abuse abused_mare bastard_fluffy breeder cannibal_fluffy cannibalized_sibling explicit fluffy_breeding hippie pregnant unicorn


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The Defect

"Pwease, mistah daddeh! Gib back bestes' babbeh! B-Bestes' Babbeh nee' huggies and wuv from mumma-"

You casually slap the damn hard across the muzzle, the frail cartilage cracking from the force of your blow as she breaks down into a fit of sobs, her remaining infants huddled close to her and chirping out to their weeping mother for comfort. She can do little more than huddle them into herself, desperate to protect the ones she has left.

That's fine with you; They weren't the ones you wanted anyways. Sure, they've got nice colors and all and they'd fetch an okay price, but they were cheap compared to what you had now.

The one you wanted was separated from the others, and carefully placed farther away from the others. He was a rare find, this one. Breeding countless mares and stallions trying to find one of his kind, but you managed it at last. He was going to be worth every tear, cent, and drop of blood you've had to lose.

Being ever so careful to pick him up, you gently handle the unicorn foal and look it over as best you can. The breeders said that by a week or so these guys were okay to touch, as the mother would long have since considered them her own and not reject a baby that smelled like their 'daddeh'. Also that the foals were sturdy enough to touch without killing them.

At any rate, you wanted to make sure that this one was going to be worth your while.

He had a vibrant pink pelt that was juxtaposed by a curly blue tail. His head was comparatively bare, though it would likely grow in in time. The fuzz that was there was almost enough to cover his tiny, straight horn. He was well proportioned, without defects thus far in terms of physiology or musculature. Not too fat either, as overly corpulent fluffies live shorter and generally fetch a meager price. Breathing was regular too, and his vocalizations were normal without sounding wet or raspy. In fact, they held an almost melodious tune to you.

Or maybe that was just the sound of cash being slid into your pocket when you sell the little bastard. Emphasis on bastard seeing as he's the spawn of several generations of random fathers and artificial insemination.

You're about ready to call up that weasel pet-shop owner to start pitching prices for him when you remember something. That one stallion you brought in a while back...the problem one who had that rare pelt color that increased the chances of this precise variant. He had a certain...defect, didn't he? Cannibalism mutation or something. It would explain all the biting that ended up turning your mare into a partial amputee.

You're glad you were allowed to bash the freaky little bastard's head in. Served him right for messing up your property.

The Fluffy Pony Breeder's Club told you given the amount of repetitive/simultaneous breeding you had been doing there was a 1-100 chance that the Cannibal gene could have been passed down, and no-one in their right minds would buy a violent, snappy fluffy. Granted, you took precautions to see to it that the possibility was muddled down so the odds were even lower, but still...

Gently pressing your finger into his stomach, you elicit a squeak from the sleepy creature, prompting him to open his eyes and gape up at you, mouth agape to show off his milk teeth.

The eyes are swirled and the teeth look jagged.

You feel your blood-pressure start to rise as you realize you've spent hundreds of dollars trying to make a rare colored Unicorn Colt...only for it to be born with a Cannibal mutation.

"DAMN-IT!" you scream, pounding your fist onto the table mere inches from the shivering mare and her foals, prompting them to break down into another fit of sobs as you smack the plastic bin to shut them up. You're about to crush the little brat in your hand before you realize you'd be pissing away nearly twelve-hundred dollars in less than a second.

Sighing you slump over onto the counter, still holding onto the waddling little ball of bio-engineered flesh and fur as you fight off the tears. You can't just kill this thing-it'd be a waste of money and time. Sure, you've got enough saved up to keep yourself afloat just fine, but this was supposed to be a big cash grab for you damn it!

Why didn't you just keep looking for studs?! Why'd you have to be greedy and opt for the first, cheapest one you could find that would yield the fucking color you wanted?! That hug-boxer bitch from down the street probably had one you wanted wandering around her house you could pilfer alongside the other five dozen she kept like an even more retarded version of a crazy cat lady mixed with a hippie.

But noooo, you didn't want to go near her out of principle. And look where fucking morals got you!

You look at the offending colt with hate-filled eyes as he chirps and whimpers desperately, the sharpened teeth unsheathing a little as he gave a squealing howl of sorts, like a mouse trying to imitate a wolf as he waggles his soft hoof-pads in the air.

