This is a sequel to The Secret Ingredient Is Sadness, initially I had planned to use Robert in a future instalment of Before The Storm but what I have planned for that part didn’t fit his character. I almost left him to the sidelines but I’ve taken some inspiration from @pyrofireflame12’s take on abusive skettis and figured I could bring him and Pickles back for another round.
Robert had made a mistake.
It had been close to a year since he killed Pickle’s first mate, in that time Robert had sold off her daughters, cooked her sons, bred her again and done the exact same thing all over again. Robert had feared he was getting greedy, pushing Pickle too far into potential ‘wan-die’ territory after losing two mates and two lots of foals. So he upped the loving, made sure she was clean and cared for, and now that she was pregnant again – the father being some horndog looking to get his dick wet and having already left long ago – he increased her sketti days to put a smile back on her face.
The result was the opposite effect, Pickle’s ego started building up, combined with her pregnancy hormones, and Robert was dealing with a full on case of bitch-mare syndrome.
“Dummeh daddeh, Pickew wan skettis.”
Robert looked down at the fat green ball of Fluff on his kitchen floor. He had brought Pickle back inside after the stallion hit it and quit it and he didn’t want to deal with her whining about being alone for weeks. Of course now he had to deal with her bitching, her demands and her leaky shitting ass all over his kitchen floor.
Thank god for laminate flooring.
“Pickle, daddy told you that sketti everyday is not good for you or your tummy babies.”
“Nu cawe, skettis make bestesh miwkies, make babbehs big an stwong.”
“Your foals aren’t even born yet. How does ‘bestest milk’ even matter if you can’t feed them?”
Pickle’s face immediately scowled. “Dummeh daddeh nu knyo aneefing, Pickew make bestesh miwkies nyo su babbehs hab wots of miwkies wen bown.”
That was of course wrong, Pickle’s body would convert some of the spaghetti into milk through her natural biology, but most of it would be reabsorbed back into her body as nutrients and some would just leak out of her tears naturally. But Pickle was a Fluffy, and Fluffies were stubborn as all hell, when they’re narrow world-view couldn’t be explained they would come up with their own explanation and never budge on that thought.
Pickle and Robert stared each other down for a few moments, before Robert took a deep sigh.
“No Pickle, no sketti tonight. Maybe tomorrow, if you’re good.”
“Hmmph, daddeh nu wub Pickew, daddeh am wowstesh.”
Pickle slowly turned herself around and waddled back to her bed, shitting herself all the way.
“Pickle, I’ve told you not to make bad poopies on the floor.”
“Fwuffy am soon-mummah, nu can git tu witta-box.” Pickle retorted, walking perfectly fine back to her bed and curling up into a ball.
Robert watched her for a moment, the smug smile on her face, the stained shit on her ass which he thought was pointing directly at him intentionally, it was enough to put some bad ideas in a man’s head.
If she wanted skettis, then Robert would give her some fucking skettis.
Pickle gave birth a couple weeks later, this being her first litter indoors she appreciated the warmth and comfort of her bed more than the doghouse, of course this just inflated her ego even more, thinking she deserved to have the best warm bed for her babbehs.
She gave birth to four in total, two colts and two fillies. The fillies were both earthies, one green like Pickle, the other purple, one of the colts was a Pegasus with dark blue Fluff, the other was a silver unicorn.
The stallion who knocked Pickle up was a silver unicorn as well, so Pickle made sure to feed that babbeh last, she wasn’t going to give him forever sleepies, but she definitely loved him less than her other foals.
Much to her enjoyment though, her daddy had finally starting being nice to her, Robert doted on her and her foals, making sure they were always warm, always well-fed, he even gave in to her sketti demands and gave her multiple bowls a day. Pickle was so happy, her babbehs were getting the best milk EVER, and were growing up so big and strong already.
Too strong maybe, as Pickle soon had difficulties picking their fat little bodies off the ground to hug them, but she made do.
