author:BiggMunstah bad_poopies bestest_babbeh carrier dead_foals feral fluffy foals good_babbehs munstah neutering questionable sorry_stick tears trash tummy_hurties


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Last part here. Rewrote most of it because it felt too rushed, so this one is longer than usual. Some parts feel a bit weird still, but I don't know who to write them without making too long. Hope you like.

Part 10/10
The end, and the aftermath

>You’re Anon Anonssen

>You feel shitty after waking up, having been awoken now and then through by the crying of Rosie and her foals, though it seems they have been quiet for the last four hours or so. It’s 07:20 in the morning when you get out of bed.

>First thing you do is walk into the bathroom to make a damage evaluation; once you open the door, turning on only the corridor’s light, you can see Rosie sleeping in the middle of the room, every other part of the floor’s surface covered either in piss or shit.

>Just a moment later, the fluffy mare opens her eyes, full with misery, and says:
>”*Sniiffff*…Nice Mistah,pwease…wed Wosie hab babbehs. Babbehs have saddies ol’ nait, dey hab tummy huwties and saddies. Dey nee’ mummah…huuhuuu…Wosie nu wan babbehs hab fowevah sweepiiiies…huhuhuuuuuuu…”

>As soon as she starts talking, a faint, weak chorus of three foals starts chirping from the plastic container in the sink. You take a small peek at them; they and their nest are covered in shit or piss, again, and you can see that their formerly bulging bellies are now empty and even starting to look kinda emaciated.

>Shit, you think, these little buggers do have a fast metabolism. They’ve gone from full and happy to starving in a matter of nine hours.

>You turn to Rosie again, meeting her desperate, sad gaze with yours, and say:
“Go now to the kitchen and have breakfast. I have to clean the bathroom in the meantime. When you’re done, I’ll give you your babbehs for nursing, but only the time that it takes me have a shower and get ready for work.”

>You look at the fluffy while she’s assimilating the information, and she nods. Then, you continue:
>”I’ll have to go to work soon, so you’ll be alone here again. I’ll let you have your babbehs with you in the bathroom ONLY if you promise to take good care of them” you say, with the group of faint chirping still going on.

>”I’m sure as Hell you have had a terrible night, listening to your babbehs go hungry and scared with you right there, unable to give them milk or comfort. You know why I did that, don’t you?”

>Rosie holds your gaze for a second, then lowers her head while sobbing softly and says:
>”Yus. ‘Cause fwuffy am bad mummah…huhuu…”

>”Yes, a *bad mummah* that killed one of her babies without a true reason; and don’t come back with that *bad babbeh* shit because I swear I’m kick your face if you do” you say, anger in your voice.

>”So” you go on “if you promise me to be a good fluffy and take care of your babbehs while I’m absent, I’ll take them down from the sink and let you have them until I’m back. If once I arrive home I find a single dead foal more, I’ll give your babbies *forever sleepies* and then I’ll give them to you, and I’ll tell your owner that you escaped again. Understood?”

>Rosie nods, fear in her eyes, trembling lips and tears streaming down her face, without adding her own voice to those of her sad, hungry foals.

>”Fine. Now go have something to eat while I clean up the mess you made in here.”

>Turning back, you go back into the kitchen to fetch the mop and bucket, while Rosie waddles in silence towards her bowls, crestfallen and silent.

>It takes you a bit too long, but you’ve finally cleaned the whole bathroom floor, including the discarding of the provisional litter box (at that point completely full of smelly fluffy shit).

>Then, as promised, you take the foals back to Rosie, who starts giving them hugs and licking the filth off their small bodies with anxiety, before putting them by turn in her now half-full crotch tits, from where the little vermin start sucking milk with greed.

>You can see that their bodies are now much more covered in fur than earlier, and that they are starting to show the first stage of fully grown manes and tails.

>Satisfied with how everything’s going so far, you go back into the bathroom to have a shower. After you’re done, you get dressed quickly and get a meager breakfast of instant coffee and some biscuits.

>When you’re ready to go, you order Rosie to go back into the bathroom. She compels, all nice and fast, putting two of her now relieved and full-bellied foals in her back, while carefully holding another in her mouth by the skin in the foal’s nape. You even put a bunch of ancient newspapers on the floor to act as a sort of litter box, and leave the refilled bowls inside just in case she goes hungry or thirsty again.

