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doe-eyed-dreamr · 9 months

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hi hi !! i was wondering if you could maybe make an imagine of snufkin from moominvalley as a caregiver, like tucking a regressor into bed (sry its rly weird lol, u totally dont have to do it)

Ahh not weird at all! Snufkin is such a comfort character of mine and this was a lot of fun to write. I hope you like it ^-^

Cg!Snufkin, little!reader imagine ~

It's been a day of adventure in Moominvalley, as it often is, and the cold evening air is soothing on your skin. Snufkin sits beside you, crafting a tune to mirror the light of the stars on his harmonica.

You sway with the sound letting it surround you like a blanket, and Snufkin turns to face you, a smile tugging at the sides of his instrument.

Easy as anything, the music shifts in nature, and the sound of a familiar lullaby has you pouting in realisation.

"There there, little one," Snufkin's lilting voice hushes, song paused for now. "The day must come to an end eventually for a new one to begin."

He reaches over, soother in his hand like magic, and places it in your mouth. You can feel your shoulders drop almost instantly, eyes going droopy as the day's exhaustion finally catches up with you.

Snufkin uses the opportunity to clear things away for the evening, extinguishing the fire last and quickly making his way beside you as he catches you shiver.

"Come, my little explorer, it's warmer inside."

Gentle as ever, he guides you into the tent. The starlight from outside filters through the mossy walls, casting a green glow on the space that reminds you of sunshine through a tree canopy. Chuckling at your enamoured expression, Snufkin settles you down against soft blankets and pillows that Moominmamma may or may not have added to when she noticed your penchant for feeling small before bed.

Snufkin takes one of the blankets, a colourful, quilted thing, and drapes it across your shoulders.

"There," He says. "Snug as a bug."

You giggle pulling the blanket in tighter around you.

"Now, if I tell you a story, do you promise to try to sleep?" Snufkin asks, raising an eyebrow. You hum an affirmative and he nods, leaning back against the pillows and tucking you in next to him.

"It was a cold night on the lonely mountains..."

And as Snufkin's voice recites stories of long-gone Winters, you feel yourself drifting off to sleep. Carried by melodic words, and ready to dream of great mountains, and starry skies.

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roboticonography · 10 years

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oursoulsareflying replied to your post “Incidentally, that “director’s commentary” writing meme was super fun....”

I'd love to read one for Steve and Peggy's Central Park date! Or the conversation at the end of chapter 11 where Peggy says she liked Steve when he was small. (Sorry, I'm on my phone and struggling with quotes)

Wow, okay! The date scene is long, so I'm just going to do that one for now.

Peggy selected her outfit for the picnic with due care and deliberation. In addition to helping her shop for clothes, Pepper had provided her with a thick stack of glossy magazines to help her get up to date on the modern fashions. The titles were mostly ones Peggy recognized—Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, Elle—but the contents were vastly different. She was accustomed to looking neat as a pin and twice as sharp, but nowadays it was the done thing to look as though one hadn’t taken any pains at all in dressing.

In the end, she chose a cap-sleeved sundress (crisp white cotton, with a pattern of blowsy pink-and-red camellias along the hem) and a soft grey cardigan which the label claimed was wool (Peggy had her doubts). She wore her hair loose, letting it fall naturally, and went without nylons rather than risk the indignity of cheap modern pantyhose rolling down around her waist. She’d gone bare-legged for the war effort anyhow, so it wasn’t really a hardship. At least now she wouldn’t have to draw the seams onto the backs of her legs.

I talk a lot about Peggy and clothes in the early chapters, mostly because I feel that she is someone who has strong opinions about fashion. You can tell throughout CA:TFA that she takes a lot of care with her personal appearance; in a time when European cosmetics are expensive (because their component ingredients are rationed), Peggy is immaculately made-up (check her brow game!) and has painted nails. She has a series of elaborate hairstyles, and whenever we see her in civvies, she looks just as well put-together as she does in uniform, with little touches like a scarf or a necklace.

She missed her tidy victory rolls, her hat and gloves, her uniform—not the most flattering, but solid and serviceable. She missed heavy fabrics, and sturdy shoes; most of all, she missed her structured undergarments. Even wearing both a brassiere and a camisole, she still felt as though her bosom was on display, to say nothing of her backside.

It wasn’t that Peggy was ashamed of her figure; privately, she’d always thought it rather admirable. But the plain truth was, a garment that she would have called a slip was now considered to be a dress. One couldn’t help feeling a bit self-conscious parading around in public in these flimsy, low-cut, ready-for-bed-in-the-street clothes.

historicalagentcarter has done a cool post about period undergarments that I am way too tired to go look up now, but definitely go and check it out, as it says everything that I would have said here.

