Renfest_0717 amputee elementary_school family generation_gap obese questionable racism twin_peaks_reference

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All I Wanted Was a Fluffy
Part 1: Elisa

by Strangeways Pigg Strangeways

I never liked Casper.

It seemed like all the cool kids at school had Fluffies. I wanted one, and my brother Benji wanted one too. My dad
said that fluffies pooped too much, and that we should have a real pet, not a bio-toy. I didn't understand that.
Animals were boring, they were all brown or gray, and they didn't even talk. I guess some animals didn't poop as much
as fluffies, but cats lick their own buttholes. Fluffies can't even reach their own buttholes to lick them. I think
fluffies pooping like they do only made Benji want one more, actually. Benji and his friends loved to watch “Good
Poopies” on Fluff TV and nearly piss themselves with laughter. A half hour of dimwitted, cartoonish animals farting,
pissing, and shitting. What more could an adolescent boy ask for?

My dad had been set on us getting a cat, though. He was convinced we’d like it better than a fluffy once we got to
know it. He even insisted we get a "natural" cat and not a fun one like a Disney Grumpy Cat or Lil’ Bub. My friend
Marcie had a Grumpy Cat. It didn't talk like fluffies did, but at least it was Grumpy Cat. My dad said that only
those long icky cats were "natural," though, that the government classified the fun clone cats as bio-toys too. He
thought cloned cats would give us cancer. He thought everything would give people cancer. We had to go to a "natural"
pet store, run by people that my mom called "hippies." The hippies were weird. They smelled funny, even over the pet
shop odor. The men all had long hair and the women didn't shave their legs or their arm pits. It was hard to tell the
men from the women because of that. They all farted a lot because they were vegans. They probably pooped a lot too. I
didn't understand why a pet that pooped a lot was "unnatural," but people who decided to eat a bunch of beans instead
of anything else so they’d shit and fart like a fluffy were considered more “natural” than regular people.

In the end, we got Casper. He was completely white, thus his name. Most of the cats were dull brownish colors. They
made me think of walking turds, slinking around everywhere, shedding, hissing, making Benji sneeze, and making his
eyes water. I had heard kids call the brown fluffies that were that color “poopie” fluffies. At least Casper was a
color that would have been nice for a fluffy.

Casper was supposed to be “hypoallergenic,” but as the weeks went by it seemed pretty clear that he still got to
Benji’s allergies, just less so than most cats. The times we’d actually gotten to play with fluffies in the past,
Benji’s allergies didn’t react at all. I tried to ask my dad why getting a pet that meant Benji had to go on allergy
medication was more “natural” than getting one that meant he wouldn’t need to take pills, but he just avoided
answering me.

I mostly just ignored Casper, and Benji did too. I’d started to mention fluffies more to my parents again lately,
though. Not outright asking, I didn’t want to be too obvious. But my mom was pregnant again. She wasn’t showing, and
they hadn’t even told us yet, but I knew. I hear a lot more than my parents think sometimes. I didn’t tell Benji, I
wasn’t sure if he could keep it a secret. But he did pick up on my mentions of fluffies and started to bug them about
getting a fluffy once more too. More than one of my friends had gotten a fluffy to “learn responsibility” or whatever
when their parents had a younger sibling on the way. Maybe we could convince our parents with that tactic.

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Jill Whitty. No. Jill Whitty Robinson. Early, 30’s, somehow she was already a mom. Not a hot mess of a single mother
or a cute newlywed with a newborn, but married with a husband and two school-age children. She liked to think of
herself as cool for a mom, but she wondered if there really was such a thing, or if that just made her one of those
dreaded delusional moms who thought she was a “cool mom.” She wasn’t a young parent, not really. It felt like it back
then, especially being a single mother. Time had flown past it seemed, except for all the times it seemed like it had
been an eternity. She used to say, to her closest friends, the kind she would speak the truths she rarely even
admitted to herself to, that she loved Elisa more than anything, but Elisa had ruined her life. She used to be Jill,
Jill with the bright future and big dreams. Jill, with the endless opportunities. Now she was Jill the mom, full stop.
It wasn’t like she had been a teenager, but she had been young. No father in the picture. She knew she wasn’t “the
type” for that. She knew there were whispers:
"Her?”
“Of all the people, I never thought...”
“She seemed more responsible...”
“Couldn't she have... you know?"

