Happy Halloween, assholes.
In true Halloween style I’ve decided to gift you all with two stories: one hugbox and cute, the other abusive and dark. This is the abusive one. Enjoy!
Nelson tore open the final bag of individually wrapped candies and dumped it into the large plastic bowl, watching the colorful plastic-like blobs of sugar clatter and rattle into the bowl as the mound of confectionary grew to a small peak.
He smiled at the sight. The ‘treats’ were done, now he just had to finish off the ‘tricks’.
Nelson didn’t like fluffy ponies. They were ugly, they smelled bad, they were loud, they were arrogant, and even when they weren’t, they were still infuriatingly cutesy, and obnoxious about it.
Nelson tried to be a good neighbour, he gave out candy to the kids on Halloween like anyone else. But recently, kids and adults alike had realised something: fluffy poneis could carry candy bags and buckets too, which meant all they had to do was duct-tape a set of plastic horns to their fluffy’s head and it’d mean double the candy for the human, and maybe a few scraps of cheap stuff for their fluffy.
So in recent years, people went around ringing doorbells with a fluffy pony in tow, shrieking ‘TWICK OWE TWEE-EE-EE-EET’ at the top of their lungs before the door even opened.
Nelson hated it. It was bad enough seeing fluffies on the street, but now they were actually at his door too!
So he had decided to do something about it.
He had one bowl of 'treats, which he’d give to the humans and the good fluffies. But the obnoxious ones, the arrogant ones, the misbehaving ones… he had something else to prepare for them.
Two hours later, he was ready and the unofficial start-time for trick-or-treating had begun.
His doorbell rang, and greeted his first two customers, a human boy and girl, a brother and sister from down the street, dressed as an astronaut and a ballerina respectively.
Classic kid’s costumes, couldn’t go wrong with 'em.
Nelson gave them both a generous handful of candy from the ‘treat’ bowl and closed the door.
Then his second customer arrived.
“Wanda!” He greeted brightly. “I didn’t know you had a fluffy pony.”
He pushed the bowl of ‘tricks’ away from the door. He liked Wanda, she didn’t deserve that, no matter what her fluffy got up to.
“Nelson, meet Magic.” Wanda said, gesturing at the cat-costumed fluffy on his doorstep.
“Twicky tweat!” She said brightly. Nelson handed over a small handful of candy, but added a few more bits after he noticed Magic didn’t huff or scream or cry about it. He was starting to like her.
But that good feeling swiftly changed when he saw his next customer.
He opened his door and found a small kid with a bruise on his face dragging along an angry looking fluffy pony with a leash around it’s neck. The fluffy was bright red and, of course, had plastic devil horns attached to it’s head.
How original.
“Trick 'r treat.” The kid spat.
“Wan nummies! Gib candies!” The devil fluffy snarled.
Nelson raised an eyebrow.
“Not having fun, huh?” He asked the kid.
“No.” The kid replied, glumly. “Crimson’s my sister’s fluffy, but she’s sick, so mom said I had to take Crimson out for trick-or-treating, but that’s for babies.”
Nelson figured the kid himself was only seven years old and could hardly call anything ‘for babies’, but ignored it.
“Shaddup dummeh! Cwimson wan tweaties! Yoo, stoopid!” Crimson barked at Nelson. “Gib candy nummies NAO! NAO NAO NAO!!!”
Nelson reached over to his bowl of ‘tricks’ and grabbed a handful, passing them to the boy.
“Well here you go, kiddo. And remember, these are for Crimson, not you, got it?”
The kid looked at him, and Nelson gave him a wink. The kid didn’t know what exactly was going on, but got the hint, and smiled back.
Nelson closed the door, and smiled.
And so the night continued. Sometimes there would be nice fluffies, who got safe ‘treats’, and sometimes there would be bratty fluffies, who were given a handful of ‘tricks’ instead. None of them knew what they were in for, but Nelson liked to think of it as punishing the bad and rewarding the good.
As the hours went on, the night drew to a close, and the candy bowls grew emptier and emptier.
Finally, Nelson faced what he decided was his final customer.