She met Steve in the front foyer of the medical wing. She expected him to be appreciative of her efforts, or at least her décolletage, but he showed no reaction to her attire at all. He’d clearly had time to adjust to the modern aesthetic. (She couldn’t help but wonder how hands-on his experience of it had been, and whether the formidable Natasha had been his only tutor.)

For his part, Steve was wearing crisp tan chinos, brown penny loafers, and a blue gingham shirt, the sleeves carefully folded up to the elbows. He looked almost exactly as he would have seventy years ago—trouser cuffs were worn slightly longer now, waistlines slightly lower, but the essentials hadn’t changed.

I wrote this description based on Steve's look in Avengers. Though I would like to point out that I was prescient enough to predict his new hairstyle well in advance of CA:TWS. ;)

She’d been to Central Park before—not that her previous experience counted for much. There was graffiti everywhere: some of it was quite lovely, if unintelligible, and much of it was plainly obscene. (Which, Peggy reflected wryly, summed up her thoughts on the modern world in general.)

I had to do so much googling about Central Park, you guys. The only time I was ever there was in the fall and it was really wet, which was not exactly the idyllic experience I was going for here. I do remember some cool graffiti, though.

Steve walked with purpose: he had a destination in mind, which turned out to be a large cherry blossom tree. He spread out a blanket in the shade, and they both sat down, a respectable distance apart.

“When I was in the cultural immersion program, I used to come here sometimes to study,” he told her.

The cultural immersion program is one of my favourite fanfic inventions. I want to write so many stories about Steve in college.

It was a bright summer day, and the park was a popular destination; the whole world seemed to rush past them, loud and bright and alarmingly fast. Peggy couldn’t imagine being able to block all of it out with the level of concentration necessary to read a single word.

“It’s lovely,” she said distantly.

Steve started to pull food out of his rucksack: sandwiches, bottled drinks, packets of crisps, fruit in clear plastic boxes.

A little reminder of how food packaging has changed from Peggy's perspective.

She examined his profile, his head bent to the task, and thought about what it might be like to run her palm over the close-cropped bristles at the nape of his neck, or kiss the delicate scrollwork of his ear. How would he react—would he freeze, or startle and shy away? Or was this new world Steve Rogers a practiced hand at dealing with the advances of the women in his life?

One of the things that really strikes me about Peggy and Steve in CATFA is the interplay of desire and restraint - they're both super into each other, but at different moments in the film they have an opportunity to act on it but they hold back. It made sense to me to echo that here.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he remarked, cheerfully oblivious to the turn her thoughts had taken.

“Ravenous,” she replied, in a husky voice that conveyed somewhat more enthusiasm than she’d intended.

("I might, when this is all over, go dancing." That voice.)

Steve didn’t look up, but a faint blush coloured his cheeks. “I heard Pepper took you shopping,” he said. “Did she show you a grocery store?”

Peggy shook her head.

“The first time I went to one, it got a little out of hand. There was so much variety, and the packaging, the design of it is very alluring. The colours, the way it’s all arranged. A hundred different kinds of cold cereal alone—and I don’t even like cold cereal.”

She understood exactly what he meant. The thought of all that choice was thrilling, but wearying at the same time. Especially when none of the choices were what you really wanted.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he continued, “but I figure this beats K-rations.” The corner of his mouth quirked in a grin.

In case you're curious what K-rations are. Short version: they didn't quite provide the calorie intake needed for active duty, and soldiers got tired of eating them pretty damn quickly.

Fruit was much larger than she remembered it, and not quite so flavourful. Fizzy lemonade was far too sweet, and tasted of something chemical.

Peggy felt sun-dazed, and the cloying smell of the cherry blossoms made her head feel as though it were about to burst. She couldn’t quite break free of the nagging feeling that she ought to be doing something, that it was terribly wasteful of them to be outside picnicking in the middle of the day.

Peggy is frequently portrayed as restless and slightly jittery in the early chapters - because, of course, she's starting to feel the full force of her super-serum exposure.

“When we were overseas, I used to daydream about doing this with you,” Steve was saying.

“Whatever for?” The words were out of her mouth the instant they’d formed in her brain. She hadn’t meant to sound critical—but the banality of the fantasy was so surprising. In her own daydreams about Steve, on the rare occasions when she’d permitted herself the luxury, the setting had been largely immaterial.