>”Now remember, Rosie,” you say “if I find another mess in here when I come back, or if I find another dead foal, you and the rest of your foals are going *forever sleepies*.”

>Without waiting for any answer from Rosie, you close the bathroom’s door behind and set off to work.


>You’re Rosie

>The Mistah just left for workies, just like your Mummah used to do, and left you locked inside the bathroom again.

>You’ve had a terrible night; hearing your babbehs go sad and hungry, but unable to reach them from the floor to give them milkies and huggies to make tummy hurties go away, you’ve been crying and wailing.

>It’s been terrible, so terrible that sometimes you even thought you wished to have forever sleepies! The desperate cries of your small, defenseless babbehs still rings in your earsies, so bad it’s been.

>But now that the Mistah gave your babbehs back everything should be fine. They had so big tummy hurties and big, big saddies when he handed the nestie to you that you were afraid they would take forever sleepies no matter what you did, but now that they have given them the bestest milkies you could make with yucky kibble, and the warmest, bestest huggies with your (once again) dirty, nu smell pretty fur, they seem to be happy again.

>Your two Good Babbehs are sucking hungrily from your milkie places again, even if you gave them milkies just a little while back! They’re so hungry, you think, that they will need a lot more of milkies. Luckily, the Mistah left you the bowls with kibble and wawa.

>You’re holding your Bestest Babbeh in your from legs right now, cradling his beautiful body, with his belly now full of milkies again, and singing a soft mummah song to which your prettiest babbeh answers with low, happy chirps and *coooos*.

>”Mummah wuv Bestest Babbeh” you say.

>”Mummah…wuv…” a small voice answers back.

>Wide eyed, and full of surprise and happies, you let go a big gasp. Your Bestest Babbeh said his first words! Even if he still is a chirpy, nu see babbeh! You hug him even tighter, delighting him in your fur’s warmth and comfort.

>Then you start thinking about what the Mistah said in the darkie times; that your Mummah didn’t love your babbehs, and that she wouldn’t take them with you back home.

>Thinking that gives you big saddies and heart hurties, but you’re sure the Mistah was just being a meanie to you; once Mummah sees your precious little babbehs, she will have the biggest heart happies and take you all back home!

>With this thought in mind, you start singing a new mummah song to all your babbehs, to take the last saddies away.

>”Mummah wub baaabbehs, un’ babbehs wub muuuumah. Mummah hab Muuumah, hab housie choooo. Big Mummah wuvs Muuuumah, Big Mummah wub baaaabbehs. Big Mummah wuv fwuuuffies, taek dem ol’ hwooome.”


>You’re Anon Anonssen.

>You’ve just had lunch with your friends, Paul and Anthony, after getting out of work for today. You told them all the shit that had happened to you in the last four days, starting with when the herd invaded your yard and finishing with when you left home this morning.

>Motherfuckers have been a pair of smart-asses over the whole thing with you; they teased you, calling you a hugboxing faggot for not killing Rosie and her foals the second you found them, but that it was kind smart of you to keep them once you told them about the reward and all.

>Once you finished telling them the whole tale, they starting telling you their own experiences with fluffies; how many times they have kicked a stray fluffy that approached them asking for whatever, how many times they have had to deal with smarties, or the number of litters they have simply thrown inside plastic bags and dropped in a trashbin (leaving the mother alive so she would suffer, of course).

>All those stories sound awfully cruel to you, but you’ve starting to consider they have point; fluffies are such awful vermin that spending a single ounce of sympathy with a stray is a waste, and that your course of action since the beginning should have been dropping Rosie at the shelter and be done with it.

>Finding the missing poster was just pure luck. You don’t even consider that event in the overall scheme of all the things that have happened.

>After lunch, you say your goodbyes to your pals, saying you must make haste and go home to meet Rosie’s owner and get rid of the fluffies once and for all.

>On your way home, you send a short text message to Martha, letting her know you’re on your way and you’ll be waiting for her. She answers with a simple “k “.

>You get home and find no new invading fluffies, fortunately. You step in and head for your room, stepping into a fresh, comfy outfit. Then, you walk into the bathroom, and find Rosie placidly sleeping with her three foals piled in her (again) dirty, stinky fur.

