#I need a snufkin to tuck me in like that

[doe-eyed-dreamr]

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.

[studyingmoominvalley]

Everything was gone. It all just… disappeared, like that. Exactly like that. I can’t explain it, nothing like this had ever happened before. How am I supposed to know what this all means? I wanted my home back, I wanted things back the way they were. But that wouldn’t be for a long, long time…

When the world came back, we were in a forest again. But not Moominvalley’s forests. It was somewhere darker, somewhere scarier. I smelt fir trees, a familiar scent. There were a few fir trees in Moominvalley, but not a full forest of them. I looked up and sure enough, Snufkin was still there, holding onto me as tight as before.

“Where did we go..?” I asked quietly, afraid that we weren’t allowed here and the sudden raise of my voice could get me in deep trouble.

“I don’t know,” Snufkin responded, looking around, “but this isn’t Moominvalley anymore…”

We managed to right ourselves, but sudden rush of pain filled my leg, causing me to collapse once again. But luckily, my friend caught me in his arms.

“I can carry you again if you need me to,” he suggested, and lifted me onto his back. I was surprised how light I was to him, as he didn’t once seem tired as he strolled through the unfamiliar wood. It was admirable, and quite impressive. I told myself not to get used to it, but soon enough my snout found itself nuzzled into his neck, causing him to laugh.

“You seem comfortable,” he remarked, a smile on his face, “you’re lucky you’re not too—“

But he saw something and stopped. It was odd, very odd. Peculiar, something we had never seen in our home before. A jackalope. We had only heard of them as mythical creatures, but now one was right in front of us, like it was just a natural thing. We stared, silent, waiting for something to happen. It looked back, had no reaction, and just hopped away.

“That was… strange…” I said after a while, watching the jackalope leave, “we don’t get jackalopes in Moominvalley”

“That’s because they don’t exist in Moominvalley,” Snufkin commented, “and this isn’t Moominvalley, we’re in another universe entirely.”

That’s when we heard it. Someone running. We knew it wasn’t another jackalope because the footsteps were heavier, with more weight behind them.

“There’s someone else…” Snufkin mumbled, quickly striding to hide behind a nearby tree, “Tell me what you see, Moomin” I peered out and watched as someone was chased. Chased by someone smaller. They were dripping with that odd stuff. He seemed tall enough, and agile. But he still seemed to be at a disadvantage, and very shaken. He was clutching onto a stack of things, they seemed important to him. He was running this way. I tucked myself away behind the tree just as he stumbled over a root, almost collapsing but catching himself in time so he could escape that thing. It turned this way. But it wasn’t one person. It was two. A boy and a girl, moulded together in a grotesque way. It was disgusting, and I almost wanted to gag, but I held my paw over my mouth and curled up until I heard everything go quiet once again.

“So?” Snufkin asked, lowering me to the ground and leaning me against the tree.

“I… saw a guy… running away,” I replied, “Running from one of those things… but it was awful… wait” I looked over at the ground and saw one of the things the man was holding. A book. I crawled over, making sure not to put too much weight on my leg, and picked it up.

It had an image on the front. Someone’s paw. But there was something off about it. I placed my paw gently onto the front, but that didn’t confirm my suspicion.

“Snufkin? Can you put your paw on here?”

He complied, placing his paw on the front. It fit perfectly, however…

“Why does it have six fingers?” Snufkin asked. Everything about this place was weird, weirder than home. This was the kind of weird you would read in supernatural horror novels. Unnatural weird, impossible weird.

[boorishbint]

(1of4) AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! I dont wanna spoil things for ppl who havent read it yet but!!!! FUCK!!!! Im dying. U killed me. FUCK!!!! Oh gods!!!! I literally do not have words. The character limit will cut me off a thousand times over before I finish freaking out abt this. I LOVE the tiny frightened Snufkin/angry protective Moomin combo, it is my absolute favorite thing. Grusbler is the perfect villain, scary & sleazy & the /leering/, oh god, it just makes the whole thing that much better. And I

(2of4) was anticipating Joxters part in the cliffhanger becuz of COURSE he would, but I didnt anticipate Moomins part in it until it was happening &!!!! Oh gods!!!! And all the little details!!!! Its small & stupid but I love the little bits with Joxter wearing his hat around his neck, its just neat & fun & a lovely visual. And Snufkin after Moomin gets the door sorted, having a very relatable 'He big' moment. Literally I cannot get over Moomin being all protective, keeping him all wrapped up &

(3of4) safe tucked under his chin, its /killing me/!! Also a big fan of the 'Actually violence is good' when Snufkin is in danger, that is my entire fucking jam, holy shit. Im freaking out, I literally cannot stop smiling right now, & my lil autistic ass does /not/ do facial expressions hardly ever so like, that is noteworthy. Also now I get to torment my mom cuz shes totally hooked but trying not to read ahead from where we r atm (ch7 I think). Just!! U write so good!! I love ur stuff!! Also to

(4of4) answer ur previous question, I did have a good time! I made pancakes instead of piecrust cuz tired (they were gluten free cuz celiac, but they were good!), & the hat isnt finished yet, but Im close! Also working on the scarf for my Joxter cosplay (2nd go of it, cuz I ran out of yarn lol), & hoping to start on the hat soon. Gonna dye my hair moss green this week, too, so yay! Anyways yah ur writing is amazing & ily & Im still freaking out. - Irish Anon

And another thing! Sittin here like 'Wait! I need to yell more!' I LOVE how Joxter is just /such/ a dad. Like Moomin might think hes an irritating bastard but he is so soft. The constant protectiveness over not just Snufkin but Moomin himself, too. Ugh, it kills me. It kills me dead, I hope u know. Also u didnt have to do that. U didnt have to come for my smol daddy kink having self with protectivepapa!Joxter like that, one hit killing me, but u did, & bless u for it. Ok Im done now lol. - Irish

I really am so very pleased you’re enjoying it! Thank you so much for all these messages, they really made me smile! It’s very flattering, and quite humbling, to know I made you smile with anything I’ve written, so thank you for sharing that with me. It’s very sweet that this is something you’re sharing with your mother also, I’m glad you both are enjoying it. Good luck with your creative projects! And again, thank you for the lovely messages! ♡ 

[bowsintheirtails]

you know. something that really gets me is, sometimes snufkin has a feather in his hat. sometimes he has flowers. sometimes just a loop of rope. when does he switch. is it seasonal? is this snufkin fashion? does he just see "oh look neat thing on the ground" and tuck it in his hat for the aesthetic, even though he is a fashionless dirt baby in every other respect?? does he ever put other things up there???? I NEED ANSWERS

i imagine its works a bit like this!!

[jancmalandra]

Moominpapa Steps Up

On living an adventurous city life

On Tuesday night, Moominpapa, Moomintroll, Snufkin, Tayberry and Moomin gathered in the parlor of Moominhouse after dinner once again. Moomin had made tea and Moomintroll had made sugar cookies. When everyone was comfortable, Moominpapa resumed his story.

"Aunt Jane began my training in the family business by making me a junior sales clerk in her huge clothing store in the heart of Times Square. The store, which she had named 'Moomin's Finest Clothing' (not at all exciting or original, I thought), had three floors, each of which catered to a different class of customer. The main floor was for the general public and featured affordable everyday clothing and work uniforms. The second floor was for the business people and politicians of the city and high end business attire was sold there. The third floor was where the finest in custom fitted designer fashion and formal wear was sold to the cream of high society. Aunt Jane left my training to her husband, Frederick, who managed the store on a day-to-day basis."

"Frederick took me very much by surprise. He was the only person in Aunt Jane's world who didn't live in constant fear of her. He genuinely loved her fierce nature and she genuinely loved his charming, calm, elegant demeanor. She was like a storm who moved through other's lives, forcing them to bend to her will to stay in her good graces. Frederick was like the calm at the center of the storm, helping those who worked for her find more reasonable ways to make her business work. He seemed to delight in subtly redirecting her energy in more positive directions by constantly pointing out some crusade or other for the betterment of the city that needed her leadership. He chose to confide in me that he had helped Emily hide her pregnancy and helped her find the Moomin Foundling Home. He took our reunion as an opportunity to make things up to me. He became an invaluable ally over the four years that I spent in Manhattan."

