author:iluv_molly eating-foals factory factory_farm fluffies-as-food foal foal-abuse meat safe story_life_of_a_meat_foal_by_iluv_molly text


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Part 2

It's been far too many days to count. Each morning is worse than the last; you keep losing the hope you once had that the humans might let you go, might let you see mummah again. Sometimes, just for a moment, you think it might be better to be made into nummies than live here in this cage forever.

"Milk time again, fluffies."

The man comes round and pours some of the thick fluid into each fluffy's bowl.

Mistuh, babbeh smeww weawwy nu-pwetty. Pwease cwean babbeh?

You look up hopefully as the man comes by. You feel like your poopies smell even more not-pretty ever since you arrived here, and they're all pooling behind you and trickling down the pretty fluff on your backside.

"Maybe. Drink."

You slurp down the milk as usual, doing your best to pretend it's mummah-milk. It barely makes a difference; this milk just doesn't compare.

"Fankoo, mistuh... huuhhuuuuu..." The man reaches the red colt opposite you. He hasn't been able to move ever since he got hurties for trying to get big and strong.

"MEANIE MUNSTAS!" A new yellow colt in the next cage shrieks, causing the red foal to sputter milk everywhere and cry.

"GIF BABBEH BACK TA MUMMAH!" The fluffy frowns at the man, cheeks and chest puffed out. You think he looks terrifying- but the man simply walks along to the next fluffy and fills the bowl with milk. "WET OUT! BABBEH WAN MUMMAH! NAO!"

You try to preoccupy yourself as the foal continues screaming to no avail. Filling the time here is the hardest part; if you weren't here you'd probably be hugging mummah, or running around, or playing with other foals or with mummah. Here all you can do for fun is think about those things, and usually even that just gives you more big saddies.

"Whewe take babbeh?"

Your head shoots around. Oh no! You've seen this before- the human is taking babies away for nummies! You hang your head as low as you can, hoping not to be noticed, and hear all the fluffies around you turn silent too, besides a few newer ones.

"*SNIFF* Mistuh t-take babbeh ta see mummah 'gain?"

"Whewe go?"



You can just about see the feet of the giant man in front of you. You almost let out a loud *CHIRP*- but the man turns away and crouches to face the fluffies opposite you.

You look up to see him lift the red colt.

"Nu wan be nummies..." the foal moans meekly. "Pwease mistuh..."


You shriek. Distracted by the scene in front of you, you hadn't noticed the second human gathering fluffies from behind! You kick and scream and yell, hoping that you might be able to wriggle out of her grasp, but she doesn't seem to even notice as she carries you, with three or so others, into another room.


You're crammed together in one big cage with all the other chosen fluffies.

It's unusually quiet. No crying for mummahs or begging to not be turned into nummies. Just gentle sobbing.

You've hardly even seen anywhere else besides the no-move room. This place is colder and darker, but you're almost happy to be somewhere else. You can finally feel the touch of other fluffies against your sides, packed together in the tiny cage; only two big windows, in front and behind, to the outside, where you can see the humans moving about.

"Alright, go for the wash."

"Got it," a voice responds from behind you. You glance behind, and see one of them holding what looks like some kind of long, bendy toy.

All of a sudden, there's a *HISSSSS* and a violent jet of icy-cold water shoots out.





Once the water finished, all of you are left shuddering and crying as your soaking coat drips the freezing water. Then you're left, shivering against the fluffies to your side, for the longest time.


"Nu... pwease nu..."

A hand reaches in and grabs the red colt.

"P-pwease nu huwt babbeh..." he cries despairingly.

The human practically slams the colt onto a surface, belly-up. Then he takes out something sharp and scary-looking, and you watch in horror as he slices down the length of the colt, from neck to groin.


Two of the fluffies still in the cage scream. The rest of you are too scared to move. The man forcefully peels back the skin, first from the back legs, then the front, revealing the red-and-pink beneath. He digs his hand into the colt's midsection as it continues to softly whine, pulling out a myriad of nasty-looking things that you didn't even know were inside a fluffy.

"P-p-pwease... a-am g-g-gud b-babb-bab..."

The foal lets out a flood of tears as the man finishes, casually removing its head in one quick stroke.



What remains of the foal is moved somewhere out of sight, the head still propped on the surface in view. The man opens the cage and reaches his hand in.


