“WAAAAAHHHH MUMMAH NU WUV BESTEST BABBEH!!”
“Mummah do wuv bestes’ babbeh, buh awso wuv bwuddah an’ sissies tuu. Mummah can gib babbeh mowe wuv, buh nu mowe miwkies. Babbeh wub bwuddah and sissies tuu, wite?”
“NU!!! Nu cawe! Dummeh mummah gib miwkies! Wan miwkies!”
“Dat bewy mean, babbeh. Bestes’ babbeh nu be meanie if wan be bestest.”
“WAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! Huuu huuuuuu tummy owies…”
“Dewe dewe, babbeh. Cum hewe,” the mare scooped up the foal and cradled him to her chest. “Mummah knyo hab tummy-huwties. Mummah sowwy nu hab enuff miwkies fo’ aww babbehs. ‘Ou am su stwong an’ bwabe fo’ famiwy.”
“Huuuuu nu wan be stwong an’ bwabe, am jus’ widdle babbeh. Wan miwkies…” the foal stuck his hoof in his mouth and whimpered around it.
“Bestes’ come get miwkies fiwst. ‘Membah tu sabe miwkies fo’ bwuddah an’ sissies,” But the large foal had already started guzzling before his mother finished speaking.
“Dat’s enuff miwkies, bestesh babbeh. Bwuddah and oddah sissy nee’ miwkies tuu,” The mare tried to pick up the greedy foal, but he wasn’t going without a fight. “OWIE!!! Bad babbeh! Nu bities! Onwy bad babbehs bite mummah!”
Her bad babbeh opened his mouth to yell at her, and she took the opportunity to pluck him from her breast, “Buh Bestes’ hab wowstest tummeh-owwies! Nu faiw!” He didn’t connect the dots between his stomach hurting and drinking too much too fast, but fluffies were never known for their sparkling intellect.
His mother started laying on the guilt instead, “Bwuddah an’ sissies hab wowstest tummy-owwies tuu.”
The orange foal looked behind him at his siblings waiting their turns. Their faces were not bright and pudgy, like a foal’s should be. They looked sunken and defeated. His brown brother could barely even stand.
Then, the orange foal stepped back and guided his sickly brother to the teat he himself was just on.
“See? Das wai ‘ou bestesh babbeh, ‘ou taek bestes’ cawe ob bwuddah an’ sissies.” The mare picked up the orange foal and kissed his forehead, “Mummah su pwoud ob 'ou. Wub 'ou! Wub wub wub!” The repetition of that word had her launching into her Mummah Song.
“WEAWWY? Be nyu daddeh fo’ mummah an’ babbehs? Wub nyu daddeh! Wub wub wub!!!”
You knelt down to pick her up, but as her three foals swarmed you, she hesitated.
“Um, nyu daddeh wai’ pwease, mummah nee’ du sumfin…” She scurried behind one of the garbage cans. You heard squeaking and rustling and the mare going “shhhh!” When she returned she had an odd lump wrapped in her greasy, overgrown mane. Surely it can’t be any worse than what she’s already covered in, you thought, but then it peeped.
“What did you go and get?”
Good fluffies are bad liars.
You reached over and she shrank away from your hand, crying, “nuuuuu!” But when you brushed her mane away, there was a little brown foal shivering in her fur.
“Pwease, nyu daddeh! Nu huwt bwownie babbeh! Wan bwing bwownie babbeh tu wawm homesie tuu!”
“Yes, but why did you not bring him out with the others?”
The mare looked very, very ashamed, “Hoomies nu wike bwownie babbehs. Sae am “ugwy” and “worfwess” an’ gib wowstes’ owwies… Oddah bwownie babbeh awweady get fowebah sweepies. Heawt huwties su bad. Am jus’ widdle babbeh, nu du nuffin wrong…” Her big, shiny eyes began to water.
“Hey, hey it’s okay. He can come,” you were quick to soothe her worry, “I promise I won’t hurt him.”
She looked up and sniffled, wet eyes shining with hope, “P-pwomise?”
You gathered all five fluffies into a reusable shopping bag, the mare belly-up so she could hold onto her babies and keep them safe during turbulence. You felt a pang of sympathy at how little they weighed.
“I can carry you home in this, but remember if you poop you’re gonna get it all over yourself.”
“Mummah can howd it! T’ank ‘ou fow uppies, daddeh. Babbeh hoofsies tuu widdwe fo’ su maneh walkies.”