When fluffies first got loose, Jill certainly noticed as much as the rest of the world did. It was definitely a big
deal, not only the escape of these creatures but the revelation of their existence. There was so much else going on in
the world at the time, though, even by the standards of the chaotic modern world. The controversial blind Pope Cassius.
The discovery of the bones of the Prophet Muhammed by Dr. Jellenheimer, and the global turmoil that followed. High
profile lawsuits surrounding the Canned Heat energy drink and Dr. Dick’s home AIDS test. The bizarre acts of terrorism
perpetrated by followers of The New Nihilism. The death of Madonna.

Really, though, she was plenty occupied being a new, single mother. She didn’t live near where the incident had
happened, so ferals weren’t a problem. She saw fluffies turning up as pets, but the world kept turning. Marcus came
along not long after that. He never treated Elisa as anything less than his own daughter, for good and for ill. Then
Benji was on his way. Suddenly Jill was married, and Elisa had an adopted father legally and on paper. Before long,
Elisa had a little brother.

Suddenly, though, fluffies were on Jill's mind again. In the decade-plus since, they had become acceptable, desired,
even trendy pets. Jill had actually warmed up to them quickly. She thought they were cute, and wouldn’t have minded
having one. Could they have really been that more high-maintenance than any other pet? Marcus, old-fashioned as
always, was firmly against it, though, and Jill didn’t mind the idea of a cat either. She’d hoped he would at least
let the kids get a Disney cat. The original bio-toys seemed positively quaint these days, and many of Elisa and
Benji’s friends had them. But there was Marcus and his way of thinking practically anything within a mile of a GMO
would cause cancer. Jill thought that might be a positive in the fluffy column since, unlike Grumpy Cat for instance,
they weren’t clones. But the technicolor fluff got his cancer-sense tingling. Marcus had these hippie friends with a
co-op though, and they always had cats…

Casper was not a resounding success. Benji teased him like a boy his age was wont to do, when his allergies weren’t
flaring up, and Elisa mostly just ignored him. Fluffies seemed to be on both of the children's minds again. On top of
that, Jill had just discovered she was pregnant. With twins. The kids were going to be in a more chaotic household
soon, and it wasn’t from a white cat they’d be able to easily ignore this time. If it would help them adjust to the
changes coming, and let them have something they’d begged for for years, Jill was starting to think a fluffy might be
a good idea…

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was around the time that I found out my mom was pregnant again that someone from a fluffy shelter visited my
school. Everyone was excited when they heard there were fluffies in the school that day. The wait made the day go by
even slower, though. A big assembly in the gym would have scared the fluffies, apparently, so the fluffies were being
taken from classroom to classroom. They were seeing the younger grades first, so they wouldn’t make it to the sixth
graders until almost the end of the day. I was excited, but wary. Most classroom visitors were either disappointments
built up by the teachers to be more than they were, or they were trying to sell you something. We had had the
“formerly homeless” lady who came in to open our eyes to those less fortunate than us (or whatever) one time; it
turned out she hadn’t ever even lived on the streets, she’d just been in a shelter for a while. And then there was the
guy in a full-body alligator suit who came to talk about the importance of brushing your teeth, who mentioned Rick’s
Restaurant at every opportunity (“if you go out to eat at place like, oh, say, Rick’s Restaurant, make sure you brush
when you get home!”). He handed out toothbrushes with “Kids eat free!” coupons for (one guess now…) Rick’s Restaurant
at the end of the talk.

