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miraclemaiden · 9 months

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An Extra Sip of Mead

A Snufmin fic, chapter 1

Summary: Spring has sprung in Moominvalley, and with it comes a special event; a wedding! Preparations and revelry are completely halted, however, when Snufkin's father, the Joxter, returns to make peace with his mistakes, and his son. Hurt becomes healing as the Joxter is determined to get back into Snufkin's good graces, in any way he possibly can. The real question is, would Snufkin even want his father involved in his long-awaited wedding to Moomin? He fears that he may have opened a can of worms that he'll be unable to get out of...

Back Home, Wherever Home Is

Spring. The pleasing pastels coming to life all around, leftover snow collapsing from the newly budded leaves, and a jaunt played on an old harmonica. Certainly, that raspy metal tune did more to herald the season than anything else in Moominvalley. It stirred the inhabitants to life as it approached. Through the forest, through the fields, and halfway across the babbling brook, whereupon it would come to a halt on the wooden bridge and serenade one member of the valley in particular.

Though everyone allowed the harmonica to pamper them as they arose from hibernation, they knew for whom the tune was truly written.

Blue, bleary eyes fluttered open in the lilting sunlight hovering from the bedroom window. The white fluff inhabiting the bed lifted himself to a sitting position, stretching every muscle from his snout to his tail. He yawned and rubbed his still sleepy eyes. Then, he listened. Ah… there it was. The muffled notes on that harmonica playing just for him. A soft smile and a flick of the tail, the troll was trotting to the window and pushing it open. He could now clearly hear – and see – the source he had been dreaming about all winter.

Snufkin. He perched in his usual spot on the bridge, settled comfortably on the railing. Even from Moominhouse, it was clear that the mumrik had a newfound energy that he didn’t carry with him most years. That, the troll thought to himself with a playful wiggle of the snout, was because that spring was not just any spring. He grabbed a knitted olive sweater from the back of his desk chair and a satchel, being careful not to swing it around too harshly. Its contents were positively sacred.

The mumrik contentedly played his yearly tune until he could hear the pattering of his companion’s paws drawing near. He opened one eye halfway, feeling the corners of his lips tugging into a smile. Snufkin lowered his harmonica and hopped down from the bridge railing. He pocketed his instrument just in time to be greeted with a warm, delighted embrace, which he gladly returned.

“Hullo, Moomin.” Snufkin mused, his smooth voice muffled by the troll’s thick fur. Upon hearing his name, Moomin’s tail wagged.

“Hiya Snufkin!” Moomin nuzzled the mumrik, paws gripping his smock to keep him close. That first hug after a long, lonely winter was something too special to let go of in an instant. Thankfully, Snufkin didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, he was overjoyed. His arms tightened a smidge, resting over Moomin’s shoulders and getting lost in his soft white scruff. Perhaps they both needed a trim, but in that moment, neither lad cared much. They had bigger plans that day. At last, the two parted, keeping close to one another. Moomin nudged his snout forward and pressed it to Snufkin’s lips. The mumrik chuckled. He returned the gesture by softly tilting the troll’s head to the side so he could pepper kisses across his cheek. They beamed, bright blue eyes losing themselves in burned bark.

Snufkin broke the silence first. “Are you ready to head out?”

Moomin nodded. “Goodness, Snufkin,” he intertwined his paw with Snufkin’s hand, and practically dragged him forward. “I’ve been ready since the day you left!”

Fair enough, Snufkin thought as he allowed his beloved Moomintroll to lead the way to their secret spot.

The two had much to be excited about. The prior autumn, on Snufkin’s last day in Moominvalley, the mumrik had asked Moomin to meet him on the bridge before his departure. Moomin of course agreed and joined his companion without hesitation. Snufkin, however, seemed quite tense. His thin little mumrik tail flicked to and fro out of rhythm. He pulled at the brim of his hat as he was oft to do when he desired a hiding place. Moomin saw right through this, as always.

“Snufkin, whatever could the matter be?”

Snufkin shifted at his dearest companion’s question. Their proximity, the gentle breeze between them, and the feelings of anxiety burning between his shoulder blades. He took a deep, shaky breath before responding.

“We’ve known each other for ages now, haven’t we?”

Moomin tilted his head. “Yes. And the years have been so kind to us.”

