#if only i could be a moomin sleeping in a moomin afternoon;;

[pol-online]

Resting in a summer afternoon (_　_)ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

or something like that

#if only i could be a moomin sleeping in a moomin afternoon;; #moomin #moominvalley #the moomins #moomins fanart #moomintroll #moomin fanart #moomins #snorkmaiden #snufkin #little my #moomin sniff

[spheresr4cubes]

Reclaiming my teenage confidence by posting fanfic

LINK: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14192482/1/The-Shadow

Moomin Valley--The Shadow

After a late-autumn storm, a strange shadow appears in the forest, and its aura is contagious. //TW: depression, illness.

CHAPTER ONE

          Autumn was nearing its end in the Valley. The grass had gone brown with sleep, the sky was thick and gray with a chilly afternoon wind, and Lilla-My lied napping in the tree over Nuuska’s tent. It was only when she heard voices and the creak of steps on the bridge below that she blinked awake.

          “It’s getting cold already,” said Mumintroll forlornly. “It’s like winter comes earlier and earlier every year.”

          “That’s because it is,” said Nuuska.

          “How do you know?”

          “Well, haven’t you ever noticed how low the sun gets to the horizon near wintertime?”

          “Yes, I have.”

          “It’s still pretty high in the sky right now, but the wind has already turned. And it’s come sooner last year and the year before… and the year before…”

          The wind rustled the dying leaves of the tree, and Lilla-My turned to sit up and look down. Mumintroll leaned his head on his hands on the bridge railing and was wearing Nuuska’s hat, green against all the gray. Nuuska stood facing opposite, staring out at the mountains to the east. It was Mumintroll who broke the deepening silence.

          “Are you leaving soon?” he asked quietly.

          “Yes… but I have one more thing I need to do before I go.”

          “What is it?”

          “You’ll see,” said Nuuska with a hint of mischief. No doubt that slight turn of his head came with a knowing wink, thought Lilla-My, rolling her eyes. She’d never understood why boys couldn’t just say what they meant—she’d been doing it for years, and it wasn’t like it was hard. Nonetheless, she had an inkling of what it was that Nuuska wanted to do before he left, unlike Mumintroll.

          “Oh, come on, you can’t tell me?” Mumintroll complained, and Nuuska laughed, taking back his hat.

          “No, not yet,” he said. “It’s not the right time, you see.”

          “Is it very important?”

          “Yes, it is.”

          “Can I help?”

          Nuuska put his hat on, pulling it snugly down so that it hid some of his face: “Well… I suppose maybe you could… you see—”

          Lilla-My leaned on her branch in the tree as he was speaking very quietly. The branch crackled beneath her and fell, and she hit the ground with a hard thump! Mumintroll and Nuuska immediately looked ‘round.

          “Lilla-My!” scolded Mumintroll. “Lilla-My, were you eavesdropping?!”

          Lilla-My stood up and brushed herself off: “Well, it’s not my fault you two were yapping loud enough to wake me up!”

          She ran up the bridge to look them keenly in the eyes, a smirk cutting through the embarrassment of being caught: “So, what’s this oh-so-important thing you have to do, huh? I bet I could help better than Mumintroll could.”

          Had she been as short as she was just a year ago, she could have seen better under the brim of that stupid hat and really catch the expression on Nuuska’s face. Instead, she only caught his mouth twisting ever-so-slightly in annoyance.

          “Maybe I don’t need any help at all,” Nuuska said evenly, crossing his arms.

          Both Lilla-My and Mumintroll gave a heavy sigh, though for different reasons.

          “Come on!” she begged kiddingly. “If you’ve only got days left and it’s so important to do whatever it is, you need all the help you can get!”

          “No, thank you,” said Nuuska cordially. “I can figure it out on my own. Excuse me…”

          And with that, he walked off the way he and Mumintroll had come, disappearing into the trees. Mumintroll sighed and caught Lilla-My grinning mischievously at him.

          “Oh, hush!” said Mumintroll wearily. “Go bother someone else for a while.”

And he went on his own way, morosely following the river west.

*

          Muminpapa sat back in his office chair and rubbed his fuzzy head in exasperation. He’d written twenty-three pages today, and they hung on the drying-line over his head like a heavy sword. For as much time and effort as he’d put into his memoirs, the fact was that they were nearly done, his whole life up to this point put to paper. It was sobering and terrifying to think of the hundreds of pages lying patiently in his desk drawer, waiting to be bound up in pressed leather and put aside for his inevitable passing.

Behind him, the office door opened.

“I knew you were here, Papa!” said Lilla-My annoyedly.

          “Oh, hello,” Papa said and put his pen down in its well, turning in his chair. “What’s the matter?”

          “Didn’t you hear me knocking?” asked Lilla-My, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. She was tall enough not to have to stretch to reach the doorknob now, and Papa realized it with such force that he hardly processed what she’d said.

          “I’m sorry, dear,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m afraid I’m quite busy. Is everything alright?”

          Lilla-My glanced at the twenty-three pages hanging above him and came up to his desk with a casual air: “I want to up the stakes for our bet.”

          “Oh?”

          “I want you to help me build my own house like this, if I win.”

          “That’s nice.”

          Lilla-My frowned: “Papa, are you listening?”

          “Yes, yes! I hear you. House, yes, the house… what about it?”

          “I want my own house if I win.”

          “Your own?!”

          Papa grumbled and slouched back in his chair, feeling rather overwhelmed. Lilla-My in her own house! Oh, how the years had gone!

          Oh dear, she was saying something, and he hadn’t heard any of it. And now he was thinking of how he hadn’t heard it and still wasn’t hearing her. Oh, and now he was thinking of thinking of how he hadn’t heard!

          “Deal?” asked Lilla-My, holding out her hand.

          Papa had not a clue. How could he admit to that? He couldn’t!

          “Deal,” he said with a confidence he did not feel, then remembered she had wagered for an entire house. “Oh! Oh, wait! No!”

          “Nope!” laughed Lilla-My, skipping out the door. “No take-backs!”

          Papa grumbled some more and sat up again, his back creaking as he did. How on earth could he build another house with old bones like these?

*

          “Mama!” called Lilla-My, coming up the stairs.

          “In here!” came the call from one of the guest rooms.

          Muminmama re-folded the last blanket from the winter box and put it on the top of the stack of others as Lilla-My came in.

          “Hello, dear,” said Mama, picking up most of the stack in both arms. “Could you help me carry these downstairs, please?”

          “I want to up the stakes of our bet,” Lilla-My continued without taking the blankets. Mama stumbled slightly over one of the floorboards.

          “Is that so?” she asked distractedly.

          “If I win now, you’ll have to make double the desserts so I can have two after dinner for a whole month!”

          Mama chuckled, carefully rounding the stairs going down: “Absolutely not. You’ll rot your teeth out that way. But you can have double the dinner, if you’d like.”

Lilla-My stepped down behind her and narrowly missed trodding on her tail: “Sold! Let’s shake on it!”

“In a minute, dear, my hands are full—”

Mama caught the stair-step with her toe and gasped as she fell forward, tumbling down the stairs and rolling flat on to the floor as she hit the bottom. The blankets she’d been carrying trailed after her on the steps.

“Mama!”

Papa’s office door flung open before Lilla-My reached the bottom.

“Oh, Mama, what happened?” Papa asked pitifully.

“I’m alright,” Mama groaned, slowly sitting up. “It wasn’t a bad fall—oh! Oh, oh, oh!”

She held her right paw with her eyes pressed closed, and Papa rushed over to her.

“Now, now,” he said, “don’t move it too much.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Mama. “I just need a moment.”

“In this case, a ‘moment’ will be an hour sitting down with some ice.”

He helped her up, holding her good arm as they went into the office, and Lilla-My stood guiltily on the stairs. She hadn’t actually stepped on Mama’s tail, right? Her foot hadn’t gotten under Mama’s, right? Now, she wasn’t so sure. With nothing else she could do, she looked around and gathered the blankets back up.

*

          Papa set the platter of pancakes down on the dining table and made up two plates while Lilla-My dug in for herself. Moomintroll sat frowning.

          “Hm?” said Papa. “Eat up, my boy, or they’ll be gone!”

          “Oh, Papa,” said Moomintroll. “I’m not sure I’m hungry.”

          Papa looked nervously at the pancakes: “They don’t look funny, do they?”

          “They look fine!” said Lilla-My through a mouthful. “He’s just upset Nuuska went off and disappeared again so close to leaving for winter.”

          Moomintroll leaned his elbow on the table and held his chin: “He said he had something important to do but wouldn’t tell me what it was! I’d hate to think he thought I was too useless to help.”

          “Nonsense,” said Papa, making up a third plate and passing it across the table to him. “You know him better than that.”

          Moomintroll grumbled, picking up his fork and prodding the pancakes idly: “Maybe. I don’t know.”

          Lilla-My gave Papa a knowing look. Papa squinted at her, confused. She nodded backward, out the window at the dark evening, and raised her eyebrows teasingly. He raised his own back in surprise.

          “Oh dear,” he muttered.

          “What’s wrong, Papa?” asked Moomintroll vaguely.

          “Huh? Oh! Nothing! Nothing, I just remembered, er, realized something, uh—I’d better take these up to Mama. Go ahead and eat!”

          Papa hurried away with his two plates, and Moomintroll watched him go, puzzled.

          “Mama?” he asked. “Is Mama not coming down?”

          Lilla-My paused in her chewing: “No.”

          “Why? What happened?”

          “She, um…” Ugh, how to admit this without sounding guilty? “She fell down the stairs earlier.”

          “What?!” Moomintroll stood up. “Mama fell down the stairs?! Is she okay?”

          “She’s fine, she’s fine!” Lilla-My said casually, waving his worry off. “All the blankets she was carrying broke her fall, but she definitely hurt her hand.”

          “Oh, poor Mama,” said Moomintroll, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see her up there. “I hope it doesn’t hurt too badly.”

*

          “Oh!” yelped Mama as she dropped her fork. Papa leaned down from Mama’s bed and retrieved it from the floor.

          “Would you like me to cut them for you, darling?”

          Mama held her aching paw and huffed, “It’s so embarrassing!”

          “Yes, I imagine,” said Papa, “but we’ll just have to manage. Here you are…”

          He cut the pancakes into bite-sized pieces and pushed the plate back to her across the tray table. Mama took her fork back up with her off paw and focused hard. She managed to capture a bite without dropping it and felt a little better.

          “Are the children eating?” she asked.

          “Yes, of course. I made a big plateful, so there’s plenty for everyone.”

          “I guess we can have the stew I’d planned for tonight tomorrow night instead.”

          “Only so long as you feel up to it, of course.”

          “I’ll probably need an extra hand in the kitchen.”

          They both paused and laughed, shaking the bed and the tray table atop it. Papa steadied it, and they continued eating.

          “I meant to ask,” he said between bites, “did Lilla-My ask you to increase your bet?”

          “Yes, she did!” chuckled Mama. “I take it she asked you, too?”

          “Yes, and I wasn’t paying enough attention, so I’ll owe her a house when she wins. Oh, how silly of me…”

          “An entire house? Papa, that’s quite the wager.”

          “I was distracted! Besides, I still hold my side—”

          “Really? After all this time?”

          “Well, that’s exactly why! All this time, and it hasn’t happened, so why should it now?”

          Mama sighed: “And yet, I hope it does. Think how happy they would be!”

          “Well, they can be happy next year, when I haven’t accidentally sold my soul to the little devil!”

*

          Thunder clapped outside, shaking the house, and Mumintroll paused scrubbing in the soapy water to listen.

          “Well, color me pink! I didn’t know it was going to rain tonight!” he said incredulously, handing the clean plate to Lilla-My. She wiped it dry and scoffed at the darkness beyond the window: “Unless there are big, fluffy clouds where I can see ‘em, I can never tell.”

          “Well, there’s a trick to it, see? The water in the air makes your fur feel funny.”

          “I don’t have fur.”

          “Your hair then! I bet it’s the same. You just have to pay attention!”

Lilla-My huffed: “Well, fine, then why didn’t you know it was going to rain?”

          Mumintroll hesitated, trying to think of a good answer: “Uh… well… I don’t know! There weren’t many rain clouds today either.”

          “You said you could tell without clouds!”

          “I can! U-usually.”

          “Well, why not this time?”

          Mumintroll pouted, handing her the last plate: “Oh, hush, Lilla-My, it’s not like you could do better.”

          There was a rush of sound from outside as it began to pour, and he shook out his wet paws as he hurried to the front room to look out the window. It was pitch-dark outside, and the glint of the light from the house shone off the fat droplets of rain in golden lines. But there it was—the dim flicker of lamplight from within Nuuska’s tent by the river. The wind pulled hither and thither at the fabric of the tent, bowing the tree above it with violent gusts, and Mumintroll worried it might fall.

          Lilla-My came to look out beside him: “Wow, it’s really storming!”

          “You don’t think a tornado will come through, do you?” asked Mumintroll.

          “We don’t get tornados here, don’t be silly!”

          “It’s not silly, and yes, we have! There was one about ten years ago now—”

          Lightning flashed, illuminating the whole of the Valley for a split second, and through the rattle and rumble of thunder, there were quick feet on the front steps. The door flung open with a gust, and Nuuska flew in like a damp leaf to press the door closed again.

          “Nuuska!” yelled Mumintroll. “Are you alright?!”

          Nuuska straightened up, breathing hard and clutching his hat in both hands: “Just a bit stormy outside. Nothing to worry about.”

          As he said this, the wind rattled the windows even harder, and a shape slapped against the panes before sliding away—the tent. They all stared, surprised.

          “I guess you’re staying with us tonight,” said Lilla-My, amused.

          Nuuska sighed and pulled his wet hair away from his face: “I think you might be right.”

*

          “You know,” said Lilla-My, “your bed’s too small for both of you.”

          Mumintroll ushered her gently out of his bedroom and took hold of the doorhandle: “Mind your business, My.”

          The door shut, and she stood on the darkened landing, hands on her hips. Left out again. Fine. The rain pounded the roof over her head, and she grumbled, stepping up to the closed door and pressing her ear against it.

          “…cold and rainy. I don’t mind it, but that wind was so strong I nearly blew away myself!”

          “We can go out and find all your stuff tomorrow. If Sniff and Snorkmaiden were here, we could have made it a scavenger hunt, but it’s okay. I’m sure nothing’s gotten too far away.”

          “I don’t know about that…”

          There was a pause as the wind whistled in the eaves, and Lilla-My startled as she heard steps coming up the stairs. She turned just as Papa reached the top.

          “Oh,” said Papa, “what are you doing up here?”

          “Nothing,” lied Lilla-My.

          “Hm,” replied Papa, and he came to the door and knocked. “Hallo in there?”

          Mumintroll answered the door, and Papa handed him something white and fuzzy that Lilla-My hadn’t noticed him holding. In return, he passed him a sopping green bundle and hat.

          “I’ll hang them up by the fire, so they’ll be dry for the morning,” said Papa.

          “Thank you, Papa,” said Mumintroll.

          “Thank you, Muminpapa!” said Nuuska from within.

          “Goodnight, boys. Sleep warm!”

          The door shut again, and Papa motioned his head at Lilla-My: “Come on, let’s go down to bed.”

          “But I’m not tired!” huffed Lilla-My, though she knew that wasn’t true.

          “You will be once you lie down. Go on. I’ll see you in the morning.”

*

          The wind pushed the pouring rain against Mumintroll’s bedroom window, and the slight crackle of the candle wick flared with some unfelt draft. On the far side of the bed, Nuuska sneezed.

          “Bless you!” said Mumintroll without turning around. “Are you feeling okay?”

          “I’ll be fine,” Nuuska said. “These pajamas are very warm.”

          “Mama likes to keep some around in case we have visitors who get cold easily.”

          “Well, I have to say, I’m grateful.”

          Mumintroll brought the candle from his desk, where he’d been politely busying himself with his back turned, to the bedside table, and they both slipped under the bedcovers. It was nice and warm, though the mattress was perhaps a bit soft for Nuuska’s taste. Mumintroll snuggled in, all the warmer and softer beside him, and chuckled.

          “What?” Nuuska asked, looking aside at him.

          “I think Lilla-My was right,” giggled Mumintroll. “It’s a bit more difficult to fit both of us in bed than it used to be.”

          Nuuska gave Mumintroll a sly grin: “Yes, you’re getting awfully big for a ‘small troll,’ particularly around the middle.”

          “Haha, yes, I hope so.”

          “You’d make for a marvelous pillow.”

          “Oh?”

          Nuuska turned inward and curled into Mumintroll’s side, his dark, still-damp hair jutting out at odd angles: “Yes, absolutely.”

          Mumintroll listened contentedly to his muffled purring and settled his paw down over Nuuska’s shoulder. He reached up to the bedside table, brought the candle down, and blew it out, leaving them in comfortable darkness.

*

          Somewhere out in the night, a little shadow was running. It ran and ran and ran until it could run no more and laid down in the damp leaves as the storm ripped the trees above. There were plenty of places to hide from the torrent, but the shadow did not. It stayed where it was, where it deserved to be.

#Moominvalley #moomin #fanfic #fanfiction #snufkin #little my #the shadow

[flowerbloom-arts]

Omnishambles

Chapter 2

In which I wake up too early and find myself unbelievably miserable and alone, Moomin is being rude from his own issues and impatience, and Hodgkins talks longer than usual.

-

Prolog | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[Features Muddler, Hodgkins and Moomin. Full of angst (with a tiny bit of comedy). Around 4.5 k words long.]

