burned_alive fire fluffy_abuse pegasus pragmatism smarty store unicorn


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Fluffy breeders are assholes.

That was the opinion Richter had always held. They're assholes. Fluffies are already so overbred by their very nature that they've become a pest problem, and yet there are selfish assholes who practically or literally mill the things looking for rare colors to sell. The licensed ones were at least forced to have standards, but the unlicensed breeders? Richter would've bet his left nut that the feral problems were 20% fluffies-breed-fast, 80% breeders-are-assholes. So many shady or illegal breeders just dumped their excess stock out in the woods, or left them near shelters assuming they would get picked up.

Then those healthy, soon-to-be ferals would find other feral fluffies, make 'speshaw fwiends', and ta-da, everyone in a 10-mile radius had a fluffy problem.

So yeah. Fluffy breeders? Assholes. Richter was not a fluffy breeder. Kind of the opposite. Rather than breed fluffies, Richter's gambit was a bit more like... rehab. Richter would take the fluffies that shelters were giving away, the ones nobody wanted for some reason or another, and he'd make them downright respectable. Desirable. His store didn't have a 'last chance' section like most fluffy peddlers, not entirely because he never needed one. His store was their last chance.

His store, the Fluffy Oasis, ran on a bit of an unusual schedule. The store closed the day after Christmas every year, and it stayed closed for the remainder of the winter, all the way to the grand reopening on March 20 the next year. This was because Richter spent that time 'restocking', as he called it. Today was December 26, and Richter pulled up to the Fluffy Oasis at 6 in the morning sharp. He parked in the employee parking in the back, which was really just the alleyway behind the store, and then he swaggered his way in the back door. Richter's shop had four sections, really.

There was the employee area, which he'd just walked into; basically a rec room for him and the two or so employees he hired during the store's active months.
There was the Prep Room, which was at sort of the center of the building; a rack of 12 cages was set against one wall, complete with a curtain that could be used to cover the whole rack, and the rest of the room was like a mini Fluffy Vet room. There was an operating table that doubled as a checkup table, he had all the facilities and supplies to pillow and doctor fluffies, and on top of that, Richter himself was a pretty decent vet. At least, he was a decent vet when it came to Fluffies, where you didn't need an actual license. Biotoys weren't animals, at least not legally, so the most anyone could ever sue him for was approximately 0 dollars after they signed several nigh-inscrutable liability waivers. He wasn't bad at it, though. Unless it was something really truly weird or obtuse, he could operate it.

The prep room also connected to a bathroom, off to the side. It further connected to the Store proper through two different doors, one behind the counter one not, and it also connected to The Room. The store was pretty close to your standard fluffy pet store's setup. Toys and fluffy accessories lined the walls and a pair of shallow aisles, while the fluffies were kept in open-topped, three-ply plastic play areas set out like little islands in the middle of the storeroom. There was a Foal pen, a Mare pen, a Stallion pen, a Pillow pen, and two Family pens. Between each pen was a sheet of black paper so that the fluffies in the different pens couldn't see each other, which Richter had found out early on kept the pillowfluffs in particular from getting upset.

The Foal, Mare, Stallion, and Pillow pens were all self-explanatory. The Family pen was something Richter had tried last year that had worked out well. A lot of the time, even if they were spayed or neutered, fluffies would still cry and cry about not being able to have 'babbehs' if you didn't let them do so at least once. On top of that, some people wanted to buy both a male and a female fluffy together, so they could keep each other company, but this had the potential to go badly when the mare found out her new friend couldn't give her babies. Richter's solution was to take 2 fluffies that liked each other a lot and were likely to sell anyway-- popular colors, but not too rare-- and he'd make sure that by the time he put them in the store, the mare was pregnant or had given birth to a couple of cute foals. People who wanted to buy more than one fluffy had a ready-packaged set, and they tended to be happier than other fluffies since they'd gotten to have their precious 'babbehs'. He had sold 14 couples like that last year, so the Family pen idea was likely to stick around.

It was a decent setup, overall. But Richter wasn't here to deal with any of it. Not today, one day after Christmas. No, there was only one thing to do on December 26, and that was to use The Room.

