abuse alchohol author:branf1akes author:linepaperpens collab drugged music_as_a_weapon questionable rage sorry-box


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Going NBK: The Fragile

You are Eric Klebold. Things haven't been going so great. You plan to fix that.

You walk down the road, and see the brightly colored sign off in the distance. 'Fluff-Mart' Is what it reads. You don't normally go in the store, but you pass by it every day walking home from school. Today you've decided to make a purchase.

As you walk closer towards the store somebody bumps into you.

"Sorry man, I didn't see you there..." He apologizes. It's fine to you, nobody really sees you anyway. You look at him. He's wearing a hoodie similar to yours. You turn from staring at him, and head inside the shop.

The shop is bright, and there's fluffies lining the walls. You check some of their prices. They're kinda expensive, and you're low on cash right now... another reason why things aren't going so well. The clerk behind the counter notices you and waves you over.

"Hey, what can I help you with today?" She asks. You look at her name tag. 'Winter'. You scratch your head a bit, and then look away. You lean in towards her.

"Hey I'm looking for a fluffy... maybe a couple... but I'm... a bit short on cash." You explain. She nods as you talk, before opening her mouth to speak.

"I've got just the thing." She says, before heading off towards the back of the store. It smells worse in the back. Less like the artificial strawberry smell pumped into the main section, and more like... shit. She shows you some of the fluffies. The prices are way cheaper.

"I'll take that one... and... that one." You say, pointing at the fluffies you like. A colt and a filly. They're both foals, but they're eating dry food. The male is rust colored, with a mussy brown mane. And the female is dark yellow, with an off-white mane, almost light brown in color.

Winter packs up the fluffies for you. She puts them in a cardboard box with airholes, similar to the ones pet shops put mice in. You thank her for the help, and hand her the cash, telling her to "Keep the change."

You walk back home, sounds of "Nyu Daddeh?" And "Boxie pwace dawk!" serenading you every couple minutes. As you walk you begin to think. The whole reason you bought these two is so you can abuse them.

Your life hasn't been that great recently. You have never, ever had a girlfriend despite longing for a soulmate to spend your life with. You got fired from your job at the local pizza place. The few friends you had worked there, cutting off time you got to spend with them and further isolating you. And school...

You clench your fists at the thought of that shithole.

You decide on a plan, and finally make it your house. You head down into the basement. It's dark in the basement, but you can maneuver around just fine in the dark. You open up the cardboard box with a rrrrrRRIP!

"Daddeh?" The filly asks. You over turn the box, causing the fluffies to fall out.They land with a thud, that then leads to "OWWIES! Huu-huu... babbeh taiw hab huwties..." They cry out for their 'Nyu daddeh' to save them.

"Don't worry, I'll help you." You say, sounding like you don't care enough. You can see their outlines in the dark, and step. You hear a sickening 'CRUNCH' followed by an anguished cry of pain. You scoop up the fluffies, making sure whatever it was you stepped on stayed underfoot.

"SCREEE! OWWIES! HAB OWWIES! SABE BABBEH!" It screeches. That's the colt this time. You lift your foot, and safely have the foals in you hand. You pet them a bit, and they do their best to coo through their sniffling.

"Nyu Daddeh?" The filly asks. "Pwease make nu mowe dawkies... nee' gib huggies to nyu fwiend...fwiend hab wowstest huwties..." You chuckle a bit. Probably the first in a while. It's funny how she thinks hugs with fix whatever damage you caused.

"Suuuuuure." You say, trudging off towards the switch. You stomp with each step, and it echoes across the basement, soliciting an "EEP!" Or a sad whimper from the foals. You make it to the switch, and close your eyes.

See, the lights in the basement are super bright... like, mess up your eyesight bright. At least, when you first switch them on.

You close your eyes and flip the switch. You can tell the lights came on, because even though their closed, you can feel the strain of the light on your eyes. Speaking of which, one of the fluffies lets out a "SCREEE!" right before the lights dim a bit.

You open your eyes at look at the sight before you. The colts eyes are bright pink, and his pupils are dilated beyond belief. He lets out a few pain wheezes. The filly on the other hand, looks fine. She finishes the yawn she just had, and opens her eyes. She looks at her brother.

He's a lot worse than you thought. He's covered in blood and you notice something. His wing. It's completely crushed. Must've been what you stepped on. The colt frantically looks around, his eyes trying their best to adjust.