Yeah, Peggy has had some pretty unrepentantly naughty daydreams about Steve. (Haven't we all.)

Steve’s body seemed to slacken, his broad shoulders folding inward; for just a moment, she caught a glimpse of the smaller man he’d once been. He shifted on the blanket, reached up and plucked a few petals off a branch overhead, scattering them to the wind.

I owe this description of Steve's shoulders slumping to Chris Evans, who does an excellent job of physical acting in CATFA.

All around them, people seemed to be exchanging easy caresses, taking pleasure in one another’s company. He was so close; it would have been such a small thing to reach out and touch his arm, to kiss his cheek, to wrap her arms around him. She had no doubt it was what an ordinary woman would do, a woman of this time. But she just sat there, limbs heavy as lead.

At length, she began, “It’s just all rather…” But what it was, exactly, she couldn’t quite put into words.

Steve was drawing breath to reply when, out of the corner of her eye, Peggy caught sight of a black-and-white object hurtling towards them. She started and grabbed at Steve’s arm, trying to yank him out of the way, her heart going jackrabbit-quick—then felt incredibly foolish when the projectile, a football, glanced harmlessly off Steve’s shoulder.

Peggy is so intensely on edge - because of the emotional situation, but also because of her war experience and the fact that she's barely been outside since she woke up. Everything is loud and dangerous and frightening.

A teenage boy was moving towards them at a loose-limbed canter, calling out, “Little help?” As he approached, Peggy could see that his t-shirt had Steve’s shield stencilled on the front.

A nod to the end of Avengers.

Steve held out the ball, gripping it in one large hand. “Be a little more careful, son,” he cautioned, in a voice Peggy had only ever heard him use onstage.

“Whatever,” the boy retorted, snatching the ball back and jogging away.

Peggy realized she was still clutching at Steve’s sleeve. Mortified, she released it and settled herself on the blanket again. Steve watched her quietly for a long moment.

“You’re doing much better than I did my first time out,” he observed.

“What happened?”

“I went on a bit of a rampage when I first woke up.” He grinned ruefully. “Busted through a wall, smacked some guys around… caused quite a stir.”

“I imagine it would, yes.” She could picture it quite clearly; she’d had similar impulses upon waking, though not being able to stand or see had prevented her from having much of an impact.

He reached over and slowly, deliberately, freed a fallen blossom from her hair. “Let me know if it gets to be too much,” he said, tucking a few wayward strands behind her ear before lightly tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips.

“I will,” she told him, and if her voice shook a little, it wasn’t only due to jangled nerves.

The sun was low in the sky by the time they arrived back at SHIELD. The city had already begun to transform, slipping from the hard clean lines of daytime into sparkling evening finery.

Rather than the main entrance to the medical wing, Steve walked her around to one of the side doors, where the foot traffic was less frequent. Peggy stood, toying aimlessly with the electronic pass card she’d been issued, and continued to chat with him for almost fifteen minutes.

I wanted to give a nod here to the fact that Peggy wants Steve to make the first move. In CA:TFA, she makes her interest clear but she also consistently puts the ball back in his court, right up until the last possible second.

She could tell by the way he was staring at her mouth that he was thinking along the same lines that she was. And thinking was marvellous, it really was—but it wasn’t quite in the same realm as doing.

“I had a lovely time today, Steve,” she prompted, stepping forward until her toes bumped the caps of his shoes.

He was nodding, a determined set to his square jaw.

“Thank you so much for suggesting it,” she continued, in what she hoped was an encouraging tone.

“I’d like to kiss you now,” he told her earnestly. His “May I?” overlapped with her “Yes, please,” and then he was smiling even as he leaned down.

Their first kiss had been a frantic push, a last-ditch effort to tell him everything she had never been able to put into words. This, now, was Steve’s response: a gentle brush of his lips against hers, a squeeze of her trembling fingers. He kissed her once, softly and slowly; and then again, a quick peck that served to punctuate the statement.

Steve, as written here, is not super big on PDA. He likes to keep his private moments private. But exceptions must be made!

It wasn’t quite the passionate embrace she’d been dreaming about—but then, there was time for that.

I was originally going to end this chapter here, but paranormal-peggy remarked that it felt too final, as though I was ending the story. So I added a coda to lighten it up a little, and bring us back to the beginning of the scene and Peggy's clothes:

Steve said, somewhat incongruously, “Your outfit is nice. Really pretty. I should have mentioned it before now.”

“Better late than never,” Peggy replied, trying not to laugh.

#oursoulsareflying #a wild meme appeared #I hope this was what you wanted!#my fanfiction

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