"I never could get the hang of wearing the sales clerk uniform. I always ended up looking worse than when I started. Frederick came up with the brilliant idea of putting me in charge of the hat department on all three floors, since I look so dashing in just a hat. I wore a different hat at work every day and thanks to me being a walking advertisement for them sales of hats went up steadily all year. Thanks to Frederick introducing me so warmly, and my own charm and willingness to help and learn from others, I quickly became friends with the other sales clerks. Frederick showed me the world of Times Square during the weekdays, and on Fridays I became acquainted with the city's legendary night life."

"My guide on my weekly Friday night excursions was a confident, friendly, and highly knowledgeable Fuzzy named Charlie who was the sales clerk in charge of the work uniforms department. I am a little embarrassed to say that I very much enjoyed getting rather drunk with him at wild parties together with his many friends in a different night club, bar or restaurant every time. I don't regret any of it, but it's also why I stopped drinking altogether when I made my way back to the Autarch's estate four years later."

"Aunt Jane would take full charge of me every weekend. She would take me to art museums and galleries and to classical music concerts and high society social events. Although the opulence of these events dazzled me at first, they quickly became deathly dull and tremendously perilous to me at the same time. Aunt Jane kept trying to introduce me to some young Moomin girl or other from some prestigious family or other, clearly in an attempt to get me married and settled down as soon as possible. It was almost fortunate that I spent the better part of each weekend nursing a tremendous hangover, so I consistently made a very bad first impression on every girl she tried to force on me."

"It's hard to describe New York City adequately to anyone who hasn't been there. It's a wondrous, dazzling place that's filled to the brim with every adventurous possibility that you can think of. The city never stops moving at a breathtaking pace. But, it's also full of dangerous and tragic possibilities, as I would soon learn in my second year of living there."

"My introduction to the underworld of New York City began on the night of my first New Year's celebration. Aunt Jane hated all the undignified goings-on that typified this citywide party. But, she was too important a figure in the city to avoid attending. Every square meter of Times Square was packed by ten o'clock with every kind of beast, most of whom were already drunk. She and Frederick waited with the other important figures in the city on the grand stage below the gigantic glowing ball that would be dropped at midnight. I watched her discomfort with great amusement with the other employees of her store from the middle of the crowd."

"Suddenly, there was someone pulling on my arm. I turned around to find that it was Charlie. He was looking uncharacteristically sheepish and was accompanied by two female Mumriks.", at this Snufkin gasped involuntarily, "I was just as surprised as you are, Snufkin. From my friendship with your father, The Joxter, I knew Mumriks as solitary souls who prefer freely wandering in the great outdoors alone and the occasional company of a select, small group of friends, and dislike cities and their rules and regulations and noise and crowds. But, I also know that your people tend to be contrarians who refuse to do what people expect of them. Gail and Emmaline, for those were their names, led a gang of city dwelling Mumriks who were the most contrary beasts imaginable. Charlie had told them of me and my close connections with Moomin's Finest Clothing, which they very much wanted to take advantage of, and they had a proposal for me. Charlie had also told them of my desire for grand adventures and they offered to help me see much more of the city than I would just staying with Aunt Jane in exchange for me delivering irregular and damaged clothing from her store to them on a regular basis. I eagerly agreed and followed them out of Times Square and into the depths of the city, where I would soon become acquainted with their operations."

Moominpapa paused once more and saw to his great delight that his audience was hanging on his every word in breathless anticipation.

"I will tell you of my adventures in the criminal underworld of New York City tomorrow night, but now it's time for us all to go to bed and get a good night's sleep.", he concluded.

Once again, Moomintroll, Snufkin, Tayberry, and Moomin all let out groans of disappointment and reluctantly headed off to bed. Moominpapa took particular pleasure in tucking his grandchildren into their beds and kissing them goodnight before he headed off to bed himself. They were all very much looking forward to Wednesday night.

To Be Continued

[readyourimgaines]

Snufkin Gets Sick

Snfukin didn’t fall ill often, but when he did, it was bad. He came back from the south later than he’d meant to, but he finally back in Moominvaley. On the last day of his journey, Snufkin got caught in a rainstorm and kept on walking. The young Mumrik now regretted not having stopped to find shelter. 

With little energy, Snufkin withdrew his harmonica from his coat pocket and began playing the tune he played every spring. 

Moomin rushed from the dining room, completely forgetting his breakfast. “Snufkin!”

Snufkin smiled at Moomin as he came running. “Hello, Moomin.” Snufkin’s voice was hoarse and scratchy. 

“Are you ill,Snufkin?”

Snufkin sniffled. “I think so.”

“You must come home, then. Mama can get medicine for you and you can sleep where it’s warm.”

“I’ll be alright, Moom-” The Mumrik broke into a coughing and found himself being lightheaded. Moomin braced his green-clad friend friend even before he lost his balance. 

“No, you need to lay down, Snufkin.” 

*****

And so Snufkin was tucked into the bed of the guest room by Moominmama. He tried to fight off the sleep that kept creeping up on him, but it was a loosing battle. He floated in and out of consciousness.

Snufkin stirred when Moominmama pressed a cool cloth against his brow. “How are you feeling, Snufkin?” Moominmama’s voice was airy as ever. 

Snufkin opened his mouth to reply but burst into a coughing fit, the pressure hurting his head and his throat. He gave Moominmama a look to express his irritation with the situation. He worried afterwards that she’d think he was annoyed with her. She giggled and that was all the conformation Snufkin needed. 

Slowly, sleep took its hold again. 

*****

“What’s my brother gotten himself into?” Little My demanded. “He never gets sick.” 

“Well apparently he does.” Moominpapa took a sip from his coffee cup.

“He was so hesitant in coming here.” Moomin’s brow furrowed. “I hope he isn’t too upset with me for having carried him here, Papa. He got to light headed he fainted.”

“I can’t imagine Snufkin getting upset with you for taking care of him, Moomin. The boy might be a little stubborn, but he knows you care for him.”

“He does indeed know,” Snufkin said. He was making his way down stairs, supporting himself on the banister. “Thank you, Moomin,” he croaked. 

“Should you be walking, Snufkin?” The Snorkmaiden fretted.

Snufkin sniffled and cleared his throat. “I can’t stand laying in bed anymore.”

Moomin scooted over on the couch and patter the spot he opened up between him and The Snorkmaiden. Usually, Snufkin would be against such close quarters, but he had the chills, his hat was upstairs, and the space between them would be very warm. So hesitantly, he sat down. 

The poor Mumrick was too out of it to really follow the conversation. He heard the voiced and words but his brain was too tired to strong the words into sentences. 

*****

Moomin looked down at his best friend and found him curled up in a ball. He was almost cat-like. Snufkin--when wearing his hat--was almost as tall as Moomintroll. The young man seemed so small now as his curly, strawberry blond haired head rested on Moomin’s leg. The Mumrick was breathing through his mouth, his nose too stuffed.

Gently, Moomin combed his paw through Snufkin’s hair in hopes of helping his ill friend to recover sooner. Moomin began humming softly, the song Snufkin played most often when the group relaxed together under a tree.

Moominmama, peaking in from the kitchen, had no worries about Snufkin getting better soon. 

[goodlucktai]

falling over me like stars

the moomins pairing: moomin/snufkin word count: 2221 read on ao3

x

At first, Moomin isn’t sure what woke him.

One moment he’s dreaming and the next he’s in his bedroom, staring through the dark at the ceiling and experiencing that sideways bereftness of being suddenly transplanted from an imagined place to a real one.

It must still be late, if the dark of the room is any indication.

The house creaks a bit as Moomin lays there listening, the way hard-worked houses sometimes do, its bones settling after another long day of sheltering lots of lively people within its walls. The air is very cool, and smells like damp earth and ozone, but the bed is warm. And it would be, with two bodies tucked beneath a shared blanket.