"Daddeh... pwease tuwn off da bwighties... huwt Babbehs see-pwaces..." He pleads. His sister giggles at his remark.

"Siwwy fwiend! Daddeh aweady tuwn off bwight ting!" The filly giggles, giving her brother a few playful taps with her hooves. A few tears escape her brother's eyes.

You set the fluffies down on the ground, and lay out a few rules.

1.They can't leave the basement.
2.They can't play with anything that isn't their toys, or each other. A ball, a few blocks, and a Teddy bear all sit in one corner.
3. The most important rule. They MUST use the litter box. Any other poopies will be considered 'Bad poopies' and bad poopies will be punished.

The colt freaks out, trying his best to find a larger blob among the smaller blobs in his field of vision. "B-bu' Daddeh, fwuffy nu can see wittew box! Huu huu... nu wan' make bad poopies..." You shrug.

"Guess you'll have to figure it out."

You went back up stairs a little bit later. The filly jumped around the colt, giving him hugs and trying to play with him. He sulked while she did this. Neither of them had used the litter box yet, and neither had made 'Bad poopies.'

As you walk down the stairs you noticed the colt's wing. It was still fucked to Hell. It had to be done. You descended to the bottom and the filly noticed you.

"Nyu Daddeh! Fwuffy wub Nyu Daddeh!" You lean down to pet her.

"Hey, I don't have time right now." You say, before heading over to the colt. The colt looks around.

"Daddeh? Whewe Daddeh? Daddeh hewp babbeh?" He asks, wiggling his legs around. You pick him up and he jumps. "Nu! Nu upsies!" He wiggles more, trying to escape whatever grabbed him. You calm him down.

'Don't worry... I'm gonna fix it." You tell him. He gets excited by this, and smiles. He think you're going to let him see again. You take him upstairs, and the filly stays, listening to the rules.

You take the blind fluffy to your shed. You have plenty of tools in there. You set him down on the table, and grab some duck tape. You stretch some out, the noise it makes scares him, but he holds still. You tape down each of his legs, tight enough to hold them steady, but not tight enough to stop circulation.

You head back inside, and into your bathroom. You grab one of the syringes from your cabinet. Said to cause numbness. You've never tried one, though the thought crossed your mind more than once. Maybe they'll work on a fluffy.

When you get back to the shed the colt is crying, asking loudly where daddy went. You tell him you're here, and let him know you're gonna fix it. He quiets down.

"Tank 'ou Daddeh..." He says, breathing heavily. He tries to calm his breathing. You steady the syringe...

And jam it straight into his asshole. He screams in pain. "SCREE! DADDEH! HEWP! MUNSTAH TWY HUWT POOPIE PWACE!" He freaks out while you open your tool box. You grab your claw hammer.

You grab his broken wing. He screams as you stretch it out, blood dripping from where shards of bone protrude. You use the claw of the hammer and swing.

"SCREEE! NU! ONWY WITTEW BABBEH!" The colt screams as the claw gets stuck in his tiny wing.

"Quit your bitching." You say, yanking on the wing. It pops out of socket, and the foal lets out some whimpers. You twist on the wing and yank, it comes clean off.

The foal is still crying as you patch him up. You do your best to convince him it was a monster of some kind, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. You shrug off your suspicions and put him back in the basement. His friend notices his removed wing, and gives him her best huggies. It seems to help.

You remember something before heading up stairs again. "Right, I have to give you names." You explain. They get excited at the thought of names. The colt does his best to line up.

"Okay... you'll be..." You think on it for a little bit. "Brooks.' You say pointing at the filly.

"Bwooks wub nyu name. Tank 'ou Daddeh!" She says, grinning wide. The colt lights up. It's his turn!

"You can be... Jet!" You say. He looks happy with that name. "No wait... you're missing a wing now...that name won't work. You can't jet around in the sky with one wing..." The colt begins to tear up, only now realizing what this all means.

"How about Seymour?" You say. He seems to like it too. Wait... that won't work...you can't see at all, let alone see more." You explain. He's really crying now. "Well how about...Castaldo?" You say. The colt nods. "Proably too hard for a fluffy to say... We'll call you Cas for short." He nods again, tears welling up in his eyes. He's really taken in how fucked up his body is now.

You yawn and head upstairs switching the light off. Cas freaks out a bit, becasue of the return of the dark. All of the blobs have escaped his vision.