This guy seemed to be a bit of both types. I didn't know our town had a fluffy shelter, and it turned out that we
barely did; this was more of a room in the back of a veterinary clinic than the kind of shelters I had seen on TV. The
visitor, a veterinarian named Dr. Ross Templeton, acted friendly and had us all call him “Dr. Ross,” but he also made
sure to hand out business cards for the Templeton Veterinary Clinic, home of the Double-R Fluffy Shelter “in case you
want to come by and visit the fluffies.” And also so every kid in the room’s parents would have his card lying around
the next time they were frantically looking for a vet’s number at 3:00 AM when their dog, cat, or fluffy started
coughing up green shit, no doubt. He did have fluffies with him, though, so I was excited.

It turned out that the three adult fluffies and a foal that a less-than-enthusiastic school paraprofessional helped
him bring into the room in travel boxes were the entirety of the shelter’s population at the moment. He laid down a
rubber mat for them to sit on “in case the foal has an accident,” and brought out the four fluffies. There was a
bright yellow mare with a purple mane and tail, or at least what was left of a tail. She also was missing one of her
forelegs, with a heavily-scarred stump where the other used to be. One of her hind legs looked like it had been
broken in the past and not healed quite right. A purple foal cuddled next to her, though the veterinarian made sure the
colt sat in a position where the class could see him. A blue stallion with a white mane and tail followed. His head
was barely half the size of a regular fluffy’s head, and his eyes seemed misaligned. He seemed quite happy though,
with a cheerful, if vacant, grin on his face.

The last fluffy practically rolled out of her cage. She was the largest fluffy I had ever seen in person. She would
have been a large fluffy at any weight, but she was also monstrously fat. At first I thought the mare was pregnant,
but the way her rolls of fat undulated as she waddled out of the box made me pretty sure she was just obese. Her
enormous, pendulous crotch-tits bounced against the ground in the way the engorged tits of a pregnant mare wouldn’t
have. She held her head up high and her chin forward with a haughty air of pride I’d only seen in show-fluffies on TV,
though her weight and coloring did not suggest good breeding. She had a dark brown coat and black mane and tail. There
were many barely-suppressed giggles throughout the classroom as she sauntered onto the matt like she was walking a red
carpet, but the fluffy either didn’t notice them or didn’t care.

After his own cheesy introduction was complete, “Dr. Ross” turned to the fluffies and said “Now I’ll introduce the
guests that you’re actually excited to meet!”

“These are Bridget and Purple,” said Dr. Ross, gesturing to the three-legged mare and her foal.

“Hewwo nyu fwends,” the mare said, obviously sensing a cue. “Fuffy am Bwidgit! Dis am Puwple, Bwidgit’s wastest
babbeh!” The class gave a polite applause, though the teacher had instructed us not to clap TOO loudly when the
fluffies were around.

As cheerful as she seemed, Bridget’s history was almost literally written all over her. She had “belonged to an owner
who was no longer able to properly care for her,” Dr. Ross told us. And been a “stray” for a while. I’m sure a good
deal of the kids pictured a grandmotherly type who had to give Bridget up after a stroke, or some other sad but
innocent situation. Fluffy abuse wasn’t much of a thing in our town. Due to the biotoy laws it wasn’t banned, but it
wasn’t something that anyone around here could practice without generating a lot of outrage. It wasn’t illegal, but it
was frowned upon, as they say. Bridget told everyone a lot more than she probably knew when she habitually called
Purple her “wastest babbeh.” Obviously, she had once had more. And the name, “Purple,” was something a “fluffy mummah”
would name a baby when there was an owner unwilling to give it a name, or no owner at all.