It was a few days after she gave birth, and Robert walked into the kitchen to find Pickle feeding her two daughters. All four of the foals had grown to nearly twice their original size, but more outwards than anything, both the fillies had difficulty just standing their legs without their extended stomachs getting in the way, the two colts had less issues due to getting less milk, but their fatty folds were starting to become an issue too.
Even Pickle herself, whilst not as pronounced as her children since most of her energy went towards feeding them, was looking rounder than usual.
Robert smiled at the happy family. “Hello Pickle, how are the babies today?”
“Babbehs am gud daddeh, hab bestesh sketti miwkies.”
“I can see, they’re looking… healthy.”
Robert heard a small noise and looked down to see the purple filly wheezing slightly as she dropped a liquidy shit onto the kitchen floor. Pickle looked at her daughter and giggled.
“Siwwy babbeh, dat nu whewe poopies gu. Daddeh can yu cwean poopies, Pickew nu wan tu.”
Robert’s eye twitched but he kept on smiling. “Of course Pickle, happy to.”
Robert grabbed a wet-wipe and got down to clean up the shitty mess, all the while Pickle hugged her purple daughter, squeezing the filly so that the liquid shit dribbled out and onto her bed.
“Siwwy babbeh, mummah stiww wub yu.”
‘Chirp… peep… peep.” The filly’s laboured breathing from her near obese state told Robert everything he needed to hear, it was time for action.
“Pickle, I was thinking of making some more spaghetti tonight and…”
“YEH YEH, BESTESH SKETTI MIWKIES FOW BESTESH BABBEHS!”
“Hold on now, I was thinking of making spaghetti but I think tonight I’ll make my secret super skettis instead.”
“Supa Secwet Sketti? Wha dat?”
“Why it’s spaghetti, but made with a secret ingredient that makes it SO much better.”
“Wai daddeh neba gib Pickew besesh supa sketti befow?”
“Because I couldn’t get my hands on the secret ingredient, not until now. What do you say, fancy the best spaghetti ever.”
“YEH! Pickew wan babbehs be biggesh, stwongesh babbehs eba.”
“Well ok then, let’s get started.”
Robert stood up but to Pickle’s surprise, he took her four foals with him and placed them on kitchen counter, all four of them chirped and shook on the cold wooden surface, cuddling into each other for warmth.
“Daddeh, wai take babbehs fwom mummah, babbehs need mummah fow miwkies an wawmies.”
“Ah but Pickle, the babies need to be this close to the Super Secret Spaghetti in order to get all the goodness while daddy cooks it all together. Don’t worry, they’ll be ok.”
Pickle wanted to argue, wanted to have her babbehs back with her, but she wanted them to be big and strong so badly that if Robert said this was the way to do it, she couldn’t find any way to dispute that.
Working with the fluidity of years of practise, Robert soon had a pot of boiling water filled with pasta bubbling away and a pan of oil heated up just enough for him to start adding the herds. Fragrant aromas of garlic, red pepper flakes and basil tingled Pickle’s nostrils in just the right way, this HAD to be super sketti, nothing else daddy had ever made smelt this good.
After a moment, when the pan starting to sizzle at just the right temperature, Robert turned to the four foals, all rolling sleepily around, holding onto each other. He gentle picked up the green filly and held her in his hand, softly stroking her chin with his thumb, he watched as she started to gently suckle his thumb, beliving this comforting form to be her mother, and he smiled.
Then he casually tossed her into the pan.
“BABBEH!”
The sizzle of fried foal hit Pickle’s ears immediately, followed swiftly by the scent of boiling shit and a high-pitched scream.
“SSSSCCCCCCRRRRRRREEEEEEE!!!”
The green filly shit herself from fear and cried out in almighty pain as she was literally cooked alive, the stench of frying shit and Fluff almost made Robert gag, but he pushed through, grabbing the purple filly and tossing her in alongside her sister.
“PWEASE DADDEH NU!” Pickle cried as she tried to run over to save her children, her body too bloated from non-stop spaghetti dinners to effectively do more than jog across the kitchen floor. By the time she reched Robert, he had thrown in the blue colt as well.