As you head off for your room you remember... his ass ain't gonna feel anything... not for a little bit.

The next morning, you went downstairs to check on the fluffies. When you opened the door to the basement you heard the foals in hysterics.

"Nu Cas! Nu make bad poopies!" Brooks half yell, half whispers. That's interesting...

"Cas nu mean it! Nu feew poopies! Nu mean to... huu-huu... nu wan' be bad fwuffy..." Cas cries. The fluffies talk more about what to do, and you quietly creep down the stairs. The foals are facing away from you, and are discussing the 'bad poopies'.

'Ahemm." You clear your throat. The fluffies jump. They turn around in fear, and Brooks' hoof shoots out at Cas.

"Cas did da bad poopies! Nu was Bwooks! Bwooks awe gud fwuffy!" Brooks exclaims. She does her best smile. You look at Cas.

"Cas. I'm very disappointed in you." You say, walking over to him. He flinches as you approach, but he doesn't attempt to run away.

"Cas sowwy Daddeh! Nu mean to make bad poopies! Poopies come out! Cas nu feew! Nu mean to!" He pleads as you carry him up the stairs.

You take him back out to the shed, and strap him back down with duct tape. He cries, knowing that punishment is coming. You're getting sick of it.

"Shut up!" You slam your fist on the table. He recoils at the noise, and his sobbing tapers down a bit. Having lacked the money for a professionally made sorry stick, you're going to utilize something with far lower cost: a thin tree branch. The first few strikes of the branch, Cas cries out in pain.

"OWIE! OWIE! Cas sowwy daddeh! OWIE! Pwease stahp - OWIE! - Cas hab wowstest huwties! OWIE!" You start losing count of the times you hit him. One of your strikes hits his other wing, breaking it.

"SCREE! NU! CAS NU WAN WOSE ODDAH WINGIE!" You finally stop the assault. Cas is covered in bruises and welts, and in some places the skin has broken and he's bleeding. You take a deep breath. You needed that.

You check the time. Shit. Dylan's almost definitely waiting outside in his car by now. You're going to be late.

"Daddeh am gud daddeh nao? Cas can weave da munstah woom nao?" You take off the taped restrainsts, and he coos in your hands, expecting the ordeal to be over. Instead you shove him face-first into a jar, which you had earlier lined with thumbtacks, broken glass, and splinters at the bottom.

"SCREE! Huu huu, Daddeh, pwease sabe Cas! Munstah twy to num Cas!" You can't help but chuckle.

"You're staying there until I come back from Dylan's place. You'd better behave yourself while I'm gone." You exit the shed, leaving Cas to cry by his lonesome.


Man, what a day. Your clothes are kind of messy now though. That sucks. You wipe off as much of the crud that got on you as possible. You're glad you didn't catch the attention of your parents when you came back home. You don't want them asking too many questions.

Now clean, you enter the shed where you left Cas, the door creaking open. You can't hear him. The jar you jammed him in rolled across the floor a few feet where you left it. He must've passed out while struggling. You've still got a bottle of vodka on you, so you carefully stand the jar up, so not to rouse him, and pour a little (or perhaps more) vodka into the glass container. The alcohol starts to seep into his wounds, and he stirs in response.

"Huh? Wha...dat feews...buwnie! Buwnies! BUWNIE HUWTIES! BUWNIE HUWTIES!" He's twisting around in the jar, driving the sharp objects deeper into his flesh and spreading the alcohol all over himself. It quickly finds its way down into his eyes and nose.

"SCREEEE! Buwnie wawa in see pwaces! Daddeh hewp! HEWP!" You pull him out of the jar, to his relief. "Daddeh! Pwease make buwnie huwties stahp! Dis da wowstest huwties eba!" he pleads.

"Oh gosh Cas, I wish I could, but I can't make it stop."

"Wha? Wai? Daddeh nu wuv Cas?"

"I still love you buddy," lie of the century right there, "but I can't make the burning go away, because, um, that's a very special kind of water that only hurts bad fluffies."

Despite being the most insipid nonsense you ever had the displeasure of uttering, Cas believes every word of it. "Wha? NUUUUUUU! Cas be gud fwuffy, pwomise! Wiww be da bestest fwuffy!"

"Do you really mean that?"

