This is something that's been in my mind for a while. This story centered around a Woozle I've recently adopted from AnthroEnthusiast which I have named Stuffy. The poor dear seems to be having a hard go at getting anyone to enjoy her cooking. But it seems someone is determined to put her on the right path to friendship. Will this new force in Stuffy's life succeed?

Who wrote this story? What do you think?
The second part will be done soon, I assure you.

Enter the obligatory version for thise who cannot download.


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The light of the moon broke through the window and still the dining table was empty; the hand sewn placemats were gaining indents from the large pewter bowls and the candles were puddles in their caches.

Standing in the doorway, a lone Woozle shook her head. “Where is everyone?” She muttered as she sulked to the window, looking in vain for any of her invited guests. The only signs of life near her crooked little house were the fallen leaves, green and orange hues dancing alone in the autumn chill. “I know I sent those invites out. And I made sure to attach them to Hunny pots so no one would miss the message.”

Poor Stuffy, her sulking only grew worse as she trudged back to the kitchen. Her tail caught a leg of chair as it dragged across the floor, bringing it along with a sour moan.

Eyes as cerulean as her heart surveyed the scene. It was just like the dining room, a sad duplicate snapshot of her life at the edge of The 100-Acre Woods. A crag of mixing bowls and utensils rose from the sink, some handmade, some plastic, and many bearing her face in a far happier mood. Despite the thick globs of honey thet held it all together, a pull of the untrained hand would spell a disastrous mess. Sitting on the counter beside was a large recipe book embroidered with the same pink and blue mixture as it’s writer. It was open, waiting for a bookmark to signify a successful meal and one to try again in some new fashion some other day. Worst of all at the center of the room, cradled in the cinders of an oaken fire with wisps of smoke fluttering into a hole in the ceiling, was a gigantic pot of wasted time and ingredients all going to a single stomach rather than many at once.

There was no fear of the honey spoiling, such a thought was unthinkable for Heffalump or Woozle. No, Stuffy would tuck in day by day until the pot was empty.

And by then, some part of her fluff-filled brain would have told her that tonight had been an unlucky one, a fluke among dozens (even if it was hundredths.) And then the whole thing would start all over again.

…writing the invitations…

…searching the book for some new honey recipe to try…

…getting the ingredients…

…suffering the traps and sticks of those hoarders in the forest…

Stuffy’s blue-painted lips turned scowling at how happily she’d whistle as she got the pots boiling, twisted and kneaded her bow so to keep sweat from her brow. The laughs and jokes she’d tell her reflection, testing delivery for when the guests showed up.

All leading up to the exact same scene before her now: An empty table, a full pot, a broken heart.

The Woozle fell to her knees as the crippling mental cycle finished. Not even the sweet smell of honey could keep her eyes dry. She stayed there, her moans and sobs echoing through the house, bouncing back to her and out through the chimney with the rest of the smoke.

Stuffy: Honey Cook Extraordinaire

What kind of a name was that when there was no one to cook for?

Desperate for some kind of hope, for even a hallucination of someone at her table, Stuffy dipped her personal bowl in her work (a honey -based pudding mixed with cheesecake filling and crushed blueberries) and shuffled to the table.

But even her imagination failed to comfort her. A breeze intruded on the scene, finally giving the candles a rest. Still, Stuffy slurped her creation, letting the dough-like mixture roll through and give some physical warmth. Lips puckered at the overabundance of lemon juice, a note for next time.

…next time…

“There I go…hoping…”

She sighed again as she stared at her reflection in the blue-speckled soup. Perhaps she would have sighed a third time were it not for a brisk knocking coming from the door.

Her ears and tail shot to the ceiling, she sprang from her seat and nearly tore the maroon stripes off her wallpaper as she ran. Better than then never was certainly the motto for tonight.

With a cheer of friendship, Stuffy threw open the double doors and grinned.

There was nothing on the porch.

A cruel prank at the worst possible time.

The night sky had clouded over, surrounding her house in a wall of darkness. All that could be seen was a single star twinkling merrily as if it could find humor at the poor Woozle’s disappointment.

Being as romantic as she was artistic, Stuffy clasped her paws together and pleaded to that single speck of light, “Please. I don’t want to spend one more supper alone. Where have all my friends gone?” The star gave no voice, no answer, leaving the poor Woozle to curl against the door and cry all over again.

But it did glow.

And as Stuffy continued to cry, it became brighter, stronger, turning from a weak piffle to a light so strong she was sure it was morning. So bright she covered her eyes with her bow. So intense that she feared she and her house would catch fire.

But she did not catch fire. The glow softened in it’s intensity and hue.

“It’s alright Stuffy, you can open your eyes now.” The voice was unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the boisterous bellows of Heffalumps and the slimy chatter of Woozles. It sounded more like that yellow bear and his friends. Despite that resemblance, Stuffy felt compelled to do as she was told.

Behind the green curtain, Stuffy beheld a human woman clad in shimmering, glittering blue and further clothed by the radiance of a star, reflected by thick locks of golden hair and gossamer wings. What’s more, she did not look upon Stuffy with fear as most non-Heffs and Woozs did, rather with eyes and a smile just as soft and bright as the rest of her.