🥀

I eventually woke up from a nightmare I couldn't remember and my bed felt a bit damp, likely because I was wearing my hot layered day clothes rather than the bathrobes I wear as pajamas. I blinked a few times because everything was an odd blueish darkness, I wasn't sure if it was something wrong with my eyes or mind or whatever thing that could cause this.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes thoroughly and looked up around me. Things were still dark but I could see the outline of the others sleeping on their beds…

It's… it's nighttime. I woke up in the middle of the night. Of course. Why would I think it was otherwise? I slept at, like, what? The afternoon or whatever it's called? I knew the sun was still up, I wasn't very good at knowing what certain times of day are called, or when they happen based on the position of the sun.

I observed a bit longer, not sure what to do at this time. Do I go back to sleep? No, I wasn't sleepy. Do I get out of bed? … Maybe? I might wake up the crew or mess something up though, they'd be so panicked to find I was gone from my bed as well. Then again I could also get some chores done, but I'm not sure if I'm in the mood to do chores… or if I'm really able to do them at all in fact… it… it doesn't hurt to try, does it? It doesn't hurt. It shouldn't. It won't. I could… I could do it.

I had to.

But first I had to stop feeling so hot, it's making me feel like I can't breathe, even my pillow seemed to have absorbed the sweat from my head. Are my clothes still on me? I can't see them on account of them also being as invisible as myself.

I searched around my chest for my coat's top button and got painfully reminded how much I despised my own body for how much it despises me. Like oh, of course I just couldn't be a normal man, no no, I had to be a clumsy biological mix up, a natural mistake! I had to be a muddled mess by birth and I had to go from a supposedly happy child – that's what Hodgkins told me I was, atleast – to a teenager who was too scared to get touched by anyone but his uncle lest the other person finds out and calls me a freak. I'm not even a complete Muddler. My father is… I don't know what to call him, nor do I remember what he looks like, but I think he's relatively close to Hodgkins, right? He has to be.

And that's why my eyes are weird and blue, that's why I'm freakishly tall, that's why I'm so sickly and full of pain all the time, that's why I'm so clumsy and dumb, hybrids like me tend to not come out too right. I can't hide my eyes, but at the very least I can hide my chest and my size. It didn't change the fact that my whole back and legs felt like heck to walk with but at least I could feel like I seemed acceptable to Joxter… oh and to think what everyone else would do if they knew two socially unacceptable men were in love! This is why we haven't told Moomin about it and we plan to never will… and I'm lucky to have an accepting uncle, even if he doesn't get romance…

It makes my skin crawl to think that fate has bestowed upon me a constant series of tantalizing conundrums where I'm only halfway acceptable in any aspect you look at. Whatever did I do to exist like this? Was it the fault of my parents? Did they do something wrong and I had to endure the punishment? It would make sense given everything that has happened to me… but… they wouldn't do something horrible enough for the punishment to be this bad, would it? They would never, so therefore I have to be the cause of it, there's simply no way justice would operate like that. Unless it isn't that bad and I'm being terribly ungrateful like I always am… I don't have a right to complain… this is why all of this should only ever stay in my head…

… what was I meant to do again? Ah yes, take off my coat. At least now I wouldn't have to deal with looking at myself and being reminded of everything aforementioned, I guess that's one upside I could take away from this.

I managed to find my invisible coat button and move it through the invisible hole. I did the same with my three over buttons and partially became free of the terrible heating it caused. I went ahead and took it off by my sleeves and dropped it on the bed.

Odd thing though, it faded into view, and the coat became invisible again, unlike me. Or at least I think it became visible, it's still difficult to see in the dark. I removed my scarf with the safety pin attached as well since it made my neck uncomfortably hot like that coat, the thing also came into view as I took it off from myself.

I moved my blanket aside and got out of bed, I almost stood up straight but my legs buckled into the crouching stance I taught them to stand in for a long time now. I turned to look at my bed, all messy and wrinkly from what I could perceive in the darkness. I considered for a good few seconds whether I should make my bed right then and there and even picked up my coat, but… uhm… y- you know what? It would be better if I had my coffee first and also waited until some sunshine could come through and my crew would be awake so I wouldn't be bothering them with my noise… yes. But wouldn't they also think I was being irresponsible and not looking after myself because I didn't make my bed…?

Actually, I should make a note explaining all of that! That way, they wouldn't be worried and they wouldn't think I was being dumb! And they'll think I was being considerate!! It's perfect!

I tiptoed from my bed to the little desk Hodgkins kept all his writing and drawing material at. I squatted down and opened one of the drawers carefully and felt my paw around to find some paper and pens.

Then I halted. Wouldn't this be considered stealing? Should it? … I'm… I'm sure Hodgkins will forgive me if I used just one piece of paper, right? Right…? I continued searching.

I found some paper at last, then the pen I found in another drawer. I got up from my squatting position and put the paper down on the desk. My eyes were adjusted to the darkness by now to see what I'm writing hopefully, so I put the pen to paper and wrote:

“ ”

… I said I wrote:

“ ”

… why isn't the pen writing anything? Is the ink run out?

“ ”

“ ”

“ ”

Maybe I should try a different pen-

“ ”

Why isn't it working??? Are all these pens broken!?

“ ”

What in Walter Hunt's name-!?

“ ”

… Does fate legitimately hate me?

“ ”

I'm done. This isn't working, I'm probably doing something wrong with these pens, but whatever, I can't seem to use any of them and I am too tired to figure it out now… I need my coffee.

I gave up and left the desk a mess of pens, I'd deal with it later, I thought. I almost forgot to put on my saucepan but thankfully I remembered before I left the sleeping quarters and ventured into the pantry.

I lit up the oil lamp hanging on the ceiling using a convenient long match close to the entrance and looked through the tin cupboard and tried looking for where the coffee tins were, maybe I should organize the pantry soon… I pulled one out and looked at the label;

Hills Bros Coffee™

The tin was red and had a little bearded old dude in a yellow dress drinking coffee on it, little texts at the sides of him said 'The Original Vacuum Pack' and 'Red Can Brand', the tin was unremarkable otherwise.

I was overcome with… hatred for this thing. The red shade of this cylinder mocked me somehow, it knew what I had been through and it made fun of me for it. I didn't know if it was brand loyalty, the fact I just lost my blue coffee tin just yesterday, or I simply hated the color red now, I simply knew I wanted to throw this tin can to the ground and crushed it under my foot, even if I didn't feel such a strong hatred for this kind of tin before, I hated it now and I wanted it out of my sight.

My paw shook with it in hand and I quickly slammed it back in place. Actually no, I slid it into the far back of the cupboard and picked up another, less offensive tin. It didn't matter what brand it was, I just didn't want it to be red.

Making coffee on this boat was absolutely hellish. Clean water was one thing but boiling it required patience I simply did not have at the time, so I settled for lukewarm coffee. I still felt tired and bad and terrible. And tired. And terrible…

Why did it have to be so bad? It would've been better if I just stayed in bed and not have to be frustrated going through all of that…

Nobody else even opened their eyes yet and I already had one of the worst mornings I can remember, the sun isn't up yet-

Oh, wait no, I peeked over to the entrance and I can see some sunshine coming through, Hodgkins and Moomin should be waking up now, early birds that they are. I took a quick sip of my coffee and dashed back down into the sleeping quarters with careful steps.

I gently placed the coffee on the desk and went to try and fix my bed but… then I lost motivation as soon as I picked up my coat.

I suddenly didn't want to fix my bed anymore. I lowered my paws and lost my grip. The coat fell back onto the bed and I felt like not doing anything. I fell quiet in my mind, and I sat down with my body taking up as little space as possible, waiting for everyone else to wake up. I should have cleaned up the desk… but I didn't.

The sun hit my uncle's eyes and he woke up slowly, I tensed up as he looked at my direction, squinting. He seemed confused for a second and then remembered yesterday, he groaned and got up, half disappointed that I'm still an issue they have to fix. He looked around and saw the mess I've made of the desk and my own bed, he then looked at my saucepan and tried to greet me very forgivingly; "Good morning," in a still sleepy tone.

He got up to survey the crime scene I had concocted while they were asleep, looking inside the empty coffee mug I left on the desk, then the paper and pens. He didn't seem all that bothered, or maybe he's wondering all sorts of things about how and why his desperate and poor little nephew would do this, one can't tell with this man.

He walked over to my bed and picked up the scarf curiously, then he asked my saucepan "Your clothes from yesterday?"

I nodded.

He took out the safety pin that held it in a loop and threw it on my bed and looked at my saucepan again. "Hold still, testing something," he said quietly and squatted in front of me. He put the scarf on me from behind my neck and let it hang on me for a bit.

The invisibility bled from the part of the scarf touching my neck down to the ends of it, it completely disappeared after a few moments, then he took it off of me and it faded back again.

Hodgkins looked at the scarf in his paws, he furrowed his brow and hummed. "Perhaps we should try clothes you haven't worn," he suggested.

Then we heard Moomin groan as he got up from his bed, he rubbed his eyes and saw us already awake. He seemed confused as well but then had the realization and scoffed, annoyed. He climbed out of bed and mumbled "Morning captain," to Hodgkins and then glanced at my saucepan with irritation "Muddler," he added with some disgust in his voice, or at least I'm pretty sure it was disgust.

"What did we discuss yesterday?" Hodgkins asked indignantly.

Moomin sighed and pinched the bridge between his eyes "Right, right, erm…" he looked up at my saucepan. "I'm sorry about yesterday, and… the rest of this whole boat trip… I'll make an effort to be nicer to you from now on." he said and Hodgkins only nodded in response.

He wasn't being sincere, was he? Hodgkins definitely told him to say that to me. He didn't like me one bit and I knew he didn't hide it. He thought I was everything I thought myself to be, which means it's probably true, right? That I was dumb and clumsy and worthless – that's one thing I knew we agreed on, I'm too scared to talk to him and find out what else he thinks.

"Anyway," Moomin continued and turned away with his paws behind his back. "I suppose we should have some breakfast soon, since Muddler is dealing with his…" he gestured vaguely towards me "Situation…" he completed and turned away again "I'll kindly take it upon myself to cook breakfast for the crew! I may not compare to Muddler when it comes to cooking in the eyes of some but I believe it to be the right thing to do in such a distressing time for the rest of you! … except the little Nibling, he doesn't seem too in touch with the tension of everything."

My heart sank into the mattress of my bed as I felt terrible for having someone else take over my duties, Joxter did promise me yesterday but hearing that moomin say it and knowing it's going to happen practically right now gives me an aching feeling in my stomach, or maybe it was the bad coffee from earlier…

Moomin made some oatmeal for breakfast. It was honestly strange having food given to me by a stranger. We didn't frequent restaurants or cafes very much, I wasn't used to having food handed to me by a practical stranger.

I sat on the floor at the corner between the doubled stairway, it was where my tin used to sit and I would eat whatever I could alone in there, but it's not there anymore. Yet I still sat there, staring at my food and trying my hardest to force myself to eat but I couldn't even make myself lift the spoon and dig into it. I sat pathetically for a while, and Moomin eventually noticed.

"Do you… not like oatmeal?" Moomin asked with concern.

I did like oatmeal, it was an alright breakfast most days and I wanted to say as much, but it's hard to tell if I should nod or shake my head at such a question; 'Yes I don't like oatmeal' and 'No I don't like oatmeal' are practically the same answer, how should I decide? I simply stared at him, not knowing how to respond otherwise.

Moomin was puzzled at my non-response and the realization hit him, it seemed he took it as me waiting for him to rephrase the question for a better response; "Ah, sorry, I meant do you like oatmeal?"

I nodded.

"Then why haven't you eaten it yet? Do you just not get hungry when you're invisible? Hodgkins explained part of it to me after we left the lower deck yesterday – since, well, I didn't know about it – but he said he doesn't know much about it either, so," Moomin explained.

I think I just didn't have an appetite, even if I should eat something right now. I didn't get to eat dinner yesterday either, I should be starving by now.

Moomin paused and looked down thoughtfully. "Oh it's going to be difficult having to ask just yes-or-no questions…" he mumbled and looked back at me "Er, are you hungry?"

I nodded.

"Do you want something else for breakfast?"

I shook my head. I shouldn't trouble him with preparing something else for me anyway.

"Then there shouldn't be an issue!" Moomin snapped "Back in my old orphanage my principal would make us eat the most bland boiled vegetables out of her garden, at the very least this oatmeal has some flavour!"

I shrunk into the corner and felt so terribly ungrateful at that moment, Moomin had it so bad for his childhood and what little I remembered of mine was decent enough. Hodgkins was good, Moomin's principal was awful, I shouldn't even be feeling so terrible all the time… gosh… I'm so dumb…

My paw shook as I tried to scoop up some of the oatmeal and it shook even more violently as I tried to shove it in my mouth. I felt Moomin's gaze on me and it pinned me to the wall. I couldn't do it. My head dropped low and I started crying. My tears escaped my eyes and stained the floorboards as they faded into visibility.

Moomin panicked "Are- are you crying!? Oh no, oh no no- Hodgkins is going to kill me and throw my body overboard if he finds out!" he exclaimed dramatically.

"Find out what?" Hodgkins' shadow loomed over Moomin, he was holding his bowl of breakfast and had an old coat over his shoulder.

Moomin squeaked and slammed his back against the knee wall of the stairs. "I am so sorry Hodgkins I didn't mean to-!"

"You made my nephew cry?" Hodgkins asked, noticing the tear stains on the floor.

Moomin started to gabble "He didn't eat his oatmeal and I asked him if he wanted something else and he didn't and I said he should just eat it and he started crying and-"

"Treat him gently next time," Hodgkins said sternly and kneeled down, he placed his bowl aside and reached in slowly for mine "It's okay, you don't have to eat right now…" he spoke softly to me, it nearly gave me whiplash at how quickly his tone managed to change. He picked up my bowl to leave it on the floor next to his. He picked up the coat from his shoulder and placed it on his arm.

"Come on, let's put this on you," he offered a paw to lift me and I obliged. He made me stand up straight and put the coat on me. I wore it insecurely, looking at Moomin's dumbfounded face staring up at the saucepan that reached above Hodgkins' shoulder, then I buckled back down to the height of his lower chest.

I crossed my arms and looked down, it was a midnight blue coat that I think Hodgkins wore but stopped wearing for some odd reason. It sat far too big on me, then again I was used to oversized clothing on myself.

Hodgkins waited in anticipation for it to disappear but it didn't. He patted my back, relieved, then he crouched down to pick up the bowls.

Moomin still stared at me and I wanted to hide in the corner away from him, I wanted to avoid him so badly, he didn't like me, he didn't. He hated me so much and only tolerates me because of Hodgkins. That's it. That's the relationship we have. I'm scared of him and he hates me and the only thing keeping us together on this wretched boat is my uncle who we both admire and cling onto. I hated the look in his eyes, I hated the way he looked at me, dumbfounded and afraid and scornfully.

We didn't know each other well, yet his lack of experience with me made his feelings toward me feel more genuine. The person I've become was unbearable, I thought, the other two clung onto the person I used to be, Moomin didn't know who I used to be, and he didn't like me.

And I wanted to avoid that reminder.

Hodgkins took a few steps to leave and halted, remembering that he should start caring about me himself, aswell. He looked at my saucepan, slightly embarrassed, and cleared his throat "Still want to eat this?" he asked, referring to the oatmeal.

I shook my head.

"Want something else?"

I shook my head again.

"Not hungry anymore?"

I nodded.

He looked at me with concern and lowered ears "If… when you're hungry later, just come up and tug my clothes, alright? Don't want you to starve."

I nodded, hesitantly.

Hodgkins had an untrusting look on his face and offered the bowls to Moomin "Take these below."

"Y- yes sir!" Moomin blurted out, took the bowls and ran off down the entrance.

We looked at him and then Hodgkins looked at my saucepan "Should give us some alone time, he gets oddly rude about my care for you."

Of course he did, he was in a padded sea shell at the door of a terrible orphanage, and of course he'd be attached to him, and of course he'd hate me for taking Hodgkins away from him.

Hodgkins sat down in the corner I was at and looked at me expectedly. I sat down next to him and he pulled me into a side hug, he looked down thoughtfully. "Been doing some thinking yesterday, about how I've been handling you under my care. Felt guilty about the whole thing," he said and paused, then continued with a sigh "To be frank, I always thought I'd be a terrible parent for you, you're much like your father and turns out your similarities didn't end at the positive aspects of your personalities. I'm always terrible at keeping my attention to more than one thing at a time, you know that, right?"

I nodded.

"Knew I should've had some second caretaker to take care of that, but I didn't, because I felt it had to be a mother figure and so I had to involve myself in romance, and I hated the thought of being in a romantic relationship. I just couldn't find anyone attractive or someone I want to be beyond friends with and romantic gestures always felt off or horrifying to me. This is not an excuse of course, I should have gotten you a second… better caretaker other than myself, or maybe I should've tried harder. I felt like I needed to prove something and I failed miserably, because you… I felt like… I ruined you, and I'm so afraid to lose you like I did my brother. He wasn't very happy either, even if like you he used to be happy, then a lot of things happened and he ended up… lost…"

There's that upset tone I didn't like hearing from him, he's taking it so hard on himself even though he did nothing wrong, he couldn't have done anything wrong… I hugged him from the side. He responded by looking down at my saucepan and feeling even more guilty as he continued.

"And I know… I know you'd say it's not my fault, that I didn't do anything, but my lack of doing anything for you is the problem, and I'm so sorry it had to come to this for me to apologize. You care so much and I couldn't possibly return it sufficiently, and you keep blaming yourself or hiding away when you should've kicked me into thinking about you more. I'm so sorry for nearly forgetting about you when we launched, for hiding away from the Hemulen and leaving you, for not helping you when Edward destroyed our home, for making you do any of this… for leaving you alone far too much…" he sniffed and rubbed his eyes, his voice started to get croaky from the tears and the sore throat he was developing for talking more than he's used to "I'm so sorry it took getting to this point for me to realize. Now we're stuck in the middle of nowhere and being at the mercy of the sea… I didn't… I don't…" Hodgkins stuttered, having difficulty in coming up with what to say next "I don't want you to misconstrued any of this and pin it on yourself, please. You've done it enough already and it doesn't help anyone or yourself, I want… need you to accept that what I've been doing was purely my fault and I should've done better, not the other way around, alright?"

