Prequels:
A Father’s Sacrifice Prologue
A Father’s Sacrifice
Buddy was cold, hungry, miserable, and some sort of foul miasma seemed to be following him wherever he went. After a few months of happiness, his former daddeh had abandoned him, leaving him on a pile of garbage after drugging him unconcious. Since then, Buddy had been on his own, scavenging whatever scraps of half-frozen food he could find while desperately avoiding the various munstahs that roamed the streets.
Worse than the cold or the hunger was the grief. Buddy’s old daddeh, in a moment of supreme cruelty, had decided to show Buddy the video of his babbehs’ deaths. Somehow, his old daddeh had found it hilarious to point out how he’d indeed made sure the babbehs had nesties, and toysies, and more sketties than they could eat, that he’d fulfilled his promise to Buddy. As if that somehow made it okay to kill the babbehs in a horribly painful way.
Buddy hid in his makeshift nest of cardboard, scraps of cloth, and random papers. Being a woolifluff, he wasn’t going to freeze to death in these temperatures, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t miserable. The nest did little to keep him warm, but at least it hid him from sight. At night, even with the light from the streetlamps, it was best to just hide.
(Had Buddy been able to read, been more observant, and had he actually known his old daddeh’s name, he might’ve gotten a bit of satisfaction from the scrap of newspaper he was staring blankly into. On it were printed the details of how a certain man had been fatally stabbed by his equally possessive and controlling new girlfriend. Karma’s a bitch.
The newspaper didn’t detail, nor was it known, that the reason for the stabbing had been a heated argument. The argument had started with the discovery of a long orange hair and a conclusion that was swiftly leaped to. The source of the hair was never discovered by the perpetrator of the stabbing, but it did have a certain fluffy wooliness to it.
Buddy never did learn that he had, indirectly, avenged his babbehs’ deaths. Not that it would have been any comfort for him. As was typical of many fluffies, Buddy didn’t have an ounce of malice in his heart, even justified malice.)
Buddy had quickly found that he wasn’t welcome in many feral herds. His daddeh, in a last act of truly unfounded spite, had sprayed him down with a fluffy repellant. The stuff wasn’t going to come off easily, especially with Buddy’s wool repelling most water. So he was always alone, without anyone to talk to or any distraction from his grief.
…
Many bright-times passed, and Buddy grew more emaciated by the day. Fits of coughing shook him from time to time, growing ever more frequent. He’d been offered shelter a few times, but after his last experience he wasn’t able to trust humans anymore and had run, often abandoning his newest nest. Even now he had no place to stay, as he shambled along, barely having the strength to stand.
Eventually, he collapsed, his strength giving out in the middle of the road as he attempted to dash across. At this point, he didn’t really mind if one of the metal-munstahs killed him. All his efforts had been for nothing; his special-friend was dead, his babbehs were dead, and his daddeh hadn’t even wanted him. He was worthless.
A car screeched to a halt, stopping mere feet from crushing the despondent fluffy. As his consciousness faded, he felt gentle hands lifting him. Then darkness overtook him and he slept.
…
“Hey little guy, how are you doing?” a voice awoke Buddy. He opened his eyes, seeing a human lady sitting there. His belly didn’t feel so empty anymore, but he was still exhausted and felt horribly weak. “Yeah, I know. You weren’t doing so hot when I found you. I gave you some formula, since you weren’t conscious to eat anything, but the vet says you have a lung infection. Still, it’s best if you just sit still. My name’s Alice, and I’ll do my best to get you healthy again.”
“Pwease, nice wady. Wet Buddy gu.”
“So you’re name is Buddy, huh? Well, Buddy, I’m not stopping you from leaving, but it’s going to be a few days before you can really walk again, and I think you’d go forever-sleepies soon if you went out in that state.”
“Buddy wan see babbehs an’ speciaw-fwiend 'gain. Nu mind if gu forebah-sweepies.”
“Your family’s gone forever-sleepies?”
“Speciaw-fwiend gu forebah-sweepies fwom barkie-munstah. Owd munstah daddeh gib babbies forebah-sweepies. Twow Buddy 'way wike twash.”
“I see…Buddy, I think it’s best if you tell me your entire story. You’ll feel better and given that you were covered in repellant spray when I found you I don’t think you’ve had much chance to talk about how you’re feeling.”
…
“Wow, Buddy, I’m…look, I know that right now you just want to give up, but I don’t think you deserve to die yet. From what you told me, you don’t deserve any of what happened to you. How about I take you in for now? I promise I won’t do anything to you like your old daddeh did.”
“Pwease, jus’ wet Buddy gu forebah-sweepies. Wan be wif famiwy.”
“I’ll tell you what. You stay with me for a few bright-times, then if you still want to die I’ll make sure you have the most peaceful death possible. Deal?”
“Deaw.”
“Good. Now, since you aren’t contagious, there’s someone I want you to meet. Snowball! There’s someone here to visit!”
[As requested, here’s a continuation of Buddy’s story. This part is set shortly after Filling the Space Pt. 10, but there aren’t any spoilers, although there may be spoilers in later chapters.]
Part One
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I like Buddy. Thank you!
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I’ll probably be less focused on this story until Filling the Space is finished, but I could at least start on it without having to worry about spoilers or messing up continuity.
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Man, lot of abusers getting stabbed by their girlfriends these days. Must be something in the water.
On topic however, I’m interested, Buddy deserves something good to happen to him, even if it’s a peaceful death
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Well, the way I see it, the kind of person who tortures animals to death for fun or is okay with dating someone who does might be inclined towards violence.
I personally don’t have any issues with abuse content, I actually enjoy reading and writing it, but I think in-universe the kind of person person Buddy’s old owner was is morally dubious to say the least. Especially since given that he was perfectly content to leave Buddy physically unharmed, it’s safe to say the justification of fluffy pheromones (See Filling the Space) doesn’t apply to him.
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And nothing of value was lost.
It’s more tactile and intimate than shooting them. Also, cheap. IIRC they’re the murder weapon of choice in Japan.
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In most locations where firearms aren’t easy to get, with a few exceptions, knives are the preferred weapon. Also, in a lot of crimes of passion it’s more likely that the assailant will just grab a knife from the kitchen than go find, load, and use a firearm.
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