>She opens her eyes and looks at your, now more relaxed and no tears in her eyes. She’s even used the improvised “litter box” you left, with barely any piss or shit covering the bathroom. It looks like she just needed a bit of rough hand to stop being a little shit.

>”Hewwo, Mistah” she says in a low voice, trying not to wake up her foals (and failing, since now you can hear the Three Fluffy Troubadours starting to chirp) “Wosie am good mummah, gib miwkies un’ wuv choo aww good babbehs, wike Mistah say.”

>”Ok, nice. Your owner will be coming over soon. I’m leaving the bathroom’s door open so you can walk around a bit, but no poo or pee outside the litter box, and no foals out of the bathroom. Understood?”

>She nods in approval, and lays her head again on the dirty towel she’s been using as bed.

>You walk back outside, into the porch, and sit down at the old wooden bench outside, waiting for Martha to show up.


>You’re Rosie

>You’re so happy right now! This nightmare will be over soon, since your Mummah is coming right now to pick you and your beautiful babbehs to take you all home.

>That Mistah knows nothing, you think. How can he try to deceive you saying that your Mummah doesn’t love your babbehs? Silly Mistah; you’re sure that by now your Mummah must have learned how important babbehs are, and how much will she love your babbehs when she sees them.

>Perceiving your state of mind, your three babbehs start chirping happily, and your Bestest Babbeh even lets some “wuv” and “mummah” out! You’re such a good mummah!


>You’re Anon

>You’ve been waiting for a while, but at last, you see a rather big, white care pulling over next to your plot. A woman comes out from inside, with a pet carrier in her right hand.

>She looks kinda good; long, black hair, with glasses and cute face. She’s wearing a grey sweater and denim pants, which help to show the silhouette of her wide hips as she walks towards you.

>”Anon, I suppose?” she asks.

>Yes. And you must be Martha, then. Pleased to meet you, though I wish it was in other circumstances” you answer.

>”Yeah, guess so. Where’s Rosie,then?”

>”Inside, with her foals. Come in.” you say, standing up and opening the door.


>You’re Rosie, and right now you’re so excited!

>You just heard the housie’s door opening, and your Mummah’s voice!

>You are about to run out of the bathroom and towards her when you realize that your babbehs are still on your back, but the Mistah told you that they can’t go out!
So, carefully, you pick them one by one and leave them on your nestie, then proceed to run out, while shouting:


>You’re Anon again

>Martha and you’ve just walked inside your house when you heard Rosie shouting her lungs out, calling for her, and run as fast as a fluffy can manage towards the door.

>Smiling and wiggling her tail, she sits on her rump just in front of Martha, putting up her front legs and asking for *upsies*, but Martha puts an angry frown and, crossing her arms on her chest (which you just noticed, really; is not that you’ve already started thinking of how must her naked boobs look like), starting to give a serious talk to Rosie.

>”I’m not giving you upsies, Rosie. You’ve been a very bad fluffy! You run from home to get babies, even if I told you not do it! I’ve been worried sick for you, and if this nice man hadn’t found you could have got forever sleepies! Also, look at you! I’m sure he gave you a nice bath, and you’re so dirty already!”

>Rosie puts down her front legs then and, lowering her head, starts saying how sorry she’s, that she didn’t run away but got lost instead, and that she’s very thankful of the Nice Mistah for helping her and her babbehs, and giving her food and water and a nice bath and even a nestie to sleep in.

>Huh, you think, she left all the Bad Babbeh part out, but also how you smacked her with the sorry stick and the night of mental torture you gave her. But knowing her, she’s just afraid you will harm her or her foals if she says something, so she must be waiting to be alone with Martha to spill the beans on you.

>”Anyway” Martha goes on “Get inside the carrier. I have to speak to this nice man alone”

>”Bu’ wha’ happen wid Wosie’s babbehs!?” asks the fluffy, scared “Mummah nu wan’ Wosie’s babbehs!?”.

>Martha doesn’t answer; instead, she gives Rosie a stern look, then points to the carrier.

>”NU!” yells Rosie “ Wosie nu wan movin’ bauxie! Wosie wan babbehs! Mummah hab choo see babbehs, den Wosie knus Mummah wuv Wosie’s pwettiest, BESTEST babbehs evah!”