The big orange foal piped up, “Peep! Bebbeh howd poopies tuu!” Followed by a little chorus of affirmative chirps from the rest.
“Heehee gud babbehs. Sabe gud poopies fo’ when nu on mummah.”
At your house, the first thing you did was vent all five fluffies over the toilet. They squealed and complained about the cold, but the next thing you did was bathe them, and they liked that even less.
You washed the mom first. Her brood all peeped and cried without her, and she begged to be put back with them in between screaming “WAWA BAD FOW FWUFFIES!” and pissing herself in the tub. When all was said and done, you rubbed her with a towel and placed her by the heating unit in the wall, even though she refused to stay there.
Mom was a nervous wreck, and pleaded with you to return her foals while you washed them in the sink. You gave them each a once-over when they were clean. Two males, one orange, one brown. Two females, one green, one yellow. Odd, since the mom was a deep, dark blue. The brown one was obviously the runt, less than half the size of the other colt, who was far and away the biggest.
The mare immediately licked each baby dry as you handed them to her. She was shivering by the time she started on herself.
You wanted to make sure the foals were at a proper temperature before they ate, recalling that feeding a cold kitten can kill them. The closest thing you had to fluffy food in your pantry was a box of corn flakes, so you poured a bowl for your fluffy and a bowl for yourself. You liked your cereal crunchy, but the mare seemed to be having trouble.
“Huu Meanie nummies gif mouthie-owwies…”
“Let 'em sit for a bit. They’ll get soggy.”
The mare sat up and stared into her bowl, salivating.
“You can still drink the milk in the meantime,” you said, shoveling another spoonful into your mouth.
“Oh!” The mare plunged her face into the bowl and began lapping, discovering the flakes to have already gone soft and mushy. She positively wolfed them down.
“Fankyu fow nummies, nyu daddeh. Tummy su fuww! Gon’ maek su maneh miwkies fow babbehs! Eben bwownie babbeh ge’ miwkies!”
“Hey, you don’t have to ration milk anymore. I’ve got enough food for you that they can all have their fill.”
“WEAWWY? Daddeh hab DAT MANEH nummies fo’ mummah??? Tankyu tankyu tankyu!!!” She started to get up to come hug you, but you pushed her gently back into her sitting position.
“You can thank me when all of your babies are full, focus on them right now.”
“Yes daddeh!! Mummah wuv ‘ou! Hab bigges’ heawt happehs in da whowe wowld!”
You felt your own heart swelling in your chest. Maybe that Seuss guy was onto something.
“Bestesh wan’ miwkies fiwst! Wan’ befow poopie bwuddah!”
“Mummah hab two miwkie-pwaces, babbehs can hab miwkies at da saem tiem.” The orange foal trundled towards her, but she stopped him with a soft hoof to the nose, “Nu, wait. Cawwin’ bwuddah “poopie” am meanie fing tu say, so Bestesh wai’ fow miwkies.”
The large foal began to wail that it wasn’t fair.
His mother waited until he ran out of breath to remind him, “Cwyin’ nu maek it nice fing tu say, an’ nu get babbeh what wan’. If bestes’ nu can behabe, 'ou gu in tiem-out untiw miwkies.”
“Huuu nu wan tiem-ou’! Sowwy-bawks su scawy…” He cast a longing glance at his mother’s free nipple, then at his brother, who had stopped drinking for a minute to look over his shoulder. The second he made eye-contact, his brother burst into tears and buried his face in their mummah’s fur. It made Bestest’s heart feel like an empty, painful hole in his chest, so he sat down on his haunches and declared, “Bestes’ wiww be bestes’ at waitin’!”
The foals’ mother beamed, “Gud ideah babbeh! Mummah an’ bwuddah wub 'ou.”
Babbeh sing da waitin’ song~
Wai’ fow widdwe bwuddah~
Bwuddah dwink gud miwkies~
Wai’ fow babbeh tuwn~
“Bwuddah? Am sowwy fo’ cawwin’ 'ou ‘poopie.’ Dat was weawwy mean.”
His brother smiled gently like he always did, “Das otay, bestes’ bwuddah. Babbeh am da colow ob poopies. Buh tankyu.”
“Nu sae dat! Bestes’ nu awwowed tu sae dat su bwuddah nu awwowed tu sae dat too!” His brother flinched at his forcefulness. “Dewe am wots ob bettah fings dat am bwown! Wike uhm… Tweesies! An’ cawdbowd boxies, an’ teddeh-beaws, an’ kibbwe! Mummah maek bestes’ miwkies fwom bestes’ kibbow nummies, and kibbwes am bwown!”