Richter, he was not an abuser by any stretch. He didn't take any particular pleasure in the deaths of fluffies, particularly his stock. But he didn't particularly... care, either. It was weird, in terms of intelligence they were the closest thing on the planet to humans, and yet he didn't have the same empathy he might have for say, a dog, or a cat. Despite all that, if there was a Fluffy version of hell, The Room was it.

Richter walked through the Prep Room to The Room's entrance door. It was soundproof, locked with three locks, and was about the same size as the Prep Room itself. Richter slid his key into each of the locks in turn, then headed inside. Immediately he was greeted by small voices. 'Mistah!' 'Ricky Mistah!' 'Mistah pwease, nu mowe sowwy box, fwuffy am gud, do what Mistah say!' 'Peep! peep! peep!' 'nu cwy babbeh, Mistah hewe nao!' 'Mistah!' 'Hewwo Mistah!'

Over the course of any given year, once he'd gotten the rotation of training and selling going, Richter sold anywhere between 100-300 fluffies a year. Not as many as some breeders, but his were sold trained, and when you added in the cost of toys, neutering, spaying, along with the fact that fluffies had a ridiculously low cost for upkeep... he turned a tidy profit. Most of his fluffies sold in the week before Christmas, though some colors sold well due to other holidays during the year. Pinks didn't have the added edge of being around for Valentine's, for instance, but red, blue, and white were always available around the fourth of july. Those fluffies went to happy homes, he assumed, but then there were... these.

The Room had 24 cages on the wall; if absolutely necessary, each could hold up to 3 fluffies whilst still allowing them enough motion to piss and shit in the grate at the back, which carried the waste blah blah blah nobody cares. What was important was this: This year, 18 fluffies had not sold. 26, if you included the foals. Fluffy Oasis was the last chance these fluffies received, so what happened to them if they did not sell?

Richter shut the door behind him and turned on the light. The room was dim, even with the bulbs on, and the walls were painted black. To a fluffy's eyes they looked spiked, jagged, thanks to the soundproofing panels installed on them. It made them uncomfortable. At the far end of the room was a furnace. Top-loading and gas-powered, with a one-touch start-up function. These features were not important to Richter, although they were convenient. What was important to Richter was that the furnace doubled as a fireplace; most of the front side was dominated by a thick, multi-layered glass window. Richter popped the cover on the furnace's feed slot and set it aside, on a nearby table. He then walked over toward the wall and took stock of the fluffies inside.

Boxes 1 through 6-- garbage colors. Queasy greens, ugly greenish-grays, and yellowish-greens, all of them. One of the cages had a trio of foals in it, all of them looking up at him with wide eyes. 8 fluffies in all, this row.
7-12-- the very last family unit he'd packaged this year didn't sell. The stallion was in the far left cage on this row, hooving at the door, while the mother was cooing and hugging her 2 children in the cage next to that. These two hadn't opened their eyes yet, and so were peeping in response to all the noise. Past that were a few mid-range colors, some sky tones, some yellows. 8 again.
13-18-- these were the surprises. There were some actually good colors here. A deep, almost ocean-blue fluffy sat crying in his cage, and really that was about all he could do, seeing as he was one of the pillows. There was a red one in another cage, a pink pillow in a third-- at the end of the row was a relatively young colt Richter had hoped would sell off of sentimental value. When he'd been born off of one of the family units, one of his legs had twisted during the birth and had to be cut. He'd replaced it with a kind of peg-leg the fluffy could put weight on, as it was one of his front legs, but the extra sympathy hadn't outweighed the fact that he was damaged goods. 6 fluffies, this row.
19-24- okay, no, it was just 19. The other cages were empty. 19 was a bit of a unique case. Normally, every fluffy sold at Fluffy Oasis was spayed or neutered before sale. You'd buy a fluffy, you'd leave, then a day or so later Richter or one of his employees would spay/neuter it, then a day or two later you'd come pick it up. There were some in the store that were already neutered or spayed, as well. The idea was that they wouldn't associate their new owner with the trauma. However, this fluffy had been sold raw.