Moomin tips his head to the side, cheek pressed against the pillow, so his view is filled with Snufkin sleeping bare inches away.

That’s right, Moomin thinks comfortably, teetering on the blurry line between sleep and wake, there was a storm.

The winds were something terrible, and the rain drove down on the roof like thunder. He’d been so glad Moominmamma had managed to convince Snufkin, in her patient, implacable way, to stay inside with them for a few nights until the weather cleared up again.

It always took some doing, but there’s really no holding out against Mama. She’s probably the only creature in the valley more stubborn than Moomin’s favorite mumrik-- and sure enough, Snufkin had lost that particular battle of wills.

He was good-natured about it, though.

“You moomins are certainly a worrisome lot,” he’d said without heat, rolling his tent up with deft hands so they could stow it inside for safe-keeping. “It must be exhausting, concerning yourselves with a tramp like me.”

He was smiling, faint and fond, and flicked a glance at Moomin from under the brim of his floppy, flowered hat. No hard feelings, that glance said, intimate for all its knowing. So Moomin smiled right back.

“We’re built for it,” he had replied smartly, rewarded with the surprised sound of Snufkin’s laughter.

Moomin smiles again now, watching the rise and fall of his friend’s chest, the artless tumble of his thicket-like hair.

They’re both bigger than they were the first time they slept this way, longer limbs and wider shoulders and, in Moomin’s case, more girth. It takes some maneuvering. Their feet all but dangle off the edge unless they curl up a bit. They used to fall asleep on their respective sides of the bed and wake up a comfortable tangle of limbs; now they just skip ahead to that part.

(Mama asked him once if he’d like a new frame, or perhaps for a second one to be moved in so they wouldn’t have to share anymore, but Moomin emphatically said no, thank you. And Mama just looked at him like she knew a secret and went back to fixing breakfast with a peaceful smile, and didn’t bring it up again.)

Suffice to say, tonight is shaped like all of his other favorite nights, comfortable and intimate and cozy. Snufkin is here, one hand buried in the thick fur at Moomin’s chest, radiating heat like a small furnace. Moomin doesn’t have any strange cricks in his neck or back from twisting into an odd angle in his sleep. None of his limbs are cramping, he isn’t cold, he isn’t thirsty, he was having a pleasant enough dream, for all that he can’t really remember more than a vague outline--

So what woke him?

Moomin frowns as minutes slink by and no answer seems forthcoming. He can’t even toss and turn without dislodging his friend, and just laying there, still and wide-awake, feels like torture.

And then Snufkin’s fingers tighten in his fur, almost to the point of pain. The mumrik gives a little jerk, and his head turns, and Moomin can see his expression.

“Oh, no,” he says in dismay, sitting up quickly. “Snufkin, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

He doesn’t so much reach out to Snufkin as just lay a hand on him, they’re already so close. He’s trembling, so slightly Moomin couldn’t tell until he feels it, and it’s enough to make Moomin’s whole chest ache.

“Wake up,” he insists again. He tries to work loose the fingers in his fur, if only so he can hold them instead. Moomin doesn’t want to raise his voice, not at Snufkin, but he’s getting more desperate with every second he has to watch that dear face twist with pain. “Those stars you love spilled their light into our room to keep you company. You’ll feel better in no time if you just open your eyes.”

Moomin gives him a little shake, and that does the trick. When Snufkin wakes up, it’s not with a wild start, the way Moomin sometimes flees a nightmare, but a little jolt. His eyes fly open and his mouth parts in a gasp, but he’s so quiet that Moomin might have slept through the whole thing if Snufkin hadn’t accidentally pulled on his fur.

That’s an unhappy thought.

“There you are,” he says brightly. “I should’ve known all I’d have to do is mention the stars and you’d come right back.”

The room is a study in silver and stardust, every dark corner touched with some of the faint light pouring through the window, and even Snufkin looks softer here. All of his earthen tones washed out to blues and white, the line of his body something surprisingly fragile for the rough-and-tumble vagabond Moomin knows.

He retracts his hand and murmurs, “Sorry, Moomintroll. Did I hurt you?”

Moomin’s a little sorry he let go, if anything, but he smooths out the ruffled fur with a paw. “Of course you didn’t. I bet you wouldn’t even know how.”

He tugs the blanket up over their laps, and Snufkin disentangles their tails before scooting in. They lean against the headboard together, the only two awake in this big, full house, and Moomin knows what it sounds like when Snufkin is trying to sort things out in his head, so he doesn’t interrupt the thoughtful silence.

Then Snufkin says, “I dreamed I got lost.”

Moomin jumps a little at that, surprised. “You’ve never gotten lost.”

“Maybe that’s why it was so-- alarming.” He’d been about to use a different word, Moomin thinks. “But I was lost. The road was gone. The forest was empty, even of birds, so there was no one I could ask for directions. The sky was overcast, so I couldn’t even use the stars to guide me.”

His voice is quiet, the same voice he uses to recite poetry or tell mysterious tales, but the wonder is gone from it. In its place is a festering wound of fear, something dull instead of sharp, a persisting ache rather than a single swift blow.

“The seasons changed, and I never found my way back,” Snufkin adds in a short, clipped tone. “I knew I wouldn’t see you again. And then I woke up.”

Moomin can feel a hollow sort of horror at the very idea of Snufkin out there alone in the world somewhere, lost and unable to make his way back home to the valley. What a terrible idea! What an awful nightmare, to come slinking in here and attach itself to Snufkin and poison his pleasant dreams!

“It wasn’t real,” Moomin says, not sure which of them he’s hoping to reassure. He doesn’t think Snufkin is in the mood to be grabbed, even for feel-better a hug, so he keeps his paws in his lap. “You’ve come back every year. Every spring. Why would that change?”

“It was just a dream,” Snufkin agrees. But he’s pressed against Moomin’s shoulder and his eyes are faraway. If it was just anything he wouldn’t still be so shaken.

So Moomin goes on, “You tell me yourself the birds are chatty no matter where you go! They hardly leave you alone once they realize they can pick a conversation out of you if they’re obnoxious enough. I bet your dream was a wish they’d find someone else to bother for a change.”

There it is-- the barest hint of a smile. Heartened, Moomin keeps it up.

“And just because some clouds got in the way, you’d give up on the stars? You, Snuf? When we first met, we talked about stars for hours. I thought you’d never run out of praises for them!”

Snufkin huffs a reluctant laugh, and then presses his lips together, but he’s smiling plainly now.

“Besides, even if the birds all deserted you, and the stars all burned out, you’re forgetting one important thing.” Sandwiched side-by-side as they are, Snufkin’s head pillowed on Moomin’s shoulder, it’s easy to say the words since he doesn’t have those bright brown eyes to get distracted by. So Moomin looks up at the ceiling and says, “If you didn’t come back, I’d go looking for you. I know you need your space, but you’ve never broken a promise to me. If you promised to come back and you didn’t, I would find you. I’d search everywhere until I found you. The way you feel about the world when you travel is the way I feel about you when you come home. There’s no way I’d ever let you stay lost, Snufkin.”

For a moment, Moomin feels good about that. He thinks he managed to explain his feelings pretty clearly, and hopefully it made Snufkin feel better-- but then horror quickly washes out the satisfaction, because Snufkin is trembling again in an all-too-familiar way.

“Oh-- oh no, don’t cry, Snufkin! I’m sorry, please don’t cry!” Stricken, Moomin tries to twist to look at his friend properly, but Snufkin stays stubbornly pressed against his side, shaking with tears, eyes hidden in Moomin’s fur. Paws flapping uselessly, Moomin rambles, “Well, no, that isn’t right-- you should cry if you need to, of course you should! But I’ll definitely start crying, too, and then you’ll be the one comforting me and that won’t do at all!”

"I'll hibernate this year," Snufkin mumbles, muffled, but Moomin still freezes at the words.

"You'll stay all winter? Here, with me?" he says. Snufkin nods. "And leave in the spring instead?" Moomin realizes, joy tempered by dismay.