“HATCHU DADDEH! YU GIB BABBEHS WOWSTESH HUWTIES, GIB PICKEW BAK BABBEHS!”
Her pudgy hoofs clattered against Robert’s leg but he paid no attention to the silly marshmallow attack of his pet, instead he kept his attention on the stove. By now the foals had searing welts of pain all over their bodies, the oil burns covered almost every inch of them, worst still their Fluff had kept the oil trapped, meaning they were constantly getting new burns with each passing second.
The green filly was already dead, her little heart unable to take much more, her skin already starting to brown under her wet Fluff. The others were still holding out hope though, their blind chirps pleading for their mother to save them, but she never came.
Robert opened a can of crushed tomatoes, he would’ve preferred to make the sauce by hand but he could only afford so much time, and he poured the contents into the pan. The purple filly and the blue colt stood no chance, now with the burning pan and the sauce they had nowhere to turn, even if they did any attempt at escape was thwarted by Robert pushing them back down again with the spatula.
Pickle wailed as she listened to her babbehs cry out, cry for her to save them, cry for the hurties to stop, until eventually they stopped. And all that was left was the sound of bubbling from the pan.
Pickle fell onto her ass, she tried to reason with herself, maybe her babbehs were ok, maybe they’d been saved and were resting, maybe daddeh changed his mind. But as she tried to avoid the sickening elephant in the room with her mental gymnastics, Robert put the finishing touches to his dish, plated it up and placed the bowl in front of Pickle.
Amongst the soft noodles and ruby red rich sauce, were the traumatised and painful faces of her children, freshly dead and cooked to perfection.
“Babbehs?” Pickle squeaked out, too scared to look, too shocked to turn away.
“Viola, one Super Secret Skettis. Go ahead Pickle, eat up.”
“Nu, nu, nu, nu. Nu wa… wan num ba… babbehs, da…daddeh am mea… meanie, Pickew nu…”
Robert grabbed Pickle by the back of her neck and forced her muzzle into the bowl.
“I said… EAT IT!”
Pickle shit herself in fear and started gobbling down the food, crying as she did. It was disgusting, amongst the wonderful herbs and juicy tomato sauce there was the overpowering taste of hot piss and cooked shit, and that was before Pickle even reached her first foal.
The chew and crunch that hit her made Pickle freeze up, she didn’t know what she ate but she knew it was part of a foal. Drenched in sauce and browned from the pan, she didn’t know which one it was but she burst into tears all the same.
“P…pwease da…daddeh. Nu ma… make Pickew nu… num babbehs.”
Robert’s grip on her neck tighten and he slowly pushed her deeper into the sauce. Still crying out, Pickle slowly ate more of her foal, hating every moment of it. The meat was too soft from not being fully cooked, the Fluff stuck in her throat and made her gag, the bones made for a horrible crunch amongst the soft meaty chunks and the taste of blood and organs when she bit into their tiny bodies threatened to overpower even the taste of shit.
Pickle barely finished eating the first foal before she threw up into the bowl.
“Pwease daddeh. Pickew nu knyo wha du wong, bu pwomise neba du it gain. Jus nu make Pickew num wowstesh skettis nu mowe.”
Robert’s silence frightened her more than any words ever could, scared and sobbing, she returned to the bowl, now with the fresh taste of her own vomit to spice things up.
It would take Pickle over an hour and three more throw-ups, but eventually she would finish the bowl.
Robert waited until Pickle had swallowed the last mouthful and kept it down but his face of firy melted away and he put on a smile again.
“There we are, wasn’t that delicious Pickle. I wasn’t sure about sharing my secret recipe with you but me and my friends have enjoyed it so much that I knew you would as well.”
“Daddeh… daddeh num Pickew babbehs?”
“That’s right, because they meant nothing to me, YOU mean nothing to me, you were nothing more than a fucking food factory for me. I ATE your babbehs Pickle, I cooked them up and served them for dinner, and they were delicious.”
“Munstah, daddeh am munstah.”