“I agree.” Snufkin gulped. “I wanted to thank you, Moomin. I know that who I am… who I am is not the easiest to adjust to. Every winter that I depart and have to watch your heart break over and over leaves quite a burn on me as well, you know.”

“Is that so? Do you really mean that?” Moomin’s brows furrowed. In the back of his mind, he was all aflutter hearing Snufkin confess something like that. He knew the type of person Snufkin was. Mysterious, curious, restless. Kept satisfied by moving ever forward, nose to the treetops and boots crunching the earth underfoot. He always felt honored that this vagabond devoted so much of his year to staying tethered in Moominvalley. He never questioned it, though it certainly surprised him to know that Snufkin did feel some sort of regret when he had to leave.

Snufkin took a step back. Moomin reacted naturally by holding up a hand to draw the mumrik closer, until he spoke up again.

“Indeed, I do. That’s why…” Snufkin dug around in his pocket until he found what it was he was looking for, making a soft ‘ah’ as he did. Shaky hands unveiled something small and shimmering. A silver ring, dyed hues of purple and orange in the setting autumn sun. He knelt down and cupped Moomin’s paw. “That’s why I feel I need to remedy some of this heartache in any way I can. I will never be able to fully settle, but please, Moomin, let me be a part of you when I’ve gone away. I want this to hold us together even when you’re asleep in the dead of winter and I’m far, far away, in the South or beyond.”

Moomin’s fur puffed up and he felt his body shudder. Was this happening? Really and truly? “Snufkin… am I understanding you? You want to wed?”

At Moomin pointing things out so bluntly, Snufkin found his whole face exploding with bright red color and heat. It had taken him months to build up the courage to do this, and in an instant, his beloved knocked all of the confidence from him and sent him spiraling. His dark brown eyes darted everywhere but Moomin. He didn’t want him to see how much this had rattled him, but thankfully Moomin was not a foolish troll. He slid down into Snufkin and embraced him gently. He could feel the mumrik tense, then soften in his paws.

“I should think that is a fantastic idea. Yes.” Moomin squeezed Snufkin, urging him to return his hug as he accepted the mumrik’s proposal. “Yes, I would love to. More than anything!”

Despite the fact that the cards had been in his favor that year, and goodness, they had been for many years, Snufkin positively crumbled upon hearing his childhood friend, the one he trusted over anyone else, his first and only love, say yes to marrying him. He let himself burst into tears and wrap himself entirely around Moomin, his Moomin. The two laughed and snuggled, and danced together under the falling leaves. They shared a bashful kiss in the late evening before Moomin sent Snufkin off, waving to him with his left paw so his new betrothed could see the ring in its place. The mumrik practically skipped away that night.

“Moomin? Darling, we’re here.”

Moomin was dragged from his reverie by Snufkin cupping his cheeks with his hands. He was smiling ever so softly at him, adoration melting from those deep brown eyes. He kissed Moomin’s snout before gesturing to the field around them. It was such a perfect day. The flowers were almost all fully bloomed, and their sweet perfume drifted over the two lovers. The clouds above cast plump shadows down here and there. Moomin and Snufkin made their way to one of the many apple trees scattered about the clearing, and joined hands once they were under the shade of it. Sunbeams escaping through the leaves made Snufkin’s eyes dance with brilliant gold, and as Moomin gazed at him, he became overwhelmingly bashful. One could see the powdery pink blush even under all that fur.

“We haven’t seen each other since that day… what did we come up here for, exactly?” Moomin attempted to distract himself by gripping at the bottom of his sweater, tracing the cable-knit fabric. Snufkin chuckled. Though it had been his idea to have a day together as soon as he returned to the valley, he hadn’t exactly kept the best track of what it was that he wanted to achieve. Aside from exploration and enjoying his winter travels, his mind had gotten caught up in the merriment of wedding planning. Much as it made the mumrik flush to think about, his love for Moomin and the union they had agreed to create occupied his mind and captured his full attention. Heavens forbid Moomin ever found out how many times Snufkin tripped over things in his path or burned himself starting a campfire because he had gotten distracted that winter… no, he could still keep his fascinating, enigmatic façade up for his own comfort.

“I thought that, before a formal wedding,” Snufkin began. He cleared his throat and squeezed one of Moomin’s paws. “If you would want a formal wedding, that is… we could-“

“We should exchange rings now!”