"Leave next winter instead," the mumrik says, the best thing he's ever said, handing Moomin a hundred presents in a few short words. "I'll stay for that long. I want to try."

"Because you're afraid?" Moomin gives into the urge to hold him, wrapping both arms around him and hugging him tight. He remembers being younger, looking up at Snufkin and then looking level at him, but he's just a bit taller now. It makes hugging him even nicer somehow, not that he's ever come out and said so-- he just takes any and every excuse to bundle the smaller creature up and tuck him under his chin, for as long as he can get away with. "What if you're not afraid in a few days? You'll be sorry you promised it then."

"Not because of that." Snufkin seems to take shelter in the fact that Moomin can't see his face. Moomin wonders if he sometimes gets distracted by eyes he thinks are pretty, too. That's a nice thought. "I've seen a lot of the world, you know. A lot of it has changed. Even you have changed. It's a part of life, I think, of nature, that nothing stays the same forever. I'd like to see if I can change, too."

There's a lot of-- of something building up in Moomin's chest, something that feels the way the sun looks when it dawns. Bold and fiery and too big to fit in the space it belongs to, spilling light across the hills and fields and rivers, spilling color, spilling warmth. He doesn't know what to do with all of it until he knows exactly what to do with all of it, and Snufkin must have the same idea, because he looks up just in time for their noses to meet.

It must not be a surprise to him, because he laughs, and bumps back with his smaller snout, and oh, that is wonderful. Moomin is delighted. He never wants to move from this spot.

"I've always loved moomin kisses," Snufkin says softly. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is rather pale, but his smile more than makes up for it. "How sweet."

Moomin's heart is racing, and he's never known hearts could race with happiness instead of excitement or fear or nerves. It's just one more thing Snufkin has taught him, perhaps the best thing. He's sorry that a storm and a nightmare brought them here, but the sky is clear now, and the room is full of whispered voices and empty hands being held and a few more kisses just for the sake of exploring something so new in this love that's so old. Moomin would like to see any bad dream leave a mark on them now.

"What else do you love about moomins?" he asks, hoping he might hear a few things on Snufkin's list that he identifies with.

Snufkin hums fondly, eyes very close and very distracting, as usual. He touches Moomin's cheek and says, "Lean in close to me, and I'll tell you."

[icycreek]

Frozen Rose

Dreaming of Snufkin was normal for the winter sleeping Moomintroll. After all the two of them were great friends, but the previous times he had dreamt of Snufkin they were all always about them going on adventures beyond the lonely mountains. There had to be something wrong with this winter, since now his dreams weren't about the adventures, but more about just the two of them together. Laying under a tree together close and warm. Stealing small, soft kisses from each other when no one else was around. At first Moomintroll had been apprehensive, but as the winter continued Moomintroll grew fonder of the idea.

The winter had passed quickly for the sleeping Moomin household. The house awoke slowly as spring made it's appearance. The first one to wake was MoominMamma, who went straight to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the soon to be awake family. Second to wake up was Little My who almost woke up Sniff by landing on his tail on her way out of bed. She made her way to Mamma to watch over the cooking process. Next to wake up was MoominPappa who just ran to his study to write down the ideas he had while he was asleep. Snorkmaiden who had decided to to spend her winter at the Moomin house was next to wake up. After getting up and cleaning herself a bit she also made her way downstairs where the rest of the family was. Second last to wake up was Sniff who got dragged from his sleep, by the scents of Mamma’s cooking. Still there was one creature left asleep in the house on the highest floor.

After eating breakfast the family climbed to the highest floor to see Moomintroll. They found him still deep asleep with a small smile on his face. Mamma and Pappa came to the decision to let Moomin sleep for a while longer and not to try waking him up until spring was truly here. That didn't stop Little My from trying to wake Moomin up. She tried everything jumping on him, making a lot of sound and even bringing up some of Mamma’s cooking wafting the smell to try and wake him up. None of it worked and Moomin stayed asleep.

Weeks passed and still Moomintroll was asleep. Soon would be the time to look for a cure, but not just yet and so the family continued as normal. As Snufkin made his way over the white bridge something felt off. He had played his spring toon as always, but Moomin hadn't come to see him. A Worry flashed through him and he ran to the house.

Snufkin knocked quickly and stepped inside without waiting. He was greeted by Mamma while she knitted "Hello Snufkin it's nice to see you. Spring is truly here now." Snufkin didn't bother returning the gesture and just got out "Where is Moomin?" He was feeling more panicked by the second looking around the room as he tried to spot his friend. "He is upstairs in his room, but-" was all that Mamma got out before Snufkin sprinted up the steps.

The Door to Moomintrolls room flew open as Snufkin barged in. There he saw him. Moomin on the bed still sound asleep. Snufkin walked up beside his friend and his hand stroked the sleeping Moomins arm. "Moomin." He said hoping his friend would wake. "Moomintroll." He said louder, but there was no reaction.

"He hasn't woken up from his winter sleep." Mamma calmly explained from the door. Snufkin turned around to face Mamma. He sniffed quietly, surely being near tears. "This has happened before, but just not with Moomintroll. That time the one who was asleep woke up by themselves when spring was truly there." She continued. "Spring is here..." Snufkin said quietly. "I know. I'll read up on it on grandma's notebook there has to be a cure for it in there." She reassured him. "Snufkin would you look after Moomin just in case?" She asked knowingly looking over Snufkin’s trembling arms which were grasping Moomin's bed sheets. "Yeah... I'll do that." Snufkin answered looking back at Moomin. "Good." Mamma said as she closed the door and hearing the thump of Snufkin falling to his knees.

As the night started Snufkin had settled into Moomins room. He hadn't even tried to unpack his bag as it just laid there near the door where he had left it before. He had tried to eat with the family, but hadn't found the appetite to eat much. Now he laid there on the mattress Pappa had brought for him to sleep on. He appreciated the gesture even though he knew he wouldn't be sleeping much if at all. He sat up and looked at Moomin once again. After dinner Mamma and Pappa shared all they knew from over sleeping. Most common reason for sleeping over winter was simple, the dream the sleeper dreamed was too good to leave. That had left Snufkin wondering what Moomin was dreaming about if he wasn't waking up.

"Snufkin" Snufkin recognized the voice of course, it was Moomin. He jumped up and looked over his friend one more time. Moomin moved in his sleep. Turning to face Snufkin and then as if to reassure that Snufkin wasn't hearing things Moomin said it again "Snufkin". Moomin was dreaming of Snufkin and it was such a good dream he didn't want to leave it.  Snufkin felt conflicted on one hand he liked the idea of Moomin dreaming of him, but still on the other it could be seen that Snufkin was the reason Moomin hadn't woken up yet. A Tear rolled down Snufkin’s cheek. It dropped from his face and landed on Moomins snout. "It's fine Snufkin." Moomin says his words muffled and croaky after not using his voice in ages. Snufkin collapsed on his knees once again this time laying his head on the bed next to Moomin. He soon fell asleep to the sound of Moomins breathing.

MoominMamma found the two boys in the morning close. Moomintrolls snout was pressed right on Snuffkins head. She also saw the clear signs of crying on Snufkin’s face. She gently shook Snufkin’s shoulder. He woke up and wiped his eyes. Snufkin sprung up from Moomins side. "Anything happen last night?" Mamma asked tucking her son better into bed. "He called my name in his sleep." Snufkin answered carefully rubbing his eyes more trying to get the teary look away from his eyes. Snufkin perked right up and asked "Mamma the cure? There is a cure to get Moomin to wake up right?" Mamma looked at him "Yeah, the cure. It's easy enough, but-" Snufkin cut in "I'll get anything if it cures Moomin." Mamma sighed and continued "To wake up from the perfect dream you need a true love's kiss." Snufkin's heart sank. It had been hard enough with Moomin stuck asleep, but now to cure him from it Snufkin had to find his true love to wake him up.

Mamma pressed a quick kiss on Moomins forehead. "Now I've tried mothers love, but that's not what is needed in this case." Snufkin looked Moomin over one more time and asked "Where is Snorkmaiden?" Mamma walked over to the door and said "She went out in the morning, but she should be back by now. I'll go get her." Mamma looked over Snufkin and her son one last time before walking down to get Snorkmaiden.