"YUS! YUS YUS YUS!" Cas belts out, desperate to be believed. "W-wiww dancies make Cas gud babbeh? Daddeh wan Cas be dancie babbeh?" He tries to stand up on his hind legs to make an effort at dancing, but trips over his own legs, lands flat on his stomach, further exacerbating the pain from the sharp objects still stuck in him. You laugh as he lets out a defeated "huu huu..."

"Just behave from now on, and I think that'll be good enough. Let's get you cleaned up a bit." With not-so delicate finesse, you pull out the glass, the wood splinters, everything. He whimpers, but is otherwise staying calm. As you're carrying him back to the basement, you give him a little scratch under the chin. When you set him down, Brooks rushes over, hugging him, asking all sorts of questions, but you're too tired to really care. Today was draining, but definitely rewarding.

A few days pass without incident. Cas is putting in his greatest effort to be a well-behaved fluffy. Brooks helps him to find everything, like a living blind man's cane. It's peaceful. Almost cute.

Good times never last.

You come home pissed. You want to tear your room apart, smash every piece of furniture in the house in a blind, desperate rage, but you have to control yourself. You're not a maniac like Dylan. You have to concoct a plan, figure out a way so you can punish Cas without coming across as unhinged. But how? You only had one syringe, and your wallet hasn't fattened up since, so that's out. Laxatives are also a dead end, since he's figured out where the litterbox is. You take out a joint, and light it up. It'll help you think.

Wait a second. Your weed! This might just be what you're looking for.

You go to the pantry, grab a cup of ramen (no way in Hell you're going to bother making actual spaghetti), and boil it up. As you're stirring in the weed, you wonder, is this going to work? You've never seen a fluffy get stoned before, so for all you know, this might not even effect him. Just to make sure something hits him, you add in some rum. You pour the concoction in a bowl and go down to get him.

"Daddeh!" the fluffies pipe up, hugging your legs. "Daddeh wan pway wif fwuffies?" Brooks asks.

"In a minute Brooks. Daddy has a very special surprise for Cas."

"Daddeh hab su'pwise?" Cas asks, seemingly stunned, before shifting to joy. "Yay! Cas wub daddeh! Wha am su'pwise daddhe?"

"I have to show you in secret. That's what makes it a surprise." You take him to the bowl of ramen, leaving Brooks behind, as he claps his hooves and sings a tone-deaf tune about the greatness of surprises.

"Since you've been so good lately, I made you a nice bowl of spaghetti." you say, showing off the ramen bowl. He looks at it. His smile falters. He inches towards it and takes a whiff. His face scrunches up in response.

"Daddeh, Cas tink dese am bad sketties."

"What? Bad sketties?" you say in mock outrage. "I prepared this just for you, out of love and compassion in my heart, and you think I did a bad job? Are you ungrateful for what you have? Do you not love your Daddy anymore? Don't you know how terrible you're making me feel?" You're barely keeping a smile in check as Cas's face pulls back in horror and guilt.

"Nu! Cas wub daddeh! Cas nu mean tu gib daddeh heawt huwties!" he blurts out.

"Then please, eat your spaghetti. It would make me feel MUCH better if you do." Don't need to tell him twice, because he pushes his face straight in, gulping his meal down like a pig. He finishes, you congratulate him, then set him back into the basement and wait it out.

A few hours later you check in.

"Huu huu, wai Cas am dummeh fwuffy nao? Dat nu am wittabawks Cas!" Cas tries to respond, but just makes a garbled, gurgling sound, and drools all over himself. He keeps flopping on the ground every time he tries to stand. Brooks is trying to carry him over to the litterbox, as shit occasionally drips out the poor bastard's asshole. Maybe you put too much rum in his ramen.

"What's going on here?"

"Daddeh, Bwooks tink dat Cas hab wowstest sickies! Cas tinky-pwace nu wowk nu mowe..." Brooks looks on the verge of tears.

"Well that's too bad, because the rules are clear as day. Has Cas been a good fluffy?"

She avoids your gaze as she utters a mournful "Nu...". That's all you need to take Cas away, Brooks burying her face in her hooves as she cries for his fate. You look him over. He's still a drooling idiot, barely aware of what's going on around him. You sigh. Your retribution is going to be delayed. You stuff him in an empty ammo box you have, but sticking him the makeshift drunk tank for the night feels...unsatisfying. You need a little extra. You grab a speaker, set it right on top of the drunk tank, and set it to play your favorite album, on repeat, throughout the night.


And then, you rest.

