Tummeh Babbehs, by Swindle

You’re a fluffy mare with red fluff and pink mane and tail. You don’t have a name, because you’re a feral, but you’re going to be a mummah soon, and that makes everything better. You’re too big to move now, but the smarty has Daisy, a dummy mare who recently joined the herd, tend to your needs; she helps you move around, she brings you nummies, and she helps you not make bad poopies in the safe place. She’s a dummy though, obsessed with babies even though she doesn’t have any of her own, and she irritates you with her constant babble about babies. Even for a fluffy mummeh whose life revolves around her babies, Daisy annoys you by talking about babies. All. The. Time. So sometimes you deliberately make bad poopies in the safe place, just to make her shut up while she cleans it up. It doesn’t work; she just switches from chattering about babies to complaining about “nu smeww pwetty” and “nu taste pwetty”, and as soon as she’s done, she goes right back to babies. But making her clean up poopies does give you a certain satisfaction.

In fact, you think you’ve got to make poopies now. Big poopies. You start to grin; you won’t say anything and you’ll make bad poopies so she has to clean the safe place up. You need to make big poopies. Really big poopies. The biggest poopies!

“BIGGES POOPIES!”

Daisy, an experienced midwife by now, scrambles around behind you.

“Babbehs cummin! Babbehs cummin! Yaaay!”

Babies? Oh! The dummy’s right, you’re not making poopies, your babies are here! It hurts, but you squeeze and push with all your might. You feel something slide out of you and plop to the ground. Then another. Then another. And another. Finally, you’ve shrunk most of the way back to your normal size and no more babies seem to be forthcoming. You pant with exhaustion, too tired to turn around and clean your babies. Fortunately, Daisy is good at that; you can hear her cooing to your babies, who have begun chirping now that they’re being licked clean.

“Babbehs? Wan see babbehs!”

“Hewe babbehs! Dey aww gud babbehs! Pwetty babbehs!”

She brings them up to you one at a time, and you bask in the sight of your adorable little chirpy babies. One red filly, like you, a greenish-blue filly like your special friend, and an orange colt. You’re tired, but you’re so proud too.

“Hewwo, babbehs! Am yu mummah!”

“Chirp! Chirp! Cheeeeep! Chirp!”

“Hewe babbehs, haf mummah miwkies! Gwow up big an stwong!”

You roll onto your side and place your little fillies at your milky places, clutching your colt between your hooves and setting him in the fluff on your chest; you’ll let him have miwkies after his sisters finish. He peeps and wiggles his head around blindly, searching for miwkies. You coo and sing to your babies.

You notice Daisy sitting nearby, looking inordinately pleased with herself and staring at your babies. It annoys you.

“Why dummeh mawe sittin dewe? Gu fine nummies so mummah make gud miwkies fow babbehs!”

Daisy crawls out of the safe place; before she returns with nummies, the smarty and the rest of the herd arrive and they all want to see your babies. The smarty declares all three of your babies to be good babies, and your special friend helps swap out the colt and one of your fillies, who has finished drinking her miwkies and is now burping contentedly in your belly fluff.

This is the happiest day of your life.

You’re Gwassies, a pretty green mare. You’re gonna be a mummah soon! One of the other mares in the herd had her babies a week ago. This is your first time, so you’re a little nervous. But it’s ok, you have Daisy attending you, making sure you get good nummies and don’t make bad poopies in the safe place. You try not to make bad poopies, because she works soooo hard making sure all your needs are met, but sometimes it happens anyway. Daisy is nice, but her constant chattering about babies is getting on your nerves; and you’re gonna be a mummah! Babies are all you think about!

Uh-oh. You need to make poopies. You hope you have time for Daisy to roll you out of the safe place, you don’t want to make her have to clean up your mess again.

“GWASSIES HAF BIGGES POOPIES!”

Daisy immediately scrambles to get behind you, babbling excitedly. You’re so frantic to not make bad poopies that it takes you a second to realize that Daisy isn’t just chattering about babies like usual, she’s telling you your babies are coming. Your babies are coming!