Pure white, with three chirping, pastel-colored foals in her back fluff, she gave Richter a look that was... disappointing. Her eyes were narrowed, her cheeks were puffed up, if she wasn't too busy glaring she'd probably be demanding her mother or some shit like that. Basically: Rich bitch had come into the store, adored this fluffy, demanded that she be allowed to take it NOW or she'd walk out and take her 600 pure-white-fluffy dollars with her. His employee caved, and while she'd signed all the usual liability forms, legally Richter was required to fix any fluffies he sold.

So when rich bitch had come back a month later with a fat-ass, pregnant mare brat who had gone and gotten pregnant off of a feral, she'd been able to strong-arm Richter into accepting the 'return', which he'd taken out of the responsible employee's paycheck. Misbehaving fluffies were rare, if you were a decent owner. Well over half of the things you needed out of a fluffy were already programmed into their brains, hard-coded. It was the other damnable 20% that had caused this mess. He couldn't resell her, for more reasons than just the foals cuddled up into her fluff.

The bad attitude? The fact that she'd been bred once by a feral? Fluffy ponies didn't get many diseases, and while as far as he could tell she was fine, there was no way (without paying a hundred bucks or so) he could be certain she didn't have something. The fact that she'd managed to get around her owner to get 'special hugs' also meant she'd be more likely to be beligerent, which- yeah, he couldn't resell this one. Maybe the three foals, but again: Diseases.

He wasn't going to spend 100 bucks a pop on a cyan, a dull pink, and a- what did you even call pale green? Was there a name for it? He checked his phone. Right, a cyan, a "rose quartz", and a beryl. There. Technically accurate, still not spending 100 bucks on them.

Richter popped the door on the cage, and the fluffy inside immediately bolted out. "DUMMEH HOOMAN NU HUWT TIAWA'S BABBEHS!" She screeched. She ran for the door, and then ran into the door with a loud smack. Richter had to hold back a chuckle as her babies were knocked off of her by the abrupt stop, and they all started peeping and chirping in distress. "Owwies! Why doow huwt Tiawa? Tiawa am gud mummah!" the white one said. She let out an "EEEEP!" when he grabbed her by the scruff and hauled her into the air. He used his free hand to grab each of the foals by their scruff, and then he headed over toward the furnace.

"WET GO! DUMMEH HOOMAN! WET TIAWA GO! NU HUWT BABBEHS OH TIAWA GIF BIGGEST HUWTIES!" He dropped her into the furnace, and she landed on the inside with a metallic clong, the impact kicking up a small cloud of ash and dust that sent her coughing. Her foals went in after her, landing probably hard enough to break their legs. The cyan one's neck snapped as it hit the bottom of the furnace at a bad angle. "NUUUUUU! BABBEH! BABBEH! HUGGIES!" She moved over to the dead cyan one and hugged it to her chestfluff. "Babbeh? W-why babbeh nu move? Mummah gif hugsies! Babbeh? Babbeh???"

Richter ignored her after that, moving back to the rack. Several of the fluffies in the cages were agitated or panicking, all of them looking at him with wide eyes. "M-Mistah? Why Mistah huwt dat fwuffy?" Richter looked at the one that had asked. He'd mistaken this one for a greenish-gray earlier, its' coat was so dark. Dark gray, a unicorn... hm. Maybe this one would do. "She didn't sell." Richter told the fluffy. "Oh. Otay. What seww mean?" The fluffy asked. Definitely this one.

"She didn't get a 'mommy' or 'daddy' while she was in the shop." Richter avoided the term 'sell' when he was training the fluffies, but they knew what the shop was. 'Mistah say fwuffy need tu seww' just had less of a cash-inducing ring to it than 'Wiww yu be fwuffy's nyu mummah?'