Soon enough everyone in the house was in Moomins room. Snufkin had pulled his hat deep on his head, so no one could see his eyes. His hand trembled, but he held it still by grabbing his other arm tightly. Snorkmaiden as well as most of the house were with the solution, but Mamma and Little My didn't seem the most pleased. Snufkin stayed back as Snorkmaiden got closer to the sleeping Moomin. His chest hurt and the tears pricked his eyes, but he stayed strong for Moomin. Little My raised an eyebrow at Snufkin’s shivering. Snorkmaiden pressed her snout against Moomins.

They waited a moment before Snorkmaiden backed off. Nothing, absolutely nothing from Moomin. Snufkin released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Huuh. It didn't work?" Pappa wondered looking Moomin over. "Oh no Moomin will be sleeping forever." Sniff wailed as he pulled on his ears. Little My stole a suspicious glance first at Snufkin and then over to Mamma. She climbed on top of Moomin and let out a scream. Everyone covered their ears. "Still sound asleep." Little My explained. "Why did you do that Little My? My ears." Snorkmaiden complained. "Well now we know for sure your kiss didn't wake him up." Little My answered walking on Moomin to get near his face. She pressed a small kiss on Moomins snout and pulled back wiping her face on her sleeve. She opened her mouth to scream again, but Mamma stopped her covering her mouth with her hand. "Moomin." She said gently shaking her son. "Still nothing. Hmm." Pappa exclaimed as he picked Little My up from Moomin.

"I say Snufkin should try kissing Moomin." Little My snarkily suggested. Snufkin got startled by the suggestion and his hat dropped from his head. His tear streaked face was revealed. Mamma came up to the boy and wiped some of his tears and she guided Snufkin next to Moomins bed. Snufkin caressed Moomins face before lowering his head to press a small, soft kiss on Moomins snout. Moomin's eyes fluttered open. He looked at Snufkin with loving eyes as he brought his own hand to caress his face. Snufkin leaned into the touch. Then Moomin lifted his snout to once again press against Snufkin's cheek. Moomin finally properly waking up looked around the room. "What's going on? Why is everyone around my bed? Snufkin are you crying?" Moomin questioned as he sat up on his bed. "You overslept your winter nap." Little My said dropping down from the loose grip of Pappa. "We'll let Snufkin explain the rest." Mamma said pushing the rest out of the small room, while some protested.

"I'm so glad you are awake Moomin." Snufkin said a new tear rolling down his already wet cheek. "I was so afraid you weren't going to wake up." Snufkin wrapped his arms around Moomin. "So I slept for too long. It's spring, since you are here." Moomin thought out loud putting the pieces together. "I first thought something was wrong, when you didn't come to meet me at the bridge." Snufkin said backing away to look into Moomins eyes. "Do you know Snufkin why I slept for so long?" Moomin asked caressing Snufkins soft cheek. "Mamma said it had something to do with dreams." Snufkin answered rubbing his eyes with his hand. The winter long dream flashed in Moomins mind and he blushed. "Um..." Moomin got out. Snufkin lowered his hand and looked at Moomin qriously. "What did you dream about Moomin?" Snufkin asked as Moomin tried to hide behind his hands. "Well... I dreamt of you Snufkin and I dreamt of you being close to me..." Moomin mumbled his face turning red all the way to his ears. "Oh... Moomin." Snufkin responded pulling Moomin close and pressing a soft kiss on his snout.

[lilmistermaya]

young dad: homecoming

His cold was dropping into his chest, and joxter had to face a hard fact. If he got too sick, he couldn’t take care of snufkin. And the only place he had to go-

Moomin’s house wasn’t terribly far away by joxter’s calculations, just a day or two at an easy walk. But he’d have to face...

Pride said no.

Shame and embarrassment said no.

Love said he had to.

Moominpappa wasn’t sure it was real. Joxter was standing on his porch, his son clutching at his coat. Same messy hair and blue eyes, same smile. The boy was taller, less fuzzy. Still had a tail peeking out from under his tunic.

“Hey.” he croaked, “thought we’d stop by for a visit.”

Introductions were made, snufkin reluctantly being taken by the paw by a tiny moomin to be shown around. But the moment snufkin was out of sight, joxter collapsed onto moominpappa.

“What the-” he caught his friend, realizing how wretched he looked. “Joxter!”

“Sorry moomin.” he mumbled, too hoarse to talk loudly. “I’ma little under the weather…”

“Under the weather! You look half dead! Come on.” oh he was angry, as he half-dragged him upstairs to a guest room. Disappeared with the baby and reappears years later looking like he’d been dragged through a river. Not a word.

“When was the last time you ate?” he felt thin as he helped him undress and his skin radiated heat.

“Had a bit of soup last night. Hurts to swallow.” it sounded like it hurt him to breathe from the way he wheezed and coughed. “Can you take care of snufkin for me? Just for a little while.”

“Of course I will. I kept telling you to-” he swallowed down the anger, tucking blankets firmly around his friend’s shoulders. “You stay in bed. Momma will bring you some medicine and you need to take it.”

“Kay.” he mumbled, half asleep. Pappa couldn’t help it, smoothing rebellious hair out of his face. Oh he was angry, but there was relief. Both joxter and snufkin were back and in one piece, finally.

[mirai-eats]

2/6/2019:: Flowers

Snufkin/Moomin, Moomins, 1,544 words, for Mune

Pappa dug out an old trunk he had buried in the basement, the clasps stiff with time and the varnish worn down to its muted wood. Inside were more books, all riddled with age and the corners cracked from so much love and attention.

“These some of my books from when I was your age, Moomin,” Pappa explained. He pulled one from the top and dusted the cover, the title in riveting gold punctured across the sails of a ship in a stormy sea. “Why don’t you take a look and see if anything interests you or your friends?”

“Is that really okay, Pappa?” Moomin asked. He pulled out a book with a worn down, olive green binding, the embossed title on the spine worn so smooth it was near impossible to read.

“Well if course you may, all this is just sitting down here I clearly don’t need them. You may do as you please and the rest I bet some neighbors would love them. There are many a tales within this box! Someone is bound to enjoy at least one of them.”

A book with an ivory cover and stained with dust caught Moomin’s eye. The cover depicted a beautiful pink flower, the title declaring it was an encyclopedia for flowers. “Oh what’s this? Snorkmaiden would love it.”

“An old flower guide I got when I was briefly into botany. Maybe Mr. Hemulen would enjoy that, though I bet he knows a great deal more than some outdated flower book could teach him.”

“To Snorkmaiden it shall go.”

The day was storming, with dangerous claps of thunder and lightning that filled their vision with a field of white. Mamma decided this would be the perfect day to clear up the basement of any unnecessary things so she may have more space to store jam and her newest fancy, pickling. As it was too stormy to go out and pass around books, Moomin pulled book after book from the chest and made neat little piles up for all his friends.

All except Snufkin.

Moomin was in a conundrum. He sat on his bedroom floor in a ring of neatly stacked books (the tallest stack going to the Mymble’s Daughter) and eyed an empty spot of floor where Snufkin’s pile would be.

He would never want a book. To borrow, sure, but he refused gifts that weren’t useful in a sense he could eat or use it to survive. He appreciated it when his spoon broke from wear and Pappa whittled him a new one. A book would weigh him down, no matter how interesting the story man be.

His eyes landed on the ivory flower encyclopedia at the bottom of Snorkmaiden’s stack. He pulled the book from the pile and situated himself at his desk and began to read.

—-

The storm passed a day later, and Moomin had trouble getting himself out of bed due to staying up all night reading the flower encyclopedia cover to cover, the fur around his wrist smudged with ink and dust. He passed out the books first thing after breakfast, then tucking the flower encyclopedia under his arm he trekked to one of the more remote parts of the valley where flowers bloomed in meadows of perfumed rainbows thanks to Mr. Hemulen.