A sneer on your face you press your finger onto the little shit's head. "What's the matter with you, you little fucker? You hungry or something? Christ, what am I even going to do with you...who the hell would even want a cannibal-"

Not even two seconds into you pressing your finger hard into his skull does he bite, and as hard as he can. You drop him and rip your pointer finger away from him, swearing that you'd turn him into a fucking kibble nugget when you realize he made you bleed.

The hunk of fuzz was barely a week old and he was able to break skin on a fully grown man. Not just that but he bit clean through the nail too, which only made it hurt like a mother even more. As you stare in wonderment at your throbbing finger as the final bolts of pain lance through it, you look back down at the guy you dropped onto the counter like a pink, hairy booger.

He's a little stunned, but he hoists his ass right back up after a few seconds.

Gently placing the little freak of nature down near the others while you figure out what to do with him, you hear the mother begin to coo to him and coddle him as he sniffs the still slowly bleeding nose of his biological parent. He laps at it with his tiny little tongue, prompting a few giggles from the dam in question. Then he latches on, suckling gently on the bloody wound as the mare continues giggling, though more confused now.

"S-Siwwy bestes' babbeh! Dat no am miwkie pwace! Mommah's miwkie pwace wight hewe-*CHOMP!* EEEEE! NUUU, B-BESTES' BABBEH, WET GOOOO!!" she wails as the sound of skin breaking and ripping is heard. The puny foal had sunk his milk teeth right into her tender muzzle, trying to get more of that delicious red fluid!

She shoves him away, sniffling and breathing heavily as she clutches her remaining foals to her chest; Half of her looks like she was ready to squash him if he moved an inch, but the other half was reeling from shock. How could her most beloved child DO that to her? After everything she'd done for him?

Suffice to say your jaw nearly hit the floor watching this unfold.

Quickly snatching him out from the plastic bin you kept her in (said bin now partially filled with urine and fecal matter due to her panic) you place him down on a paper towel, gently feeling if he has any broken bones from her throwing him off her nose. Nothing FEELS broken, and he's already shuffling around on the paper towel like nothing happened!

You can't help but smile a little at how tough this little bastard is. Only a week old and he's shrugging off stuff that would injure or KILL most other foals. Speaking of which.


"You want another strike in the kisser, bitch?" you interrupt her wailing.


"Good answer." you mutter, tossing the squealing yellow Earth filly down next to her pink brother. You twist off an ear, letting a small trickle of blood flowing from the wound as the little neon shit screeches and writhes on the paper towel. The wound would heal in time, no doubt...if it was left alone. But the smell of blood seems to alert the Unicorn foal

He wastes no time in moving over to his wailing, wriggling sister, who only casts him a quick and frightened glance before he gives a quick pounce. Pressing his hooves onto her back he places his jaws on her bleeding ear, pulling back with all the strength his tiny muscles can muster while holding down his flailing sibling. Soon enough it pays off, as with a 'RIP' akin to tearing off wrapping paper from a present, a massive shred of her skin is torn off and devoured, exposing her facial muscles that contort into a wide-eyed scream of agony.

The dam is now feebly pounding away at the see-through walls of the bin with everything she's got as her newest favorite is slowly eaten by her first favorite. Her eyes show her entire world shatter as she's pounding her head against the wall, trying to block it out before giving up and just shutting down. You watch her incoherently mumble to herself as she pressed her remaining three children against her teats to nurse mixed with her shell-shocked face; So that's what a nervous break-down looks like in a Fluffy Pony.

Meanwhile, Hannibal Jr is having the first completely weaned feast of his life. His jaw muscles are still pretty unused to repeatedly tearing off flesh like this, but he's getting the hang of it pretty quick as he's guzzling down several meaty bites of fat fluffy flesh. Soon he's close to bursting and, with a meaty belch that belonged to your average dad-bod connoisseur of pizza and beer, he passes out into a food coma next to the mutilated yellow foal.

For the first time in your life, you're proud of a fluffy pony. Nay, IMPRESSED even. You still hate his guts and want nothing to do with him, because he just set you back more than a grand. But for the first time in weeks since you started trying to breed a rare color fluffy pony, you're actually a little happier.

Still, how the hell were you going to get rid of this damn thing?


"Yes, eat up my little darlings, all the spaghetti that you'll ever need!~" you cheer to the blessed little equine brethren as they nosh on the latest bowl of pasta heaven. The remaining four dozen or so that continue to meander by your feet and share in the aura of love and plenty. Your nose is kissed by the scent of nature as your precious little babies release their bodies of toxins throughout the structure that you called a house; For it was with THEM, that it was a home, not the man-made world of metal and stone.