His brother laughed, and Bestest felt the air return to his lungs.
“Hee hee, tankyu. Bestes’ bwuddah maek saddies gu away,” the two shared a hug. “Wub 'ou bewy muchies.”
“Why do you call that one “Bestest”?”
“Cus Bestesh fiwstest, bigges’ an stwonges’ an’ hewp mummah wif bwuddas an sistahs su muchies! Ebah since speshow fwen wen’ away. Awways wisten tu Mummah, bestesh smawtes’ tuffest babbeh keep famiwy safe when Mummah out wookin’ fow nummies.”
“He sounds like a very good, responsible baby. But, calling one baby “best” can make the others feel sad…”
Your fluffy gasped and covered her mouth, “Oh nu! Mummah nu fink ob dat!” She seemed genuinely shocked, and that, you could believe. “Su sowwy babbehs!”
“Why don’t we call him something else? Like “Biggest” or “First”?”
“Babbeh namesie am ‘Biggesh’ nao?”
“Not a name, but what you call him. He’s ‘biggest baby,’ like the green one is ‘pointy baby,’ and the brown one is ‘brownie baby.’”
“Mummah fink unnastand… Bestes’ babbeh am stiww bestesh, buh nu cawwed ‘bestesh’ nu mowe, su oddah babbehs nu get saddies,” she repeated the whole concept back to you perfectly, in simplified fluffy terms.
“Very good, I’m impressed.”
Her smile could’ve lit up an entire city block.
“I keep calling you “biggie” anyway so that’s just gonna be your name. You’re Biggie. Brown guy is Brownie, I guess. Yellow one is Lemonhead. Green one is… Uh… Kale. And Mom? Your name is Promise, so you’ll never forget.”
Extra drawings and Notes
Prototype Designs for The Fam
it seems like rejecting brown babies would be a learned behavior (particularly learned from humans)
alicorn babies are rejected out of fear & confusion rather than hatred
i imagine a mummah not feeding her brown baby simply because she doesnt have enough resources & has to ration milk, but once she’s in a home with “unlimited” food, she’d have more than enough milk to go around
fluffies’ NATURE was always intended to be loving, kind, and empathetic, but NURTURE & natural/artificial selection have given rise to all other kinds of temperaments. especially pedigreed domestic fluffies raised properly won’t ever have a mean bone in their body. they soak up the disposition of their owner like a sponge.
ferals however are a crapshoot, much more likely to have genetic behavioral problems, smarty syndrome, and general aggression. theyll do what they need to in order to survive, including some VERY disturbing cruelty that a purebred housepet fluffy wouldn’t DREAM of. in the wild, aggressive, cruel, & selfish smarties reproduce the most, so they end up passing down those traits, while in a domestic setting breeding can be managed by responsible humans & all that’s left is proper training.
Basically i wanted to see if i could make a Bestest Babbeh that WASN’T a total piece of shit & a mummah that could more-or-less handle him. i couldnt figure out how to finish it, so here it is.
i dont wanna talk about The Big Thing, so this is where i’m gonna talk about my art/game/commissions/patreon plans (with further updates in future posts)
im slowly putting together my frist “patreon” sketchbook. i havent even activated my page yet, and a large portion of that is bc im not sure how comfortable i am posting my fluffies on a “professional” account like that (even tho i also plan to do similar sketchbooks that will be filled with nothing but furry porn. why is THIS where i start squirming?)
i made a promise to myself to live unashamed & embrace my cringe, but when faced with the reality of having my first ever patreon activity be fluffies for all time sets off my anxiety bells.
anyway, i’d like to test out my format on you guys. it includes finished/edited drawings, and then the raw pages they came out of with posthumous commentary in the margins (reminiscent of how comic artists like @fluffus will do behind-the-scenes stuff)
idk if it should be just a .zip folder full of images or a .pdf or something?? also im gonna find a way for my sketchbooks to be available for free bc figuring out what the hell im doing is more important than making money rn
idk where id even post it if not on patreon? having it be a file of images makes me think google drive? dropbox?
commissions have fallen a bit to the wayside, but they’re all like 90% of the way done. this is how it is with me all the fuckin time & i GUARANTEE i’m just as frustrated with myself as you are. im trying. by GOD im fucking trying.