A brown-blotted orange foal, one of the smaller ones but just as plump as the rest, fights for its life as the man takes it by the head. Its legs thrash around, faster than you ever thought could be possible. It cries out in a low, unappealing voice.


The man loses his grip, and the fluffy wriggles out of grasp. Just as the hand reaches back to grab the foal, another foal- a soft pink filly- shoves its way out of the cage, knocking the door open.


Several other fluffies pour out. You shove through, knocking the fat orange filly next to you, until you barely make it out. As you escape, you glance back into the cage to see two fluffies remaining, including the fat orange filly, now bawling on the floor.

Panting, you make it to the edge of the room. At least three fluffies remain disoriented in the centre of the room, tripping over themselves and struggling to hold their own weight.



You notice the man has already caught one of the escaping foals- the pink filly who escaped first, now wailing as the man grasps her tail.

"MELISSA, COME HELP, there's been an incident!"

You circle the edge of the room, hoping to find an exit. You see a grey foal waddling clumsily some distance in front of you with the same idea.

"Huuhhuuuuuu!!! Munsta gon' catc- EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"

Another fluffy is grasped and lifted. The man stops its screaming by twisting its head until it parts from its body.

The grey foal in front of you darts off to an exit. You try to catch up, but your legs simply aren't fast enough.

Pwease go fastew weggies! Nu wan biggest huwties!

But your legs won't go faster. They're practically trembling trying to carry you, and seem to be struggling more by the minute.

The humans have almost caught up by the time you make it into the next room.


The humans don't follow you in, and the orange-brown fluffy manages to slink in with you too.

"Huwwy, wun!" The grey foal waddles over to another opening in the empty room. It seems to take him forever to reach it, and the two of you follow at the same pace.

The first thing you notice in the next room is the smell. Milkies! It takes you a moment to recognise the smell of the milk- not the weird not-right milkies the humans give you, but fresh, mummah-milkies like you used to have before.

But what's inside the room is like nothing you've seen before.

More fluffies than you've ever seen are propped upright in neat rows- rows upon rows, facing each other. You even see rows ABOVE the rows on the room's edges, stacked on shelves. They're big fluffies- you assume mummahs, mummahs are the only fluffies you've seen this big. Strange apparatus cover their giant milk-bags, close to the river of milk that runs down a depression between each row.

Suddenly, as you're following the grey foal down the milk-trail, you recognise another familiar smell.


You look to the mass of orange fluff next to you. But what you see isn't how you remember mummah.

Mummah's obscured milky-bags, now massive and swollen, don't look welcoming at all. Her eyes are covered by fabric stained with crusty red blotches. A tube, running the whole length of the row of fluffies, connects to an outlet that disappears into mummah's mouth.

Then there's the legs.

You don't see them. Where are mummah's legs? In place are metal rods sticking out sideways from patches of pinkish shaved skin- and all along you see fluffies mutilated in the same way, arranged as though the metal rods were one great rod traversing the whole row.

Wh-wha' happen wif mummah?

Mummah jolts to life. "Ua-uahheh?"

Mummah? Wha' happen? Whewe weggies?

"Uuuuhuuuuhuuuuu... Bweah babbueh, sabe mubmah... uuuuuuu..."

You don't know what to do.

Babbeh gif mummah huggies, make mummah bettew? *Huuuuuu...* Pwease mummah be bettew, babbeh nee' hewp...

You stumble up and give mummah a hug. You can only bring yourself to do it reluctantly. Realising that you don't even want to hug mummah now makes you even more sad.

Mummah lets out a rasping noise. "Uahhbeh... pwea mae wehhies an' see-bwa-ces com back?"

Footsteps. Your ears prick up. Then you scutter off, finding a hidden nook at the back of the row to cram into.

The man enters.

Directly in front of him, the orange-brown foal shudders with its hooves over its eyes. The man steps forward, and with a single, shrill *PEEEEP* the foal is pinched by the scruff and lifted out of view.

"Uahheh... weue bahhueh go?"

Mummah blubbers incoherently, drawing the man's attention.

"Uuuuu-uuuuuu-uuuuh... uuuu-uuuuuuh... uaabbeh..."

You can barely see what's going on behind another large mummah concealing your hiding spot. The man stays around mummah, playing with something around her as she continues to call out to you.

"Huuuuuuhuuuuuuu... wan babbuah..." mummah cries, more coherently.

The man moves closer to you, mummah in his arms. You hold back tears as you see her more clearly now; her unnatural, fleshy milky-bags hanging loosely in front of her, the hideous patchwork of pink and white where her leggies once were.