“Am I? You just ate your own children Pickle, scoffed them up.”
“Dat… dat diffawent, daddeh make Pickew num babbehs.”
“Really? I don’t recall you putting up much of a fight.”
Pickle’s heart dropped, did she really eat her own children so easily? No, she must’ve done something, but she still finished the bowl.
Lost in her own misery, Pickle barely registered as Robert picked her up by the scruff and carried her to the front door.
“Well Pickle, I would’ve loved to have kept you around, but I’ll be honest, the novelty has worn off and your bitchy attitude is boring me. So…”
Robert opened the front door and threw Pickle as far as he could, she hit the concrete of the road hard, breaking at least one leg as she tumbled over herself. The pain and the disorientation made her throw up once more, spreading it over herself and the road before she finally stopped, battered and bloodied.
Groggily, Pickle opened her eyes, trying to reorient herself from the impact, but as her blurry vision returned to her, she saw something. Half-chewed and covered in vomit, was the screaming face of her green daughter.
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!”
Pickle screamed and ran away, crying and limping from her broken limb but not stopping for anything. Robert watched as Pickle disappeared down the street, satisfied that she was far enough away to get lost and never find her way back, before turning back inside and shutting the door.
He returned to the kitchen, he would have to replace his pan and fumigate his kitchen due to the stink of burnt shit but it was worth it to finally let Pickle have it.
But first, his attention turned to something more important, the silver colt still lay on the counter-top, shivering and sobbing. Robert picked him up and gently cradled him, stroking his head to comfort the little guy, surely traumatised by the screaming of his siblings.
Robert figured he’d gone about this all wrong, rather than using a mare to attract stallions, he would keep a stallion and bring mares to him as enfie-pals. That way he didn’t have to deal with pregnancy demands since he’d kept the mares locked away, and any foals worth a damn he could sell for a profit and cook the rest. The silver colt would never worry about his foals because he would never know he had any.
Oh yes, this was going to be a much easier time now.
Pickle didn’t know how long she’d been outside for, it felt like days and days and days.
She tried to find her way home, but too many homes and too many streets later she knew she was lost. She spent the first few nights crying herself to sleep, wishing for things to be different, wishing she had her babbehs back, wishing her daddy still loved her.
Eventually she cried herself to sleep on the pains of an empty stomach.
The small amount of energy she had left was just enough to save her in the first few days, after a vicious Smarty tried to make her a ‘poopie enfie mare’ she was just able to escape, but now she was lonely, hungry and too scared to near another Fluffy herd again.
And so she lay in the alleyway, soaked with filth and wasting away, ready for it all to finally end when…
“Oh dear, what do we have here?”
Pickle looked up and saw the kindly face of an old woman looking back at her.
“Hewwo? Nice wady?”
“Why yes, I hope I am dearie. What’s a sweet little thing like you doing out here?”
“Huu, meanie daddeh gib Pickew babbehs wowstesh huwties an foweba sweepies, den thwow Pickew way. Hab biggesh heawt-huwties and tummeh-huwties.”
“Oh well that just won’t do, come along dear.”
Using her walking stick to steady herself, the old woman bent down and scooped Pickle off the ground, holding her gently to her chest and cuddling the green mare slighty. Pickle hugged her new mummah back and cried tears of joy that she was finally safe.
“There there sweetie, we’ll get you all warm and clean back home, then to celebrate I’ll cook you a nice warm bowl of spaghetti.”
“NUUUUUUUU!!! NU WAN MEANIE SKETTI, NEBA SKETTI, NUUUUHUUUUUUUHUUUU!!!”
The poor old woman was so shocked by Pickle’s outburst that she jumped back and dropped her, Pickle’s barely healed leg shattered again on the impact, cracking so hard that the bone burst through her skin.
Pickle didn’t even realise her new mummah had vanished until the old woman was long gone, every new pain just built on top of each other, until Pickle couldn’t handle the broken heart, the psychological trauma, the shattered bones and the empty stomach no more.
“Wan… chirp… mummah… peep.”