… I hugged him a little tighter, I didn't want to hear any of this, I felt so bad for him, I didn't want to accept what he said, I didn't want him to feel bad for being the way he is. He held my arm and rubbed it with his thumb sadly.

"You keep hurting yourself over things that aren't your fault and I don't want you to continue like this. You're anything but a burden or a mistake and you deserve any amount of space that you need, not just the bare minimum…" he gulped and seemed hesitant to say something else "Please come to me for any reason as much as you need, you wouldn't bother me one bit and don't dare consider yourself a pest when you do, alright?"

It took a while for me to consider it, I didn't want any of that… I felt terrible for everything Hodgkins just said, I didn't think I'd make him feel any of that sort of way. Was I really hurting myself over nothing? Did I really deserve better…?

It was tiring to feel terrible all the time, I must admit, still, I felt like I deserved it, but… maybe. Maybe I could at least try. I nodded, and we both sat there quietly, perhaps feeling as if we took a step of sorts. It was… nice...

It was nice.

#moomins #moominvalley #art #muddler #moomin muddler #the muddler #hodgkins #moomin hodgkins #samuel hodgkins #moomin fredrickson #samuel fredrickson #fredrickson #young moominpappa #moominpappa's memoirs #moomins fanfic #moomin fanfic #angst fic #omnishambles #invisible muddler #moomin au #I wanted this to last until the picture-book clouds came in but that was taking too long with my accursed slow pacing but whatever

[jancmalandra]

The Monster

On becoming adoptive parents

Taking charge of The Moominvalley Community Center had reawakened The Snork's passion for inventing. He spent the year after it opened perfecting an advanced windmill to supply the Center and his home with electrical power. He spent the year after that persuading the villagers of Moominvalley to adopt his windmills to supply their homes with electricity. Moominpapa took the daring step of being the first to take The Snork up on his offer. Wiring Moominhouse for electricity was a total success and the Moomin family were thoroughly delighted with the results. The rest of the Moominvalley community soon followed suit.

Sniff had done his best to support The Snork through all this, but he didn't begin to understand a thing Snork was saying when he would get enthused about his windmills. What was worse, The Snork fell back into his bad habit of neglecting those he cared about when he became obsessed with his inventions. Fortunately, Sniff turned to Snork Maiden for support as his marriage to her brother came under all this strain. Snork Maiden knew her brother's flaws better than anyone and she proved to be the perfect therapist for the pair of them.

She helped him and Sniff have the very frank discussions that they needed to save their relationship. The Snork promised Sniff that he wouldn't undertake such a large project again and over the following seven years he proved to be true to his word. The Snork and Sniff rediscovered the simple pleasures that had brought them together and caused their love to grow in the first place and they now lived a much more balanced lifestyle. The Snork worked on one small invention per year. They only held events at The Moominvalley Community Center on Fridays and Saturdays and spent every weekday afternoon taking romantic walks in Moominvalley's woods.

One one such walk in late March, the pair heard the sound of loud sobbing coming from a nearby large tree. They carefully approached the tree and saw an opening in its base. The sobbing was coming from inside it. Sniff's mind was instantly taken back to when he had been separated from his parents as a very small child during a big flood and had washed up in Moominvalley. He had had no idea what to do or where he was and had simply curled up in a ball and began crying. Fortunately for him, Moominmama and Moomintroll had been separated from Moominpapa and Moominhouse in the same flood and they found Sniff and together they all found Moominhouse. Sniff had never forgotten how afraid and sad and hopeless he had felt, and his heart instantly went out to whoever was crying inside the hole in the tree.

"H-hello in there? What's wrong? Are you hurt? Won't you let me get you out of there so we can help you?", asked Sniff.

Sniff slowly extended his open paws into the hole and the sobbing stopped and a small, tearful, frightened, yet strangely gruff voice greeted him.

"P-p-please don't eat me! I don't taste good at all, I swear!", the mysterious beast said.

"I wouldn't think of eating you.", said Sniff very gently and kindly, "Let me get you out of there, and you'll see for yourself that there's nothing to be afraid of."

Sniff felt two small, rough, scaly paws wrap around his and he pulled the little beast out of the hole and into the light. They were half the size of Sniff and covered in gray scales. They had a round head with two black horns, large green eyes with vertical pupils and a mouth full of sharp, pointy teeth. Their paws and feet ended in sharp, black claws and they had a long, whip-like tail. There was no avoiding the conclusion that this was a monster's offspring. Sniff would ordinarily have screamed, dropped the creature, and fled for his life. But, the little monster looked at him with deep fear and sadness and began to cry again.

"You lied to me, didn't you?!", said the monster accusingly, "Just eat me quickly, please!"

Sniff immediately wanted nothing more than to protect and love this obviously helpless child, and those instincts overcame his fears. He looked into the monster's eyes with kindness and slowly wrapped them in his arms and gave them a gentle hug. The monster burst into tears of relief and gratitude and returned Sniff's hug powerfully.

Snork was overcome with compassion as well and reached out his paw and patted the beast gently on the head. "Where did you come from? Where are your parents? Are you lost? What's your name?", he asked them.

"My Papa just left me here and went away forever.", said the monster, tearfully, "He said I wasn't tough enough to be his son and that it would be better for me to be eaten by the beasts in Moominvalley! You see, I'm afraid all the time, of everything. I just can't help it! I'm always getting upset and crying over everything. He never even bothered to give me a name. I don't have anywhere to go back to."

"Well, you do now!", said The Snork firmly, "We'll take you to our home. You're going to live with us, and we'll be your parents from now on, I promise!"

"Do you mean it?!", asked both Sniff and the monster at the same time, both with the same hopeful expression on their faces.

"Yes, I do! Come on let's head back there now and get you settled in. Try to think of a name for yourself that you would like in the meantime. Take your time thinking about it. Don't feel like you have to rush.", said The Snork.

The Snork took the monster's paw in his and lead the way through the woods to their house. Sniff followed just behind the monster. They reached The Snork and Sniff's home and the pair showed the monster around all the rooms. Finally, they all sat down at the kitchen table together and The Snork asked the monster what he liked to eat with a hint of nervousness in his voice.

"Fruits and vegetables.", said the monster a little reluctantly, "I can't stand the thought of eating other beasts, especially the way my Papa does (he shuddered with fear and disgust at the thought). I'm not any good at being a proper monster, am I?" He immediately began crying again.

"You're very good at being yourself, and that's what counts.", said Sniff reassuringly, hugging the monster tenderly.

"Exactly!", agreed The Snork as he set out a plate with two apples, two pears, and and an entire head of raw broccoli in front of the monster, who promptly gobbled it all up. He became relaxed and almost cheerful after that. Snork and Sniff then took the monster up to the guest bedroom.

"This'll be your room from now on.", said Sniff, "It's a little sparsely furnished right now, but we can work on it."

The monster hopped up on the bed and crawled under the blankets. "It's nice and warm and comfy!", he said, "Promise that you'll come and wake me in the morning so that we can have breakfast together?" Before Snork or Sniff could answer, the monster had fallen fast asleep.

Snork and Sniff quietly snuck back down to the parlor and collapsed down on the sofa. They were both overcome with all the emotions that all new parents experience; worry, fear, joy, hope, love, and dedication.

"Did we just do what I think we just did, Snork?", asked Sniff, "I don't know the first thing about being a father! I mean, I love The Muddler, but we were separated for so long, and I had come to think of Moomintroll's parents as mine, sort of. When he and The Fuzzy found me, I was already part of a family. What I'm trying to say is that The Muddler couldn't teach me anything about being a parent. I don't know where to start. How about you, Snork?"

"I was raised by nannies and tutors until I got into University when I was only twelve. My parents treated me like I was a rare potted plant that they could leave in someone else's care and show off to important guests when it suited them. I know even less than you do about parenting!", said The Snork.

"That's oddly comforting, somehow.", said Sniff, chuckling, "At last we found something that neither of us knows anything about!" He burst into a fit of hysterical laughter and Snork joined him. They laughed like this for about two minutes, and when they were finally able to stop, they felt that their inner worries over their new child were much more manageable.

"We're going to have to think of a good way to introduce him to everyone in Moominvalley.", said The Snork, "It would be impossible for us to keep him hidden for very long."

"Let's take things one step at a time.", said Sniff, "We'll get him used to living in our house, and us used to caring for him first. We'll hold a party for him on April fifteenth at the Community Center and invite all the children in Moominvalley! They'll help us introduce him to the all the adults! I know we can count on Moomin and Tayberry to lead the way!"

"Y-you're absolutely right, Sniff!", said Snork, "One step at a time....Yes, that's the best way to do this! By The Booble, I'm nervous! Setting a deadline, having a party to plan and look forward to....Yes, that's also good! I'm going to want to overdo things, so I need you to stop me when I get carried away! I promise to listen to you!"

"I'll get scared and overprotective and want to chicken out! You have to help me be brave!", confessed Sniff, "We have to tell our....son....everything that we're planning on doing so that we can help him be brave, too!"

They stared at each other, each realizing that they had finally found something, or rather someone, that they could both be passionate about and work on together without one of them leaving the other out. They went upstairs holding paws and checked on the monster in his bed. They both came to the same decision as they looked at their child. They carefully climbed into bed and under the covers with him, one on each side. The monster curled up between them and smiled in his sleep. Sniff reached slowly up to the nearby light switch and turned off the lights. They fell asleep together as a family for the first time.

To Be Continued

#moomin #moominvalley #sniffxsnork #moomin oc #moomin fanfiction

[taizi]

a life in your shape

the moomins pairing: moomin/snufkin word count: 2290 read on ao3

x

“Oh, my,” Moominmamma says, pressing a hand to her mouth. It doesn’t quite manage to hide her smile. “Someone looks comfortable.”

“Shh, don’t wake him!” Moomin whispers. He can feel his face warming at everyone’s attention but he scowls around at them anyway. Hunching his shoulders and hovering protectively, Moomin insists, “He’ll be embarrassed.”

“He should be,” My says immediately. But there’s no heat to it, and she nudges Sniff with her boot none too gently when it looks like he’s about to say something else. “Let’s start a new game. I’ll be the dealer.”

Moominmamma sets a folded blanket within reach of the sofa before she moves back toward the kitchen. Snorkmaiden is grinning, bright and full of mischief, but she reaches over to take Moomin’s playing cards without making fun.

The moment Moomin’s hands are freed, they gravitate automatically to the mumrik on his lap.

Snufkin makes a noise in his sleep that is entirely contented and rolls over so that his face is smushed against Moomin’s stomach. Oblivious to the muffled giggles from the other side of the table, thank goodness, and dreaming deeply.

He gets this way sometimes, when it’s warm and sunny and the air is sweet. Moomin can’t count how many times he’s nearly stumbled over Snufkin having a nap in the middle of the garden or the flowering meadow. Typically, Moomin is quick to crawl in and join him. It isn’t strange at all!

But he’s never done it here before. On the sofa in the drawing room, with all their friends around, right before lunch. Snufkin nodded off with his cards still in his hand, slumping over onto Moomin’s shoulder.

“Oh, Snuf, you’ll ache all over if you sleep like that,” Moomin had said right away, thinking little of it. To be fair, there was a patch of sunlight pouring right over them from the window, which made their seat the perfect spot for an afternoon nap. “Lay down properly, I don’t mind.”

Half-gone already, Snufkin promptly did as he was told. He took off his hat, scooted far enough away that he could lay down with his head on Moomin’s leg, and was out like a light. That was nearly twenty minutes ago, and Moomin has lost every single game he’s played since. To say he’s distracted is, perhaps, an understatement.

It’s just-- Snufkin is very soft when he’s asleep. He’s solid but not heavy, and warm like a hot water bottle. Every other breath he takes catches on a faint purr, so quiet Moomin is probably the only one in the room close enough to hear. Snufkin’s arms are curled up by his chest, the sleeves of his weathered smock riding up, and his dappled wrists are like velvet where the dark fur of his paws meets his much paler forearms.

Moomin smooths his fingers over one of Snufkin’s wrists with unending care, marveling at the texture. He’s very different from a fluffy moomin or a snork. Even his half-sisters don’t have paws or a tail or eyes that shine like lamps in the dark. He’s a creature all his own, as far as Moomin knows. Even if there were others just like him out there somewhere in the big world he so loves to travel, Moomin can’t imagine they’d hold a candle to his Snufkin. No one ever could.

“He’s really tired,” Sniff says through a mouthful of one of the cinnamon rolls leftover from breakfast. When did he filch those from the kitchen? Moomin didn’t even see him get up. “Winter must have been hard on him last year, huh?”

Moomin’s mouth is already open to scold Sniff for hogging all the leftover sweets, but that draws him up short. He blinks, and says, “I dunno. He didn’t tell me anything about it being hard.”

“He wouldn’t, would he?” My says impatiently, glowering at what must be a losing hand of cards. “You’d worry, and he would feel bad, and then he’d have to make it up to you somehow. He saves himself a lot of hassle by only telling you about the good stuff.”

Stricken, Moomin blurts, “I make him feel bad?”

“That’s not what she meant, Moomintroll,” Snorkmaiden jumps in. She looks like she’d like to pat his arm, but doesn’t want to reach over the sleeping Snufkin to do it. She settles for an affectionate smile. “She just means he’s considerate of your feelings. He would be really sorry if he hurt you, so he’s careful not to, that’s all.”

Little My says, “That’s not what I meant, you’re putting words in my mouth,” and Sniff loses interest in the conversation in favor of another roll, but Moomin thinks about it. He can’t stop thinking about it. He turns it over and over in his head, even as he goes on carefully petting one of Snufkin’s wrists.

Truly, the only things he knows about the world and Snufkin’s journeys are the things Snufkin tells him. Snufkin has sometimes told him about little things that have gone wrong, the days he only had mushrooms and berries to eat because the fish wouldn’t bite, the nights his tent leaked or let mosquitoes in. But surely he must get tired sometimes. Surely it storms, surely he gets lost, maybe he even gets hurt.

Moomin can feel his stomach turning at the idea, and realizes My has a point. If Snufkin ever told him something terrible had happened to him when he was away and all alone, Moomin would probably be sick with worry every time he left from then on, and it would turn every autumn sour.

But-- he isn’t a little child anymore. He knows better. After all these years, he knows that the three quarters of the year Snufkin stays in the valley is more of a compromise than Moomin had any right to ask for or expect. It’s blatantly going against his nature, to stay so long and return every year, but here he is for yet another summer. Here he is, deeply asleep while his friends talk and play around him, closer to them than he’s ever let himself get before, a companionship he had to learn.

Moomin thinks of how little he’s given in return and bites down on an unhappy noise before it slips out.

“Lunch is ready, everyone,” Moominmamma says from the kitchen, her voice a bit softer than usual. “We’re eating out in the yard today.”

Papa must have set up the table and chairs already, or Mama probably would have asked Moomin to help. As his friends lay aside their cards and get up to file outside, Moomin says, “Mama, can I eat later?”

“Of course, dear. I’ll put a plate aside for Snufkin, too.”

When the door closes behind her, Moomin and Snufkin are alone in the house. It’s quiet, the mealtime chatter muffled through the walls and removed from this peaceful, sun-filled room. Everything is touched with gold, dust motes winking in an out of the light.

Moomin has never been so happy to sit still. He’s a little hungry, and his leg is starting to itch, but he doesn’t want to move an inch.

“I don’t ever want you to feel bad, Snuf,” Moomin tells his sleeping friend, petting the dandelion puff of Snufkin’s hair into order with his fingers. It takes some work, since Snufkin very rarely wants anything to do with brushes, and Moomin bends all his attention to the task. “You’re always looking after me, but I’d like to look after you, too. Every now and then, at least. You hardly need it, but when you do, I’d like it to be me.”

He doesn’t want there to be a line between them that Snufkin thinks he can’t cross. He doesn’t want there to be things Snufkin can’t tell him.

Moomin will never be happy to see Snufkin leave, and he’ll always miss Snufkin when he’s gone-- but a few weeks out of the year is small change, really. And it’s always such a delight to see him in the spring that it makes the time spent missing him worthwhile. It makes Moomin’s heart race, to hear that harmonica drifting over the hills for the first time in the new year, to run headlong down the hill and crash into Snufkin’s waiting arms, to love until he aches from it.

He doesn’t think he would ever want to give up those moments of meeting again. Yearning desperately for someone isn’t a pleasant feeling, not all the time, but the giddy expectation of seeing them again is sweeter than apricot jam. Moomin is suddenly much closer to understanding part of the reason why Snufkin is so adamant about leaving in the fall.

Most of it has to do with the manner of creature he is, the wanderlust in his heart and the hungry curiosity that drives him from place to place, but perhaps some of it has to do with how nice it is to miss someone you love and be missed by them when you’re away.

“Oh,” Moomin says, very still. “Oh, I see.”

“Hmm,” Snufkin murmurs, barely rousing. “What do you see?”

Moomin shakes his head, pushing the untidy fringe out of Snufkin’s slitted eyes. The touch lingers, because it has no reason not to, his friend a familiar shape beneath his hands. “Just thinking about how clueless I’ve been, that’s all. We can talk more about it when you’re awake.”

Snufkin blinks a few times, giving the words a moment to permeate. Once he’s made sense of them, he agrees, “When I’m awake.” A pause. “You don’t look very comfortable.”

“I’d rather lie down with you than sit up anymore,” Moomin admits.

So they shuffle and maneuver themselves into a different position, a well-practiced ritual from all the stormy nights Snufkin was bullied into sharing Moomin’s bedroom over the years, and Moomin remembers the blanket Mama left for them on the table by the sofa.

The sofa’s not really meant for both a moomin and a mumrik to nap there together, but they manage. Snufkin can sleep in impossible places, and he fits really anywhere he puts his mind to. He’s mostly laying across Moomin to consolidate space, and the weight of him, and the weight of the blanket, and the weight of the sunlight touching down on them from all the windows, makes staying awake for very much longer a Herculean task.

Still, Moomin doesn’t want to sleep yet. He touches Snufkin’s hair, distracted by it, and Snufkin says, “I should cut it.”

“If you want,” Moomin says agreeably. When Snufkin cuts it, he cuts it all the way gone, and his head is left covered in an uneven fuzz not unlike the dappled fur on his wrists. Moomin likes that as much as he likes having this ridiculous mane to mess with. There’s not much about Snufkin that Moomin doesn’t like, really. “Or we could try braiding it. Mymble probably knows how.”

Snufkin makes a noise of interest at that. He’ll hold off cutting it, now. Moomin smiles at knowing him so well, and bumps his nose to the top of Snufkin’s head.

“You’re silly,” he says fondly. “Go back to sleep.”

He would chafe at this, if it were a few years ago. He would want every second of Snufkin’s attention he could have, and he would want to fill those seconds with adventures and games and memories for Snufkin to take with him into the wider world when he left, as if begging don’t forget me.

Moomin is a little embarrassed to have been that child. He was kind and thoughtful without a doubt, because he was raised that way by kind and thoughtful parents, but sometimes he was very greedy, and never more so than with Snufkin.  

Snufkin, who would never forget him. Who has seen the whole world and then some and chooses their little valley to return to, year after year. Who wrote Moomin a song of his very own, the happiest song Moomin’s ever heard, and plays it in both greeting and farewell.

One doesn’t have to be present to be here, Moomin thinks. To say Snufkin is truly gone is to say he’s not there in Moomin’s heart, and that is a lie and a falsehood and every horrible thing in between. And it’s okay to miss him, because loving him while he’s away isn’t quite the same as loving him while he’s here to hold, but it’s nothing to be sad about.

In fact, he’s rather lucky.

“Don’t forget, though,” he says, blinking through a wetness in his eyes he can’t explain. “I want to talk to you about something when we wake up.”

“Something important?” comes the mumble, muffled against Moomin’s shoulder.

“Oh, very. I have an apology for you. And an epiphany to share!”

“The apology I don’t need. But any epiphany of yours will be an inspiration.” Snufkin’s tail swings once, lazy, where it’s hanging over the side of the sofa. He stretches like melting rubber, all languid limbs and self-satisfaction. “We’ll write it into a song.”

Absurdly touched, Moomin says, “You don’t even know what it’s about yet.”

“A poem, then. A secret one, for you and me. Can you tell me what the theme will be, or am I meant to wait for the rest of this very important conversation?”

“You’re silly,” Moomin says another time, because it bears repeating. He noses Snufkin’s hair again. “I suppose I can tell you now, since it’s nothing you wouldn’t have guessed. The theme will be love.”

“Ah.” Snufkin sounds pleased, but not surprised. Moomin can feel the shape of a mumrik smile pressed to his fur. “The very best one.”

#the moomins #moominvalley #snufmin #moomintroll #snufkin #moomin #my writing #moomin fic #springdove

[mirai-eats]

Stray Spring:: Song (A New Day)

Snufmin, 3,895 words, part 1/5

flower symbolism bc thats how i work i dont change, Fluff, Romance, so soft it hurts, Light Angst, Sickfic, Spring Deity Snufkin, little my is a demigod???

A deity borne of spring and summer can't leave Moominvalley alone.

read on AO3

It always starts with a song. A new tune that hummed in the melting snow, reverberated through the sleepy air as the earth beneath his feet awoke. He could feel his own sluggishness slowly dissipating, melting away with the snow slush and streaming into the chilled creaks. It was too early for the flowers to truly bloom, the shade still too cold for comfort, but the sun was finally free from its smoke screen and filled the air in a watery golden haze that chased away the remnants of winter. 

Early spring felt as if one woke up refreshed from a long, pleasant nap, washed their face, and stretched out the remaining sleep kinks in a patch of sunlight streaming through the window. Everything was too sleepy to cause a fuss quite yet, but give it a couple of weeks and the forest and streams and meadows will be teaming with life. Moominvalley, an oasis that thrived the most when spring rose in its grassy knolls and buttery flowers, was a hubbub of flora and fauna, where life lived in perfect synchronicity. This was Snufkin’s destination.

It’s springtime in Moominvalley and Snufkin arrived on the very first day with a new song on his lips and petals blooming under his footsteps. He dropped his glamour on, a veil that fell like a curtain over the end of a show, but there was no standing ovation. Only plain old Snufkin, a little grimy and only a handful of snowdrops drooped from his hat, the white of their petals remained the only memory of the winter snow. 

His song echoed through the yawning valley danced in the open air and woke the sleepy residents as spring was finally here. The flowers bled from the muddy earth, vibrant crocus and sunshine-dipped daffodils, silky tulips and regal irises rose high under his breath and arched for his legs as he walked by, their centers followed his movements, the long leaves reached for his ankles to grab and soak up his warmth. He felt snowdrops bloom at his heels, delicate and hunched over to the ground as if crying over the loss of snow that matched their petals. The trees shivered alive, the snow dripping in rivulets down the scabbed trunk as the bark thawed itself out, the branches shook with the palest green buds. 

He was a Snufkin, nothing more and nothing less, and it was his job to make sure nature flourished. He was a child of the goddess of spring, after all. 

And he was terrible at his job. He couldn’t help but stick around Moominvalley longer than necessary. It was against his nature to stick around too long, but the very air of the quant valley stirred up the flower buds that nurtured in his chest. 

It’s when he reached the little bridge leading over the stream chilled from the melting snow when he felt those little buds between his ribs shudder and unfurl. A call of his name from a blue house perched atop one of the taller hillocks, a dear friend who was like a perfect cumulus cloud on a spring day drifting lazily over the valley. The slight stuttering in his song was the only indication that the petals were tickling his lungs.

“Snufkin!” Moomintroll shouted, breathless from his sprint from the house, the decline of the hill propelled him forward toward Snufkin at an alarming speed. He reeled himself in right before they would have collided atop the bridge.

“Hello, Moomintroll,” he greeted. He pocketed his harmonica and leaned casually against the railing. 

Moomintroll seemed to press himself down at the sight of Snufkin’s calm demeanor. He took a deep breath to steady himself and leaned back against the rail next to Snufkin. “Hello, Snufkin. How was your journey?”

“Alright. How was your hibernation?” 

A look of mischief flashed across Moomintroll’s forget-me-not blue eyes. Unforgettably blue. “I woke up again around midwinter and visited Too-Ticky. But tell me what happened on your travels first! I want to hear everything.”

“Everything? Even the most boring, insignificant details?” He asked with a quirk of his brow. 

“Absolutely everything.” Moomintroll nodded.

“Only if you tell me what you and Too-Ticky were up to. My story would be far too long compared to your time awake during midwinter.”

At that moment, Moominmamma called him in for breakfast. He grinned sheepishly. “Come have lunch with us?”

Snufkin nodded. It’s been a while since he’s had Moominmamma’s pancakes. 

---

He awoke from a nap with a stock of cowslip swaying gently in the breeze in front of him. The little yellow flowers seemed unbothered by the cool wind whipping through the grassy meadow and instead chose to dance with it. Snufkin blinked the crust of sleep from his eyes and rolled over to find the Moomintroll blue sky painted with streaks of wispy, white clouds. He could hear the wind playing with the grass, the leaves of a nearby dogwood burst to life with sound as it moved with the spring air. He inhaled deeply, taking in the earthy smell of the cowslip and a delicate sweetness of an apple tree just behind him up the hill. 

Moomintroll’s soft snore stuttered slightly then fell back into its easy rhythm. Snufkin rolled over to face his friend who laid sound asleep next to him, wreathed in the rich emerald and speckled with the golden flowers as if Sniff dropped his precious gold coin collection around his body. 

Snufkin reached over and flicked a stray piece of grass, taller than its waving friends. The leaf warped into a stem and from the bud atop it burst forth a delicate white and purple pansy. He flicked a few more pieces of grass, the yellow offset by the luminous white and rich violet until a wreath of pansies surrounded Moomintroll’s head like a halo. 

When Moomintroll awoke later, he thought it was quite funny how he fell asleep in a pillow of pansies.

---

The birds are chatty today. They’re always chatty, but today especially so.

They’re doing something up there.

I heard it’s a secret.

What’s the secret?

That they’re doing something up there.

It looks quite fun!

Let’s go see!

Oh, it’s marvelous! 

Snufkin couldn’t help but eavesdrop, his lips stained red from the fresh strawberries Moominmamma had grown and given by the basket loads to everyone who would accept (and even one’s who wouldn’t) in Moominvalley. Snufkin was no exception and received a hefty load of the fat, red berries. They were especially sweet, sweeter than anywhere else Snufkin had ever had them. 

“What’s happening ‘up there’?” Snufkin asked a mockingbird relaxing in the dogwood tree he sat under, it’s pink blooms like the pink that stained Moomintroll’s fur when he brought the basket of strawberries too him this afternoon. 

I can’t say! They said it's a secret, so it must remain a secret!

“Then I suppose it will be a secret,” Snufkin sighed and sank back against the spindly trunk, the pale pink petals fluttered around him in a springtime snow storm. He licked the rest of the strawberry juice from his fingers and wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve before pulling the harmonica from his pocket and bringing it to his lips for a song.

The new spring tune sprang from his lungs and into the air in a tinny melody, notes of gentle longing and a peaceful dream floated among the dogwood petals, lifting them off the jeweled grass and bounced back to the air in a sleepy dance. They swirled around in a pink flurry, not one touching back to the ground where it will be crushed underfoot, browned with death, and dissolved into the topsoil for the next spring’s flowers to bloom with even more color. For now, they danced to his song and twirled in the air as a ballroom of fairies would.

A crunch underfoot alerted him of a rather small guest approaching from behind. He kept playing until she was right behind him.

“Hello, Little My,” he said just as she jumped out from a camellia bush. She tsk-ed and plopped down next to him. With his song cut off, the dogwood petals drifted back to the ground. 

“Why are you messing with the petals? Can’t you leave them to die on the ground?” Little My asked. She busied herself with ripping fistfuls of grass from the earth. 

“Why not? Perhaps I’ve giving them one last celebration before their time is up.” He meant to go back to playing but Little My spoke again.

“I suppose so. Can you make me float? I’m so small I bet I can latch on to a rather large leaf and fly around in the air as you just did with these petals.”

“I’m afraid you’re still rather large despite how small you are.” He played his song again from the beginning just so she may hear it all the way through. She sat in the cloud of pink petals, the grass she plucked taking to the air in the gentle breeze of waltzing pinks and the stray camellia that had browned and fallen. She listened through the song and even to the next, until she got bored stood back up to mess around. 

“Does that little trick of yours work on anything but dying plants?” She asked as she hopped atop a rock and tossed a pinecone into the air as if it was a ball. 

“Only fallen plants, yes.”

“What if I fall from an incredible height? Would you catch me?” 

“Not like this.”

---

Moomin was hiding something from Snufkin. He knew he was a terrible liar, a good one actually, but terrible in front of Snufkin. He can never hide anything from his dear friend. But this needed to be a surprise. 

He got the idea from a book he read, about a group of spies with a hideout hidden in a tree. They did secret stuff like stealing important documents that can save the world or gather information from a rotten person. They were undercover heroes to Moomin. Right now, he and Snufkin, as his partner in crime always, needed a secret base. For that, he once again consulted Pappa’s building books and found a blueprint for a treehouse and discovered a secret tree no one would find. 

Of course, he felt bad for sneaking off from Snufkin and the others to build it in private, but once he’s done he’s sure Snufkin would love a little secret spot just for them. 

It needed to remain a secret to work, though. Not with Little My, Sniff, and Snorkmaiden trying to follow him all the time. Twice he got cornered by Little My on the way to his construction site, and once by Snufkin who got a little too close to comfort to the treehouse location, asking if Moomin would like to go sea fishing with him the next day.

“O-oh sure, Snufkin! At first light?” Moomin said. He tried to keep his gaze off the direction of the treehouse, which happened to be behind Snufkin.

“Are you alright?” Snufkin asked, a slight tilt to his head on concern. A stream of afternoon light trailed over a lock of hair on his tanned cheek, illuminating the red strands hidden in the brown. He tore his eyes away from lock of hair and back to a rock on the side of the pathway. 

“I’m fine, why would you think I’m not?” Moomin deflected.

“You’re favoring your left foot and you’re probably up to something you don’t want anyone to find out about,” Snufkin pointed out. 

Moomin did drop a heavy two-by-four on his foot yesterday and it was still tender, a little swollen, but ultimately alright if he iced it some more tonight. He was more worried about Snufkin sniffing out his little plan. 

“I tripped. On a rock yesterday.” He couldn’t meet Snufkin’s eyes. Warm as they were, like the hearth of the fire, they narrowed in suspicion. 

“Alright, keep your secrets.” He turned and trekked off the worn path into the foliage.

“Aw, Snufkin! It’s not what you think!”

“I know, I figured you will tell me when the time is right. Make sure to get some cabbage for that foot, though.” And with a wave, he disappeared into the greenery, thankfully away from the hidden treehouse. 

---

Fishing was one of Snufkin’s favorite hobbies. Fishing with Moomintroll was like basking in a flowerfield on the perfect spring breeze. The took a boat out in the lake and sat side by side with their fishing rods, the sunlight reflecting off the blue-grey lake and burned one’s eyes if they weren’t careful. His pipe was lit, the smokey smell burned through the air. Sweet peas fluttered atop his hat, tucked around a couple of butter yellow primroses Moomintroll had found for him and the sweetly scented jasmine from the lake shore. 

“I wish we could find a fish as fantastic as the golden fish,” Moomintroll moaned. Today was not a good day to fish, as there were next to no bites and between the two of them in the three hours they had been out here, only two fish were caught (both by Snufkin). Moomintroll was starting to get impatient, wiggling in his seat and eyes drifting to the shoreline where the forest hid new adventures. 

“I don’t think there’s any that large this time of year. Maybe we can try our luck tomorrow?” Snufkin suggested. 

Moomintroll nodded. “That would be nice. Let’s head back and we can take a hike around Lonely Mountain.”

They rowed back to the shoreline and took the fish back to Moominmamma then headed out to the mountainside, the day was still young and a quick hike around would be a nice way to end the day.

“Snufkin?” Moomintroll asked suddenly after a long stretch of pleasant silence between the two of them.

“Yes, Moomintroll?” Snufkin pulled his gaze from a tree growing out the side of the mountain.

“D’you know when your birthday is?”

That took Snufkin by surprise. “Not a clue. What brought this up?”

A surprise! A blue jay squaked from the tree growing out the side of the mountain. 

Moomintroll shook his head. “I was just wondering. Aren’t you sad you don’t have one? It’s a special day just for you.”

“I don’t need a special day.” He has a whole season, there’s no need for a single day just for him.

“Everyone needs a day just for them!” Moomintroll retorted. “How about we give you a day?”

“That’s unnecessary,” Snufkin said. “There’s no need to put all the attention on me for a whole day when there’s many other things you can be celebrating.”

“I can’t think of anything more important than celebrating you, Snuf,” Moomintroll said earnestly. 

He felt a summer heat color his cheeks, a rosey red comparable to the pinkest friendship rose. “No need to flatter me, Moomin.” He tugged his hat down over his eyes and waited for the flush to burn itself away. 

“Let’s think of a day that sounds good and we can celebrate it. Oh, but not a day that’s already passed because I want to celebrate it as soon as possible!” Moomintroll cheered and skipped ahead. 

Snufkin couldn’t shake the warm flush from his cheeks the rest of the hike, especially whenever Moomintroll threw a grin that matched the sparkle in his bluebell eyes.

---

He felt the most energized after a good sleep and a warm breakfast. Moominmamma had insisted this morning he came over for pancakes as she accidentally made too much plus she wanted him to try her new jam, a richly sweet cherry that left Snufkin’s mouth watering for more. 

“I’m glad you like it, would you like to take some back with you?” She asked. He couldn’t deny the offer and weakly took two jars of the still-warm jam. 

She pulled him aside to the kitchen, a whisper in her tone and a secret behind her eyes that matched the earthy green of the stable ground unlike the airy blue that floated away along the horizon. “The summer solstice is almost here and we want to throw a party, but Little My can’t know.”

“And why not?”

“We invited her family, including her big sister whom she adores. It’s going to be a surprise, so make sure she doesn’t find out.”

A surprise!

Oh dear, he thought. 

—-

Little My cornered him among a spot of peonies. Rare as they are due to the flowers preferring colder climates, they adored Moominvalley and burst to life with their gentle scent and petals with edges of their own. 

“What do you know about what the Moomins’ are planning?” She interrogated. 

“Nothing that would interest you, Little My,” he said, not bothering to take his eyes off the bright red ladybug chewing thoughtfully on a long, peony leaf. 

“Then it will probably interest me.” Her eyes flashed dangerously, the green matching the emerald forest, with mischief and adventure hidden amongst its green foliage.

“Even if I knew something, why would I tell you?” He challenged.