Your tummeh and special place hurt, but you squeeze and you squeeze and you squeeeeeeeze and you feel something slide out and plop onto the ground. You can hear Daisy cooing and making licky sounds as she begins to clean your baby. Then your tummeh hurts again and you squeeze, it’s easier this time, and you feel something else slide out and plop on the ground.

Exhausted from the strain, you slowly turn yourself around and see Daisy holding a tiny, chirpy baby in her hooves, beaming at you with a goofy expression of purest pleasure. Her face and the ground are covered in yicky stuff, but the baby is clean now.

“Wook, babbeh!”

You take your baby from her, holding it carefully between your front hooves. Greyish-brown, just like your special friend, with just a hint of green at the mane and stubby tail. She’s going to be so pretty when she gets older! You sniff and you immediately know this is a good baby. She chirps for the first time, and you set her on your miwkie pwace.

“Hewwo, pwetty babbeh! Am yu mummah! Haf miwkies!”

One of the herd stallions sticks his head in, sees you’ve had your baby, and says he’s going to fetch the smarty and the rest of the herd to come see the new baby. You’re tired and don’t really want all the fuss, but you’re also proud and want to show off your baby.

You notice Daisy sitting nearby, rubbing her tummy and looking very happy herself. Normally seeing another fluffy so happy would make you happy too, but something just strikes you as… off. Slightly creeped out, you turn away from Daisy so you don’t have to look at her, and start singing to your baby. At least she’s stopped chattering about babies for now.

You’re Daisy, a grey fluffy mare with yellow mane and tail. Daddy was a meany, so you ran away from home.

You wanted babies soooooo badly, and asked daddy when you could have babies every day. But daddy didn’t give you babies, he was just mean. Every day, he told you that you couldn’t have babies. Then he told you you were fixed; that was stupid. You’d never been broken, so what was fixed? You kept hoping that maybe being fixed meant you could have babies now, but the next day when you asked, daddy told you no. Daddy was such a dummy.

Daddy kept telling you that you couldn’t have babies, and you wanted babies more than ANYTHING, so you ran away from home.

You wandered for days and had the biggest tummeh owies, but then you found this herd of ferals and they took you in. They taught you so many things; you didn’t know you could eat grassies! You wouldn’t have had tummeh owies if you’d known.

You wanted babies so badly, you kept asking for them every day, just like you had asked your meany, dummy daddy. At first, the smarty kept telling you that now was not a good time for babies, because it was going to be cold soon, and you thought he was a meany, but finally you asked him enough times that he relented and said you could have special huggies, “jus shaddup 'bout babbehs!”

One of the stallions gave you special huggies, and it made you so happy! You were going to have babies! But your babies never came. You got special huggies from all the herd stallions, even the smarty, and you never had babies. The warm times came back and the other mares started having babies, but you never did. You cried about how unfair it was; all you wanted was babies, and everyone got babies but you!

Eventually, you realized what the problem was: the smarty still wasn’t letting you have babies! He was a meany, just like your daddy, but he was tricky! He had the stallions give you special huggies, but none of them put tummeh babies inside you! How could you have babies if none of the stallions would put tummeh babies in your tummeh?

Then, you had an idea. What if YOU put tummeh babies in your tummeh? Then you would have tummeh babies, then biggest poopies, then babies! It was the perfect plan. But… where would you find tummeh babies?

The smarty’s special friend shouted “BIGGES POOPIES!” and you raced over to help. Smarty was sick of hearing you talk about babies and figured if you helped other mares with their babies, you’d shut up. Dummy smarty! You wiggle behind his special friend as she starts squeezing out babies.

One, two. Another one. Two. Two and two. That’s about as high as you can count. The new mummah pants in exhaustion, trembling in exertion, and mutters about wanting to see her babies, but is too tired to turn around. You help by cleaning the yickies off the babies and they begin to chirp. Hmmm.

Such good, pretty babies. One is blue and has a pointy part on its face like the smarty; that’s a little colt. Two are orange with brown spots like their mummah. But this one- this little filly is a soft pink, almost white, and she’s a wingie baby. She’s clearly the bestest babie, because she’s the prettiest. Jealousy and heart-hurties from not having babies of your own make you start to cry. You wish this was your pretty wingie baby.

