You are sam. You have been searching online for hours. Your luck so far hasn’t been great. You take a stab at a new link recommended on your usual trolling haunt. A grin creeps onto your face in moments.
“Dude, I finally found one!” You say turning your monitor to dave. He squints over his glasses in that annoying way that makes you wonder why he wears them. He looks at you with a furrowed query.
“Fluffybaba? Really?” You roll your eyes at his doubt.
“Who cares man it’ll be the perfect adorable set! I already have applefluff, fluffyblossom, and granny fluff I just need a fluff mac.” He still seems unsure.
“Are you sure about the quality though? You never know with long range shipping like this.”
“Dude, don’t be racist. It’ll be fine, after all what’s the worst that could happen?”
six months prior
You are zhāng wěi. You’re walking home after a fair day’s work. The sun is just starting to set turning the usual grey black air a vibrant fog of orange hanging low over the city. You lean back and enjoy the subtle burn of smoke exhaust and nicotine as you walk through the park. The parks keepers are hard at work spraying pale sickly parts of the lean oaks a rugged brown, and stapling the leaves back on after a thorough green coat. Today was pretty good only two breakdowns that caused a loss of efficiency, the latter of which killed six of your water throwers. Sucks for them of course, but keeping production high with the new low budget parts is sure to keep you in upper management’s good graces.
As you’re walking home you stop by the local medical tent. Tucked away in a rarely explored part of the wet market you spot the unassuming tent with its red flap for a door. As you duck in your eyes adjust to the assault of red cloth and gold trim invading from all sides. The smell of medicine both dried and living mixes together in a sickening stew of health. Li jùn dé smiles and walks over to you closing a bin of hornet stingers on his way.
“Wăi, my friend! So happy to see you. Let me guess, oxen gallstones? I can hook you up just need five minutes and a knife.” He’s already put his arm around yours, it’s too late to break away from the sales ride he’s got set up.
“Just the usual supplements if you would jùn dé. You know I’m not one to buy without reason.” You hoped your ploy would be enough to break his speech and while his winning smile falters a moment he seems determined to at least push a little.
“Of course, of course, you are only a reasonable man. But you would have to be truly unreasonable to pass up an offer like this!” He steers you over to a display given its own backswatch with two wrapped objects on what appears to be a shrine, surrounded by numerous candles and burning sticks of incense. “For you my friend I show my greatest treasure. From the mountains far to the north we have real, genuine, tiger penis.” With a flourish he unwraps it, and it looks like the real thing. This might be illegal, no, you know it’s illegal. Such connections are why you like dealing with jùn dé in the first place. He keeps droning on with all the seriousness of a governing official testing your loyalty. “No greater source of power, of fortitude and stamina, is known to man. Pillage through your work with the might of the red army! Then, take to your bed and missus the same way. All this for you for only 200000 yuan per ounce.” At this you try to tear away and find your medicine yourself.
“Expensive! Expensive! Don’t bore me with such nonesense.” He’s steadfast as ever, trying to block the path away from the shrine.
“I know this cost is great but of course I ask it for a reason. The risk involved in taking down such a ferocious beast is great indeed, and unlike less honorable dealers I guarantee results.” With a slower more methodical movement he unwraps the second bundle. Inside rests a sword of gleaming steel just sticking out of its sheath. “This sword is aged six thousand years, and has been passed from father to son as a promise to carry our family’s lineage. When I cut this with this sword I call upon my ancestors to watch over you, and ensure you are fruitful bearing a healthy son and heir. Such a treatment I offer, only to you, to ease your hardship and sorrow.” It’s a touching speech. You might believe it if it weren’t for the the 450 yuan pricetag on the hilt. You peel it off for him. He smiles at you. “You can’t fault an old merchant for trying to make a sale. So what can I help you with?”
“Just the usual supplements please. Back pain blood pressure the usual requests of youthful constitution. I don’t suppose you have unicorn in stock?” Most shops don’t carry it with all the risk involved anymore. He’s practically beaming at you.
“Of course my friend, stocks have never been better!” That’s surprising. He leads you over to a pair of bins piled high with horns on the left and penises on the right. Great success! You won’t need to carefully ration them out this time.
“An even mix if you would and some of those mushrooms as well. Do you mind if I catch you next week for payment?” His brow furrows as his smile grows tight.
“Why not ask my skin as well if you take me for a fox.” He mutters half to himself. He is not a man to leave credits and debtors in his wake. Even so you wouldn’t wish to make him cross. You prefer his market.