“Because I want to know!”

He gave her a level stare, her frown so deep it aged her, reminding Snufkin that she is still older than him. Then he remembered the secret Moomintroll was keeping from him, something that left him exhausted after disappearing for hours on end. He did want to know, but he didn’t want to upset Moomintroll if he followed him out one day. As of now, he wished Little My would do the same and leave it be. 

“There’s no need to know anything.” He plucked her from the ground and placed her on the broad leaf of a hollyhock, its magenta bloom matching the rudy of her face.

He ran off before she could climb down and bite him. 

---

In late spring when Moomintroll finished. It took longer than he would have liked, but he had to sneak off at just the right moment, and as he didn’t want this to end in a crooked mess of a house like the one for The Mymble and her children ended up being, he rebuilt it twice. Now it was complete, with a ladder hidden in the branches of a lower tree and a platform one would not be able to find from the ground. It was a simple box of a house painted green to blend in with the trees with the windows a little crooked and the door still a little too far off the ground, but once he decorated the place with a cozy table with chairs, a box of snacks, and an old map pinned to the wall he got from Pappa’s study (with permission, of course) it was completed. 

He needed to show Snufkin immediately, but he needed to locate his dear friend before he imploded from excitement. Unfortunately, he could not find him at his campsite, the beach, or any of his usual hang outs. He didn’t want to scour Lonely Mountain for his friend as it was getting very late, but he was getting worried. 

Tomorrow was the summer solstice, and guests will be arriving in Moominvalley, and he wanted a place for Snufkin and he to hide and plot secret missions. He was tired from running around the valley and as Snufkin’s camp was still up, he decided to wait and plopped himself down in a patch of anemone flowers and dutifully plucked them one by one, weaving them into a crown fit for a hat. Snufkin was still nowhere to be seen by the time the sun started to set. 

It was well after supper when Snufkin came back, walking back up the forest path from the beach with salt staining his clothes and boots squeaking with water. A bucket weighed down his side and the lily of the valley blooms dangled like pale bells from the brim of his hat. 

Moomin met him at the bridge, the lantern illuminating them with a warm, yellow glow where the lights of Moominhouse and the half moon light just couldn’t quite reach. 

“Hello, Moomintroll,” Snufkin greeted. “I got tuna.”

“That’s wonderful! Oh, but while you were gone.” Moomin held out the anemone crown he made. “I found these pretty flowers and made you a new wreath for your hat.”

Snufkin took his hat off and plucked the lily of the valleys from the brim before placing the crown upon his hat, sticking the stray flowers back into the band of delicate petals. “Thank you, Moomintroll. If you’re not too tired tonight, can I show you something?”

Moomin was very tired from finishing up the secret base and running around Moominvalley looking for Snufkin, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. “No, I’m not. What is it you wanna show me?”

“A surprise.”

--- 

Snufkin had led him down back to the beach and onto the fishing boat he’d anchored to the docks and rowed them out around the edges of their little bay, wrapping around the borders of Moominvalley. Moomin was nervous to be out so far from home this late when the moon was close to peaking in the twinkling sky and the only sound beyond the sleepy breaths of Moominvalley was the heaving waves. It didn’t take them long to reach a steep cliffside where Snufkin anchored the boat and helped Moomin off onto the thin strip of land. A narrow, steep trail climbed up the side of the rocks. Moomin was breathless when they reached there and he turned to admire the sea from the cliff top, the moon sending shivers of silver tracing the steep sea and the stars traced patterns of songs in the sky. 

“Follow me, Moomintroll, we’re almost there.” Snufkin took Moomin’s paw and gently pulled him toward the dark forest lining the cliffside. The trees were dense, the weak moonlight was unable to breach the woven canopy even if she was at her fullest. Moomin had always guessed Snufkin might have night vision and right now it was proven true as he was able to easily lead them through the thick trees without a bump or stumble. Moomin’s paw was clutched tightly in his own as Moomin followed closely behind.

A break in the trees brought them to a small clearing where long grass swayed in the breeze and stocks of silvery purple lilacs wafted their gently sweet smell into the open air. The moon was near gone from the clouds, but there were fireflies everywhere. It was as if the stars had descended from the bleak, clouded sky and decided to dance the night away amongst the pale lilac blossoms. 

“It’s beautiful, Snufkin,” Moomin said in awe. “How did you find this place?”

“On my way back I anchored at the beach down below and went for a walk. I saw some fireflies coming out and knew it would be stunning tonight.”

They found a spot to sit in the middle of the clearing and watched the fireflies dance to Snufkin’s harmonica music, it’s sweet, spring tunes blurring into the song of summer as the moon reached it’s pale peak and Moomin couldn’t help but lean back against Snufkin’s backside and sigh into the cool night air, a gentle note of sadness lingering in their melodies as spring came to a close.

#moomin #moominvalley #the moomins #snufkin #snufmin #springdove #fic #im getting ready to hurt yall

[lilmistermaya]

Midsummer

Life in moomin valley carried on as it usually did. The days grew longer as it headed towards midsummer, the weather bright and hot. Folk moved back into their homes or built new ones, gardens laid out, life moved on.

With the summer weather as it was, moomin and snufkin often slept on their porch in order to catch the breeze. It was a good place to hang out and spend sleepy afternoons. 

Moomin and his friends were spending one such afternoon on the porch, coming up with ideas for the rest of the summer. Snufkin was curled up against moomin’s side, the weather a good excuse for a deliciously lazy nap rather than often being unable to much more than sleep. He was recovering, but it felt slow. The fevers finally went away and the headaches eased off as long as he didn’t try to read. He ached, he was weak and tired easily, and moomin had made him a cane that helped out quite a bit. If only little my would stop stealing it. 

So on this afternoon, snufkin dozed while the others talked and lazily sorted through a pile of pebbles and shells. 

“-and there’ll be a big pile of sweet rolls too, according to mrs. hedgehog.” snorkmaiden mentioned, stringing shells to make a necklace.

“It sounds so good,” moomin sighed. “I wish I could go.”

“Hm?” snufkin looked up from under his hat. “Where do you want to go?”

“Oh, um, the midsummer bonfire, there’s going to be a big party.”

“Well, we should go then.” he sat up carefully, his hips complaining about the movement. “It sounds like fun.”

“What? Really? You hate parties.” oh he did. But-

“You want to go, so we’ll go. I’ll wear my nice clothes.” he hated parties- but moomin deserved it. He needed an evening of fun without worrying about him.

“Oh snufkin-” moomin sighed. Sniff made a gagging noise, but snufkin missed it. 

“That’s wonderful!” snorkmaiden turned a delighted yellow. “We’ll all go together!”

“Are you sure about it, snufkin?” moomin asked later in the half-darkness of the summer nights. “We don’t have to go.”

“We’re going, moomin-dear. Where’s my cane? Groke take her…” he grumbled, using the kitchen table to support himself. His knee ached horribly, and he wanted to put as little weight as possible on it. “You like parties. We’ll eat the snacks and drink rum punch. Are we out of honey?”

“There’s sugar in the tin.” 

“Good.” he grabbed it and their tea cups. “Is joxter coming in for tea?”

“No, I think he’s asleep already.”

“More for us.” he set the teacups down on the table with the tin of sugar, then made his way back to the stove to get the kettle. Moomin watched, it was important to his husband to do things, even when it looked like it hurt and he wanted nothing more than to fuss and do everything for him. “Could you cut the bread?”

Moomin nodded and sliced them a few pieces, buttering it heavily, then after a moment of thought, added a slice of cheese. Snufkin made it back with the kettle, pouring hot water into the pot to steep. He finally sat down heavily, rubbing his leg.

“Is it bad tonight?”

“Not that bad.” he lied. “Do you think mamma will make the cheese and sausage balls for the party?”

“You are not stealing and eating the entire bowl of them.” moomin chided softly, pouring their tea. “Just ask her to make a dish for you and a dish for everyone else.” something relaxed in his chest. This felt… normal.

#moomin #snufkin #fuss and bother series

[poisoned-chicken-marsala]

A continuation of the last bit of my story, which can be found here. Please tell me what you think :)

Kara and Narancia sat on the couch, their soup bowls on top of the books on the coffee table. They were old books that she didn’t care if they got food on them, it would just give her a real excuse to get rid of them. They didn’t know the movie that was  playing, they missed the very beginning. The plot made no sense and they only knew a few character names. Whatever. It was only background noise anyway, along with the occasional clink of a spoon against a bowl. The Moomins and The Great Flood lay forgotten on the table.

Kara glanced at her friend while she picked her bowl up again. Narancia was watching the movie, resting his chin on his fist and his other hand holding his empty bowl in his lap. He looked much better than earlier, she thought and peeked into her own bowl before he caught her staring. It was empty, much to her surprise. She didn’t remember finishing her soup and after a quick inspection of the table, she hadn’t spilled it. Huh. Kara stood up.

    “Do you want any more soup?” She asked. Narancia looked away from the movie and shook his head.

    “No, I’m good.” He replied and turned back to the TV for a second. “Thanks though.” He added quickly. Kara smiled slightly.

    “Can I take your bowl then?” She extended her arm for it. Narancia nodded once and handed it over, stretching out over the length of the couch. Kara snorted and grabbed it from him, picking up his spoon off the middle cushion and walked into the kitchen. She filled the bowls with water and left them on the countertop. When she returned to the living room, she decided she was going to actually pay attention to the movie. It was fun to make up reasons certain characters were doing certain things. Of course they were all wrong when the big reveal of the villain’s evil scheme happened and filled in some of the holes in the story. When the credits rolled, Kara stretched, reaching up towards the ceiling. She looked over at the other side of the couch and did a double take, suddenly remembering Narancia was there. He had fallen asleep, his head propped up on his fist.

    Guilt settled in Kara’s stomach as a heavy weight while she stared at her sleeping friend. How could I forget he was here? Ohdear, what time is it? Her heart lurched when she looked at the clock: it was a little after 10 pm. She went over to his side of the couch, kneeling next to the arm rest,  gently placing her hand on his shoulder.

    “Narancia, wake up.” Kara said urgently. Narancia promptly woke up and rubbed his cheek where his fist had been. Kara let go of his shoulder and rose, glancing at the clock again.

“It’s, like, after 10 and I didn’t know if you had a certain time you needed to go home or something… I got sucked into the movie and lost track of time.” She admitted and fiddled with her braid. He was silent for a moment.

“I should probably go check in.. I ran off hours and hours ago. They’re probably worried about me..” Narancia said, not caring to elaborate on who he was talking about being concerned over his disappearance for the afternoon. He yawned, causing Kara to yawn as well, and got up off the couch. Kara followed him to the door, where he hesitated with his hand on the door knob.

“Thank you… for everything. I appreciate it and I’m sorry I yelled at you.”  Narancia apologized quietly and stared at the floor.

“I forgive you, and I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you…. I hope you’ll want to hang out again in the future, when we’re both not sad. If we watch a movie next time you come over, I promise I won’t forget you’re here.” Kara joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Narancia looked up from the floor and smirked.

“Yeah, that offended me so much.” He replied and opened the door and stepped out into the night. Kara rolled her eyes at him with a smile and stood in the doorway across from him.

“Good night, be safe on your way home.” She said, holding the door open when he let go.

“I will be, don’t worry. Good night.” He said with a small wave and turned to walk down the street. Kara watched him go until he turned a corner out of sight. She shut the door and locked it, walking into the kitchen to get to her room. The soup bowls caught her eye as she passed, deciding she would wash them in the morning. Sleep was more important.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jojo part 5 #vento aureo #jjba #narancia ghirga #jjba oc #jjba fanfiction #jjba part 5 oc #fanfiction #anime #my oc #writers on tumblr #this must be the place

[ichickenyou]

Tagged by @supersassybatgirl !

Rules: answer 21 questions then tag 21 a few people

Nickname: i don’t really have one! but when i was younger people liked to call me “row-row” and sing row row row your boat at me, which i was not a big fan of. i hate that nickname to this day

Zodiac: i’m a capricorn! 

Height: 5′3″ 

Last movie I saw: i watched into the spiderverse for ... the fifth time, i think? with my friend and two of her sisters a week or so ago ((’: i love that movie

Last thing I googled: i googled like six iterations of “moomin comics online” because i miss him

Favorite musician: very hard question ummm ... i’m really really fond of kesha .... i listen to a lot of hozier, i love bleachers, i love LP, i adore gerard way, i love acdc .... there are so many more 

Song stuck in my head: i don’t have one right now but i’m listening to boyfriend by tegan and sara as i write this!

Other blogs: just one! i was using it to reblog fanart of my favourite characters before i found the randl side of tumblr

Followers: 48! 

Following: umm, 39!

Amount of sleep: i get 9-10 hours but that’s only because i fall asleep after midnight and sleep in until 10 am

Lucky numbers: i think my lucky number is 6! that’s my birth date, the date i met my best friend, and a whole lot of other important things in my life have had a 6 somewhere in them

Dream job: i would LOVE to do anything with animals, besides being a veterinarian! or i’d love working in a museum ... or something where i can write

What I’m wearing: leggings and an acdc shirt (from their black ice tour)

Favourite food: among the many things that i have in common with link, i looooove peanut butter and cereal. i also really like most fruit. i’d eat those three things exclusively forever

Language: i speak english and french! i went to french immersion up until eighth grade, when i started being homeschooled. still am

Can I play an instrument? i could play the guitar once. a long, long time ago

Favorite song: i love love love baby you’re a haunted house by gerard way

Random fact: i was washing my face with a cleanser from lush (it was let the good times roll) and because it smelled so good, and they use, like, food stuff ingredients, i decided to taste it to see if it tasted as good as it smelled. it did not. just tasted like glycerin

Describe yourself in aesthetic things: umm ... sunshine filtered through trees late afternoon in the summer ... forests that border the ocean ... flowers ... the colour blue ... rooms that are really cluttered, like full of just anything, books and trinkets and rocks and whatever

Tagging: whoever is reading this! if you’re reading this i tag you!

#personal #ask meme

[heart-holes]

if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to? read: the chronicles of prydain, i know this much is true, weetzie bat, the first three books of the vampire chronicles watch: hackers, the 70s hobbit movie, the first 3 seasons of criminal minds listen to: (these are all albums) satellite rides by the old 97s, marquee moon by television, blue train by the be good tanyas, and the first and last songs off of this is happening by LCD soundsystem

have you ever found a writer who thinks just like you? if so, who? hm, no, not quite

list your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with. i don’t really have “fandoms” anymore because i am a grown man but the characters i identify with are... - bilbo baggins from the hobbit - snufkin from moomin - taran wanderer from the chronicles of prydain - atton rand from knights of the old republic 2  - grantaire from les mis - ophelia? 

do you like your name?  is there another name you think would fit you better? my legal name, no. the two names i go by are R and Taran. both of them are fandom names, i know. 

do you think of yourself as a human being or a human doing? do you identify yourself by the things you do? hm...a human being, but that’s kinda recent. i very much tie my worth to my productivity, unfortunately

are you religious/spiritual? yes, in a way i’d consider loosely christian

do you care about your ethnicity? yes-- i’m 1/4 palestinian and that’s very important to me 

what musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime? evanescence, really early simon and garfunkel, mcr, iris dement, the old 97s, rilo kiley 

are you an artist? yes! i draw, i do digital art, i dabble in painting, i play a bunch of instruments, i sing, and i write

do you have a creed? not particularly 

describe your ideal day. i get up early and feel well rested. i catch the sunrise and make a pot of coffee. when my friends wake up, we all sit at the kitchen table and drink coffee together, quietly. we set about the clamor of making breakfast, and when everyone has eaten and the dishes are washed and put away we go out on an adventure-- hiking, maybe, or going to a park, or exploring a town we’ve never seen. we talk about art and philosophy and our feelings, and we sing. that evening we all come home and make dinner together, and i’m in charge of cooking, and it’s delicious. we drink a little and play a board game, and then head outside to watch the stars. i kiss a cute boy. we fall asleep cozy and connected, all loving one another. 

inside or outdoors? outdoors please!

are you a musician? yes!

five most influential books over your lifetime. taran wanderer i know this much is true into the wild i dreamed i was a very clean tramp collected poems of ar ammons  bonus mentions to both patti smith’s books-- m train in particular has had me weeping lately. 

if you’d grown up in a different environment, do you think you’d have turned out the same? nope!

would you say your tumblr is a fair representation of the “real you”? no, it’s only a representation of certain parts of me, and that’s intentional

what’s your patronus? my brain just immediately went Edgar Allen Poe, so let’s go with that. i think happy thoughts and mediocre goth poet Edgar Allen Poe shoots out of my wand. 

which Harry Potter house would you be in? or are you a muggle? i’m a slytherin. 

would you rather be in Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts, or somewhere else? middle earth!

do you love easily? yes, i am overflowing with love

list the top five things you spend the most time doing, in order. hm sleeping texting makin’ out smoking weed  reading 

how often would you want to see your family every year? a few times a year 

have you ever felt like you had a “mind-meld” with someone? yes!!!!!!!!! yes yes yes, with my friend gabe. i miss that mind meld. 

could you live as a hermit? i think so!

how would you describe your gender/sexuality? i’m a boy with complicated feelings about my own body and the way i operate it. i’m bisexual with a strong preference for men.

do you feel like your outside appearance is a fair representation of the “real you”? no, but sometimes it gets close

on a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is it for someone to get under your skin? like a 3, i’m a sensitive baby

three songs that you connect with right now. peach-- kevin abstract new lover-- josh ritter busted afternoon-- the old 97s 

pick one of your favorite quotes oh its such a basic bitch quote but “all who wander are not lost” lmao

#mine #text #long post /

[literateape]

This New Road Will Some Day Be the Old Road, Too

by Don Hall

There were many things I enjoyed about London but London was not one of them.