Maybe… maybe it could be your baby? You look at the mare craftily, plotting to steal her baby for yourself; she hasn’t seen them yet and doesn’t know how many babies came out. You could steal the prettiest, bestest baby for yourself and she’d never know!

You hold the chirping baby in your front hooves, calculating. It’s a little baby, just born. It’s the closest to a tummeh baby you’ve ever seen. Maybe if you put the baby into your tummeh, it’ll be YOUR tummeh baby and then you can have biggest poopies and a baby of your own!

You have to be very gentle and careful not to hurt your new tummeh baby. Delicately, you fit the chirping baby into your mouth, careful not to bite her, and swallow her whole. You feel the baby, still somewhat slick with yickies, slide down your throat into your tummeh. You can feel her wiggle around inside your tummeh for a while, then she grows still. That must mean she’s happy to be in your tummeh and is having nappies!

You take the three less-pretty babies and give them to their mummah, watching as she gives them miwkies and sings to them. Your tummeh feels so full and warm now that it finally has a baby inside! You’re going to be the bestest mummah!

It isn’t long before another mare has biggest poopies and babies come out. One of the babies is a very bright blue colt, and he’s the prettiest of the bunch. You really want him to be your baby. It isn’t fair for all the other mares to have babies when you have none. You carefully swallow him and feel him wriggle around in your tummeh until he joins his new sister and has nappies; they must like each other. You’re so happy! You give the inferior babies to their mummah and sit and coo to yourself, pleased that you’ll have babies of your own soon. And they’ll all be the prettiest babies too! Once you have biggest poopies and everyone sees what pretty babies you have, they’ll all be sorry they didn’t give you tummeh babies like they were supposed to. Instead of you being jealous of them, all the other mummahs will be jealous that you have the prettiest babies! Smarty will feel like a big dummy when he sees you’ve found his secret and given yourself tummeh babies!

You continue stealing babies and putting them in your tummeh every time another mare has biggest poopies, always taking the best one for yourself. You’re going to have so many babies! And they’ll all be so pretty! Nothing but the bestest babies for you! It’s what you deserve, after the unfairness of so many meanies refusing to let you have babies for so long!

You’re gonna be the bestest mummah.

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Honestly, the idea of a fluffy serial killer is bad enough, but one that’s this delusional is just disturbing.

Although now I’m kinda interested in doing a one-shot story about a fluffy serial killer that actually knows he’s a serial killer and gets off on it…

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Yo bro name in title please. Thank you

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Good catch, thanks.

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Don’t mention it. Also bloody brilliant love it fluffies would be that stupid. Shame she didn’t get caught but I dislike bestest babies so alls well that ends well.

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Read the sequel.

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Damn that mare is soo fucked up thinking she can have babbehs if she “swallow” foals :nauseated_face::scream: ugh!

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God I can imagine her jaw unhinged like a snake when she gets a new " tummy babbeh"

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Serial killer through sheer stupidity. Brilliant story.

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This story would work equally well if daisy was an actual Cannibal fluffy that infiltrated the herd and wormed her way into a position where she could continuously get her fluffy meat fix without anyone noticing. Of course her scheme would be thwarted if any of the fluffy mummahs could count.

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Or if anyone sees a foal before she eats it, like the stallion in the sequel who was confused and distressed because he saw a white foal come out first, but then there was no white foal when he returned and his special friend showed off her babies.

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I noticed in the beginning… “Hey, it mentions her squeezing out four, but then she only has three later!” And then later, when two were born and only one showed up. I was puzzled… And then I got to Daisy’s point of view and remembered the cannibalism tag.

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One of the more disturbing stories Swindle wrote.

Good writing, but a disturbing concept.

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I feel so bad for Daisy even if she is a baby eater…poor gal just wants babies of her own. A lot of human women can relate, sadly enough.

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Simple minds think of simple tricks!

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Title: Tummeh babies.
First tag: Cannibal-fluffy.

Oh shit here we go. I like how the number of foals delivered was conveyed without giving an exact number since it was from a fluffy’s perspective.

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That’s why you explain things to fluffies in childish terms! Although in this case it probably wouldn’t help, since Daisy firmly believes everyone is bad and isn’t letting her have foals.

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Some people are so stupid and/or psychotic that there’s no reasoning with them.

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