muffled noises sounded awfully like another fluffy. If it were physically possible, Sting would have broken out into a cold sweat then and there. On shaky legs, he made his way down to the next door, which had a rainbow on it. Unlike the other door, this door had a Fluffy Flap ™ installed, allowing him easy access inside. Once inside, Sting’s jaw dropped. The room was painted in a dazzling array of colors, the sight of which made him forget all about the scary things he had heard—or thought he had heard, at any rate.
“Oooh! Bwockies! Baww! Stuffy fwen!”
Sting had only heard stories from his former herd members, the ones that were strays or abandoned, about the various luxuries they had been afforded in their past lives. “Heehee! Toysies aww’ fo’ Sting~!” he squealed, before making his way over to the litterbox. Even the littersand inside was colored. It felt so very nice for Sting to relieve himself somewhere so…calm. It was a very happy place for him. As he did his business, his attention was drawn to the large toy chest on the opposite side of the room. His eyes lit up as his mind rushed with possibilities. What else could be in there? He couldn’t wait to find out. But little did he know, under the gap between the floor and the toychest’s curved bottom, a pair of eyes was watching him. Anxiously.