It was best in the earliest hours on either end of the day - before anyone has risen from sleep, as the streets are slightly abandoned or after most sensible people have retired for them night and the only folks out are the desperate or the lucky.  Even then, however, the place was too jammed in like an entire city population too fat for the skinny jeans they had been squeezed into.  And dirty.  Not dusty.  Wichita is dusty.  Sedona is dusty.  This was grimey as if a layer of greasy soot coated the cracks and spaces untouched and made your skin feel like you were being slightly prepped for sautéing.  

It was decades ago but the realization that I only love New York City for a maximum of two days in a row before I want nothing more than to leave solidified over several trips to The Big Apple.  To fully enjoy NYC, I need to not be staying in the city but just outside of it and for as few days as possible.

Leading up to our third wedding anniversary, DMJ and I decided at first we wanted to go to Edinburgh, Scotland for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe but decided that August was a bit too early for the trip and we didn't want to be landlocked to the non-stop activity that takes over Edinburgh that time of year.  We talked it over and decided it would be London in September with a day trip to Scotland if we wanted to in the moment.

I perused the Priceline deals and things went from a $4800 trip to a $2600 trip and we nailed down flights (the cheap tickets included a seven hour layover in Detroit going there) and our modest hotel and we were set.  Travel guides were read, plans were planned and discarded and planned again.  Ten days in London, England.  Rock On. 

CHAPTER ONE: NAKED TV and PLUSH PLAGUE RATS

We stayed in a small 3-star hotel on Bayswater (a few blocks from Hyde Park and the Paddington Station hub for trains and the Tube.)  The room was tiny but the bed was adequate.  The bathroom, however, was so Lilliputian that I could rest my chin on the sink while dropping a deuce (seated sideways because of spacial constraints...) 

The first night found us watching British television.  We landed on a strange dating show called "Naked Attraction."  Like any other dating show except that the choser gets to see the six possible dates naked before he/she chooses, starting with the feet and working up.  Obviously, it's the genitals that get the most on-air attention.  And, of course, we were fascinated.

This show set a stage for some fairly bizarre stuff we encountered on our stay.  

The documentary on penis size.  I mean, a whole documentary about guys with giant dicks.  DMJ loved it.

The random Persian guy who was suddenly very friendly, who thought he'd ingratiate himself to us by telling us how much he loved Trump, who tried to get us to hang out with him by quoting his father "Where there is a contact, there is a contract." Insisting that we have coffee with him.  He was holding a book - “From MTV to Mecca” - and insisted that the author was his girlfriend but the book seemed brand new, she hadn’t signed it and maybe the Trump-love colored my perceptions but he seemed off.  I'd watched enough Better Call Saul to know where that was going so we got away from him and felt certain at coffee there would arrive a friend of his and the task of separating our money from our persons would be in play.

And, at the Globe, in the gift shop, the plush toy Plague Rats.  Seriously.  Someone thought in a store filled with reminders of Shakespeare, a cuddly stuffed rat that had brought the bubonic plaque to England was a real seller.

CHAPTER TWO: Finding Wonder in a World of the Driven

DMJ and I always have a specific source of dissonance when we go on holiday: she prefers to avoid anything touristy and enjoys walking about the place discovering things that make her smile while I prefer to immerse myself into those historic and/or gaudy places that give me a sense of the history of the city.  In other words, DMJ is all about the present as discovered in the now and I am all about the past as discovered by paying a serious fee to enter and avoid being sold plastic bullshit along with the history.

There were many things we both loved about London but London itself was not among these things.  The city felt like New York City 200 years after the Empire had fallen - the Center of the Universe, the Hotbed of Commerce and International Focus Left Behind.  The sense of seas of unhappy faces streaming into the Tube or along the streets to their jobs, dressed for business rather than comfort, the rat race embodied, was far more standard than my expectation of Europe.

On the other hand, amidst the hustle of the business class swarming the city in search of pounds, we discovered or paid for a series of lovely experiences in London.

Madame Tussauds was the London version of the place and sort of like Wax Museum Central worldwide.  For some unexplained reason, I LOVE wax museums.  So, of course, we had to go.  DMJ had never been to one and now can say she's been to the best, therefore she never has to go to one with me again.  This one provided one of my favorite photo ops of the entire trip:

Sir John Soane's House was one of DMJ's planned outings.  An architect and collector, his house was three floors and a basement of the most meticulous hoarder or architectural ephemera imaginable (including a sarcophagus.)

The British Museum was one that DMJ passed on but I had to go experience.  One of the oldest museums in the world and free at that, this place could've taken me two days to truly explore but I managed to get a solid visit in under four hours and was amply blown away by the sight of ancient shit, mostly taken legally, from all over the known world.  Mummies, busts, the Rosetta Stone, a clock made by Copernicus.

Shakespeare's Globe Theatre was kind of amazing.

Hyde Park/Kensington Gardens.  DMJ loves to be outside in the sun among green stuff and people.  Therefore, we toured almost every park and every garden (including an incredible little Oriental Garden in the center of Holland Park) in London but the biggest and best was the giant park just blocks from our hotel.  The Kensington Palace, tributes to Diana, an Italian Gardens, the Serpentine Gallery with an extraordinary exhibit on the nature of being black by Arthur Jafa.  We also managed to run into Robert Neuhaus and his wife Amy - we agreed that after me leaving "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!" it was far more likely to hang out in London than in Chicago.

Covent Garden Market was one of several open-air marketplaces in the city that we visited.  This included a woman singing opera in the courtyard, some of the best gelato ever, and a Moomin store.  I had never heard of Moomin but DMJ went apeshit when she saw there was a store.  Of course, we bought things there.

Of course there were more minuscule and grandiose pockets of extraordinary places we encountered.  Buckingham Palace, the Tower Bridge, the Tower of London, and the Leighton House Gallery with a unique Alma-Tadema exhibit that DMJ had a Moomin-like reaction to as well.

And fucking Abbey Road.

CHAPTER THREE: Wherein I Realize That, While I Am in Relatively Good Shape, My Body is as Fragile as a Fucking Faberge Egg

Sunday afternoon, after a quick nap from walking all creation and back, I get up, bend over to put on my shoes and my lower back goes into a spasm that is an eight on the OMG Pain Scale.  Later, my mother tells me that, in her opinion, these back spasms hurt worse than childbirth.  Having never given birth, I can't corroborate but it fucking hurt in a huge WTF?! surprise that left my brain spinning and my body immobile.

DMJ went out and bought me heat packs, ibuprofen, and made a makeshift cold pack.  I lay on my back with my legs elevated.  I slept on the floor in agony that night.  The next morning, I was in pain but could get up.  We went out but I realized pretty shortly that , while I could walk, I couldn't sit down for more than 20 seconds before a shooting pain went from my back down my legs and up again.

I felt like I was suddenly 94 years old.

We ate in a restaurant on Portobello Road called The Distillery.  The food was maybe the best meal we had the whole time and they were gracious enough to allow me to stand at the bar to eat instead of stand at a table like a bizarre jackass.

I was just a walking ache but managed to muscle through it for the most part.  I mean, what the fuck are you gonna do?  Stay in your hotel room, lying on the goddamn floor, 6,000 miles from home?  Nah.

The worst I had it was three days after.  The pain was rough and I had eaten something odd the night before.  We were walking around downtown London, checking things out, when I was suddenly hit with some intestinal distress.  Like most major cities, there are no public toilets in London.  DMJ suggested a church.

Which is how I found myself dropping a massive deuce in 15-second increments because it hurt so much to sit down and shit that I had to keep standing up in the bathroom of a 500-year old place of worship and stretch my back.

Back in the States, I've mostly recovered with the exception that the skin on my right thigh up to the right half of my crotch is numb.  Which is weird.

CHAPTER FOUR: Scotland Makes Me Wish I Had Been Born There

The afternoon three days before we were to head back to Chicago, London had begun to take her toll.  DMJ had wanted to go to Somerset House and, while it was fine, between her missing home and/or Paris and me feeling like I was being twisted in half 65% of the time from the waist down, we were both feeling less than upbeat.

I decided to head off on my own to the British Museum, she decided to go back to the hotel.  I did go to the museum and loved it, she instead drank red wine for a few hours.  When she came back to the room she was a bit lit and in a rotten mood.

"Let's go to Edinburgh tomorrow.  Anyplace but here!"

So I booked our high-speed rail tickets and splurged on a $400 a night hotel room smack dab in the center of the city.  The next morning, we packed for an overnight stay and headed to Scotland.

I had been to Edinburgh for a month in 1995 when I took two shows to the Fringe and had maintained a sense that Scotland was magical.  I frequently told people that Edinburgh was the one other place on the planet I could live outside of Chicago.  As we trained our way across the beautiful, green countryside, I wondered how much of my love for the place was an exaggerated thing exacerbated by the distance of 22 years.

It was not overblown.  From the second we pulled into the station, I felt a unique calm and delight.  I felt like I was home again.  The hills.  The green.  The castle turrets.  The craggy rocks.  The brick streets.  The sights and sounds.  The smell.  And DMJ felt it, too.  Suddenly, the trip took on the wonder of traveling someplace amazing that we had hoped we'd experience in London.

It was lovely.  We went and toured Edinburgh Castle.  We had whisky and I had a deconstructed haggis that was outstanding.  We walked through cemeteries and up hills and drank and talked about the things we loved about London.  It turned out we had enjoyed ourselves more than the last few days seemed.

And then again, back to our little hotel room and out the next day to fly ten hours home.

EPILOGUE

The most important thing on this entire trip was that we flew out to the United Kingdom to celebrate our third anniversary and we did.  The night of September 12, we walked a few blocks to a traditional pub called "The Swan," went upstairs, ordered drinks and food and dessert and toasted our good fortune at finding one another.

In Edinburgh, in a quaint courtyard square that housed the Writer's Museum, there were engraved stones peppered about on the walkway.  One of them nailed exactly how I was feeling:

"And yet - And yet, this New Road will some day be the Old Road, too." - Neil Munro (1863-1930)

My life with DMJ is just that - a series of New Roads that quickly become Old Roads (or at least roads we have travelled upon together) - and in my imagination of what has come before and what new roads and adventures lay ahead, it is the together part that makes it worth doing.

#3rd Anniversary #Taking a Shit in a 500 year old church with a bad back #Edinburgh #London #DMJ

[theliterateape]

This New Road Will Some Day Be the Old Road, Too

by Don Hall

There were many things I enjoyed about London but London was not one of them.

It was best in the earliest hours on either end of the day - before anyone has risen from sleep, as the streets are slightly abandoned or after most sensible people have retired for them night and the only folks out are the desperate or the lucky.  Even then, however, the place was too jammed in like an entire city population too fat for the skinny jeans they had been squeezed into.  And dirty.  Not dusty.  Wichita is dusty.  Sedona is dusty.  This was grimey as if a layer of greasy soot coated the cracks and spaces untouched and made your skin feel like you were being slightly prepped for sautéing.  

It was decades ago but the realization that I only love New York City for a maximum of two days in a row before I want nothing more than to leave solidified over several trips to The Big Apple.  To fully enjoy NYC, I need to not be staying in the city but just outside of it and for as few days as possible.

Leading up to our third wedding anniversary, DMJ and I decided at first we wanted to go to Edinburgh, Scotland for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe but decided that August was a bit too early for the trip and we didn't want to be landlocked to the non-stop activity that takes over Edinburgh that time of year.  We talked it over and decided it would be London in September with a day trip to Scotland if we wanted to in the moment.

I perused the Priceline deals and things went from a $4800 trip to a $2600 trip and we nailed down flights (the cheap tickets included a seven hour layover in Detroit going there) and our modest hotel and we were set.  Travel guides were read, plans were planned and discarded and planned again.  Ten days in London, England.  Rock On. 

CHAPTER ONE: NAKED TV and PLUSH PLAGUE RATS

We stayed in a small 3-star hotel on Bayswater (a few blocks from Hyde Park and the Paddington Station hub for trains and the Tube.)  The room was tiny but the bed was adequate.  The bathroom, however, was so Lilliputian that I could rest my chin on the sink while dropping a deuce (seated sideways because of spacial constraints...) 

The first night found us watching British television.  We landed on a strange dating show called "Naked Attraction."  Like any other dating show except that the choser gets to see the six possible dates naked before he/she chooses, starting with the feet and working up.  Obviously, it's the genitals that get the most on-air attention.  And, of course, we were fascinated.

This show set a stage for some fairly bizarre stuff we encountered on our stay.  

The documentary on penis size.  I mean, a whole documentary about guys with giant dicks.  DMJ loved it.

The random Persian guy who was suddenly very friendly, who thought he'd ingratiate himself to us by telling us how much he loved Trump, who tried to get us to hang out with him by quoting his father "Where there is a contact, there is a contract." Insisting that we have coffee with him.  He was holding a book - “From MTV to Mecca” - and insisted that the author was his girlfriend but the book seemed brand new, she hadn’t signed it and maybe the Trump-love colored my perceptions but he seemed off.  I'd watched enough Better Call Saul to know where that was going so we got away from him and felt certain at coffee there would arrive a friend of his and the task of separating our money from our persons would be in play.

And, at the Globe, in the gift shop, the plush toy Plague Rats.  Seriously.  Someone thought in a store filled with reminders of Shakespeare, a cuddly stuffed rat that had brought the bubonic plaque to England was a real seller.

CHAPTER TWO: Finding Wonder in a World of the Driven

DMJ and I always have a specific source of dissonance when we go on holiday: she prefers to avoid anything touristy and enjoys walking about the place discovering things that make her smile while I prefer to immerse myself into those historic and/or gaudy places that give me a sense of the history of the city.  In other words, DMJ is all about the present as discovered in the now and I am all about the past as discovered by paying a serious fee to enter and avoid being sold plastic bullshit along with the history.

There were many things we both loved about London but London itself was not among these things.  The city felt like New York City 200 years after the Empire had fallen - the Center of the Universe, the Hotbed of Commerce and International Focus Left Behind.  The sense of seas of unhappy faces streaming into the Tube or along the streets to their jobs, dressed for business rather than comfort, the rat race embodied, was far more standard than my expectation of Europe.

On the other hand, amidst the hustle of the business class swarming the city in search of pounds, we discovered or paid for a series of lovely experiences in London.

Madame Tussauds was the London version of the place and sort of like Wax Museum Central worldwide.  For some unexplained reason, I LOVE wax museums.  So, of course, we had to go.  DMJ had never been to one and now can say she's been to the best, therefore she never has to go to one with me again.  This one provided one of my favorite photo ops of the entire trip:

Sir John Soane's House was one of DMJ's planned outings.  An architect and collector, his house was three floors and a basement of the most meticulous hoarder or architectural ephemera imaginable (including a sarcophagus.)

The British Museum was one that DMJ passed on but I had to go experience.  One of the oldest museums in the world and free at that, this place could've taken me two days to truly explore but I managed to get a solid visit in under four hours and was amply blown away by the sight of ancient shit, mostly taken legally, from all over the known world.  Mummies, busts, the Rosetta Stone, a clock made by Copernicus.

Shakespeare's Globe Theatre was kind of amazing.

Hyde Park/Kensington Gardens.  DMJ loves to be outside in the sun among green stuff and people.  Therefore, we toured almost every park and every garden (including an incredible little Oriental Garden in the center of Holland Park) in London but the biggest and best was the giant park just blocks from our hotel.  The Kensington Palace, tributes to Diana, an Italian Gardens, the Serpentine Gallery with an extraordinary exhibit on the nature of being black by Arthur Jafa.  We also managed to run into Robert Neuhaus and his wife Amy - we agreed that after me leaving "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!" it was far more likely to hang out in London than in Chicago.

Covent Garden Market was one of several open-air marketplaces in the city that we visited.  This included a woman singing opera in the courtyard, some of the best gelato ever, and a Moomin store.  I had never heard of Moomin but DMJ went apeshit when she saw there was a store.  Of course, we bought things there.

Of course there were more minuscule and grandiose pockets of extraordinary places we encountered.  Buckingham Palace, the Tower Bridge, the Tower of London, and the Leighton House Gallery with a unique Alma-Tadema exhibit that DMJ had a Moomin-like reaction to as well.

And fucking Abbey Road.

CHAPTER THREE: Wherein I Realize That, While I Am in Relatively Good Shape, My Body is as Fragile as a Fucking Faberge Egg

Sunday afternoon, after a quick nap from walking all creation and back, I get up, bend over to put on my shoes and my lower back goes into a spasm that is an eight on the OMG Pain Scale.  Later, my mother tells me that, in her opinion, these back spasms hurt worse than childbirth.  Having never given birth, I can't corroborate but it fucking hurt in a huge WTF?! surprise that left my brain spinning and my body immobile.

DMJ went out and bought me heat packs, ibuprofen, and made a makeshift cold pack.  I lay on my back with my legs elevated.  I slept on the floor in agony that night.  The next morning, I was in pain but could get up.  We went out but I realized pretty shortly that , while I could walk, I couldn't sit down for more than 20 seconds before a shooting pain went from my back down my legs and up again.

I felt like I was suddenly 94 years old.

We ate in a restaurant on Portobello Road called The Distillery.  The food was maybe the best meal we had the whole time and they were gracious enough to allow me to stand at the bar to eat instead of stand at a table like a bizarre jackass.

I was just a walking ache but managed to muscle through it for the most part.  I mean, what the fuck are you gonna do?  Stay in your hotel room, lying on the goddamn floor, 6,000 miles from home?  Nah.

The worst I had it was three days after.  The pain was rough and I had eaten something odd the night before.  We were walking around downtown London, checking things out, when I was suddenly hit with some intestinal distress.  Like most major cities, there are no public toilets in London.  DMJ suggested a church.