He sat amongst the swaying tulips, their silken petals standing tall and regal were being heavily scrutinized by Moomin as he eyed the dainty flowers and the page to its illustration in the book.

“Whatcha up to?” Little My popped out of a hydrangea bush, the pale blue petals caught in her hair.

Moomin gasped and slammed the book shut in alarm, a flush warming his snout. “It’s none of your business, Little My. Now would you please leave me alone? I’m in the middle of something here.”

“Oh no, if it’s none of my business then clearly it is my business,” she huffed and crawled closer, her red bun bobbing between the tulip stocks. “Spit it out, Moomintroll. I wanna know or else I’ll eat all of Moominmamma’s marmalade before you can have any.”

“Mamma would never let you do that,” Moomin protested.

“No one can make me do anything. Tell me or I’ll eat your snack stash, too.”

“How do you- oh never mind. I’m trying to make a flower crown for Snufkin’s hat.”

Little My quirked a brow, her devious green eyes glinted with her malevolent spirit. She stood to her full height, not impressively high, but she made up for it in gusto. “You make him flower crowns all the time for his hat. What’s so special- ah. I see.” She had leaned over to look at the book in his paws. Before Moomin could tighten his grip, Little My had snatched the book from him and bounded away with her cackling laughter.

“No, Little My! Come back!” He scrambled after her. It wasn’t long until their chase ended spectacularly with Moomin face down in mulch and Little My on his back flipping through the book the size of her whole body.

“Tulips… tulips… tulips… oh, here we go! ‘A declaration of love’,” she read out. “Moomintroll, a tulip isn’t a flower you can easily make into a wreath, the stem is all thick and hollow. Now why won’t you pick an easier flower to declare your undying love for Snufkin, like oh say, a red rose?”

“That’s generic and- how do you know I love Snufkin?”

“Everyone in Moominvalley knows you have a big fat crush on Snufkin, everyone but he knows at least,” Little My explained. “I recommend you be a little less cryptic about it and get him a bouquet of roses then sing him a love song, then maybe his own obliviousness will kick in and he’ll say that was a lovely performance thank you for the roses now how about we go fishing?”

“I’m not trying to be… you know… obvious. I don’t,” Moomin hesitated. “I don’t want to scare him off.”

“Trust me a flower crown made of tulips will if the song won’t. The stems will crack and bleed all over and his beloved hat with be covered in tulip blood,” she said nonchalantly as she idly flipped through the book.

“Do you have any other ideas for flowers or was it really going to be a daisy chain of broken tulips?”

“Fine I won’t do tulips. And, well.”

—-

Moomin found Snufkin perched on the lower branches of a chestnut tree, his hat was tipped over his face as he lounged against the trunk for an afternoon nap. Moomin climbed up the tree, his arm looked through the wreath of flowers. Snufkin felt the tree shudder under Moomin’s weight and lifted the brim of his hat, eyes droopy from sleep but a small smile still graced his face.

“How do you do, Moomintroll?” Snufkin greeted.

“Hullo, Snufkin.” Moomin pulled himself up into a branch next to Snufkin’s and held up the flower crown. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

“An interesting choice of flowers,” Snufkin said with a small laugh.

It was indeed a mess of flowers, as usually Moomin just picked whatever was nearby and the colors usually at least coordinated. This time it was a jumbled, disorganized wreath, but it had meaning.

“I gave everyone books from the cellar today, but you don’t like owning books so I learned something from one of them and made you a wreath for your hat based on my learnings.” Moomin passed said wreath to Snufkin, who delicately took it and started turning it around in his paws, taking in the smallest forget-me-nots, to the largest roses.

“Do tell me what did you learn,” Snufkin said. His eyes were hidden by the brim of his hat.

Moomin gulped, his heart danced a rhythm in his chest that matched the booming thunderstorm from the previous day. “Cosmos, the white ones with lots of long, thin petals, ‘joy in love and life’.”

The smile on Snufkin’s face grew a tad wider. “I like the sound of that,” he said softly.

“The yellow freesia, the ones that look like little cones, mean ‘trust and everlasting friendship’,” Moomin continued.

The smile on Snufkin’s face grew so soft it made Moomin’s heart burn with a warmth that matched the softness of a rose’s petal.

He gulped, but continued. “The purple pansy is- is to ‘think of me’. And the little blue forget-me-nots are to ‘not forget me’.”

Snufkin’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh, Moomintroll…”

“And the rose, the golden one, is.” It hurt to breathe. “I’ve ‘fallen in love’. The red roses are… ‘I love you, Snufkin’.”

He said it. He finally said it and now he needs to leave before Snufkin said he needs to leave and never return.

Snufkin gently placed the wreath atop his hat. When he looked up, his eyes were full of words Moomin didn’t know the language of and his mouth started to open, as if to translate them.

“I need to go,” Moomin said before Snufkin could say those words.

“Moomintroll, wait. I-“ Snufkin started to reach for him. Moomin dodged out of the way and hopped down from the low branch and hit the ground running.

He didn’t dare look back.

[fitnesshealthyoga-blog]

New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/how-to-create-an-altar-for-your-own-unique-practice/

How to Create an Altar for Your Own Unique Practice

Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d be spending my mornings writing about the power of creating altars, and my evenings meditating around them with others. But the power of intention is real, and I’ve found that practicing or meditating in front of an altar can be a great way to manifest those intentions. As we begin to turn toward 2019, preparing an altar as a dedicated space to the bounty, gratitude, and blessings in your life and where you’d like to go is a great practice to wind down the year and look forward.

Altars are not uniform across the world—though they traditionally are any kind of structure or platform where sacrifices and offerings are made. They’re not exclusive for one kind of occasion, nor are they reserved for the most spiritual among us. They come in all shapes and sizes and vary in uses across religions and philosophies. My personal use of altars crept up on me. I began to notice altars tucked away in corners at all the yoga studios I visited. I admired roadside altars outside temples. And I began to appreciate and realize that the more I meditated and practiced yoga, the more I felt a need to focus my efforts toward something.

Here we have arrived at the most important reason to create an altar: a focus for one’s efforts or heartfelt intentions. It provides a very real and very simple reminder of what is important to you and what you are working toward. The objects you adorn your altar with represent these goals and inspirations and remind us to stay on our paths. Take time to sit in meditation and decide what you would like to clear out and bring in to your life. As you create your altar, keep your intentions in mind and perhaps write them on a piece of paper to place on your altar.

Decorating Your Altar

The foundation of the altar can be a plate, tray, scarf, slab of marble or wood, or just use the floor, table, or shelf that you have. In many traditions, photos of teachers, mentors, loved ones, or other inspirations are placed on the altar. Add rocks, crystals, gems, flowers, fruit, jewelry, totem animals, singing bowls, or anything that is special and meaningful for you.

Placing a deity on your personal altar—particularly a deity whose qualities you seek—is a common practice among Wanderlust teachers. Gina Murdock, Chris Loebsack, Lauren O’Connell, and Basil Jones (“to remember that obstacles can be essential elements that help us find strength”) all have a statue of Ganesha on their altars. Bob Speck honors the spirit of Hanuman on his altar. “I look at Hanuman as the embodiment of the four yogas (Bhakti, Jnana, Karma, and Raja). I see myself more clearly when I sit in Hanuman’s presence,” he says.

Candles or incense are also common altar objects. I love the symbolism of smoke and fire—the burning away of the old, the transformation of what no longer serves, the fuel to maintain an inner power and strength. Wanderlust teacher Sally Sherman keeps it simple with “a good mat, a block for my seat, and one single candle.”

Your altar can be decorated according to each season (with the flora/fauna to accompany it), or to symbolize an element (air, earth, water, fire). Many may choose to include some sort of crystal arrangement. Taylee Wilson keeps rose quartz, amethyst, green aventurine, and clear quartz on her altar; Lauren adorns hers with rose quartz and amethyst as well, plus red jasper and citrine. Kyle Buller’s collection of rocks and crystals sit among his rattle, medicine bag, palo santo, sage sticks, feathers, candles, plants, and a little bit of tobacco. “My altar has more of a shamanic flavor to it,” he says. He isn’t the only one to bring living things to his sacred space. When asked what her altar essentials are, Nikki Vilella enthusiastically responded, “plants!”