>Martha lets go a long sigh, and says “Ok, Rosie. Mummah will take a look at your babbehs, but first you must get inside the carrier! Then Mummah will take you to the car and come back for your babbehs, fine?”

>Seemingly satisfied, but doubtful at first, Rosie gets into the carrier. Martha closes it and, produces a pair of one hundred bucks papers and hands them to you, saying she will be back in a moment.


>You’re Rosie

>Mummah is taking you back into the vroom vroom munstah right now. You take advantage of this, knowing that the Mistah can’t hear your, and start telling Mummah everything he did.

>”Mummah! Nice Mistah nu am nice! Mistah gib Wosie sowwy stick ‘cause Wosie gib fowevah sweepies choo Bad Babbeh! Den Mistah wock Wosie in bathies wroom ol’ night, in de darkies, and puts babbehs whewe Wosie nu can get soo babbehs get tummy huwties, scaredies and fowevah sweepies! Bu’ Good Babbehs am Good un’ nu taek fowevah sweepies, so Mistah giv babbehs back choo Wosie un’ Wosie gib babbehs miwkies un’ wuv choo taek tummy huwties un’ scaredies ‘way!

>This takes the whole time your Mummah takes to get from the housie to the vroom vroom munstah, but when you’re done she looks at you, mouth agape, and says.

>”Is that so? Then Mummah is going to give the Mistah a hard talk, Rosie! You’ve convinced me; Mummah will take your babbehs home with you. Just give a moment to give that Mistah a scuffing for being such a meanie to you” says your Mummah.

>Oh, you’re so happy now! Your Mummah has finally seen reason and true; she knows that your babbehs are Good Babbehs! No, the BESTEST BABBEHS, and Mummah is going to rescue them from the Mistah and take them back with you!

>You giggle as your Mummah closes the vroom vroom munstah, then goes back inside.


>You’re Anon

>Martha is coming back inside your home. Once she gets to you, she says:
>”Ok, let’s take a look at the small brats. As I said I’ll take one with me so Rosie stops talking about having babies. I already have an appointment with the veterinary to get her spayed in a couple of days, so no matter how much she demands afterwards.

>”Ok” you answer “this way”, and lead to the bahroom.

>Both of you croch next to the dirty towel containing the three foals, now some three days old. Martha looks at them for a bit, and says.

>”Humm, not bad. I expected them all to be shit colored foals, since their the offspring of a shitrat smarty. You said the smarty had some pretty decent colors, red and orange with a yellow mane, yet none of these have those colors.

>”Oh right” you start “you see, there was one with them, but Rosie killed the filly by hiding her inside one of my boots and letting her suffocate in there because she said it was a “bad babbeh. I’ve kept her apart from her foals as much time as I could since it happened yesterday, so you could take a look and choose for yourself.”

>”Good thinking” answers Martha “And you said Rosie did that? Damn, I didn’t know she was that smart, hiding the foal from you and all. I guess she must have got wiser, surviving in the streets and all.”

>She then proceed to give soft strokes to the foals’ fur, one by one, finishing with the cyan/white colored pegasus, which then let go of a soft “mummah wuv!”.

>”Huh, look at this” she says “ looks like Rosie did something right; not just nice colors, but also kinda precocious; fluffy foals usually don’t say their first words until they have opened their eyes”.

>She turns to you, and asks:
“Do you know if he had pronounced any of the foals as the Bestest Babbeh? Most mares tend to rank their foals, with the Bestest being their favorite.”

>You shrug, showing an expression of ignorance, and say:
“I don’t know. Didn’t pay too much attention to her beyond the basics, but I saw her holding that one much more time than the others. Maybe you’re right and this is her favorite.”

>Martha seems to ponder it for some moments, stroking the pegasus’ fur for some more, and says:
“Ok, I’ll take this one. You can do whatever you want with those too, I don’t care. Take them to the shelter, leave them to exposure… whatever.”

>Then she produces a handkerchief from one of her pockets and uses it to pick up the now alarmed and chirping foal before standing up and walking back to the door.

>”Ok, thank you, Mr. Anonssen. We’re even, now. It was nice to meet you.” She says, walking through the door.