“Who are you?”

“Someone who has heard your lonely cries. It saddens me to see you in such a state, considering all the work you go to for your friends.”

With tail pawing at the sill, Stuffy snorted. “What friends? No one’s been coming to my dinners. I send out invitations and everything, but no one’s come. Makes me wonder why I bother.”

The Blue Fairy swirled her wand in the air, a looking glass appearing before her host. “Perhaps we should see what some of those ‘friends’ are doing now?”

Ripples and waves formed in the glass. Within moments, Stuffy’s visage was replaced with that of other Woozles and Heffalumps.

Oh the fun they were having, trouncing about through the dreams and houses of the yellow bear and his friends, swiping their honey when none were looking, tipping over flowerpots, stomping on roses, and each one with smile of cruel knowledge or childish ignorance of their deeds. Stripes and polka dots, colors from white to green, all took part in the fun that she rarely did. Not for lack of want, but her focus was more on the culinary results.

“Your perceived friends are of very low morals. The thoughts and considerations of others are nothing but a joke to them.”

“Yeah” Stuffy stared at the window with a dreamy expression in her eyes. “Ain’t it just grand?”

“Perhaps such indiscipline can seem ‘grand’…” The fairy double tapped the mirror, changing the scene once more to each Woozle and Heffalump in their home, passing by the handmade invitations in Stuffy’s writing save for when their home fires needed an extra kick. “…but no respect for others can extend to one’s own kind.”

The sight of it all pricked Stuffy’s heart. They could have at least given her a simple no. But somehow, Stuffy knew the fairy was trying to drive at something and decided to remain firm.

“Well I ain’t their keeper. And a Woozle knows when they ain’t wanted.”

“But what about if she could be wanted?” With one last tap on the glass, the scene changed not to some lone Heffalump or Woozle, but to the house of that mother and kid…Kanga and Roo Stuffy recalled. The two kangaroos were preparing their dinner while two large purple guests waited at a table by an open window. The sight of them made Stuffy fume. It was those first Heffalumps that had befriended those hoarders.

The Blue Fairy didn’t share her anger. “See how Lumpy and his mother have been welcomed into their home? Perhaps if you--”

Before the Blue Fairy could finish, Stuffy jumped her, snatching her wand with one hand and grabbing her face with the other.

“No way am I gonna be some domestic wimp!”

Anger overtaking thought, Stuffy slapped the fairy with the wand, her body flashing blue as she did so. Even when screaming, the fairy kept her soft, motherly tone.

“All I want is good honey and someone to share my work with.” Stuffy drummed on, not caring as her victim was shrinking. “That’s all a Woozle should want! Honey! Same for Heffs, I’m not a softie! I’m a gourmet! And no flashy woman from the sky is gonna change that!”

Once more, the aura around the fairy turned to eye-blasting levels, knocking Stuffy off balance and onto the ground. The wand was still in her hand.

The flash diminished as soon as it began with the sound of a thunder clap. When Stuffy was able to open her eyes again, she found that the fairy was gone. In her place was a blue honeypot, her calm face etched into one side and the misspelled Hunny moniker on the other.

It's lid was open, giving Stuffy a look at the liquid sky inside.

She gave it a sniff. It was sweet, and familiar.

“Is it…” She dipped her new wand inside. She struggled to pull it out again, the inner substance sticking to it almost like glue.

Stuffy took a lick. Her eyes opened wide, glowing the same blue hue. Her tail twisted apon itself and released, almost propelling her off the ground if her bow hadn’t done the same.

It was as if every fruit she had seen or ever would see had been pressed and condensed into a single drop of honey.

After suckling the rest off the wand, her paws twitching at the high sweetness, Stuffy laughed at the pot.

“Well Madame, I’d say you’ve helped me tonight. But not how you suspected I reckon.” With a wave of the wand, the pot lifted off the ground and followed it’s new owner inside.

Now the failed dinner meant nothing to Stuffy. All those depressing, helpless existential dreads were washed away from the taste of this honey. In it’s place: the imaginings of what else she could do with her new power.

“I’m gonna make a real dish this time. One that no Wooz, Heff, or even those wimpy hoarders could resist!” Stuffy scooped up a glop of blue honey, dropped it into the cauldron and stirred with her new sparkling mixer, twisting round and round until it turned a deep grassy green.

“Splendid!” Stuffy screamed with delight as she wiped the wand towards the dirty dishes, a few piles of green flung as well. “What could I make?” She willed her cookbook towards her and flipped through the pages.

Honey cupcakes with a crème frosting?

Blue+Straw berry shake with honey boba?

Party-Size honey dip with kettle baked chocolate chips?

Party…

At the word, Stuffy's production halted. A party. She would need guests.

Then her mind switched to the hoarders, particularly the scene of the two kangaroos. If there was one thing Stuffy couldn’t stand, it was just how many Heffalumps had been rejecting her. The visions the fairy gave her dripped away in favor of her natural scapegoat. That little twit, he just had to be all goody-goody rather than fearful of his betters.

Stuffy gave a smug smile to the blue-faced pot. “He’ll learn to beware now.”