He opened the door and audibly gasped.
What he saw, standing at his doorstep, was a ten year old girl who was worn out and sweating from pulling a red wagon around all night. Inside the wagon was the largest fluffy pony that Nelson had ever seen… and not just in scale, but in fat.
The thing was an absolute whale, it’s legs were completely buried inside it’s many rolls of flab, it’s face was framed on all sides by layers of fat, and it was constantly, constantly wheezing and gasping for breath.
“Tri… trick or-” The girl began, panting for breath, before her fluffy interrupted her.
“DUMMEH… HOOMAN! GIB… GIB TWEATIES… TO BABBEH!!!”
“‘Baby’?” He asked. The girl shot a dark look at the fluffy, but the fluffy shot one right back.
“She’s my mom’s.” The girl said. “Mom can’t have kids anymore, doctor’s said so, so she got Baby instead.”
“BABY… WAN… TWEATIES!!!” Baby howl-wheezed from the cart.
“Mom treats her better than me.” The girl said quietly. “She gets whatever she wants, and I have to help take care of her.”
“SHADDUP! GIB… GIB TWEATIES!!!” Baby screamed again, awkwardly attempting to thrash around in the cart, but to no avail. She was completely immobilised by her obesity, but god knows she wasn’t going to let that stop her from eating.
Nelson grabbed both bowls, seeing there was only a small amount left in each.
“You both got candy bags?” He asked. The girl shook her head, and held out one, a neon pink sack with ‘BABY’ stencilled on it in silver.
Nelson grimaced. Sometimes he hated humans more than fluffy ponies.
“Wait here.” He said. He ducked into his kitchen, grabbed a paper bag and poured the rest of the ‘treat’ candy into it, bringing it back to the door all folded and wrapped up so Baby had no idea what was in it.
“There you go.” He said, handing it to the girl. “And this is for Baby.” He said, brandishing the bowl full of ‘tricks’. He up-ended the bowl into Baby’s already bulging pink sack, and leaned close to the girl.
“If you ever want to get Baby into trouble, let me know. Trust me, your mom will only take so much of her shit before she gives up.”
The girl looked a little confused, but took both bags of candy anyway, stuffing the paper one into her jacket so nobody (meaning her mother) would see it.
And with that, Nelson closed the door, smiling happily to himself over his good, karmic work.
Each of his ‘tricks’ was just a piece of candy, individually wrapped as the others, except he had unwrapped them and dosed them up with a decent sized amount of all-new liquid Fluff-Lax. For humans, Fluff-Lax would, at worst, give them a mild stomach-ace, but ultimately wouldn’t do much more.
In fluffies, however… it was another story.
Fluff-Lax was specially designed to not only work as a laxative, but to also crush and constrict the fluffy pony’s guts to mash their turds down into liquid, ensuring an easy clean-up and disposal afterwards.
That is… if you happened to know your fluffy was due to shit their guts out, and had them somewhere like in a bath or a sink, somewhere with a drain to wash the turds away.
If it was, perhaps, lying in it’s bed, or had it’s back turned to a wall… well, that would be the owner’s problem.
Crimson had been burying his face in his candy, snarling viciously at anyone else if they tried to get near it, when it happened. His guts gave a violent rumble, and his asshole turned into a fountain, painting the television set and most of the wall with stinking brown liquid.
Baby had been sleeping in bed next to ‘her mom’ when it happened to her. She awoke feeling her guts (buried deep inside her flabby body) give an uncomfortable rumble, and 'mom’s sheets soon turned from white to brown.
All over the street, all over the town, obnoxious, bratty, spoiled, arrogant and entitled fluffies felt their insides writhing and squirming as they violently and messily shit themselves, ruining carpets, wallpaper, clothing, even whole items of furniture.
The night was filled with sudden violent farting sounds, screams of horrified disgust, a brief reprieve, and then a chorus of shrieks and wails set to the melodic thumping and whacking of sorry-sticks and sorry-belts.
Nelson went to sleep soundly, content in his knowledge that his work was done, and that it was done well.