>When she’s halfway to her car, she turns around and says:
“By the way, I don’t have many friends here. I mean, not fluffy-related friends, since it seems everybody I know owns at least one, but you look nice. Maybe I’ll call you one day to go grab a drink and talk about anything that aren’t fluffies.”

>”Uuuh… sure, why not?” you answer, surprised.

>Then she turns around and heads to her car again, walking with quite a pronounced shake of her hips (which you’re sure is just accidental, no doubt). She steps inside the car, starting it a bit after and leaving.


>You’re Martha

>You’ve just got inside your car, with one of Rosie’s bastards hold in your hand. You turn around on the driver’s seat, opening the pet carrier and putting the foals inside, which Rosie then proceeds to pick up.

>”Mummah, whewe oddah babbehs? Wosie hab oddah babbehs.” She asks.

>”Well, I’m Rosie sorry; when Mummah went back in the housie to scuff the Mistah, Mummah found that the Mistah was in fact a bad monster and was eating your babbehs. You see, Mummah was right, and there meanie monsters out there that eat fluffies. I gave him forever sleepies, but he had already eaten two of your babbehs. At least I managed to save your Bestest Babbeh.” You answer.

>Now you can hear loud, childish crying from inside the carrier, accompanied by yelling of “NUUUUH! BABBEHS NU GU FOWEVAH SWEEPIIIIES! PWEEEEASEEEH EH EH EEEEH! BUAAAAH!” along with low, scared chirping and a small voice saying “mummah” from time to time.

>You start the car and get going, with your fluffy going more or less silent shortly after, only crying softly along the way until you get home.


>You’re Anon Anonssen

>You walk back inside your house, relieved to be free of Rosie, and start picking everything up; you get a plastic bag and put inside the bag with the remaining kibble, both bowls you bought (now empty), the fluffy shampoo and the sorry stick.

>You were about to put inside the rags you gave Rosie to make a nest, but they smell so bad you just take another plastic bag and put them inside, along with the dirty newspapers she used as litter box.

>Hearing some scared chirping, you walk back into the bathroom; the two fluffy foals are now in the middle of the towel, trembling and hugging each other for comfort. They chirping in distress, missing their mother’s warmth.

>For a second you feel tempted to leave everything again where it was, go to the 24/7 to buy some foal formula and a baby bottle to raise these two as your own fluffy pets; but then reason returns to you, and remember how much of a balls pain these little buggers have given you, so you just make a bundle with the towel (foals still inside, now chirping loudly and desperately), toss it inside the garbage bag and, stepping out of your home for a minute, leave everything inside the trash bin at the adjacent alleyway.

>Once you get there, you find a shit colored fluffy having lunch over a broken garbage bag some retard had left out of the bin.

>”Pwease nice mistah, be new daddeh? Fwuffy hab biggestEEEEEEEEEEP!” it goes, while you kick it as strong as you can manage, projecting its body some six meters in the air, sending him down the alleyway and crashing into the floor with a loud *CRACK*, followed by complete silence.
>Fuck ferals, you think, walking back home, unable to hear the fading chirps inside the trash bin.


>You’re Rosie

>It’s been some bright times now since you went back home. Mummah took you to the “wetewinawian” to give you and your Bestest Babbeh a “munstah-proof shot”, which consisted in a pointy hurtie like those that you got when you were a small, talkie filly (you and your foals have been chemically castrated, but you don’t know that).

>You were afraid for your babbeh at first, since the pointy hurties where so bad for him that he started crying for you to him give him wub and huggies, but the wetewinawian said he won’t remember them when he’s older.

>He must have been right, you think, since your babbeh is not a small babbeh anymore! He’s a talkie, eyesie and walkie babbeh now! Even if he doesn’t say too much yet, and still has some difficulties using his weggies right. He’s even starting to try and eat kibble, but you still give him milkies and wuv when he needs them.

>You’re so proud of him; you can remember when he still was a small, chirpy babbeh, and you would cradle him in your front weggies while giving him huggies; now he’s so big he can give you huggies, too! And tell you how much he wuvs his mummah when you give him huggies!

>You’re in your safe room, now, playing ball with your babbeh, who still has a hard time pushing it back at you. Then your own Mummah walks in to tell you it’s time for numies, and that you’ve been such a good fluffy since you came back home that you’re getting sketties!