"Does... does dat mean yu wiww huwt aww fwuffies in dawkie pwace?" The fluffy asked. Was this thing an alicorn and he hadn't noticed? "No." Richter said, popping the fluffy's cage. It peeped in fright, but didn't resist as he picked it up and set it on a nearby table. "You. You don't have a name, do you?" The gray fluffy shook his head. "Your name is Ash." "Nyu name am Ass?" Richter opened his mouth to correct the fluffy, then closed it. On the one hand, he'd laugh the whole year with that kind of misunderstanding. On the other hand, he could already see the dollars walking out the door as the more puritanical parents in the world got angry about the 'foul language'.

"No, your name is Ash." "Nyu name am Ass?" "No, it's- okay, say your name again." "Nyu name am-" Richter thrust his pointer finger against the fluffy's front teeth. "-Afth?" The fluffy blinked, then looked down at its' muzzle. "Aff. Afth? Asth?" The fluffy tried to produce the right sound, now that it seemed to realize it could. "Ash." Richter said, again. "Nyu name am Ash?" The fluffy asked, after trying for another good 5 minutes. "Yes." Richter confirmed.

"Yay! Ash wuv nyu name! Tank yu Mistah!" Ash cheered. Richter nodded. "Ash, I want you to watch what happens from this point on very closely, do you understand?" "What cwosewee mean?" "Watch really hard. Make sure you see." Richter clarified. "Otay Mistah!" Ash replied. Richter popped Cage 3, with the three foals in it, then picked them up by their scruff. "Pwease nu huwt, am onwy wittwe babbeh!" "Nu! Bad upsies!" "Nu wike! Pwease Mistah, downsies!" Richter glanced at Ash to make sure he was watching.

He couldn't have been more transfixed if he'd literally glued the stallion's eyes to what he was doing. Ash was staring at him with wide eyes, mouth open in concern, but he didn't say anything, even when he raised a hoof. Richter walked over to the furnace and dumped the three foals in. This time they bounced off the fluffy mother already inside, still sobbing. "Babbeh... babbeh!" "Owwies!" "Bad downsies! Nee' huggies! Mummah! Mummah!" "Nuuu- uk!" One smacked into the side of the furnace. Richter replaced and secured the cover, silencing their cries, and then he turned to Ash. "This is what happens, Ash, to fluffies that do not sell."

Richter tapped the furnace's on button. One touch, and he could hear the hiss of gas and the click-click-click of the furnace's starters. The babies that were alive and had their eyes open started looking around and sniffing the air. Their mouths were moving, but neither Richter nor Ash could hear them. It only took a few more seconds for the real show to start. A wave of fire erupted from near the center of the furnace, filling the gas-saturated space in an instant. In just a single moment all of the fluffies were ignited, their fluff covered in small flames. The mother fluff trampled her children as she ran around, and the babbies that had opened their eyes frantically rolled around on the ground, trying to put themselves out as the furnace spewed more fire into the small space. The burners on the sides lit next, jets of flame pouring into the box from the sides, and both Ash and Richter could hear the fluffies inside now. While dulled by the thick material of the furnace, their screams and cries of terror and agony were clear enough that Richter heard a 'frrt' from Ash's backside, and several terrified shouts from the cages.

The fluffies inside continued to scream as the fire burnt their fluff off, then began to char their skin; they screamed as it began to melt their flesh, and they especially screamed when their eyeballs popped from the heat. Once the fire got going, it got up to about 1000F in there. Richter waited until the fluffies were either dead or at least not screaming before he walked back over to the cages. He grabbed two more fluffies under his arm, holding them tight enough against his torso that their wriggling did nothing to free them, and then he headed back over to the furnace.

"Nu! Nu Mistah! Pwease nu huwt mowe fwuffies!" Ash begged him. Richter ignored the little fluff and popped the cover with his free hand. One after the other the two fluffies went down into the blistering heat, and again their dulled screams filled the room as they caught fire immediately. Richter didn't wait for them to burn out this time. Back to the cages, then back with two more, even more terrified than the last. He repeated this process, slowly emptying the cages on the wall. Ash's begging turned to screaming, then to crying, then finally to hushed sobs, but not once did the little fluff take his eyes off of what Richter was doing, maybe terrified about sharing their fate. Finally, Richter was down to the last fluffy. "Mistah! Mistah wait!" The yellow fluff begged. He stopped and held it for a moment. "P-pwease Mistah, am gud fwuffy! Wiww get mummah, wiww get daddeh! Pwease, wiww, wiww seww! Nu put fwuffy in buwnie-munstah!" Richter held the fluffy up in front of him. Yellow, mare, about 4 years old... Her chances of selling had been 60-40 when he put her on the floor the first time, and those odds were flipped rather unfavorably now.