It can be as elaborate or as simple as you like. In my house I have several altars on shelves of all sizes. They move around within my space, and some pieces travel with me on retreats around the world.

Where to Place Your Altar

Altars can be anywhere! Perhaps you set up a permanent one in a quiet corner of your home where you like to practice yoga or sit in meditation. You could create different altars weekly on a side table where you drink your morning tea and reflect upon the day ahead. Or, you could write a simple quote for remembrance on a chalkboard. Try having pieces displayed on a shelf that remind you of travels you’ve taken, and these pieces go on all your travels with you. The possibilities are endless, as are the sizes and the meanings of each altar we design.

Taking your treasures with you when you travel is important to Wanderlust teacher Joe Barnett. “I have a little packet of items that are dear to me. I set them up wherever I land,” he says. “It is a constantly rotating series of items that have been gifted to me or found in the outdoor spaces where I practice. Currently this includes Snufkin + Stinky from the Moomins (a Finnish children’s book), the Angel De La Guarda that was handed to me by a passing stranger in Mexico City, a sacred (yet common) coin given to me by my students in Japan, and stones from various magical places. These items are wrapped in cloth for traveling.”

Whether to deepen your connection to prayers, to the divine, to the source, or to love, altars are a beautiful symbol of our cycles: from inspiration from our pasts, to the abundance in our futures.  They hold our intentions, and when we are ready, we let them go and move toward a new altar with new intentions.

—

Carolyn Anne Budgell (BA, ERYT 200, Kula 75) loves teaching vinyasa yoga and meditation from a realistic, down-to-earth, and light-hearted perspective in Vancouver, BC. Carolyn discovered yoga in 1999 as a ski bum in Whistler and now leads Yoga Teacher Trainings for Wanderlust Festival and Lila Vinyasa School of Yoga, created free online yoga classes as an Ambassador for lululemon, and has mentored at teen girl yoga camps to increase female empowerment (Girlvana). Check out her website for free meditations and real talk blog posts. 

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[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

[goodlucktai]

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.

[lilmistermaya]

Moomin Fic: Twigs

yeah, I have like...5 different fics in progress that I have been lazy on thanks to a lack of sunshine and seasonal depression on top of the regular depression. 

so for the few of you who follow me because of my writing, have a draft of a new fic

Snufkin was late heading out of the valley. 

Normally he left as soon as the first snowflakes fluttered down from the greying sky. But he and moomin had caught colds, and he’d spent an extra week fussing on moomin and being fussed on in turn. He still had a cough and his chest felt thick and full, but he finally had to head out. The snow would be worse in the mountains, and he didn’t want to get caught when the pass filled up with snow. 

Half way up, he was regretting this decision to hike. He’d be fine in another day or so, he’d be fine when he got to warmer climes. But his head was pounding and he was so cold- he could barely feel the warmth from his coffee mug. The cold was settling in his chest, and the chilly damp weather wasn’t making him feel any better. 

He was stubborn, he liked, no, he needed this time to wander but- he knew when he was beat. Best option was to head back to the moomin house to recover in warmth and comfort while the family hibernated for winter. Moominmamma had already invited him to come back if he needed to. 

Maybe he could even curl up in moomin’s bed, hibernate with him for a while, he considered dreamily. Warm. he’d do anything to be warm right now. He’d wrapped his blanket around himself as wet snow rained down on him, but it didn’t help. 

And breathing was a labor, he had to stop constantly to catch his breath, to wait out a coughing fit. It was a constant ache now, sore from the constant coughing fits that doubled him over and brought tears to his eyes. 

Yes, he was defeated. Best to retreat to safety. 

The days were getting shorter, and it was quite dark by the time he reached the steps of the moominhouse. The house itself was dark, the family tucked in for the long winter hibernation, and he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. It was always so full of life, always moomin there waiting for him, and it felt like… 

He shook off the melancholy, steadying himself on the door frame. The last mile or so had been hard, he felt like his head was detached from his body and it was hard to tell where all the parts of him were. He’d love nothing more than to lay flat, anywhere, on anything, just for a little while. But he needed to get the wet clothing off, warm up. Take medicine. Then he could crawl into moomin’s bed.

He stoked up the kitchen stove, then sat to try and take off his boots. They were wet and icy, and his fingers wouldn;t obey him. It didn’t help that he was having a hard time focusing, things wanted to blur, spin… he closed his eyes, gripping the side of the table to steady himself. He needed to get them off. His little knife made quick work of the wet knot, to get the icy boots and socks off. Carefully, holding on to the table, he managed to get his wet pants off too. His head felt worse, moving too fast made the room rock from side to side like he was on a boat. He needed to dry off now, something to drink, but the spinning got worse-

Moominmamma hadn’t really been sleeping. Oh she dozed, lightly dreamed, but not the deep sleep of hibernation yet. 

She’d been having a bad feeling…

She drowsed against her husband’s back, hearing the kitchen door open and close. Footsteps, things moving. 

A thump. She was wide awake with that. 

She slipped on her robe and padded her way downstairs. It would not pay to panic, but something was wrong-

The kitchen was warm, snufkin’s pack and coat by the door, his boots under the table- snufkin’s crumpled figure next to them. He looked pale in the dim light, and she could hear his breathing rattling, even from the doorway. 

Carefully, it would not help to panic or rush just yet, she rolled him onto his back, patted his face. He burned under her paws. Snufkin mumbled, opening his eyes for a few moments before drifting back to where he’d been.

[mirai-eats]

1/6/2019:: Soft

Snufkin/Moomin, Moomins, 755 words, for Mune

The summer heat always melted away to a chill, the humidity sucked from the air leaving a dazed sleepiness Moominvalley was unsure of what to do with quite yet. After the excitement of the summer season, the drifting golden leaves and the greying skies felt surreal to the brilliant blue and burnt green they were so used to.

Moomin could feel the chill in the morning, a brush of goosbumps through his still thinned summer coat and a breath of fog over the horizons. He was up earlier than usual, as he and Snufkin had promised to go fishing before first light that morning. The sun had yet to rise, but the steel sky warned of the approaching dawn.

Snufkin was waiting for him at the bridge, a bucket in one paw and his fishing rod resting casually on his shoulder in the other. His eyes were focused on the ridge of mountains surrounding the valley, their deep shadows a looming figure just beyond their reach.

“Good morning, Snufkin,” Moomin greeted, his breath misting like the grass at his feet.

“Good morning, Moomintroll,” Snufkin tipped his hat. “Shall we get going?”

They set off upstream, following the water that ran from the mountain and cut through Moominvalley. Snufkin had found a creek the day prior with a load of fish swimming about a little bit up the mountain slope, in which he straight away told Moomin about it as a new adventure for them. Their trek up to the mysterious creek teaming with life was peacefully quiet, the day too early to strike up any conversation as both were satisfied with the stillness of the morning. Songbirds were emerging from their burrows for their routine morning calls, the shrill chirps echoed through the forest as if magnified by the fog. Moomin could feel their song resonate in his bones.

The creek was lovely, tucked away from the main valley and with a perfect rock to perch upon while they fished without having to soak their bums up in the mud. The surface of the creek shivered with morning goers, the cool mist clinging to the crystal water as if afraid to dip its toes into the delicate surface. A waterfall trickled a stream into the little oasis, bouncing off rocks in a way it could probably make a rainbow on a sunny, cloudless day.

Snufkin and Moomin squeezed atop the rock together and cast their lines, so close Moomin could smell the asters and woodbine crowning his hat. He did his best to ignore the soft fragrance, a perfume that did nothing to mask Snufkin’s natural odor of dirt, sweat, fish, and whatever he smoked. It wasn’t tobacco like Pappa did sometimes, something sweeter.

“You’re soft,” Snufkin suddenly broke the silence. He reeled in a small fish, the scales shimmering in the weak, morning light, and tossed it back out to live another day. “You don’t have a winter coat now, yet you’re very soft already.”