>You’re very excited, since sketties make the bestest milkies for your Bestest Babbeh!

>”Babbeh wub Big Mummah!” says your now big babbeh.

>”Ummm, now that I think of it” says your Mummah “Rosie, your baby is a big baby now, and in no time he will be a big fluffy. He needs a name!”

>Mummah is right! But what name should you give him? You think for a bit, but you don’t really know what name should your babbeh get. His colors are so beautiful you don’t have words to define them.

>”Wosie ny knu, Mummah” you say “Maybe Mummah hewp Wosie gibing namesie choo babbeh?”

>”Ok” says your Mummah, crouch in front of your babbeh, who proceeds to hug her hand “He’s fur is sort of blue, like the sky, but also white, like the clouds, but not really like those. He loos…metallic, but that isn’t a nice name, I think.”

>She stops for a moment, and then, with wide eyes and open mouth, she gasps and says:
>“I know! His name will be Chrome!”

>Excited and wagging his tail, your babbeh exclaims:
“Babbeh am Chwroom! Chrwoom wub namesy!”

>Happy and proud of your big babbeh, you walk to him and give him a loving lick in his face. Then along with your Mummah, you all leave the safe room and go to have numies.



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Anonymous1: This is it, guys. I'm probably writting one or two spin-off chapters to see what happened to the feral herd at the shelter, but I won't be able to get on them right now. I also want to give a try to drawing fluffies with digital media.
Hope you like this.
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Anonymous2: Not a great ending
Rosie got to keep her foal. Rosie needed cigarettes out out in her eyes

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guodzilla: @Anonymous: I'd also have liked a scene in which Anon and Martha created the Beast with Two Backs.


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guodzilla: For those of you who happen to be iggnant:

Beast with two backs=
the ol' in-and-out...
The ol' oom-poppa-mow-mow
Gettin' fawnkay

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Anonymous3: terribly insatisifying ending
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Anonymous4: Well, the ending is logical. None of the characters are serial fluffies killers.
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Anonymous5: @guodzilla: No, I've still no idea what you want to allude to. Could you please elaborate?

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Dhylec: So happy ending for the demanding shitrat? Lame
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Anonymous6: I was hoping the woman would return with just the dead "bad babbeh"
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BiggMunstah: @Anonymous:
@Dhylec: @Anonymous:
Well,truth be told, in the first draft Anon would have discarded all the foals before Martha arrived to pick up Rosie, but I thought it would by out of character. He did got rid of the other two,though.

Also, Martha told Anon that she may take one of the foals to stop Rosie's demand of babbehs, and considering that Bestest Babbeh has a nice color, not taking him in would have been anticlimatic
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Fluffnut: Not a bad little slice of life. I like that none of the characters suddenly became a foal killing monster.

Going to be interesting if Anon and her get together, given that Rosie thinks he ate her babies.
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Anonymous7: Lol what a shit ending.

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guodzilla: @Anonymous: (facepalm)
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Anonymous8: @BiggMunstah: I think it was an alright little ending.

Personally I feel sorry for the other two but thems the breaks.
It's just he gets so upset for her killing a babbeh then just does it himself it feels a little contrary is all but whatever.

Most people so focused on Rosie not having a horrible fate befall her seem to overlook that Anon's not so sympathetic to fluffies anymore.
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Anonymous9: For The autor: The last babbeh is a smarty babbeh? He can speak even with his eyes clased. And if he has fixed, he become a smarty?
Nice story, please continue the story of king and his herd.
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BiggMunstah: @Anonymous: Thanks man, apreciated.

Yes,you're right. It seems weird that Anon is so eager to kill the other two foals all of a sudden, but that's the point; when he's thinking about keeping them for himself, he just remembers how shitty can fluffy ponies be, and as you pointed he's not so sympathetic towards them anymore after having to deal with Rosie.