“Thought as much. No harm in it.” You hand over the cash and he relaxes as he hands over your brown paper bag.
“Do you mind if I leave out the back? The market is killer today.” He waves you towards another flap to your left. Already occupied with another mark he’s half marching half carrying to his sword and penis shrine.
As you step out into the light, you breathe in that good medicine stink from the waste dump. All around you are bleeding corpses, animals pressed in and dented by the steel bars of their cages, some who have probed open air wounds held open for easy access to their organs, and some seemingly sold off as meat for nearby stalls. You even see a flash of orange and black under a blue tarp tp one side. Seems he wasn’t kidding on the tiger penis. You’re enjoying the fresh air when your ears and nose are assaulted by a now familiar pest.
“Huhu pwease speciaw fwiend. Nu gu foweba sweepies. Tummeh babbehs git big owwies.” Her belly is squished to the ground. Her legs only reach the ground at their straightest barely able to shuffle her along with her girth. She’s in a pile of creatures with bleeding wounds from where they were harvested. She only lived by being worthless. Pathetic. Looks like she’s cradled up to another of her kind fresh blood on his forehead and crotch. If you cared you could probably match up the color to the supplements in your bag. Damn, really thought the supply on unicorn horn and penis was improving. Still he’s the ordained medician not you. Must do something right?
You’ve been staring too long now her tear stained eyes have found yours.
“Pwease mista. Gib huggies? Fwuffy hab bigges’ heawt huwties.” You feel your face contort in a reflex of disgust. It’s bad having to hear pig dog americans with their bastard tongue, but then they made these things from pig and dog. Pig dog’s pig dogs who speak a bastard form of their bastard tongue. Bastards. Still you did learn their bastard tongue. Always made you feel better to cheat a pig dog american over anyone else and they need to understand you to get cheated. Fool on you for understanding their babble. Probably released by american spy to demoralize greatest cprc. You are just thinking over whether you kick her in the face to convince her to leave faster or the ribs for actual damage when you stop. You’ve been meaning to find a way to start acting your wage in your everyday life. The fact that you hate it already is just a bonus.
“You. Fat one. You are mine now.” She looks shocked at your response.
“B-be nyu daddeh? Gib nummies? An housie?” You’re not comfortable with the daddy title but you don’t feel like training it on the street.
“Sure. Come along.” She looks the happiest you’ve seen of any face outside of commercials in years.
“W-weawwy!? Am comin’!” she rocks back and forth on her stomach legs churning furiously for a good ten seconds before realizing she hasn’t moved. “Daddeh? Fwuffy stuckies pwease hewp.” You think about leaving but you don’t have time to go looking for these things. She nearly bows you over when you lift her. “Yay! Wub uppies! Fank yu daddeh!”
“Heavy bitch.” Is all you can grunt trying to carry her positively spherical form.
“Huuhuu mu- fwuffy sowwy daddeh.” It’s gonna be a long walk home.
three floors later
The last few steps are killer and you increasingly want to just kick her down the stairs and forget the matter. When you do reach your door you unceremoniously set her on the mat and go for a beer. You can hear her babbling about “nyu housie su pwetty”. These creatures really are simple to please.
The house still has all the yellowing wall paper, scuffed wood floors, dim flickering lights and all the other rundown crap from when you first moved in. In fact you’re certain your disrepair and lack of cleaning made everything worse. When you walk back to her she’s nearly off the mat. She’s elated just seeing you.
“Fwuffy wub yu nyu daddeh.” Need to start somewhere if you’re going to train her.
“Stop that”
“wha?” Fear shoots across her face like lightning
“Call me… master, instead.”
“O-oh. Otay mista. Fwuffy stiww wub yu.” You kneel down to look her in the eyes. She seems absolutely genuine.
“What’s with this name of fwuffy?” She’s utterly confused. Looks like the dogs trying to watch the hand full of bait when you helped keep their eyes off your mother with the shovel.
“Fwuffy nu hab namesie. Fwuffy am fwuffy. Fwuffy pony.” A pony? You’re pretty sure you’re closer to being a horse than she is. And this… fluffy, seems to struggle with ls and rs. Maybe some subtle dig against their japanese allies? More likely a feeble attempt to cater to them and spread them faster. Bastards.
“Fine. Don’t bother me if you don’t have to. Do a good job.”
“Daddeh can fwuffy hab namesie?” Why?
“Fine. You are now Ròu lèsè. Now be a good fluffy.”