"Alright. Whoever's this is," the man raises his voice, "come out now unless you want her to get hurties."

Mummah softly *huu-huu*s.

"Three. Two."

"Babbeh... ba-"


The man frees one hand, shifting the other around mummah's scruff. Then he bends over and slams mummah down violently.



"Come out, little one. Are you going to save mummah?"



Vertical red slits appear on mummah's overburdened milky-places. Her face looks like it's been mashed inwards. The fabric over her eyes slips off and you see her eyes are now blackish-red holes, seeping red hurty-juice.



You recoil, taking your eyes off mummah and the munsta.




"Come out, come out, come out..." The man mutters. Several other fluffies in the room start babbling in confusion.

Mummah's voice becomes more raspy and laboured. "Pwease babbeh *HUUUU* *HUUUUU* make meanie man stop, su huwties *HUUUUUU*"

Looking away, you hear footsteps. There's a pause in the screaming and *THUD* sounds. Mummah's voice draws closer.

Then you feel a pinch.



You cry the whole way as the man carries you back. You're dangled in the air for a moment as he fumbles for something. You glance around; fleshy pink things that you assume were once babbehs hang in a line from sharp hooks. You can't believe how many there are. Patches of fluff lie on the ground. You think you see a couple of heads.

You whimper. N-nu take babbeh head pwease nice mistuh... nu take pwitty fwuff...

You paw your hooves up and down your front-fluff as if to demonstrate.

The man pulls out something; it's the same thing he used to hurt the red colt's leggies. Then he places you down and positions it on your nape, pressing hard.

P-pwease n-n-nu...

There's a sharp, painful jolt. Then nothing. You can't feel anything. You're flipped over- you try to kick your leggies with increasing vigour, but it only manifests as twitches. You cry out, but you're not sure if it's coming out or not. You feel like you're in a bad dream, waning in and out of consciousness.

Then the man pulls out the sharp thing.


You look on helplessly as the man plunges it in and begins to take your body apart. You think about being back with mummah and the rest of the happy fluffies, the one happy memory in your short life, trying to ignore creeping thoughts of where mummah is now.

It's the last thought you hold as you watch your body being ripped apart and you start to drift away.


- Reply
Anonymous1: Fluffy as food I can't see them being too tasty being raised to be nothing but fat, they don't get exercise to be leaner or more gamie, not to mention they are literally more shit than meat
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Anonymous2: @Anonymous: Maybe in the grim darkness of the fluffy future quality meat is hard to come by, so fluffies are bred in volume and slaughtered for the quickly produced meat.

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kill_da_fluffys: Great story.

The colt learning what it will became and what happened to its mother makes it more tragic.

I looking to read your next story.

I think the way your fluffies speak can be improved: for example fluffies don't talk about dying but instead about going fowevah sweepies. Please take a look to the vocabulary section of the fluffypedia:
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LORD: @kill_da_fluffys: from what i have read some fluffies do talk about death/dying without saying fowevew sweepies, but it’s rare and in my headcanon fluffies need to be taught the word and its meaning for them to say it themselves
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Anonymous3: @Anonymous: @Anonymous: there's varying canons on what fluffy meat is like, some people have it being delicious, some people have it being desperation food or whatever. If they're not eating garbage, in theory they should be alright no matter what headcanon you have.

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SmawtySpewmatozoon: Anon has never heard of veal apparently
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Anonymous4: ::Slowly claps::
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Anonymous5(3): @SmawtySpewmatozoon: yeah, theres some new anon who is a bit sheltered still
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Anonymous6: This was great, I really reveled in the mothers agony tbh.
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Fluffwit: Wowie.


I am at a loss for worse over how good this is! I can't WAIT to see your next stories!
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Fluffwit: @Fluffwit: *words, fuck I'm tired

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Lobster_Ballet: This (and part 1) are both really good. Hoping to see more from you in the future!
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toran: Excellent! I was afraid the baby would get away for a second there but he dies a horrible, deserved death in the end.
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toran: @kill_da_fluffys: I've seen plenty of stories where fluffies say both die and forever sleep. I think its more fun to have them know what death is and be horrified of it, so much more satisfying when they seen it coming and can't do anything about it.
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Anonymous7: I would love to give the abusers a taste of their own medicine by going Black Swordsman on them. First I would break their arms and legs then use flamethrowers
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Anonymous8: @Anonymous: