author:Mossiest bait cannibalism efficiency fluffy_on_fluffy_violence herd slaughter smartie_dies toughie_dies yard_invasion


The Guardfluff
By: Mossiest

A lone earthy fluffy lied on the deck of a small town house that bordered a forest, carefully watching over a hole in the fence that surrounded his daddy's home. A bright red huggie-strip was wrapped around his neck. It clashed with his dull-yellow fluff and green mane, and he really didn't want to wear it, but his daddy told him he had to wear it so other humans wouldn't try to hurt him. Something about it letting people know he was "duh-mess-tee-kated."

On his sides was a nummies-and-wawa container, a litterbox with a cover on the top, and an empty clear bin that he could reach into if he really wanted to. His daddy told him that the container wasn't for big fluffies, and he knew well to not make his daddy upset; he was to help make sure only babies went in there.

His ears perked up as he heard a familiar tune play outside of the fence that surrounded his housie; "Skettie-land, skettie-land!~ Find all the best nummies in skettieland!~" He'd heard it so many times that he knew that it wasn't telling the truth, even when the scent of sketties wafted through the air. He knew the difference between good-sketties-smell and bad-sketties-smell, and he knew he was smelling bad-sketties.

Mainly because that bad smell was coming a little box in middle of the "lon". He knew there wasn't even any sketties in there.

But that didn't stop other fluffies from believing it was real. And it already seemed be drawing a few in. He heard them before he could see them; "Skettie-wand?! Wan sketties!" "Make bestest miwkies fow babbehs!" "*peep* sketties!" "Hewp soon-mummah!" "Fowwow smawtie-fwend!"

One by one, they came in through the hole in the fence. He lost track of how many had come through after four, but was looking through any that caught his interest; the blue-and-red unicorn that led them all in, the slightly-larger monochrome-blue earthy that followed it in, a few foals that were able to walk on their own, a few mummahs with small foals on their back. And one purple-and-blue pegasus who was very bloated, so much so that her legs were far off the ground, and it took a couple of fluffies to push her around (it took them quite a while to push her through the hole). Every other fluffy didn't matter much to him.

He waited until no more fluffies came through the hole for a few moments before standing up. The herd that came in had tracked down the source of the sketties-smell, and were babbling amongst each other, asking where the sketties were and if anyone else saw them.

He approached the herd, who were quick to notice him. The first one to say something was the bloated mummah; "M-munstah?" It drove a small panic among the herd, and a few even looked back towards the hole they came in through - only to find that it was gone. He didn't know why the hole appeared and disappeared like that, and he didn't really think much on it.

He hated it when they called him that; he had a name! It was Gard! It was a good name! Nothing like "munstah."

The herd babbled on about the missing hole - a few even scardey-pooping on the grass - but the unicorn was quick to hush them; "Quiet, dummehs! Nu am munstah, am jus big fwuffy! Wet smawtie-fwend handwe dis!"

Which was true; once Gard was up to the unicorn and the earthy by his side - no doubt his sole toughie - the size difference between them was impossible to ignore; the unicorn was forced to look up to see him eye-to-eye, easily half Gard's height. The toughie wasn't much taller, and was struggling to maintain a facade of not-almost-scardey-pooping. And their soft-fluff and fat-covered bodies were a stark contrast to Gard's muscled hoofsies and toned body.

Gard silently stood in front of the pair, taking a closer look at the rest of the herd. It was up to the unicorn to speak; "Yuu am weawwy big!" There were a few mummahs with foals on their backs. They seemed to have a bit more fat to them than the other fluffies, though none of the herd had ribs poking out of their belly-fluff. "Yuu wook wike da tuffest tuffie evah!" The walking-foals looked too big for the babbeh-box. The back-foals, however, were definitely small enough. "Join smawtie-fwend's hewd!" The smartie-friend and the toughy were, of course, the fattest of them all. "Wiww wet yuu have aww da nummies and mawes yuu want!" Only one question remained; was the smarty a stallion or a mare?

Gard walked around the unicorn, sniffing at him. "Tuffie tink dis fwuffy am dummeh," the earthy said, watching over the yellow fluffy's observations. There had been some female smarties before, but it seemed this one was a male. Oh well.

His assessments complete, Gard did the job his daddy taught him to do.

He placed a single hoof on the smarty's back - and put all his weight down on it. He'd heard that *crack* so many times that it no longer surprised him, along with the usual screeing about "wowstest-huwties" and "weggies nu wowk!" In the same motion, he charged at the shocked toughie, delivering a hoofsie to the side that rolled it all the way on its back, knocking a few teeth out in the process.

And while the toughie was starting to cry over the pain, Gard stomped him right in the snout repeatedly, until his head was just a mangled mess.

The smarty disabled and the toughie forever-sleeping, the rest of the herd began to panic and run off in different directions. As they always did.

The first he went after were the too-big-for-box foals. They followed after their mummahs, desperate for their security, but the mares were too preoccupied running for their own lives to let them keep pace. They were easy to catch, each one being silenced with a single sorry-hoofsie to the neck. The mummah's would scream about the loss of their big-babbehs, but made no attempt to actually help them.

Once he stomped all he could see, next up were the foalless fluffies. These took a bit more work to catch, but Gard knew this place far better than any of them; he knew what hiding spots they'd try to use and cut them off, smashing them against the walls they thought were safe. And the ones that couldn't find hiding spots, he could easily outrun. Many a fluffy was given forever-sleepies by Gard's hoofsies, until the only foalless fluffy that wasn't sleeping or completely crippled was the massive immobile purple fluffy.

Last was a combination of small-enough foals and their mummahs. This one, he had to be a bit more precarious about; he couldn't count very well (only as many as he had hoofsies), but he could tell a few of the colors was missing off one of the panicking mummahs' backs. No doubt one of their foals had fallen off their backs when they ran - such bad mummahs, leaving their little babbehs like that! That just made what he had to do harder.

He had to disable the mummahs first - of which there were three. His pace slowed significantly as he began his approach, carefully sniffed the ground and searching for the distinctive smell of foal poopsies - all the milk they drank made their poopsies smell a certain way, and he didn't want to step on any of them before he was done. It was easy to do it while chasing down the mummahs, as they wouldn't stop screaming about the "munstah" getting closer to them and not wanting him to num their babbehs.

The first mummah, he backed to a corner. Her foals tumbled off her back as she pressed herself against the fence, desperate to worm her way out as she begged him to leave her alone. He merely grabbed her by one of her forelegs with his teeth, pulling her up and over to avoid squishing any (more) babbehs. She landed with a painful *thud*, before he bit off each of her legs, each only taking a single bite from his powerful jaw. Each one, he chewed up, separating and the meat and fluff from bone, swallowing down the former two after spitting out the latter. The mummah screamed for help, but once her final leg was off, he pushed her over towards the deck where he once laid, ignoring the please of the paralyzed smartie, stopping short of the small staircase too big for the other fluffies to climb.

And once that was done, he went back to her babbehs, grabbing a few at a time with his teeth - and carefully carrying them back up the deck, depositing them in the no-longer-empty clear bin. The babbehs peeped and cheeped desperately to be rescued, peeing and pooping themselves in fear, but Gard was sure that all peepees and poopsies neither touched him nor the box.

Once all the babbehs she'd just dropped were collected, he sniffed around where she'd been running. He was able to find a couple of green cheepy foals, hidden among the grass. It was hard to hear its cries over the adult fluffies', but its odor was enough for him to locate it - its miwkies-diet-poopsies had a distinctive scent to them.

Once he found that foal, his headed towards a second mummah. It didn't have any foals on its back, but he saw it talking to a hole underneath the deck - and it was easy to hear the foals cheeping. He approached her, and she seemed to take notice, uneasily facing Gard. "G-Gu 'way, munstah!" she shakily shouted, the head-pointy on her head starting to glow.

He didn't know if this was a unicorn that could shoot sparks or not - most of the glowy-head-pointy fluffies couldn't, but the one that could shot out some sparks that actually kind of hurt him. He didn't want to take that chance.

Before the head-pointy could reach peak-brightness, he lunged at her, hoofsie-ing her right in the snout. She was sent flying back, several teeth flying out of her mouth as blood flew from her snout, until she stopped on her back. He had to check if she was hadn't gotten forever-sleepies from that, and to his fortune, she was still breathing. Though it looked like she wasn't going to be numming for a loooong time.

He repeated the same process as he did with the first mare, removing each leg and rolling up close to the deck. And just like before, he delicately carried the foals over to the bin, careful not to drop them on any of the squirming cheepey-babbehs.

There was one mummah waiting...and she didn't seem to be trying to get away. " give mummah huwties," it begged, standing right next to one of the de-legged mummahs. Her head was bowed down, exposing the three cheeping foals on her back. Gard took the foals first, placing them in the bin as he did with the others, before de-legging this mummah as well, not even caring for her despairing cries for her foals and accusations that he "betrayed mummah!"

Now all that were left were the massive purple soon-mummah, and the crippled crying smartie. He intended to deal with the former first, but the smartie was already crying about "wan die". Gard obliged him, crushing his head as he made his way to the panicking soon-mummah.

"Nuuuu! Nu huwt fwuffy! Am soon-mummah!" Gard didn't need to bite her legs off; she was obviously immobile without assistance. Rolling her was a bit more difficult, considering he wasn't used to rolling ones this large, but he was able to position her right behind the other immobile mummahs.

And just as he did that, he heard the distinctive sound of the magical see-thru barrier that would keep him out of the house...and he could see his daddy! He rushed over, ready to hug and nuzzle his owner!


Majhul Majhulin was a fairly average man, living in a time where the biggest nuisance were taxes, nagging parents, and talking technicolor chimeras that plagued the entire country. But where most people saw fluffies the same as rats, he saw dollar signs.

He had a single pet fluffy, who he named Gard. It was one of six that he'd found (took from a mummah) a year ago. He didn't "find" them because he wanted some pets to play with: he fancied himself a sort of mad-scientist, and had acquired some information about how to create a "ripped-fluffy."

It was a process that required very strict control over every aspect of their lives and plenty of materials he had to acquire from questionably-legal sources: specially-enhanced formula and feed to ensure proper physical development, growth stimulating hormones so they would grow as big as possible, a special workout regimen combined with steroids in order to build their muscles as much as possible, a specific amount of affection given so that they'd have proper psychological development without wasting too much time.

It wasn't an easy process to get right: three of the foals died in the process, one from exhaustion, two had to be put down due to improper dosings crippling their bodies. The fourth drowned in its half-inch-deep water bowl when he took his eyes off it for half a minute.

Gard was the sole survivor, and the yellow-fluffed green-maned fluffy was quite a sight to behold: he stood at 25 inches tall, twice as tall as most adult fluffies. His bones were strong enough to support the weight, and he was absolutely ripped.

But it was quite the pricey process, and this huge size would cost far more to maintain than any normal fluffy. But he already had that planned out: his house bordered a forest infamous for being a fluffy breeding-ground, and he'd already had to deal with a number of herds invading his yard. So why not use that to his advantage?

It was a very simple trap: his fence had a small door that he could open and shut with the press of a button, large enough for fluffies to get through. To ensure Gard never tried to run away through it, he'd used an electric collar that would shock him if he tried to leave the yard - but only to the area below the collar (he didn't want to risk resetting his work). It did have to be used a few times, but Gard was quick to learn the lesson. He wasn't wearing that collar anymore, though the one he did have looked very similar and was made from a similar material. And as long as he believed it would shock him if he tried to leave the yard, it did its job perfectly.

Majhul had installed a speaker system on the fence would play the old Skettieland jingle when activated, and a small container that emitted the scent of expensive spaghetti would be sure to draw fluffies to his house. It was difficult teaching Gard to not eat the box, but he was able to get the lesson through by convincing him the box smell was just bad spaghetti - the "good" spaghetti being the cheap stuff that most fluffy owners would get to calm their spoiled fluffies down.

He watched it all happen through a set of cameras; looking through the window might draw attention to him. Once an entire herd was brought in, he'd close the gate. And that was when Gard would follow a set of rules he'd laid out.

1. Break the smarty's back and kill any toughies he saw. It was important that the smartie not die yet.

Herds always listened to what their beloved smarties told them to do, and their orders were enforced by the toughies. Crippling the former would leave it incapable of thinking straight, and killing the latter would show the herd that even their strongest members were nothing compared to Gard, which would send the herd into disarray. If they were to work together, they might actually manage to find a way out, but fluffies always focused on their own survival first.

Letting the smarty watch and hear it all was satisfying. Many hit the "wan die" loop by the time it was all over, which was when Gard was allowed to kill them without his permission.

2. Kill any foals that were too big. This generally meant any that were weaning or were weaned off milk.

Weanlings didn't really fit too well into his plans; they were too attached to their parents, and he didn't want to put any resources into them. And their size meant they could hit in places Gard would have trouble reaching.

3. Kill any adult fluffy that isn't pregnant and doesn't have any foals with them.

Similar to the above, stallions and foalless mares were useless to him. They were much easier for Gard to catch.

4. Eat the legs of any mummahs-with-foals, then bring them to the deck.

He wanted them alive, since if they recently foaled, they were producing milk. And he could use that. Having Gard pillow them was just saving him time - and feeding his fluffy.

5. Put all the chirpy foals he could find in the clear box. Do not eat or kill any of them.

This was the main part of why he was doing all of this; he lacked the resources (and patience) to run a proper breeding mill, and all the chemicals he'd given Gard had sterilized him, which meant he wasn't going to be impregnating any fluffies. So he'd decided to gather the foals from the families Gard slaughtered - young enough that they hadn't formed a real connection to family. The batches he'd get were usually mixed and leaning towards the shitty-end of colors, but sometimes, he'd get some good catches. Those, he could sell - off the books, of course. And the recordings of the whole process got him a small flow of cash from a few anonymous donors.

The process wasn't always perfect, though; feeding Gard fluffy meat did cut down on costs, but he also grew to love the taste of it. So much that at this point, he preferred it over spaghetti.

Gard made a mistake once, biting a Dashiefluff foal in half.

He also used to have vocal cords. He hadn't eaten a foal without permission since.

Once he saw that Gard finished with the herd, Majhul entered the yard, a small bowl in his hand. His fluffy was quick to notice his arrival, and ran over to hug his leg, completely oblvious to the fact he was getting synthetic gore over his daddy's pants leg. "Good job, Gard," he said, looking over at the three pillowed-mummahs lying in front of the deck - as well as the bloated purple mummah behind them. He'd save that one for last.

One was looking straight at him, begging him to save her from the "munstah" that attacked her, already calling him her "daddeh". A whiner - not what he was looking for. The second seemed to be a unicorn - or had been; there was definitely a spot where a horn used to be on that beaten face of hers. She seemed pretty out of it though, probably got some brain damage from that beating. Useless.

The third one, however, quietly sobbed, her eyes closed. Majhul only needed one replacement milkbag. She would do.

He picked up the quiet mummah, carrying her over to the deck near the foals, who were cheeping in panic. "I only need this one. Leave the purple mummah alone. The other two are all yours."

He picked up the foal box, looking over them as Gard began eating the two mummahs alive, his sharpened teeth tearing through their soft flesh with ease. He ignored their cries for help as he sorted through the ones with good colors, which ones might fetch a nice price, which ones would probably only amount to a snack.

One among them caught his eyes in particular: a light-blue-fluffed filly pegasus with a very unusual mane. Rather than a single color, its mane was seven different colors: blackish-green, brownish-green, yellow-green, brown, dark green, dark orange, and piss yellow.

It seemed he'd managed to find a shit rainbow. Rainbow Dash fluffies usually netted a very high price, and this would've been considered a defect and killed off...but there was a novelty to such a rare defect. It could get him some good money.

He picked it out of the box, along with a bright-red colt with an orange mane, placing the two foals in the small bowl he brought out. The remaining ten foals, he left in the box, placing it back down. "You did a great job, Gard! These are for you!"

The yellow fluffy looked back - the two mummahs he was eating were already dead, their hearts already torn out of their fragile chests - and rushed into the bowl, messily devouring the terrified foals. He seemed to like them more than the adult fluffies, probably because they tasted sweeter. As he went to work, Majhul gathered up all the dead fluffies he could find, stashing them away in a deep-freezer he left in his garage - these he would prepare for his little pet. And for himself; he kinda liked the taste of fluffy meat too.

There was still a bit of a mess in the yard - blood and shit everywhere, but he could work on that later. He passed by Gard, who was finishing up his tiny tasty treats, and brushed his hand against the fluffy's back. "Great work again, Gard! Daddy'll make you some good fluffy steak for dinner tonight!" This earned a smile from the fluffy's blood-covered face, before he went right back to finishing his meal.

Now that just left the purple soon-mummah.

She was in full panic at this point. "Nuuuu! Babbehs, nu weave mummah! Nu wan munstah tu num babbehs!" Well, seemed like she was already going into labor.

So why not help her out?

"Hey Gard - help daddy out for a moment, would you?" Gard stopped his feast, looking up to Majhul. "See that soon-mummah there? She's having some trouble with giving birth, so why not help her?" The yellow fluffy nodded, walking over to the soon-mummah, whose panic only grew as the massive fluffy drew close.

Gard rolled her onto her back, and began to pump up and down on her belly. The mummah begged him to stop, but it was useless - the foals were starting to come out.

Brown, piss-yellow, brown, dark orange, meconium-black, brown, taco-tuesday brown, dark green, and bright wait, that was brown too. Just covered in blood. Seemed like Gard pushed too hard, as the purple-mummah struggled to breathe. Probably had her ribs broken into her lungs with the force Gard was using. Well, not like he knew any better. "Eh, all shit. They're all yours, big guy!"

He went back to the deck, grabbing the bowl and the pegasus-mummah, carrying the three inside. He had a setup in his basement which could fit a couple of milkbags - pillowed, blinded, muted, bound, and force-fed through a tube with cheap food combined with surprisingly-cheap chemicals that made sure they kept lactating, their milk pumped into individual cages for each foal to drink from. They tended not to last long - a few months at best - but there were always replacements available. The foals he caught would be the ones they'd be feeding - each milkbag could support eight foals, and he had twelve foals down there.

The door closed behind him as the purple mare begged Gard to stop giving her bad-enfies - funny how despite the chemicals sterilizing his fluffy, they didn't destroy his libido. He went down to the basement and went to work - though first, he had to get proper pictures of the foals he'd caught. It was a simple setup, a small clear box surrounded with cameras and bright lights to catch the foal on many angles. The red-and-orange foal would probably fetch a pretty penny, but the Shitbow Dash was where the real money lied. That one, he put up for auction online, with a starting price of $5 - far more than most fluffies were worth these days.

With their pictures taken and the auction prepared, he set the mummah up for her new milkbag life, and placed each foal down into their own little pen. They were quick to find the nipple that mimicked a mummahs' teat, and drank it down. A few of the older fluffies who'd opened their eyes greeted their new neighbor, and asked Majhul if he would let them out of their little cages. But his answer was always the same: nothing. The only sounds that they would hear beyond each other were the pre-recorded mummah-songs he'd set to play at random intervals.

As he left the basement, his phone buzzed. Someone had already placed a bid. And soon after, another. And another. In less than a minute, the price was already $15, and it only went higher. The red foal was still just $3.

It always felt good when a plan came together.

Grabbing a towel, he went back outside to see that Gard had finished up with the fluffies left to him - not even a single foal was left, and the purple mummah was already still, her body chaotically-broken. Gard's yellow fluff and green mane were covered all over with blood, and Majhul knew better than to leave it that way - he didn't want his prized Guardfluff getting sick. He laid the towel down on the deck, pointing towards it. "Alright boy, time for a bath. You know the drill."

Gard seemed a bit reticent to go along with it, pretty much dragging his legs as he walked over and laid on the towel, knowing full-well the consequences of refusing - still wasn't a fan of baths, but most fluffies hated water, so it was expected.

He lifted up the thirty-pound mass of muscle and fluff. These baths always took a while, but Majhul was a patient man.
Uploader Mossiest,
Tags author:Mossiest bait cannibalism efficiency fluffy_on_fluffy_violence herd slaughter smartie_dies toughie_dies yard_invasion
Locked No
Parent None
Rating Unknown


- Reply
Anonymous1: More like this. This was good.
- Reply
Anonymous2: Sounds like Gard is a cannibal fluff, but I figured the cannibal trait was genetic (stronger build, pointy teeth, swirled eyes). Do some headcanons have cannibal traits as a condition that can be acquired?
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Anonymous3: "majhul majhulin" lmao, nice name
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Anonymous4: I gard was a dog-fluffy at first, still this was a good story.

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guodzilla: @Anonymous: what'd you expect him to be named? "Anonymous?"
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Anonymous5: This was a great read. Any chance we can get more of Gard? Maybe a story of his early days (would love to hear about the dashiefluff incidsnt)

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Mossiest: @Anonymous: @Anonymous: Thanks.

@Anonymous: @guodzilla: Yeah, felt it was a little more creative than another Anon Anonski.

@Anonymous: I actually got the idea from the Casual Fluffies game, where fluffies don't like to eat meat, but once they do so enough, they effectively get addicted to it.

@Anonymous: I may write more about him in the future, but it won't be his past. I think his past was explained well enough.
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Boogeyman123: I really like this-You've certainly done the pet 'Cannibal Fluff' thing better than I had ever done! I look forward to seeing more stories!