“Yay! Wychi wub namesie! Uh… daddeh? Whewe make gud poopies?” This fucking bitch… has a point. You slide her and show her the way to the bathroom.
“There’s the toilet. Feel free to use.”
“Wychi nu can cwimb dat high.” It does make sense. She’s barely eye level with the bowl. Still you need something. Then you remember.
“How about over balcony instead?”
“Wha am bow-con-ee?” You can’t help but laugh as you carry her to the table you have set up. You still haven’t forgiven that guy for sniping the ground floor apartment out from under you. Had the gall to say you should “enjoy the view” while he gets the land. That should be your herb garden not his. Hope he appreciates a little extra “fertilizer” on his food. She gasps when she sees your lackluster view of a poorly maintained district. Even with the cracked concrete and ruined asphalt it seems this one will wonder at anything.
“Looks great right? Just poop down onto the plants below” it isn’t until she hears the word below that she thinks to look down.
“Eep! N-nu daddeh. Fwuffy tu high. Fwuffy way tu high!”
“Well, then what do you reccomend?”
“Uhh… oh! Fwuffy kno! Cowwa fwiends say gud poopies gu in witta box.” Like a cat then. You think about shoving her off to see if she explodes when you remember that tourist that rented a room from you. Strange frenchman. Went to great trouble to bring litterbox carrier and all manner of extras to keep a cat happy on the other side of the world. Was very upset when the cat went missing. left without a word. Racist bastard. It probably just got ran over for being near the street or thrown off a rooftop for fun. Guess you have a use for the trash he left behind now. You slide the stale litterbox to a corner you don’t use very often leaving a visible mark through the dust it’s gathered.
“There. litterbox. Good enough?” She wrinkles her nose as she sniffs it.
“Smeww wike kitty munstah. Daddeh suwe am safe?”
“Yes. Now shut up.”
“Otay wychi twust daddeh. C-can wychi hab nummies?”
“No.”
“B-buh nee’ nummies fow… fow… fow no tummie huwties. And heawt huwties!”
“No. Tomorrow.”
“O-otay daddeh wychi wubs yu.” She curls her legs up and tries to tuck her snout under her leg in an approximation of curling like a dog. As you watch her rocking and humming a lullaby to herself you start to understand why the pig dogs like them so much. Just as weak and childish as them.
an unreasonable hour that night
You wake up after a few hours of alternating between restless minutes of sleep and listening to her sobbing. She’s only sobbing more as the night goes on you realize, watching the red numbers of your alarm clock tick over. After the next crooning of “huu huu hnggggg huu huuuuuu” you give up on sleep and go check on her. She sitting just where she was, trying to hug her belly with stubby legs. She’s too busy muttering about “pwease no tummy huwties” to notice you walk up.
“Lèsè what is wrong with you?” She jumps at her name and looks at you in fear.
“Nothin’ da-mistew. Jus’ twyin’ tu be gud fwuffy. nu botha’ yu.” Her eyelids are dark with tears and her smile seems thin and forced.
“Really? Just a good fluffy?” She shakes her head vigorously, as though you’ll believe her more if she moves hard enough.
“Wes! Am onwy gud fwuffieeEEEEEEEEE! BIGGES’ POOPIES!” You rub your ears. You’re pretty sure she’s louder than the tsunami sirens. The last time you heard a scream that desperate, one of the workers fell into a vat of molten steel. That was a bad day. The extra carbon content made the steel too brittle for the customer. Took weeks to find a rube dumb enough to pawn it onto him. It takes you a second to process what she said after that horrible screech.
“Just go to litter box and stop screaming.” Fresh tears stream down her face as she looks to you pleading.
“Nuuuuhuuhuu. Pwease hewp. Su many huwties.” You can’t imagine what help she means but you shudder at the thought. For now you just need to stop her from making too big of a mess. You grab a box from a takeaway meal from the trash and set it behind her. None too soon as almost immediately a dark shape falls to it. You then think it begins moving. Confusion turns to horror as you hear a sudden chirping. You fumble for the light and see it’s a newborn still coated in blood and afterbirth.
“Lèsè what the hell?” She starts tapping her hoof pads on the floor, her body contorting in a mini tantrum from the emotional overload. Even in the throes of childbirth she has to express her emotional pain.