"SCREEEEE!" Off she went into the furnace. Richter replaced the cover, and the room grew very quiet, only the muffled screams and Ash's continued sobbing remaining. Again, Richter waited for the screams to die down. He walked over toward Ash. "P-pwease!" Ash sputtered, backpedaling. "Ash nu- nu wan! Ash am gud fwuffy! Pwease! Pwease! Nu wan foweba sweepies!" Richter picked him up and brought him over to the furnace. Rather than throw him in, he brought the fluffy close to the glass panel. A half-melted fluffy on the other side reared up, begging loudly enough for 'hewp' and 'huggies' that both Richter and Ash could hear it.

"This is what happens to fluffies that do not sell." Richter told him, again. "You will not die today, Ash. You are going to help me." Ash wriggled a bit in his grip. "How Ash hewp Mistah?"

Richter picked him up and held him at eye level. "You remember how I trained you?" he asked. Ash nodded. "You remember the fluffy who helped me train you? Gumball?" Ash nodded again. "Gumball was the one I saved from last year's batch. She watched this happen last year. Do you remember what happened to Gumball?"

Ash thought about it. "Gumbaww sewwed?"

"Gumball sold, yes." Richter said. "Gumball helped me train my fluffies for that year so I could get them mommies and daddies, and in return, I gave Gumball a second chance at the shop." he looked at Ash. "So, it's your pick. Either I throw you in the 'burnie monster', or you help me and you get one more year to try to sell. Which will it be?"

The little stallion's mouth quivered as he stared at the other fluffies; a look between terror and disgust filled his eyes at the sight, and several times Richter could feel the fluffy trying, perhaps out of self-preservation, not to retch in his grip. He held Ash steady all the same; if the fluffy went into a 'wan die' loop or anything like that, he'd be useless during the year anyway. If he didn't, and made the correct choice...



Richter left The Room a few minutes later, with Ash following obediently behind him.
Uploader Awful_Writer,
Tags burned_alive fire fluffy_abuse pegasus pragmatism smarty store unicorn
Source Unknown
Locked No


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Awful_Writer: Something I wrote up and considered making into a proper story! And then didn't. I figure I could either post it here as a "what if" sort of intro chapter, or I could just leave it on my hard drive to rot, so eh.
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Vanguard: A neat little one-shot.
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Anonymous1: I am not sure you can‘t call yourself an abuser if you don‘t snap the necks first before you from ‘em to burn.
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BuzzsawMD: that was a good read
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PencilWingie: Hmm. It's a good story, and I'd love to read more. But I see your point about making it into a proper story. Where do you go from here without too many clichés and tropes?

So, should you leave it at this point, fun read! More to story? Good luck and would read.

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FluffiesAreFood: This is a good story. I'm in agreement with @Anonymous's point that a real non-abuser would euthanize the fluffies (broken neck works) before burning. Of course, I would suggest that all the fluffies that couldn't be sold as pets be sold as meat and fur, which could still make for a gruesome lesson for Ash and Gumball.
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Anonymous2: @Anonymous: Snapping their neck before throwing them in the fire would be boring, I mean they would already be dead, and a rather painless one at that too.
Unless you mean paralyze them,, but I don't think that is much better.

As for the story itself, it is interesting, and a rather good deal for Ash, while I hope he does ok, at the same time I wouldn't want it to be predictable, but that is the author job, not mine.

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FluffiesAreFood: @Anonymous: One imagines Ash working feverishly to keep his friends from becoming nummies (for the furnace munsta) but not able to tell them about the actual likelihood of becoming nummies....

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AMR: Great story.
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Anonymous3: @Awful_Writer: Awful I got to say that this was a good story. Really fun to read.
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