Even at my age I’d been watching the news with my dad for years, though. As controlling as he could be with his
old-fashioned views, he wasn’t the type to hide the world from us. He wasn’t the sort of parent to sit a kid
down in front of an R-rated movie by any means, but news and documentaries were fair game if we were interested in
them. My mom seemed more hesitant, but he would go on about how he wanted Benji and I to grow up aware of the world
around us. Benji would rather play video games than watch a 48 Hours expose on feral fluffies in the inner cities, but
I was always keen on finding out about the world. I knew about abusers. The huge feral problem in some parts of the
country too. Around here, they were mostly called “strays,” as chances are they had once had an owner. Even the ones
quite obviously thrown out by their owners tended to be called “strays” or “runaways” here, by people who knew full
well what the actual situation was.

Next up was the strange blue fluffy. “This is Oopsie,” said Dr. Ross. “He has a… learning disability… but at the
shelter, we love all kinds of fluffies. Do you want to say high to the class, Oopsie?”

The fluffy blurted out “OOPIE!” in a surprisingly loud burping sort of voice. He then farted loudly. The class roared
with laughter. The fluffies seemed largely unaffected, though Purple cowered a bit. I was pretty sure Oopsie’s smile
grew slightly wider.

"This is our last fluffy,"" Dr. Ross said, gesturing to the obese brown mare. As subtly as he could, he tossed a
Hershey’s kiss on the ground in front of the mare, which it immediately gobbled up. As she was chewing, he said “This
is Precious. She doesn’t always talk much, but she sure has a BIG personality!”

Some laughter followed, and the mare turned her head back and forth as if surveying the classroom, but still said
nothing. She still looked as proud as ever.

Dr. Ross continued with some basic information on fluffies that we had all heard before, and talked about how, due to
the laws around biotoys and their biology unfamiliarity to most veterinarians, many vets would not take fluffies. He
said, with an emphasis that was I’m sure meant for the kids who had fluffies to relay to their parents, that he was
the first vet in town to start accepting fluffies, and had more experience working on them than anyone in the area.

“It was my assistant Ron’s idea to start the fluffy shelter, that’s where the name comes from – Ron and Ross. Ron
would be here today, but he’s holding down the fort at the clinic. When Ron first brought in Precious-“

What happened next happened so fast as to be virtually simultaneous. Moments before saying her name, Dr. Ross tossed
another Hershey’s kiss in front of Precious. This time, though before she could eat it, a fat kid named Kent in the
front row lept from his desk like a cobra and snatched up the piece of candy. I had never seen Kent move that fast;
I had rarely seen anyone move that fast. Come to think of it, I had rarely seen Kent move.

“FWUFFY AM PWECIOUS, BASED ON DA NOBBEL PUSH BY SAFIWE!!!” the mare blurted out in a shockingly loud voice that, while
high-pitched, still somehow resembled a foghorn. Kent lost his balance and tipped over backwards, giving the
impression that he had literally been blown over by the fluffy’s sudden outburst. Dr. Ross’ eyes seemed to widen twice
as big, not so much in surprise but in what seemed to be a sense of fear thhat something he feared would happen just
had before his eyes.

“Kent, get back in your desk!” our teacher shouted. Mrs. Mapplethorpe, a stern lady with a sort of ambiguously old
appearance, seemed to be the only person in the room somehow unaffected by the fluffy’s sudden bellow. Some of the
kids seemed frozen in shock, their eyes bugging out. Some were laughing hysterically. One girl started to cry for some
reason. One of the laughing boys pissed his pants before running out the door with a look of dread on his face.

Dr. Ross gave a false, hollow laugh. “Like I said, she, uh, has a big personality! Precious can be quite the stickler
about using her full name. I’ll bet a few of you are like that. Any Billy Bob’s or Sarah Jane’s in here that don’t
like being called Billy or Sarah?”

There was an awkward silence. Mrs. Mapplethorpe had run out into the hallway after the kid who pissed his pants. You
could almost hear the metaphorical crickets

“Well, uh…” Dr. Ross, suddenly the only adult in the room, continued, “I’ll bet some of you recognize where her name
came from! Her, uh, her former owner was a big movie buff… he liked to name his fluffies after movies. Any movie buffs
here?”

He chuckled awkwardly to silence before adding , not at all convincingly, “I’ll bet if she’d been a boy, he’d have
named her Rocky!”

“Or Shaft!” came the voice of Trey, a wananbe edgelord who sat behind me, louder and bolder than he would have dared
if Mrs. Mapplethorpe were in the room. If anyone else had said it, I’d have guessed he might have wanted to advertise
that he'd seen a racy grownup movie, but I knew what Trey was like. He never gave me trouble on Kick a Ginger Day,
but no one gave Benji a harder time on Trigger a Nigger day than he did. He’d give Benji shit about being “adopted,”
when I was really the adopted one. Our dad wasn’t my biological dad. I looked so much like my redheaded mom that her
friends annoyingly called me “Mini Jill.” Benji’s biological dad had been my dad for as long as I can remember, he
legally adopted me when he and my mom got married. I’ve never met my biological dad, and his existence rarely occurs
to me. Marcus is my dad. Trey was very aware of my existence in the room when he shouted that.

“Now, uh, there’s an old one!” Dr. Ross, sweating, said. “I’m surprised you know it… I’ll bet your dad must be into
old action flicks, huh?” By this point Mrs. Mapplethorpe had returned from doing whatever you do with a kid who pisses
his pants, and was starting to escort Kent to the principal’s office. She did it all with the routine efficiency that
only a veteran elementary school teacher could.

“My dad has it on an old DVD,” I volunteered. He actually did. I hadn't seen it since it was rated R, but I'd watched
a lot of the old Bond films with him. He said that "Shaft" was a "very 1970's" attempt ot do a "black Bond."
“He says it was important in its time, but it’s a shame that Gordon Parks is best known for directing that film rather
than for his groundbreaking photography.”

“Well we DO have a film buff!” Dr. Ross said, seeming to get some relief that he could return to his stock line.
Mrs. Mapplethorpe had just re-entered the room. “Things got a little hectic there, but if it’s okay with your teacher,
we can have you come up here and get to know the fluffies a little better.”

That was the part everyone had been waiting for. We got to stand close to the fluffies, but had to wait one at a time
to pet them. Bridget reveled in the “Awwws” of the girls and even some of the boys. Oopsie mostly just smiled and
occasionally blurted his name like a ribbiting frog. Precious’ sheer mass drew some awe up close, and some of my
classmates were afraid to pet her.

As this went one, Trey leaned in and whispered “Poopie fluffy” to Precious under his breath, careful that the teacher
and the veterinarian would not hear.

“PWECIOUS, BASED ON DA NOBBEL PUSH BY SAFIWE AM NOT POOPIE!!! PWECIOUS BASED ON THE NOVEL PUSH BY SAFIWE AM AFWICAN
AMEWICAN!!!” the fluffy bellowed, puffing out its cheeks. Several kids jumped back with a start or instinctively
covered their ears as if a firecracker had gone off. Trey bolted to the back of the room making confused half-laughs
as though he had simultaneously seen both the funniest and most terrifying things in his life at the same time. A girl
who was petting Oopsie instinctively squeezed him, causing him to blurt “OOPIE!”, fart, and start pissing. The fluffy
piss bounced off the matt, getting on the girl and several others near her. They backed away in a chorus of “eww”’s.
Dr. Ross had his face in his palm, and Mrs. Mapplethorpe was calmly reaching for a roll of paper towels, through the
look on her face was very displeased.

As most of the class backed away, three girls and five boys, all acting simultaneously, suddenly ran forward and began
to try to stomp on the foal. Bridget shrieked “NU STOMPIE WASTEST BABBEH!!!” as she tried to shield the foal from the
inexplicably aggressive sixth graders. A blast of shit reflexively shot out of her rear, grazing Oopsie (who didn’t
seem to mind, or indeed notice). Both Bridget and Purple pissed themselves. Dr. Ross’ expression turned from
humiliation at a worst-case-scenario to horror at the genuinely unexpected as he leaned forward, trying to shield the
fluffies from the children.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? WHAT ARE YOU DOING???”