Wake up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to basement. Fill Brooks's food bowl. Take your time, because there's no rush.

"Daddeh, am Cas gun be awight?" Brooks asks as you're filling her bowl. You're a bit taken aback by the question.

"Well of course he's going to be alright, why do you ask?"

"Um, Cas say wots ob tings wast bwight time..." she trails off, looking to the side.

"Come on, spit it out. What did he tell you?"

"Cas say...Cas say..." she gulps. "Cas say dat munstah gib him huwties, an dat daddeh gib him huwties, bu' den Cas tuwn inta dummeh fwuffy, an nu make it to da wittabawks, su Bwooks nu kno if Cas am wight." Wow. A toddler drugged on thorazine could put together a better sentance.

"Don't worry about it. He was just dru-I mean sick in the head last night. He was just talking nonsense. If he ever says anything like that again, you let me know right away, okay?"

"Otay daddeh..." she says. Doesn't seem too convinced, but that's fine.

Time to inspect the booze fiend. The last track on the album is playing. You let it play, waiting for it to end before you strike.

What a lovely melody. Almost a shame you can't listen to it forever. Can't focus on that right now though. It's time for business. You slam your hand against the side of the ammo box. You can hear him screech in surprise.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!" You open up the box to get a good look at him. Jesus Christ, he looks bad. His eyes are hellishly red, yellow strands of vomit have long since dried and crusted over on his fluff, and he's shaking as if on the epicenter of a 9.0 earthquake.

"So, did ya like my music?" you say, with an ear-to-ear grin.

"W-w-w-w-wo-wostest, wostest n-n-n-ois-oisies. W-w-w-wostest."

"What? You mean to tell me you didn't like it?" He wearily nods his head. You toss your hands up in fake exasperation. "First you hate my sketties, now you hate my music, is there anything you do like, Cas?"

"Huu huu...n-n-n-nu w-w-wan gu in *sniff* sowwy b-bawks 'gain...huu huu..." he eeks out, just barely above a whisper.

"Well I've got news for you, you aren't going back in there. But I am going to have to punish you. You made bad poopies yesterday, remember?" He shrinks back in fear, his brief hope after telling him he wouldn't be in the ammo box any longer crushed under the weight of another punishment.

"You've been a very bad fluffy lately Cas." You retrieve your trusty tree branch. Cas in your right hand and branch in your left, you bring it to bear against him. A smack across the side of his face causes a tooth or two to fly out with a pained yelp accompanying it.

"You disrespect my cooking..." You slam the branch against his chest a few times. A small snapping sound along with an unearthly rattle from the unfortunate fluffy informs you that you may have broken a rib or three.

"And my music..." The branch is struck against his testicles next. Cas shout out "SCREEEEEEE! SPECIAW WUMPS!" after the first hit, and sobs a lot louder than before. You pound so hard that it looks like his balls are bruised beyond repair. Who knew sterilization could be so cathartic?

"And you get shit everywhere!" A directionless blow against Cas's body causes the branch to finally break with a thundering snap. You gaze at the sniveling creature before you. Your words were absurd, but had genuine anger held within. Not because Cas actually angered you. No, your anger has roots that are far deeper.

"S-s-s-sowwy d-d-daddeh. S-s-s-su s-s-sowwy." The assault has re-opened new wounds and created brand new ones. It's a sight to behold.

"Not quite, but oh you will be." you spout back at him. Trust duck tape. He sobs ever more. Your knife is your new tool of punishment. Jam it into the base of his front leg, then pull upwards, cutting the leg in half down the middle.

"NUUUUU! NU HUWT WEGGIE!" he pleads. Vain hope. You split one of his back legs in half afterwards. "NUUUUHUUHUUU! FIX WEGGIES! FIX WEGGIES! WIWW GU BACK IN SOWWY BAWKS JUS'PWEASE FIX WEGGIES!" Now that's an interesting reaction.

"Do you really mean that?"


Damn. "Alright, fine, I'll fix your legs, an in exchange you have to spend the night in the sorry box, for EVERY night. Deal?"

"Yus yus yus tank 'ou tank 'ou tank 'ou!" He has the first look of pure ecstacy you're sure he's had in a long time. That means you've gotta knock him down a peg.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves Cas. I'm not finished with your punishment."

"Huh? Wha-" You jab the knife into his side. "SCREEEEEE! Pointy owies! Huu huu, dis am da wostest bwight time eba!"