Moomin suddenly interrupted, a habit he knew bothered Snufkin greatly. The mumrik merely snorted in amusement.

“Exchange, you say?” Snufkin marveled at the ring that was already resting quite comfortably on Moomin’s finger. “And here I thought I had done something grandiose when I proposed.”

“You did! You absolutely did! I just didn’t want to be the only one wearing a ring here.” The troll rifled through his satchel, then motioned for Snufkin to close his eyes. Snufkin sighed in delight and did as instructed. He could feel the cool sensation of a ring being slid onto his finger. Admittedly, he never thought that Moomin would return his gesture. His beloved knew his opinion on material possessions, but perhaps it only made sense for Snufkin to be the one wearing a ring after all. He was the adventurer, the wanderer. Having something on his person visible to show that he was a married man would be sensible.

“Okay Snufkin, you can look now.”

The mumrik lowered his gaze to his left hand. He gasped at the sight of it.

“Mu-Moomintroll! Where on earth did you… an… an emerald?!” Snufkin almost tore the ring off to get a better look from each and every angle, but he refused his urges out of politeness towards Moomin. His lower lip quivered, as he watched the sunlight bounce off of the polished emerald embedded in its gold band. The gem was cut like a diamond; masterfully, as if it was collected from a specialist. The Hemulen, perhaps? “Oh, Moomin… are you truly sure you’d like to give this to me?”

Moomin nodded gleefully. “Of course! To be honest, I thought about my own ring for quite some time before I settled down for hibernation. Thingumy and Bob were awake at the time as well, and they suggested an emerald for you.”

Snufkin couldn’t stop staring at his new ring. An emerald. When the pair had investigated the Queen’s Emerald in their youth, the mumrik buckled down that winter and stopped by as many libraries as he could in search of information on precious gems. Emeralds, as it was said, encourage the reception and gift of true and unconditional love. Remembering those nights spent reading by candlelight, feeling his cheeks dust over thinking about unconditional love as a concept, and his childhood crush on his dearest friend… never did he think that he would be here now. Engaged to said best friend. He couldn’t contain his joy. Tears pricking the sides of his eyes, he lifted Moomin’s snout and kissed him on the lips. Wholly, softly, with his heart. Moomin made a hum in his throat as he jolted in surprise. The troll didn’t know if he would ever get used to this side of Snufkin. But now that the dam had opened, Snufkin couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He was in love. Desperately. Being completely and utterly free after years of yearning.

Without realizing it, Snufkin had knocked poor Moomin back into the flowers with the ferocity of his affections. The mumrik blushed. He rested on Moomin’s soft tummy, legs on either side of him. The troll gazed in astonishment up at his fiancé. His mumrik features were so subtle, one could completely overlook them unless they were close like this. The slight narrowness of his pupils, the way his ears came to a rounded point hidden under his messy auburn hair. His sun kissed skin painted with freckles. This view belonged to Moomin now, and Moomin alone.

“I love you, Snufkin.”