“Mummah sowwy mistew. Nu wan teww yu hab tummy babbehs. Tu many meanie humans take babbehs fow nummies. Pwease wet mummah keep babbehs! PWEASE NU NUM BABBEHS! Come hewe chiwpeh babbeh! Pwease come tu mummah!” She’s trying to crane around and grab the babe she hears chirping already. She’s not even close to reaching. You wonder as to how these things survive without human care. You sigh and grab the disposable chopsticks. You pluck out the baby and set in front of her, grabbing more trash to surround her rear. She begins sobbing even harder with a drawn out “nuuuuuu.” You realize it’s the scent of food intermingling with newborn upsetting her.
“It’s just a box. I didn’t want to take your baby.” She looks awestruck at you.
“Weawwy nice mistew? Yu weEEEEE! huu W-weawwy nu wan take babbehs? Am sowwy nu teww yu am mummah. Yu nicest mistew ebah.” She seems utterly lost in what you said. Whatever happened to her before seemed to crushed any dream of this happening outright.
“Yes, yes I promise. Now get to cleaning. You have more babies coming.” She sets to it as you set the next one in front of her. You spend your night giving reassuring pets and moving babies from one end of her to the other. The golden light of dawn is just over the horizon when you finish. The last one is particularly difficult as it tries to go out shoulders first. You’re gentle as you can be pulling it out but the neck still breaks. You set it aside with another that hasn’t moved yet. You count up the foals in front of her peeping for milk as a small torrent of afterbirth spills out of her. Eight foals. Ten in total if you count the two that didn’t survive. No wonder these things are everywhere. Still cute little shits when they aren’t coated in gack. You grab the bowl with the stillborn and stand. She smells them in your hand.
“Mummah hab mow babbehs? Nee wickie cweanies?” She asks so much happier already. She looks more calm than you’ve seen her. It’s like she’s forgotten everything about fear and pain now that her brood surrounds her.
“No. These were born dead. I’ll deal with them.” In a moment she’s crestfallen. The pain of mourning crosses her face for a moment before she steels herself, a grim smile catching the few tears she has left to blink away. Likely trying not to upset the living young.
“Is otay mistew. Fwuffy undewstan’.” She leans back trying to shoo her young towards her teats. Seems she may be tougher than the average fluffy. You’ve heard tales about these things committing suicide by holding their breath over lack of hugs. It seemed impossible for a creature to will itself unalive, but that was far from the worst you’d heard.
“Well since it’s morning what do you want to eat? I think we both need some food.” She looks like she’d completely forgotten her hunger. You can’t say you blame her.
“Weww skettis am bestest nummies. Nee bestest nummies fow bestest miwkies.” Sometimes listening to these things is like giving yourself a migraine with a hammer.
“What the fuck is skettis?” More shocked looks. Like everyone is supposed to know what she’s talking about just because she said it.
“Skettis am bestest nummies. Hab wong noodwes an’ wed saucie an’ meat bawws.” Sounds simple enough, even if you haven’t heard of this particular style before.
“Let me cook it. Wait here.” You take the dead into the kitchen as she returns to babbling sweetly at her young.
You take quick stock of your pantry and decide you have enough. You rip open a pack of udon and dump it in a pot of water. That’s one third of her grand request. Impossible to guess as to what red sauce she meant, but if popularity is a deciding factor it’s probably sriracha. Now for the only part with any skill. You quickly skin the foals and throw the scraps of fur in the trash. As you split their chest cavity the smaller one starts wiggling its legs and making a hoarse sound. Whoops, a little too quick in pronouncing her dead. No harm no foul though. Her lungs are tiny and shriveled compared to her breach born brother. It’s too early to go salvaging their sweet meats, so you dump their offal in the trash. You grab a sharp knife and cut along the spine, severing one of the top vertabrae. It takes a minute to grip the bones but they come out easy enough. The extra cartilage keeps the skeleton together like a fish. The legs still need a few cuts and the sweet bread comes out with the skull but otherwise you have two very flat cuts of meat. You dice them in strips of four and get them frying. A quick boil and a toss and you have your skettis. In all honesty it smells pretty good. Understandable that a poor fluffy would think of this as peak quality food. You pour it onto a plate and set it in front of Ròu lèsè. “Here you go, skettis.”
“Fank yu daddeh!” She eats like she hasn’t had food in days. Then again maybe she hasn’t. She slows a bit recoiling from the plate.
“What is wrong?” You ask. She stares at the food thinking as hard as she possibly can.
“Skettis smeww funny.” She gives a little cough. “An’ gib
buwnies.” Must be the wrong sauce.