"Hold still now..." steadily, you carve the word "FAG" into his flesh. "There we go. We're almost done here Cas. You're doing great." A couple of sounds that seem like he's trying to string together words come out of his mouth, but it's too hard to understand with all his moaning and puffing. You still have some rum left.

"Say hello to your old friend, the burning water!" You apply a generous helping of alcohol to his injuries.


And with that, you're all finished. You bandage up his legs as best you can, his shivering and soft whimpers making the job a bit on the difficult side, but you manage. He's still trembling pretty bad, maybe worse than before, and he will not stop mumbling. When you bring him back to Brooks, he embraces her desperately, and they mutually cry over what's happened to him.

You make good on that bargain. Ever night, instead of sleeping in the basement, Cas goes back to the ammo box, enduring hour after hour of the same album on repeat. The dissonant sounds and harsh lyrics must be getting to him, because as they days go by, his stuttering worsens. He either never sleeps during the nights or has restless sleep, because he's having nightmare laden naps during the day.

"Huu huu, wai Cas nu pway wif Bwooks? Nu wuv Bwooks nu mowe?"

"Too...tiwed...nu wan pway...nee gu sweepies..." And sure enough, he did end up going to sleep. He flopped over on his side from exhaustion, wheezing in pain because his ribs haven't fully healed, but passing out nonetheless. In the litterbox, that is.

"Huu...Cas, dat nu am sweepy-pwace..." Brooks sighs.

His legs aren't doing too well either. You've given it your all, but neither of them have fully healed yet. The lack of progress frustrates Cas worse than his ruined sex drive.

"Huu huu, wai no-no stick nu wowk nu mowe? Huu huu, wan be Bwooks speciaw fwiend! Wan hab babbehs!" Perhaps only a little worse.

Today, you're just lazily watching over the fluffies, nothing important going on, not much troubling you today. Cas fumbles his way towards you, feeling the way he goes with very careful and deliberate steps, so as not to aggravate his damaged legs much further. Eventually his hoof comes into contact with your boot, his indication that you're there.

"Wai?" Cas is staring up at you, a hollowed out, slightly foggy eyes giving you a glimpse into a soul that's long gone. Kind of weirds you out, honestly. Can he even see anymore?


"W-wai d-d-d-daddeh h-huwt C-C-Cas?" he asks. That is unique. Another surprising question, one that deserves an honest answer.

"I'm only making you feel how I feel." His eyes widen in shock. Clearly that wasn't the answer he was expecting. After a moment, his eyes drift towards the ground, before they close. He rests himself right there.

"Wan die." You mentally shrug. What's the harm in it now? You've had your fun, and hey, all good things come to an end. Raise your right foot, slam it down, splatter blood all on the underside of your shoes and in a good six inch radius, and just like that, Cas is dead.

"Wha? Wha am daddeh doin?!" Brooks reacts, alarm rising in her voice as she sees the gory mess.

"Oh, just killing Cas." There's a long minute of silence after that. Brooks starts to tear up, but just leaves her mouth curled in a hideous grimace for a while. Then, she breaks the silence.

"Daddeh gon gib Bwooks foweva sweepie tu?"

"Nah," you say, apathy reigning your voice. Brooks starts to cry now, slippimg out Cas's name in-between sobs, as she approaches the bloody remains of the fluffy once considered her friend. You crouch down to face her, tilt her head up with one finger, and wipe away the tears with your thumb.

"Don't cry now. Think of this as a learning experience. You might not ever fully understand why I did what I did, but just remember, that fluffy? It could've been you. But it wasn't. Now, whatever life you have left to live, that's because of me. Be happy from now on Brooks. You're safe." With that, you allow her to grieve over the mangled fluffy corpse, mentally scarred, permanently damaged, but alive and healthy.
Uploader BranF1akes,
Tags abuse alchohol author:branf1akes author:linepaperpens collab drugged music_as_a_weapon rage sorry-box
Rating questionable
Source Unknown
Locked No


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BranF1akes: Credit goes to @LinePaperPens as the co-author.
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Anonymous1: You're terrible people for writing this, and I'm a terrible person for enjoying it.

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sexygoatgod: Jesus.

5 stars.
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BranF1akes: @Anonymous: @sexygoatgod: I'm delighted to see that you both enjoyed. :)
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undertoasted: good shit man, good shit