Mrs. Mapplethorpe ran forward, waving her arms and shrieking like some wicked witch in a movie. This was it. “Full
Mapplethorpe.” I had heard from older kids that she was a stern teacher, but genuinely good if you weren’t too much of
a troublemaker. But every now and again, maybe once or twice a school year, sometimes not even that, she would go
“Full Mapplethorpe.” You did not want to be on the receiving end of that banshee with a tendency to shout repeated,
staccato phrases. The story I always heard was of her repeatedly shouting “DO YOUR WORK!!!”, with each syllable
accompanied by a shaming finger point, at a particularly stubborn student who had decided to put a sign on his desk
that said “On Strike” and refuse to do any schoolwork. I had always thought the story was an exaggeration until now.

It was ten minutes to 3:00, but Mrs. Mapplethorpe dismissed the class as she began to escprt the five children to the
principal’s office with a look of rage on her face. Dr. Ross shouted a damage assessment to her, “Bridget’s arm is
hurt, but not broken… she took the brunt, but I’m going to need to check the foal’s tail…”, trailing off as the
teacher left the room. Dr. Ross, suddenly realizing he was the only adult there said “Well, uh, it’s not as bad as it
looks. I’m going to calm them down, clean up here and, uh…” he pulled his phone out, “I should call Ron…”

Dr. Ross paused for a moment. "Remember, come by to visit them any time during regular office hours, they're on the
card! Sometimes, uh, crowds get them worked up... you'll love seeing them one on one..."

TO BE CONTINUED
Uploader Strangeways_Pigg_Strangeways,
Tags amputee elementary_school family generation_gap obese questionable racism Renfest_0717 twin_peaks_reference
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Comments


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RandomMexican: krabs

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fiddwe: good read! please continue!

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Strangeways_Pigg_Strangeways: @fiddwe: Thanks! This is my first post here. I discovered fluffies almost a year ago. I found them morbidly fascinating but didn't think I'd ever try to contribute something. Probably the same way it starts for a lot of contributors.

I started to get some ideas in my head after a while, and before long I found myself jotting down some notes about them. I didn't want to do a theme or a style that had been done a lot, but I noticed that there didn't seem to be a lot of stories of fluffies interacting with their intended target audience. I know RQ, who I think has mentioned the same thing, has done some one-offs and short comics with kids, but I haven't found anything long-form dealing with the interaction of parents and children with fluffies.

As I got to thinking about that, I started thinking about the generation gap being something that I hadn't seen explored much. Like how there are kids these days who have no living memory of life without the internet, so it's the most normal thing in the world tothem, but their parents or even older siblings can remember a time when a home computer was a novelty. I thought I'd write something that explored right at the edge of that sort of gap, but with fluffies. The parents are various degrees of wary; Jill is curious, Marcus is almost paranoid. The kids, on the other hand, grew up in a world with fluffies, so they seem as normal as dogs and cats to them.

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Strangeways_Pigg_Strangeways: Also, I should add some thanks to Rennaissance (this is my first time in the comments too, I don't know how to tag someone who hasn't posted). His contest got me off my ass to actually type up the outline for the beginning into a story earlier in the month. Work things came up before I finished and I decided I wouldn't have time to finish it for the contest and would maybe upload it in August.
But then I ended up with nothing going on tonight, so I decided at the spur of the moment to try to polish up the outline and slide in just before the finish line.

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MrBoo: Yep, this has promise. The formatting needs work, though. It would be an easier read with standard paragraphs. Not sure what program you're writing in, I always use Word, then convert to Notepad.

Regardless, keep writing and never be satisfied with what you have written. Always seek to improve your skills.

Good job!