Which is how I found myself dropping a massive deuce in 15-second increments because it hurt so much to sit down and shit that I had to keep standing up in the bathroom of a 500-year old place of worship and stretch my back.

Back in the States, I've mostly recovered with the exception that the skin on my right thigh up to the right half of my crotch is numb.  Which is weird.

CHAPTER FOUR: Scotland Makes Me Wish I Had Been Born There

The afternoon three days before we were to head back to Chicago, London had begun to take her toll.  DMJ had wanted to go to Somerset House and, while it was fine, between her missing home and/or Paris and me feeling like I was being twisted in half 65% of the time from the waist down, we were both feeling less than upbeat.

I decided to head off on my own to the British Museum, she decided to go back to the hotel.  I did go to the museum and loved it, she instead drank red wine for a few hours.  When she came back to the room she was a bit lit and in a rotten mood.

"Let's go to Edinburgh tomorrow.  Anyplace but here!"

So I booked our high-speed rail tickets and splurged on a $400 a night hotel room smack dab in the center of the city.  The next morning, we packed for an overnight stay and headed to Scotland.

I had been to Edinburgh for a month in 1995 when I took two shows to the Fringe and had maintained a sense that Scotland was magical.  I frequently told people that Edinburgh was the one other place on the planet I could live outside of Chicago.  As we trained our way across the beautiful, green countryside, I wondered how much of my love for the place was an exaggerated thing exacerbated by the distance of 22 years.

It was not overblown.  From the second we pulled into the station, I felt a unique calm and delight.  I felt like I was home again.  The hills.  The green.  The castle turrets.  The craggy rocks.  The brick streets.  The sights and sounds.  The smell.  And DMJ felt it, too.  Suddenly, the trip took on the wonder of traveling someplace amazing that we had hoped we'd experience in London.

It was lovely.  We went and toured Edinburgh Castle.  We had whisky and I had a deconstructed haggis that was outstanding.  We walked through cemeteries and up hills and drank and talked about the things we loved about London.  It turned out we had enjoyed ourselves more than the last few days seemed.

And then again, back to our little hotel room and out the next day to fly ten hours home.

EPILOGUE

The most important thing on this entire trip was that we flew out to the United Kingdom to celebrate our third anniversary and we did.  The night of September 12, we walked a few blocks to a traditional pub called "The Swan," went upstairs, ordered drinks and food and dessert and toasted our good fortune at finding one another.

In Edinburgh, in a quaint courtyard square that housed the Writer's Museum, there were engraved stones peppered about on the walkway.  One of them nailed exactly how I was feeling:

"And yet - And yet, this New Road will some day be the Old Road, too." - Neil Munro (1863-1930)

My life with DMJ is just that - a series of New Roads that quickly become Old Roads (or at least roads we have travelled upon together) - and in my imagination of what has come before and what new roads and adventures lay ahead, it is the together part that makes it worth doing.

#3rd Anniversary #Taking a Shit in a 500 year old church with a bad back #Edinburgh #London #DMJ

[jancmalandra]

The Moominvalley Community Center

On finding new ways to get together

The Moominvalley Women's Club held their last picnic meeting on the first Saturday in September. The members had never been able to agree on whose house they would meet in during the Fall as the weather grew too cold to meet outdoors. Moominmama resisted the idea of meeting in Moominhouse because she wanted the group to remain as informal and casual as possible. She recognized that she was frequently seen as the leader among Moominvalley's women and she disliked that idea. She didn't want to be seen as imposing her will over the Women's Club, even though everyone deffered to her judgment most of the time when she was consulted on anything, which was all the time. Every one of the members of the club, including Mrs. Fillyjonk, didn't want them to meet at Mrs. Fillyjonk's cottage. Mrs. Fillyjonk still couldn't help being far too particular about how things should be run, especially in her own home. She was doing better at letting others alone outside of her home, but now she resisted appearing to take the lead in the group for fear of losing the precious friends she had won over the years.

Including Queen Moomin in the group had also been a serious source of controversy among the members of the Women's Club. An unexpected alliance between Moominmama, Snork Maiden, and Mrs. Fillyjonk on Queen Moomin's behalf had won the day and now everyone was used to having a ghost as a member. Queen Moomin had proven herself to be very sensible and she very much enjoyed escaping the stuffy formality of her husband's court and being treated as an ordinary member of the community. She immediately vetoed the idea of meeting in the ghosts' castle. She pointed out that her castle was an impossible place to relax in and enjoy one another's company and that it would give her far too great an advantage in their discussions. She was quite correct, of course. It was clear that everyone agreed that they needed a building that didn't belong to any one of them as some kind of neutral ground, but no such place currently existed in Moominvalley. So, they were stuck without a place to meet in October to organize for the coming of Winter and the mass hibernation.

"I know that we don't usually include the men in our lives in club activities," said Snork Maiden, "But we could really do with my brother's help right now. He hasn't rebuilt The Hanger since The Muffle blew it up by accident. I was just thinking that it would have been the perfect place to hold our meetings and for the community as a whole to do any number of other things. The foundation is still intact, so rebuilding it shouldn't be all that difficult. We would need the blueprints and help getting the lumber and other building materials together. If we can get the same level of cooperation from everyone that we had building the first Hanger, we could have it finished before October."

Everyone in the Women's Club agreed enthusiastically with this idea and immediately headed to The Snork's house to make their proposal to him. He and Sniff offered their cooperation readily and Snork handed over his blueprints for The Hanger and they headed to the abandoned site to see what they had to work with. Moominpapa's concrete foundation was still solid and strong and only needed a few concrete patches. The post holes where the support columns for The Hanger once stood were looking good. Now it was just a matter of gathering the building materials.

Over the next three weeks, everyone in Moominvalley contributed whatever effort and spare time they could every day to building what the Moominvalley Women's Club decided would be called the Moominvalley Community Center. Like all the building projects in Moominvalley, the process brought everyone in the village even closer together and affirmed their commitment to each other. The opening ceremony was really more like a grand party. Most of Moominvalley showed up, including a squadron of the Moomin Knights and ghostly court musicians. The mix of Medieval music from the ghosts and Swing music from Moominvalley's musicians proved perfect for the occasion. The Moomin family and Snork and Sniff were the life of the party. Moominpapa and Moominmama didn't have the endurance that they had in their youth, but they could still waltz like they were gliding on air. Snork and Sniff had never been known for agility or having an ear for music, but their love for each other seemed to have brought out the music in their souls. Moomintroll, Snufkin, and Snork Maiden wove around each other as lightly and effortlessly as three floating seeds from a dandelion. As the party ended and everyone headed for their homes in the late afternoon, everyone was already looking forward to all the uses that they would find for the Community Center next year.

Snufkin lagged behind Moominpapa and Moominmama deliberately as the Moomin family headed for Moominhouse, and Moomintroll and Snork Maiden waved them on ahead and stayed by Snufkin's side and walked with him. He looked weighed down by some terrible inner turmoil and began to sigh heavily and tears began to stream down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Moomintroll.", began Snufkin, "I know that you've been looking forward to going South together with me again for the Winter, but I can't bear to leave Moominvalley for that long ever again. I'm tired of constantly running away from you all and being a vagabond without a place to call home. You must think I'm incredibly stupid and silly after all the fuss I made last October and how I always kept you at arms length and kept leaving you every Winter for so many years. I don't deserve you, or your parents or Snork Maiden loving me as much as you do. I don't deserve to be this happy! I've brought you all so much pain!"

"That's not true, and you know it!", Moomintroll insisted, embracing Snufkin powerfully and putting his face against his shoulder so as to absorb all of Snufkin's tears, "Remember everything that I promised you last October? I still mean every word: I will always let you go. I will always love you exactly as you are. I will always chase you wherever you go and no matter what you do. I will NEVER resent you or grow to hate you or stop chasing you! I will always accept however much or little outward affection that you're ready to give me and I won't ask you for more. You know that I have always wanted to give you all the love in my heart every day for the rest of my life, but I promise that I'll always do my best not to frighten you by overwhelming you!"

By this time, they were both weeping openly. Snork Maiden embraced both of them as best as she could could and began to weep as well. "The same goes for me, Snufkin!", she said through her sobbing, "We're all a family now, and that means that we'll always be there for each other, no matter what! You, me, and Moomintroll....we all deserve to be this happy and loved! I haven't believed that myself until this year, but I don't doubt it at all now! Come back with us to Moominhouse and we'll help you pick out a room just for yourself! You'll see: there's always been a home waiting for you there, a home that you've always deserved!"

Moomintroll and Snork Maiden gently helped Snufkin back to Moominhouse and took him up to the guest room and tucked him into the double bed. "We'll both stay with you here tonight.", said Moomintroll, tears of love still streaming from his eyes. He grasped Snufkin's paws in his tenderly and kissed him gently on the lips, "We'll start figuring everything out all over again in the morning. There's no need to rush!"

"That's absolutely right!", said Snork Maiden. She put her paws over Moomintroll's and kissed Snufkin on the cheek. Snufkin was utterly exhausted and looked up at the two of them with a smile of deep gratitude and love before he fell into a deep, untroubled sleep. Moomintroll carefully removed Snufkin's hat and put it on one of the bedknobs on the headboard of the bed. He and Snork Maiden prepared the bunk beds for themselves, kissed each other, tucked themselves in and fell asleep almost instantly. Tomorrow was going to be a most exciting day, so this was a very good thing.

The End

#snufmin #moomin #snufkin #moomintroll #moominmamma #moominvalley #me: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 #snork maiden #the snork #sniff #moomin fanfiction #writers on tumblr

[taizi]

Protective Joxter?

this got…..so much longer than i was expecting…………..so it is in 2 parts. have some father + son bonding between 2 people who have no idea how to be a father and a son :)

all you gotta do’s knock on my door (1 of 2)

the moominspairing: the joxter & snufkin word count: 2048read on ao3

(next chapter)

x

There is company just beyond the light of his campfire; Snufkin has a certain sense for these things, lifting night-eyes to scan the woods around him. Everything is gray in the daybreak, hard to make out, but he still finds what he’s looking for.

“I know you’ve been following me since I left town,” Snufkin says mildly. He stirs the pot of stew with a patient hand. “There’s plenty here for the both of us if you’d like to join me.”

After a moment, someone drops down from a nearby tree. He pads over the leaves and forest litter without making a sound and settles down an arm’s length away from where Snufkin is sitting. His legs are folded up, arms draped over his knees, as if he absolutely needs to be in position to nap at a moment’s notice.

Snufkin smiles. His usual reaction to this particular creature is fond amusement, and tonight is no different.

“Hi, Dad.”

The Joxter tilts his head, blinking slowly. In the low light of pre-dawn, his eyes are very dark; or it could be his round pupils, swallowing up all the blue.

“H’llo, Snufkin,” he says, voice a lazy stretch, like taffy left out in the sun. “You don’t mind the company?”

They’re two of the same, and Snufkin knows his father would leave without ire or hurt feelings if Snufkin asked him to. As it is, though, “Not at all. I won’t be alone for much longer anyway. Spring is here, and it’s only two more days to Moominvalley.”

It’s unnecessary to point out, because the Joxter is probably familiar with the way himself by now. Since meeting Snufkin there two years ago, an adolescent son he had never known about, the Joxter has made it a point to spend at least summers in the valley. It’s common ground for them both, an easy place to navigate newfound family or peel away for time alone or time with friends.

Sometimes the Joxter leaves early, too restless to sit still, and Snufkin doesn’t begrudge him that. They always cross paths again on the road at some point, or in some faraway city or unmapped village, so there’s never any true need for goodbyes.

Snufkin is beginning to think his father is keeping loose tabs on him. This early morning is a perfect example. He just can’t think of why, when they both know Snufkin is self-sufficient, and has been since he was very small.

“Three days,” contests the Joxter, chin sinking down to rest on his knees. “You don’t sleep enough.”

Snufkin ignores the remark comfortably, passing him a bowl of the finished stew. His father gets most of the meat in his serving, and Snufkin most of the vegetables, and they’re both content as they tuck into the warm meal.

The peace lasts for about three minutes after that, and then a sudden frantic voice from overhead has Snufkin jumping in surprise.

“You there! Little snufkin! Won’t you help me?”

“Oh, dear,” Snufkin says, setting his food aside and climbing to his feet. There’s a bluebird swooping in frantic circles above his camp, and it can hardly calm down long enough to land on the arm he offers as a perch. “Slow down, my friend. What’s the trouble?”

“A snake came in the night and tried to eat my nestlings,” the bird cries. “My neighbors helped drive it away, but it upset the nest, and now my babies will fall!”

Alarmed, Snufkin skirts the fire and starts to run, without pausing even to grab his hat. “Lead me to it, and I’ll do my best to help.”

The bird takes flight and stays low, eye-level. The Joxter is keeping pace beside Snufkin on silent feet, curious and watchful.

“I forget that you can speak to birds,” the Joxter says. Birds avoid him, as do most small creatures, because he’s as much a predator as a snake in a nest. He knows better than to eat any of Snufkin’s companions, and generally has stopped offering to bring food to Snufkin’s campfire unless it’s fish. “How is it that you learned? It all sounds like chatter to me.”

Snufkin keeps his eyes on the bluebird so he doesn’t lose sight of it, even as he explains, “When I was young, there was no one else to talk to but the birds in the trees. After a while their music began to sound like language. It helps that I’m a good listener, I suppose.”

The Joxter doesn’t say anything after that, and it’s only moments later that they reach the bluebird’s tree. A quick glance doesn’t reveal any nests in precarious positions, so it must be on a higher bough. Snufkin spares a moment to wish he had had time to pull his smock on over his undershirt, because his arms will surely get scratched on the way up.

“I should do it,” his father says suddenly. “I’m the better climber.”

“They’re frightened enough as it is without you prowling around their babies,” Snufkin retorts, and eyes the lowest branch, which is still well above his head. His father has more than a foot of height on him, which lends itself to a handy solution, and he turns to wave the taller creature over. “Give me a boost, please. And then wait for me down here so you don’t send anyone into a fresh panic.”

Grumbling under his breath, the Joxter hoists Snufkin up enough that he can grab the branch and pull himself the rest of the way into the tree. Snufkin calls down his thanks, and the bluebird lands on his knee.

“This way,” it says, “not much farther! Oh, hurry!”

Snufkin follows it up easily, thanking all the warm afternoons he and his friends spent playing in the trees around the valley, because the experience certainly helps. His grip slips a few times, and once a branch bends beneath his weight, but he makes it to the nest without incident.

Right away, Snufkin can see the danger. The small bunch of branches the nest was safely built into are broken, the skirmish with the snake causing what was stable to lean hazardously to the side. The little ones inside have picked up on the bigger birds’ distress and their shrill cries work straight through Snufkin’s heart.

“Alright,” he says softly, “there’s no need to fear. I’ve got you.”

He works the nest into the cup of his palms and holds it carefully. The bluebird directs him to a new place for it, a hollow in the trunk that a squirrel helpfully surrendered, and Snufkin can only breathe easily again once the little nestlings are squared away inside.

“Thank you!” half a dozen birds seem to say at once, coming to perch on his arms or the branches around him. The mother bird adds, “To think what might have happened if I hadn’t found you— !”

Pleased with the positive outcome, Snufkin says, “Don’t think of might haves. You and your nestlings are safe and that’s all that matters. I’m happy I could help.”

He leans back to make room for yet another perching bird, shifting his footing as it flutters by, and something snaps beneath his boot. He realizes with a second to spare that he’s about to fall, and then there’s no time to grab hold of anything before the birds are shrieking in alarm, and gravity is snatching hold of his shirt and tugging him backwards, and Snufkin’s mind is blank with fear—

But he doesn’t hit the ground. He lands much sooner than that, against something much softer.  

Snufkin blinks, reorienting himself, and finds himself halfway down the tree, tucked securely between his father’s arm and chest.

“Ah,” the smaller snufkin says, more relieved than anything. “Thank you.”

The Joxter picks his way down carefully. His dark fur is raised, tail like a bottle brush, and his claws are caught in Snufkin’s shirt. He doesn’t let go until the ground is firm beneath their feet, and even then it takes him a long moment to decide to set Snufkin down.

“Next time,” the Joxter says slowly, “I am climbing. I would rather scare the little birds than watch you break your bones.”

Snufkin has to work not to roll his eyes. He’s a little hardier than that. It wouldn’t have been the first time he fell from a tree, and it surely won’t be the last. Not as long as there are little birds who need favors.

The Joxter seems to sense the repressed eye-roll and his own eyes narrow. The pupils in them are slitted now; Snufkin doesn’t think he’s seen them like that since the day they met, the day Moominpappa introduced them to each other and the Joxter startled so badly he dropped one of Moominmamma’s best teacups.

“A twenty foot fall is not nothing.” The Joxter’s quiet tone has taken a sharp turn. “If I hadn’t caught you—“

“But you did,” Snufkin says, his own hackles rising. These might haves again, and right after he told the bluebird not to think of them! “And I said thank you. There is nothing else to talk about.”

“We could talk about risking your life for an animal. A bluebird,” the Joxter says in distaste, “one of a hundred thousand bluebirds. What’s next? Will you help an injured creep cross the river? Save a squirrel kit from a landslide?”

An argument, Snufkin realizes, his stomach turning sour. He has witnessed the uncomfortable scene a dozen times before in a dozen places, a child and their parent screaming at each other in marketplaces or city squares.

The Joxter is taller than him, bigger, sharp where the Mymble’s blood made Snufkin soft. His voice is usually low and unobtrusive, a storyteller’s voice, but it sounds so different in anger. Snufkin wonders what it will sound like when he is shouting the way those other parents shouted, and a very cold feeling slides around inside him.