@Anonymous: Not really. I consider that foals becoming smarties because yes is just a lazy narrative resource. Without getting exposed to an actual smarty, I think a foal would come in just as any other fluffy.
The other way to get a smarty, I think, is through the Bestest Babbeh thing; if a foal knows that it's its mother's best babbeh in comparison with its siblings, it may probably turn into smarty. Since Chrome doesn't have any siblings around, and he's too young to remember his siblings, he just doesn't have any other fluffy to compare himself with, so he can't see himself as "the smarty". Not like Martha would take that shit from him if he ever would try to pull it off.
The reason he's so developed up to this point is because of the "bestest babbeh" thing. I should have wrote about it, but I think that since he's the best, Rosie would have given him more milk than to his siblings, also more attention and stimuli, boosting his development in relation to the other foals. Now since he's had exclusivity on attention and nutrition for about a week after Martha got both Chrome and Rosie back home, this boost is really showing.
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Anonymous10: Can we get an epiloge where the babbeh grows into a smarty that rapes his mother to death and then gets turned into a litter pal?

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fave: I really didn't like anon just throwing the other foals away, if he didn't want them he should have just called the shelter again to pick them up since they had good colors and would have been adopted quickly.

But no, you had to make him a cunt like everyone else in this story right? What a shit ending.
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BiggMunstah: @fave: Well, I agree the ending could have been better, but this is the first I write a story.

Also, Anon turning into a cunt towards fluffies is kind of the point in here. At first he didn't have any real animosity towards them because his relationship with them was limited to shooing the occasional feral fluffy or herd in the street. Dealing with Rosie was his first personal experience with fluffies and, like most human characters in the booru, he realized that fluffies are utterly shitty creatures, even the relatively good ones.

Sorry if you're so upset. Go hug your Twilight Sparkle plushy or something.

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Juniper: That was a fun story! I can totally relate to Anon's situation, but I also totally hope Rosie's baby has crippled legs or something from malnutrition.
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Anonymous11: Anon and Martha should have cooked and eaten Rosie's foals while they were alive in front of her, lots of good pleading and whining on all sides would have resulted
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Anonymous12(11): Still, good sort of semi-hugbox, and, yes, Anon and Martha should have tripped the light fantastic, danced with the devil in the pale moonlight, kept an appointment to house Mr Happy, played hide the weiner and maybe even just fucked if they couldn't have done all that.

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fave: @BiggMunstah: your ending is bad and you should feel bad, calling me a brony does not change that
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Anonymous13: Good ending, Anon doesn't give a shit about fluffies, also, a castrated fluffy trying to have babbehs is way funnier than the killing. Death is too good to those shitrats.

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nails_gif_owwies: Ending's not satisfying to my liking. Rosie got off too easy, but it was nice to see Anon's attitude towards fluffies get adjusted after his herd and Rosie experience.

Kudos on delivering a full story over 10 lengthy entries as well. The fluff-speak is a huge barrier I can't overcome to contribute new content; glad you've persevered where many contributors have stalled, then choked completely.
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Anonymous14: feels really unfinished...
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BiggMunstah: @fave:
I only wrote for fun. I see no reason to feel bad about it but, as I have stated some times before, this is the first time I write a fluffy story. I did not expect it to be good.

@nails_gif_owwies: She got to have a taste of abuse from other fluffies, a bit of sorry stick, hunger and neglect from a human and only got to keep one of the foals she wanted so much, and got sterilized without even knowing. I didn't want to turn this into a full blown abuse story, so I think it's enough, even if the ending isn't good.

@Anonymous: If you think that because of how easy Rosie got off in the end, read above.
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Anonymous15: Someone please diabulus ex machina
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Anonymous16: This was a good story with a good ending. The grammar was just awful, as was the spelling, but I'm assuming that English is not your mother tongue, so as long as I could make out what you were saying, I was okay with it. Good job!

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SkyrideroftheSpaceways: If you want, you can include the feral herd be separated, some being brought by kind owners, only for them to ruin their good life and end up in misery, or being brought by abusers or used in animal testing
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Anonymous17: All up to this point was pretty good, but the ending was extremely unsatisfying. Try again.
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BiggMunstah: @nails_gif_owwies: @Anonymous: @SkyrideroftheSpaceways: Is like people can't write an ending that doesn't include all the present fluffies being mercilessly slaughtered, jeez.

Anyway, I want to write the feral herd spin off soon. Probably some 3-4 chapters long. I'll post them one by one, like this story, once I've finished them. Now get off my lawn, you shitrats.
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Anonymous18: Shity ending
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