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Strangeways_Pigg_Strangeways: @MrBoo: Thanks, glad you took the time to read it despite the formatting issues! I did word-to-notepad too, I thought I had everything right, but obviously there's something I must have overlooked. When I get time I'll try to figure out what that was and perhaps upload a reformatted version that will be easier to read.

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MrBoo: Try turning on wordwrap in notepad. That might be the problem.

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Strangeways_Pigg_Strangeways: @MrBoo: Thanks! I'll give that a shot.

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Strangeways_Pigg_Strangeways: @MrBoo: I just noticed that weirdly, when I go on here from my computer, which I'm on now, the formatting looks right, but the formatting is off when I view it from my phone. I don't have a clue as to why that would be, but at least I know why the formatting problem slipped by me when I uploaded both files, which I did from the computer.
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Anonymous1: +1

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SwiggleJiggle: *pop* Noice
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Anonymous2: "full mapplethorne" mauahuahuahuahuahuahuahuha
it's good to have a good writter on the booru, hope to see more from you kiddo
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Anonymous3: really hope you post part 2 asap, and god, please, please kill that disgusting fat thing, motherfucking shitrat going around with pride, set it on fire!

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SargentBryDog: Sixth graders just trying to stomp the foal is almost as annoying as fluffy in general.

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Strangeways_Pigg_Strangeways: @SargentBryDog: @Anonymous: That thing with the kids trying to stomp the foal had a real life inspiration. That story about the butterfly that Elisa tells Benji at the beginning of Part 2 was added completely last minute, in the time between uploading Part 1 and Part 2 actually. The whole butterfly thing actually happened in my class in second grade, almost exactly as described. To this day I don't know what caused it. Had the kids planned it, like "let's all try to kill the butterfly when it's let loose," or did one kid start chasing it and a bunch of others followed out of herd mentality? Or maybe they were fluffy-brained types trying to help, thinking "WETS HEWP WINGIE-FWEND FWY! WUN AN' HEWP WINGIE FWEND! NUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!! NU MEAN TU GIVE STOMPIES!!!! SOWWY WINGIE FWEND!" I remember just being utterly baffled, and the teacher seeming shocked, like she'd never seen something like that before. I wanted to echo that in the story, with sudden inexplicable, unprovoked mob violence against a small creature from a group of schoolchildren all acting simultaneously. It seemed too much like a set up for something later in a fiction format though, maybe it's a "truth is stranger than fiction" kind of thing. I thought Elisa telling that anecdote would sort of tie it up a little bit and make it more clear that it was just a freakish, unexplained thing.

A disturbingly large amount of the elementary school scene was based on my own memories from school, actually. It got a lot longer than I had intended because of that. Taking weird memories and just adding fluffies practically wrote itself. I ended up removing the planned second Jill interlude and inserting most of the information from that (about their city's attitude toward fluffies and lack of a large feral population) into Elisa's narration instead, since the scene sort of flowed right through the spot I'd planned for the interlude. Not as much symmetry maybe as when it had gone Elisa/Jill/Elisa/Jill/Elisa, but I figured if I went back to re-edit it again and make the Jill section fit, I might lose the nerve to post for the first time that I'd finally worked up.

The guy in the full-body alligator suit was straight from reality, so was the formerly-homeless class speaker that some kids complained wasn't homeless enough because they expected some bum that lived in a dumpster. Mapplethorpe is an amalgamation of two elementary school teachers I had. One was the sort that would leave all the parents talking about what a nice lady she was after teachers' conferences. She was okay most of the time, but when she went off, she went OFF. I saw that "DO YOUR WORK!!!" scene with my own eyes, no exaggeration needed.

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WhatTheFluff: This flows so well, I really like it. I like how you can tell which character's perspective each section is from because you sort of give them their own ...voice, I guess? Jill's part, for example, reads really mature to me. It's witty and well-done. It was an enjoyable read. The stomping part did seem to me like the kind of thing that would happen in a real classroom. Well done.