But Snufkin never learned how to back down. The orphanage matron tried to teach him but those lessons didn’t stick. Whether it’s park keepers, or the traveler who came through the valley last year and thought it was okay to call Sniff simple, or his own father, Snufkin stands his ground.

“There could be a hundred thousand snufkins just like me,” he shoots back. “Better snufkins, even, who can play more than just guitar and harmonica, who have never been invisible and never gotten lost and never fallen out of a tree. What makes me worth so much more than that bird?”

The Joxter surges a sudden step forward, and all of Snufkin’s courage deserts him. He ducks his head, missing his hat dearly, and braces himself for furious hands.

They don’t come. He opens his eyes.

His father is crouched in front of him, hands in his lap, eyes round and hurt. The anger, if it was ever anger, is gone. When he reaches out, Snufkin is ready for it this time, and he doesn’t move away. 

The Joxter’s dark paw lands very lightly on Snufkin’s auburn hair. It’s a gentle touch, and then it’s gone. The Joxter pulls back and straightens up and does a tidy disappearing act into the trees. Snufkin loses sight of him within moments.

It’s just Snufkin and the worried birds and the rising sun. Their comfortable breakfast feels like it happened a year ago.

He wraps his arms around his middle and stares at the ground. He doesn’t like arguments, for all that he can be contrary and difficult when his principles are fringed upon, when his personal boundaries are broken. Pulling up fences and signposts is one thing, but fighting with words? Just talking with words can sometimes be too much, let alone fighting with them. There is a reason he tends toward silence and solitude.

“If I didn’t have birds to talk to, I wouldn’t have anyone,” he murmurs miserably. “I’d drive them all away. All except dear Moomintroll.”

The name is like a balm, and Snufkin lifts his head to the north. Two days— less than, if he pushes himself— and he could see Moomin again. The one person whose welcome he’s never had to doubt.

Snufkin rushes back to the camp to pack his things. If he’s hoping to run into his father there, he’s sorely disappointed. But that’s only if.

#the moomins #moominvalley #the joxter #snufkin #moomin #my writing #prompt #anonymous #moomin fic #knock on my door #title oBVIOUSLY borrowed from 'home' by joseph salvat off the moominvalley soundtrack

[mirai-eats]

8/6/19:: Snow

1,244, for Mune

Moomin was unfamiliar with the ice and cold as he was very much used to sleeping away the chill and waking when the only cold left was under the moon’s shadow. It was strange, the sleeplessness, but over the years it’s become more of the norm for him to wake at least once for the winter ever since that one when he and Little My woke up halfway through and could not sleep for the rest of the season. Since that year the hibernation insomnia has not been nearly that bad. 

Sometimes Little My would join him and go on adventures. He’s grown more comfortable with the bed of snow blanketing Moominvalley over the years he’s been doing this, but he was still unaware of the true power of a winter storm until one year a blizzard hit the valley when he decided to rouse himself. Little My was staying with them this year again and was awake and sitting at the drawing room window, her feet tucked under her and head rested in her hands. 

“Do you think Too-Ticky is at the bathhouse right now?” Little My asked.

“Want to go check?” Moomin suggested. His stomach rumbled with hunger, a pain that had woken him originally.

Little My snickered. “Let’s eat some food Moominmamma stored and get going. I want some apple preserves she made.” She hopped down from the windowsill and skipped to the kitchen, Moomin trailing behind her. Mamma had set aside better food for them to eat instead of just raspberry jam since part of the reason she believed he got so sick after the first winter awake was from all the jam. There were some potatoes, dried fruits, nuts, jams and preservatives, and a couple of loaves of pumpernickel that still have some give to their surface and no mold on the crust. They ate like kings, ignoring the potatoes as neither of them would know how to cook them right, and dipped dried fruits and nuts into the raspberry jam and peanut butter between bites of the hardening bread slathered in apple preservatives. 

They soon set out through Moomin’s window, as the lower level was once again snowed in. A blast of cold air blew them back when Moomin finally pushed the windows open, Little My even stumbling into the wall. The bite was colder than Moomin has ever felt it, as the fat and fur on his body was not nearly enough for the downright freezing temperature. He quickly closed the window and turned to Little My, who was picked herself back up from the floor and shaking the snow from her hair.

“We need to bundle up, else we might freeze to death out there.” 

Moomins did not wear clothing often, pajamas and swimsuits and sometimes a fancy coat if the occasion called for it, but in no way did they have snow gear lying around as Moomins were always asleep when it snowed. They went to the spare bedroom where Mamma stored a lot of things she should get rid of but never has as things might come in handy again. There, they found a trapper cap that barely fit Moomin’s head and a thick sock that fit Little My’s just right. Moomin put on the thickest pair of pants that fit a little large but he tucked the ankles into his rainboots. Little My found a fur coat fit for a doll that and wrapped another long sock as a scarf around her neck. She showed off her look with a few twirls and a pose. Moomin laughed and pulled on his sweater and raincoat. He did a twirl in his yellow raincoat and bottlecap green pants with hearts patched on the knees and did a pose to mirror hers. 

They took the stairs back up to Moomin’s room and hesitantly opened the window again. The wind nipped at them, but it wasn’t a painful bite as it was earlier. Little My took the ladder first and Moomin closed his window most of the way so they may get back up but his room may stay a little warm. It was hard trekking through the snow, as Little My sat on Moomin’s head as he was tasked with swimming through the deep snow burying Moominvalley and took them up to the higher ground where they may walk. It took forever and Moomin was breathless long before the beach was even in sight. Little My could not walk on the ground as the snow went far above her head. Once she tried hopping down and she fell straight through the soft snow, the tip of her socked head barely visible. 

Too-Ticky wasn’t there when they got to the bathhouse, but they let themselves in regardless and warmed themselves by the fire. Even Moomin was shivering terribly, as the snow had worked through his clothes and left him damp and miserable. Little My was still wet from her unfortunate plunge in the ice, a grimace on her face kept her teeth from chattering too loudly. The cast-iron stove was warming the whole space and it took a little too long to feel their toes again. Neither wanted to go out and see if Too-Ticky was fishing nearby.

The wind picked up, pushing against the stained-glass windows as if threatening to let it in or else. The foundation squeaked and shuttered under the weight of the snow, white falling like a thick curtain and made it impossible to see more than a couple of feet out. The land was completely hidden in white, leaving them barred on an island of ice.

Too-Ticky came back about an hour after they got there, icicles hanging from her hair and snow caught in her eyelashes. Moomin didn’t even know she had eyelashes until he saw the ice melting off the pale blonde hairs. 

“Good afternoon, you two,” she greeted. She dusted the snow from her clothes and took off her hat to wring it out in a bucket by the door. “Terrible storm comin’ in. It’s the worst time for you two to be waking up and askin’ for an adventure.”

“I kind of wish I was asleep right now,” Moomin agreed. He didn’t realize it was still the afternoon, he thought night had fallen as the room was so dark. The clouds were just that thick.

“I wish I was snowboarding in this. I bet it would be fun with the wind blowing all over like this!” Little My jumped up, excitement bubbling in her little body.

“That’s a death wish.” Too-Ticky shook her head. “This is a blizzard, Little My, and a bad one at that. The winds are nothing like you’ve ever felt and the snow is like icy needles. It’s best to stay inside by the fire until it calms down.” Little My sank back to the ground with a hrumf!

With that, Too-Ticky made them stew with the fish she caught and dug out more blankets for them to sleep under. They stayed up telling ghost stories, in which Too-Ticky one for the scariest, and the wind cried like a backtrack to their warm bubble. It wouldn’t be another day until any of them could leave the bathhouse and by that time the snow had piled up to Moomin’s window, which made it a little easier to climb back in. Except snow dusted his bedroom from when he left the window a little bit open.

#moomin #the moomins #moominvalley #little my #too ticky #fic #mune

[poisoned-chicken-marsala]

ok so I combined the last things I wrote because they belong together and I was too lazy to post them in the same thing but here we go. Same chapter thing as before, but put together under the cut bc it’s long. Please tell me what you think!

Kara trudged home from the grocery store on a Thursday afternoon. It had been a relatively calm day for her, she had the day off of work and was very happy about that. Or, she felt like she should be happy about it, but she just felt off the whole day instead. She felt like her head had been in a fog and her body felt heavier than usual. It took so long to get groceries, even with a list detailing exactly what she needed. At least the stores she’d been to were mostly empty and she could wander mindlessly. But walking home required thought and Kara tried to engage herself with her surroundings while she made her way home by kicking a rock in front of her as she went. The rock came to a stop at the foot of some stairs after the last kick. The building they led up to was no longer in use and boarded up to discourage people from breaking and entering. Kara smiled slightly when she approached the steps. Almost home.

    When she looked for the rock, she saw someone sitting on the steps and glanced to see who it was. To her surprise it was Narancia, a boy her and her friends had hung out with at the park many times. Did he live out this way? She didn’t know, and never thought it was polite to ask. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest a troubled look on his face that didn’t leave, even when he looked up to see who was there. 

    “Hi Narancia.” Kara said with a small smile. Narancia stared at her for a moment and didn’t reply. He rested his chin on his knees again and turned his attention back to the street. Kara’s backpack felt like it gained a hundred pounds when he brushed her off. She stood still for a moment, tilting her head and giving her friend? a curious look. What the hell was his problem? 

    “Are… are you okay?” She tried again, shuffling her feet. He looked up at her again, angry this time.

    “Shut the fuck up.” Narancia snapped, letting go of his knees. Kara’s eyes widened in shock, her face burning. She stepped back on to a lower stair, staring at the patch of plants near where his hand was resting.

    ‘Oh. Did I overstep a boundary of some kind?’ She asked herself. The silence that settled between them lay thick and heavy, like a blanket. A minute passed (it seemed more like an hour) before she looked him in the face again. Kara figured she must have still looked shocked because Narancia’s face fell after a moment. To her surprise, he started to cry. Kara immediately walked back up to the step Narancia was sitting on and hesitated for a moment before reaching down and gently taking his arm.

    “Come on, let’s go to my house. It’s not far.” She said softly and pulled him up to his feet. 

————————————

The walk to her apartment felt like a dream. Kara unlocked the door when they arrived and ushered her friend inside, locking the door behind them and putting her backpack down on the floor. Narancia sat down on the sofa, only looking up when Kara offered him a fist full of tissues. She set the box down on the table and took a seat next to him, their knees touching. The radio on the windowsill played a song she didn’t know the name of, the melody interrupted by bouts of static and Narancia’s heavy breaths. Kara sighed and looked at the grocery bag. They could wait, she decided. There wasn’t anything that could spoil in there. She took a quick glance back at the crying boy. He was staring at the carpet, a tissue balled up in his left hand. Kara reached slowly to rest her hand on top of his. Narancia didn’t move. 

    Eventually, he stopped crying and stirred some time later, pulling his hand out from under hers. She watched him for a moment and pointed to a slightly cracked door through a small hallway when he turned towards her, feeling her eyes on him.

    “Go wash your face. You’ll feel better.” Kara suggested and rose from her spot. Narancia got up too, picked up all of his tissues and shut the door to the bathroom once he was inside. Kara moved her bag from the floor to the kitchen and heard the tap begin to run. Guilt struck her when she unzipped the biggest pocket of her bag. 

‘I should have done more.’ Kara scolded herself and let go of the bag. ‘I can ask him if he wants a hug when he comes out.’ She paced in the kitchen, heart pounding, humming to a song on the radio for what seemed like an eternity when the tap finally shut off. The door swung open. Kara straightened up and looked at her friend awkwardly standing in the bathroom doorway. He looked a little better, it was still obvious he had been crying. She walked over to him nervously.

“Do you want a hug?” 

“… Yes.” 

Kara closed the distance between them and loosely wrapped her arms around Narancia, tightening her grip on him when he hugged her back. They stood and listened to the radio for a moment which was broadcasting mostly static instead of music. 

    “I’m sorry.” Narancia said quietly after a moment, letting go of Kara. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You only asked me a question..” 

    “I accept your apology… Do you want some soup? I was going to make some for myself but I’m sure there is enough for you as well, if you’re hungry.” Kara changed the subject, walking back into the kitchen to her bag and zipped her bag open wider.

    “I guess I’ll have some, since you’re offering.” Narancia replied, fiddling with a pen he found on the counter. 

————————————

He sat down at the table and stared at a poster of a white clown holding.. Cocoa powder? He couldn’t tell, the poster was in another language he didn’t understand. It was a bit hard to see the clown’s features from where he was sitting. The only things he could really see were its open mouth and bright red cheeks. Narancia was so engrossed in the clown, Kara startled him when she set a bowl down in front of him and promptly walked passed him to the TV. She picked up a remote off the table in there and turned it on. A movie played on the screen, the dialogue of the characters clashing with the static from the radio. Kara turned that off and turned towards the TV to see what was going on. Narancia got up from the table and wandered into the living room, brushing past Kara. 

There was a fish tank above the TV and more posters. And books everywhere:on the table, under the radio and in a large box beneath the shelf next to the TV. There were books on things from Hurricanes to Gems to what looked like novels. One titled The Moomins and The Great Flood caught his eye. Narancia knelt down and took it off the shelf, curiously looking at the cover. White, rotund creatures stood out against the dark forest backdrop on the front. He was right, it was a story book. The movie cut to a commercial break and Kara looked over at the shelf, doing a double take when she saw Narancia on the floor. 

    “What’ve you got there?” She asked. He held the book up for her to see, twisting it around slightly so he could read the title.

    “The.. Moomins and The Great Flood.” He placed the book on the table and looked up at Kara. “What’s a Moomins?” 

    “Oh. I can tell you about that after we eat. I think the soup will be done soon.” Kara replied and hurried back to the kitchen to check. Narancia followed her and looked at the white clown poster again up close this time. The clown’s eyes were small and dark. They made it look crazy: solemn eyes and a big grin. Maybe the clown was confused as to how it was supposed to feel and he took a little comfort in that. 

————————————————————————————–

    Kara and Narancia sat on the couch, their soup bowls on top of the books on the coffee table. They were old books that she didn’t care if they got food on them, it would just give her a real excuse to get rid of them. They didn’t know the movie that was  playing, they missed the very beginning. The plot made no sense and they only knew a few character names. Whatever. It was only background noise anyway, along with the occasional clink of a spoon against a bowl. The Moomins and The Great Flood lay forgotten on the table. 

Kara glanced at her friend while she picked her bowl up again. Narancia was watching the movie, resting his chin on his fist and his other hand holding his empty bowl in his lap. He looked much better than earlier, she thought and peeked into her own bowl before he caught her staring. It was empty, much to her surprise. She didn’t remember finishing her soup and after a quick inspection of the table, she hadn’t spilled it. Huh. Kara stood up.

    “Do you want any more soup?” She asked. Narancia looked away from the movie and shook his head.

    “No, I’m good.” He replied and turned back to the TV for a second. “Thanks though.” He added quickly. Kara smiled slightly.

    “Can I take your bowl then?” She extended her arm for it. Narancia nodded once and handed it over, stretching out over the length of the couch. Kara snorted and grabbed it from him, picking up his spoon off the middle cushion and walked into the kitchen. She filled the bowls with water and left them on the countertop. When she returned to the living room, she decided she was going to actually pay attention to the movie. It was fun to make up reasons certain characters were doing certain things. Of course they were all wrong when the big reveal of the villain’s evil scheme happened and filled in some of the holes in the story. When the credits rolled, Kara stretched, reaching up towards the ceiling. She looked over at the other side of the couch and did a double take, suddenly remembering Narancia was there. He had fallen asleep, his head propped up on his fist. 

    Guilt settled in Kara’s stomach as a heavy weight while she stared at her sleeping friend. How could I forget he was here? Ohdear, what time is it? Her heart lurched when she looked at the clock: it was a little after 10 pm. She went over to his side of the couch, kneeling next to the arm rest,  gently placing her hand on his shoulder.

    “Narancia, wake up.” Kara said urgently. Narancia promptly woke up and rubbed his cheek where his fist had been. Kara let go of his shoulder and rose, glancing at the clock again. 

“It’s, like, after 10 and I didn’t know if you had a certain time you needed to go home or something… I got sucked into the movie and lost track of time.” She admitted and fiddled with her braid. He was silent for a moment.

“I should probably go check in.. I ran off hours and hours ago. They’re probably worried about me..” Narancia said, not caring to elaborate on who he was talking about being concerned over his disappearance for the afternoon. He yawned, causing Kara to yawn as well, and got up off the couch. Kara followed him to the door, where he hesitated with his hand on the door knob.

“Thank you… for everything. I appreciate it and I’m sorry I yelled at you.”  Narancia apologized quietly and stared at the floor. 

“I forgive you, and I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you…. I hope you’ll want to hang out again in the future, when we’re both not sad. If we watch a movie next time you come over, I promise I won’t forget you’re here.” Kara joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Narancia looked up from the floor and smirked.

“Yeah, that offended me so much.” He replied and opened the door and stepped out into the night. Kara rolled her eyes at him with a smile and stood in the doorway across from him.

“Good night, be safe on your way home.” She said, holding the door open when he let go.

“I will be, don’t worry. Good night.” He said with a small wave and turned to walk down the street. Kara watched him go until he turned a corner out of sight. She shut the door and locked it, walking into the kitchen to get to her room. The soup bowls caught her eye as she passed, deciding she would wash them in the morning. Sleep was more important.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jojo part 5 #vento aureo #jjba part 5 #jjba oc #jjba fanfiction #narancia ghirga #my oc #writers on tumblr #criticism is appreciated #aw shit here we go again #this must be the place #oh cee thingz