“Skettis are fine. Only have different sauce. Will be different next time.” She’s snuffling as though about to sneeze. Still she breathes deep smelling for something.
“Stiww smeww funny. Smeww wike… wike…” She’s staring at a scrap of meat. One of the face scraps based on the eye hole. “B-babbehs?” She starts panting and crying, her eyes dart about trying to find something. She vomits.
“Ròu lèsè!” You chide her. Her foals are chirping in distress both from the acrid smell and their mothers sobbing. Her back legs collapse and she falls on her rump. Her front legs quiver but stay under her. She’s half sobbing, half screaming as loose syllables pour out of her mouth. None of them seem to fit into full words. “Lèsè calm down!” you command, but she only seems more afraid.
“W- be- ba- why?! Mistew pwomise! Nu wan’ babbeh- nu am fo’ nummies. Why gib huwties? Say nu wan num babbehs. Yu pwomise!” She’s inconsolable.
“Dead is dead and meat is meat. I only cooked you food.” She’s confused and frightened. She looks at you with a face twisted in conflicting emotions.
“Babbehs am fo’ huggies an’ wub! Nu fo’ nummies. Why mistew huwt babbehs? Yu pwomise! Fwuffy wan out! Fwuffy nee’ out!” She’s running a circuit around the room, pounding, well tapping really, on every door. At each one she begs for them to open. Some she even offers hugs or pleads for them to save her babies. You feel your expression darken. You grab her by the scruff with a cry of “bad uppies!” and drop her next to the plate and her children. You hold her chin as you talk to her.
“I did not hurt them. They were dead. I only made them edible. The same will apply to you and everyone else one day. The only reason it doesn’t apply to me is to prevent diseases from spreading.” She’s calming slightly but crying more as you speak.
“Wuh am dis-ees? Can fwuffy hab? An babbehs?” What a dumbass.
“Uh,” you fumble for a word. Their vocabulary is even more limited than yours, and you’re not even a native speaker. “sickness.” She shakes her head. Unsure if the trade is worth it.
“Buh fwuffy nu am nummies.” Seems you’re getting nowhere.
“Figure it out. I’ll be back tonight.” You let her go and leave. You don’t have time to wax philosophic with a fluffy. It won’t hurt to walk to work a little early. You should even be able to grab some real food on the way.
sooner than you’d think.
You are Ròu lèsè. Your meanie monster daddy locked you in his house. You and your babies are safe but you don’t know how long that will last. Daddy made two of your babies into skettis but babies aren’t for nummies. Maybe they weren’t peeping but he didn’t have to num them.
You sadly look over your other eight babies. So many babies. They don’t deserve that. Some of them are chirping for you. They are hungry. You haven’t eaten in a while. They’re thinner than a baby should be. You couldn’t even give milk to all of them. You look over at the awful evil baby skettis. Even after it cooled the baby sketti smelled so good. Whatever magic daddy sauce he used makes it taste cold and hot somehow. And even though it it still smells like babies, like you, it smells so very strongly like meat. It has to be some evil magic.
Your babies keep peeping. Some of them are quieter. They aren’t feeling better they’re feeling weaker. Some are moving slowly holding onto what energy they have. You hug them tight and tell them not to cry. The little pink baby drops its head heavily. Even with the little half swallows you rationed out to your other babies you ran out before she got any. She is falling asleep. She is running out of time. You feel like a terrible mama. Love is not enough. They need milk. You’re so hungry and making milk is so hard. You lost two already. A baby might live a day without milk, but after that… and with how thin they are… they can only cry out to you. You feel you have no milk for them. You sob.
roughly eight hours later
The sun has set and moonlight streams in from the porch. You are curled up on the ground trying not to think about today. Your children are snuggled into a fluffpile. They are safe and content. They coo gently in their sleep. You feel like you don’t deserve the warmth of being near them. Your daddy walks in through the door. He’s stumbling a bit. He walks around to face you. You look up at him and feel tears welling up in your eyes again.
“Your children are well.” You nod silently. “They want for nothing.” You nod again, a grim feeling weighing at you. “They will need you if they are to stay this way.” You lay back down wishing for the day to end. “Then we understand each other.” He picks up the empty plate and walks to the kitchen. As he passes the fluffpile your little pink baby perks up and chirps at him. You stare concerned as he stops. Your heart sinks as he walks over to them. He bends down, reaches for the baby, scratches under her chin, stands up, and walks away. The pink baby lays down and falls asleep happy, warm, and fed.