Moomin felt heat rise in his cheeks. “I wash my fur regularly. If it gets too gross I get itchy.”

Snufkin hummed in the back of throat, his pipe, unlit, bobbing between his teeth. “It’s a good thing then.” He leaned a little closer and let the back of his paw brush against Moomin’s arm, hesitantly taking in the softness.

Moomin then felt a slight tremor running through Snufkin, barely noticeable, but Moomin only noticed it because of their proximity. “Are you alright?” Moomin asked.

“To be honest, I’m a little cold,” Snufkin admitted. “It’s alright, nothing I can’t handle.”

He might be able to handle it, but Moomin couldn’t. “Come here,” he said. He reached an arm around Snufkin’s shoulders and pulled him closer to his soft, freshly conditioned fur.

“There’s no need-” Snufkin started to protest, but cut off when Moomin pressed Snufkin’s chilled cheek to his warm shoulder. “Oh,” was all he said, his breath a cold puff across Moomin’s fur.

“I have plenty of body heat to spare, and soon I’ll have more than enough fur to keep me warm,” Moomin said with a slight huff, the beginnings of a laugh.  

“Thank you, Moomintroll.” Snufkin shifted, still pressed close to Moomin’s side, but able to hold his fishing rod properly.

They sank into each other, the mist of the morning dissipating to the watery sun that tried it’s best to shine weakly through the autumn air, a last attempt before the winter cold moved in and took away her warmth, and Snufkin’s presence, in Moominvalley.

[mirai-eats]

4/6/19:: Garden

An AU I made on Twitter not to long ago, except they’re not human like I drew them lol. heavily implies Snufkin/Moomin, 1.386 words, for Mune

The Moomins owned a house so large it could fit a whole village comfortably within its walls, the garden so vast even Moominmamma herself didn’t know the exact square footage of the property. Moominpappa had gotten substantial money from his writings, especially the memoirs. He earned money by the boatloads from people clamoring for more of his work, more of his worded art and delicate imagery that pulled the heartstrings in just the right tune. Moominmamma was proud of her husband, and even more proud of the lovely estate they ran. The house was lovely, a bit messy despite the servants they paid to help keep the place tidy, it was always a little askew, a little dusty, and very much homely.

The estate was so grand, people were constantly coming in and out of the doors- for a good meal, a conversation, a little company, or just a place to stay a bit. Everyone knew the Moomins had plenty of room to share and were more than willing to let someone stay as long as they pleased. If they had harbored a criminal or two, well, Moominmamma wasn’t a snitch now was she?

Of all the guests who have passed in and out of their entryway the one who’s stayed the longest and kept coming back was Snufkin. A vagabond who pitched his tent up for the spring and summer then left in the fall to travel south. He refused to stay on their property without earning his keep, and thus Moominmamma and Moominpappa let him tend to the garden for the sunshine seasons and in the fall, he took care to prepare the garden for the snow before disappearing for a few months. He was the only one who ever tended to the garden, besides Moominmamma, and somehow managed to take care of every inch of space in his own wild way.

That is to say, he would keep the plants alive and thriving and let them grow as naturally as they wanted to. Sometimes Moominmamma would have to beg him to please prune the wild sweet peas from growing over the path. Despite that, he was a hard worker who kept the garden thriving as wildly as it pleased.

Wisteria dripped from the hanging arches that lined the cobblestoned path in a drapery of purple, the sweet-smelling purple drip drops of flowers fell into one’s fur in the height of spring. Roses took every color possible wherever it so pleased, the most stunning was the large, pale pink ones Snufkin had planted near Moominpappa’s office which bloomed right outside his window as his own little show. Honeysuckle and star jasmine crept up the side of the house and low fences low as they were nothing more than a space to give flowers to grow. They had gates and archways all over the property perimeter for anyone to stroll in and admire the garden or have a cup of tea with the Moomins. Hollyhocks took to the sky, larkspur, lobelias, bachelor’s buttons, tulips, and so many nameless flowers of every shape, size, and color bloomed their delicate fragrance and filled the manor with its tender touch when the windows were thrown wide open. A weeping willow bent over a pond, where a gazebo sat on the other side for afternoon tea when the days were just right, pansies, impatiens, gerbera daisies, and amaryllis cupped the white gazebo. Trees grew tall and small, blooming the smallest flowers to the largest, sweetest fruit and sometimes nothing but its seeds to blow away in the sweet breeze.

In the summer, the flowers didn’t stop, they simply changed to new flowers that enjoyed the warmer climate. Sunflowers chased the sun every day, lilies fo the Nile’s hands bloomed in bursts of long leaves and sturdy stocks. Cosmos, golden poppies, zinnias, petunias, and marigolds sprouted as they pleased, the black-eyed Susans gave the windows a warmer glow when the afternoon sun hit them just right. Bushes of lavender and astilbe waved their long stems at anyone who walked by, dahlias took on every color it could choose, it’s sweet, pom-poms growing large under Snufkin’s care and Moominmamma’s love. Of her favorite flowers, besides the roses that grew nearly all year round, the peonies took a close second in her heart with no petal looking like the next and delicate scent reminded Moominmamma of her marriage with Moominpappa, their wedding filled with these flowers in pinks and whites.

During the autumn things still bloomed but struggled to do so under the shuddering reds and golds of the dying trees and the raining needles that buried their petals. Snufkin took charge in turning the soil so the flowers may die in their mulch graves and be reborn again for the next year, dead vines are trimmed back and the remnants of the wisteria are plucked and put back into the earth. Then, once the garden is freshly buried, Snufkin packs up his tent he pitched in a patch of nasturtiums (or where they used to be by that point) and leaves to travel south for the late fall and the rest of winter.

Now, even though the garden is hers, she did not know every nook and cranny, every secret it held under every camellia bud and between each bunch of lilacs. Those secrets were kept by Snufkin and the only person he cared to share them were with her son, Moomintroll. A spry young boy, that one was, with wide blue eyes like bluebell flowers and a smile that put the sunniest day to shame. The two would run off in the morning and return by dinner with leaves in their fur and grass stains on their knees.

She had always wondered what they were up to, but never would she even dream of invading her son’s and his friend’s privacy to sate her curiosity. There is no reason for her to be breathing down their necks, she figured, she would much rather live with the idle wondering.

Suppose her questions were answered when she was wandering down one of the winding paths to a bench she adored, where the roses bloomed so brilliantly it was as if she was in a bath of their fragrance. The paths always changed, as Snufkin shifted the stones around each year to accommodate wherever the flowers decided to grow. There are plenty of dead ends and forks in the road to get anyone turned around, but the Moomins enjoyed the adventure.

With a cup of lemonade in her hand and a book she found interesting in Moominpappa’s library, she passed by the wall of hydrangeas, so tall and wide her ears barely cleared the top. They rose and fell as they seemed fit and was one of Little My’s favorite place to hide as the leaves her so wide and the branches so sturdy she could crawl around like it was her own jungle.

A whisper and a giggle broke through the spring air, not quite as devious sounding as Little My’s scheming laugh. A rustle from beyond the purple hydrangeas sparked Moominmamma’s curiosity to lean over and check between the leaves and fragrant bustles of flowers.

Hidden amongst the bush were Moomintroll and Snufkin, crouching in the mud with their backs to Moominmamma examining something at their feet. Grass and mud stained Moomintroll’s navy shorts, his back was scraped with dirt and there was a twig stuck to one of his suspenders, a stray pink petal sat atop his head. Snufkin next to him was as dirty as always, his trousers already the color of the earth and his shirt was bleached from the sun, the worn gardening gloves tucked away in his back pocket and boots were scrapped with dried mud. His hat which kept the sun and rain off his face was adorned with a crown of flowers from the garden, a gift most likely given by Moomintroll. They spoke quietly together, their shoulders touching.

When they leaned in close, the brim of Snufkin’s hat hiding their faces, Moominmamma pulled away and powerwalked as fast as she could to her spot.

“There was no need to share that secret with me, my garden,” she whispered. “It’s their secret to keep, and they may share their secrets as they please.”