Suddenly, a loud series of knocks breaks you from your nirvana, prompting a sigh as you carefully maneuver past the many consciousnesses conversing beneath you. Opening the door you see your no-good neighbor, holding a small pink unicorn foal that was wrapped up in a towel. Both the towel and the foal itself was completely covered in life's water.

"Harriet, I need you to take this poor little thing in. I found him out on the street, his parents and siblings SMASHED to bits by some horrible, horrible people...please, give him a home..." he sobs, his eyes wet as he holds out the little freedom fighter. Your normally scornful visage you shoot at him softens-maybe you were wrong about him being the scum of the earth.

Graciously taking the baby from him, your cradle him to your chest and nod, thanking him for coming by and sending this little miracle of life to you. He nods his head and departs, prompting you to attend to your latest addition to the family. Many of your children are cooing about the new arrival, but you hush them and tell them he needs his rest.

Gently cleaning him with a wet tissue, the little angel opens his eyes and looks up at you, flashing a smile. Your eyes open wide as you notice his are swirled and murky, as if some cloud of darkness and bad thoughts had entered his mind's eye to make its nest. His teeth too, jagged and edgy like his tormented, traumatized soul.

You would give him crystal therapy in the morning, for now setting him down with the other dams and foals before attending other matters and eventually retiring to bed. All was still, as it should be until you heard a scream pierce the darkness.

You leap from your bed, careful not to wound the corporeal shell your adopted children possessed as one of your daughters eye's pour with torrential tides of sadness. One of her babies has gone missing, and to your horror so has the newest arrival. Not a trace of them is left save for their indentations within the moist carpeting.

The poor thing hadn't even gotten a name, and already he was gone to experience the vastness of the cosmos housed within his soul. But you know that such disappearances mean that they had been chosen to see the world beyond early, his physical form taken back to feed the world's own hunger and nourish its creation of life. An honor two-ways, if you will.

You spend the rest of the night with the others mourning the lost ones, humming in synch with the earth's heartbeat as you feel their spirits drift off into the next plane of existence, where all good creatures go regardless of their upbringing.

Unbeknownst to you, hidden within the depths of the house the newest arrival feasted on his carefully captured prize-The weanling already was starting to get more and more of a penchant for meat rather than dam's milk, and as he smacked his chops from the newborn fluffy pony, a glimmer of intelligence flashed in his mind.

He thinks he is going to like it here...very much.


- Reply
TheFoalFryer: It fills my heart with joy to hear of a cannibal foal. I'd buy many of them. Cannibals are so precious to me.

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Guzziman: "casually slaps the damn hard across the muzzle."

Now that's just atrocious, the writing I mean. Casually hard? You'd be hard pressed to explain away how awkward that sounds. Not to mention that you spelled dam wrong.
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Anonymous1: Life's water. Tides of sadness. Bodily toxins. If this lady came up to me in real life, and used these terms, I'd invite her in for coffee, and kill her. Doing the world a huge favor. No joke.
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Anonymous2: Nice.
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Boogeyman123: @Guzziman: Yeah, I just realized those errors. I'll look harder for stuff like that in the future.

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guodzilla: "Crystal therapy!?" BLEEEAAAAUUGH!!!!!

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guodzilla: @Guzziman: not in Xibalba's case. Other fluffies consider her a God-dam.
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Anonymous3: A+

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MrBoo: I'm a little lost here. All of that money and effort to produce a pink Fluffy? Isn't pink a standard color? They were designed to be toys for children after all.

Did I miss something?
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Anonymous4: @TheFoalFryer: what a terrible waste of money that would be, unless you kept them all separate for obvious reasons
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Boogeyman123: @Anonymous: On the bright side, survival of the fittest would ensure you always got the pick of the litter!
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Boogeyman123: @MrBoo: I guess it was meant to be like a rare color combination for a Pink Unicorn Male. Originally I wanted to make it an Alicorn, but I thought to myself 'Jesus Christ that sounds cliche and corny'.

I get where you're coming from, I guess it was just some other traits (like a more 'Rex' type fluff that curls at the ends) and the fact he's a small time breeder made it seem a lot more valuable.
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Anonymous5: MORE
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Anonymous6: In to the deepfryer, that little psycho would go.
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Boogeyman123: @Anonymous: Probably.
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TheMoose: Just what fluffies need, a cannibal epidemic.
Thread locked for the current user.