Snufkin beamed. His smile was wide enough to show his tiny, sharp fangs. “I love you too, Moomin.”

~~~

Later in the evening, after returning Moomin home, Snufkin once again found his usual camping spot and set up his tent. Being on the road for so long, he wanted to take extra time to do his laundry and care for his personal needs. He would leave breaking the big news of their engagement to Moomin. The mumrik was quite exhausted after such a harsh season, and sleep was calling to him.

Snufkin made himself comfortable on the riverbank. He leaned over a bucket and washboard that Moominmamma had graciously lent him, scrubbing the dirt from a particularly stubborn pair of trousers. The mumrik was grateful for the slight chill in the air; without it, he imagined that he would be sweating a fair bit as he toiled away. While he hated baths, he found cleaning his clothes to be rather therapeutic. Washing away the physical remnants of the winter, the caked-on mud, the musky scents, the pine bristles. It brought about a feeling of renewal as much as the changing of the seasons themselves. The evening was nearly perfect.

Clothes freshly wrung and hung to dry in the tree above Snufkin’s tent, fire kindled, fish acquired for a nice supper. Snufkin completed his mental checklist and cozied into a quilt while he pulled the crispy flesh from his trout. Moomin had offered dinner to his dear mumrik, but Snufkin didn’t wish to be a bother in that moment. Besides, having everyone in Moominvalley jumping him and congratulating the pair on their engagement was not something he was prepared to deal with his first night back. He would feel more prepared in the morning, when he expected all the wedding planning would start.

“Ah, a wedding.” Snufkin mumbled, his mouth still full of fish. “Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would be planning a wedding.”

“Neither did I, my kit. But here you are.”

The sudden voice made Snufkin leap from his blanket with a screech. He swiftly drew his pocket knife and flicked out the blade, holding it up in the direction of the voice. His breaths were jagged, but he called out with his chest puffed. “Do not ruin this day for either of us, stranger. Come out!”

The figure that came forth from the shadows slunk as a cat would. Its dress was familiar. Pointed red hat adorned with freshly picked wildflowers. A tattered green jacket with an equally as used yellow scarf tucked into its lapels. Striped trousers cuffed over brown combat boots. The most familiar thing of all was that face. The face of a mumrik.

“Now Snufkin… is that any way to talk to your Joxterpappa?” The Joxter smirked in the way only a mumrik could, his fangs peeking through his lips and his nose wiggling. This unwelcome interruption from his father drew a frustrated sigh out of Snufkin.

“Hoy then, Joxter.” Snufkin plopped his knife into his pack, turning his tail to the other mumrik as he returned to his cozy spot by the fire. “Why have you come to Moominvalley?”

Joxter joined his child, sprawling out on the ground far too close for Snufkin’s comfort. To be frank, having his estranged father anywhere near him at all was too close. The elder mumrik purred. He seemed to be chasing the stars appearing in the deep blue sky with his bright feline eyes, not completely hearing Snufkin’s question. Or at least, not responding right away.

“A little birdie informed me that my son was getting married soon. And seeing as I did not hear that from you, I came to speak with you myself.”

“You haven’t seen me since I was five years old.” Snufkin gnashed at each word spoken. He refused to look at the Joxter, though he knew those piercing blue eyes were boring holes into him. “You have this sudden interest in me and my affairs when the only thing you and Mymble did before you cast me out was create me? You call yourselves my parents. It has become painful to think that I ever had any.”

“Snufkin… you really detest me so?” The Joxter’s voice was dejected, barely a whisper. He turned over to his belly and propped himself up on his elbows. “I was not aware of how much damage we had done-“

“Not aware?!” Snufkin shouted and threw his skewer down. This outburst nearly made the Joxter flinch, but fortunately the elder mumrik was used to a house full of screaming children. After all, his beloved wife had thirty-four of them. Still, he steadied himself as his only son accosted him. He could swear that in the flickering embers of the campfire, Snufkin was… crying? Now that made the Joxter’s brows raise. He could practically see Snufkin as a wee toddler in front of him, bouncing up and hissing to be held by his father. The image was crushed as soon as it appeared when Snufkin continued. “Joxter. You threw me away. You threw your CHILD away. You and Mymble both. I didn’t even know you were my parents until Moominpappa read us his memoirs years ago. To show up here, now, during the happiest season of my life…”

The tears bubbling in the young mumrik’s eyes poured over. He stopped in that instant, quickly covering his face with his hands. How ashamed he felt. All of these things had been bottled up perfectly for years. Seeing his father in the flesh, not just in pictures and storybooks, made a cocktail of putrid emotions gurgle in his stomach. Though most of his mind craved an argument, or even just a fit of screaming, there was a small part of him that felt joy. The child within Snufkin who had known the Joxter, looked up to him as a crafty and intelligent mumrik, watched with incredulous eyes at his father. Taking him in. Forcing Snufkin to take his image in. The Joxter had aged gracefully. No wrinkles had appeared on his features as of yet, his being still encompassing the wild mumrik he was long before he had even met Mymble. Still looking as young as Snufkin was now.

“Why should I consider letting you in?” Snufkin whimpered. It was all he could manage. The Joxter sighed and brought himself close to his son, though not initiating any physical contact. With Snufkin feeling so strongly, he wouldn’t attempt anything rash.

“Child, you deserve to know why. Why your father did the things he did.” The two mumriks allowed their eyes to meet. Snufkin’s frown was deep, enraged, but the Joxter continued. “I will never claim to be a good father. Hard as I tried with all of my children, blood or no. You are… unquestionably, my son. And for the life you live, perhaps you are not inclined to believe me, but it destroyed our hearts to give it to you. I will show you. And you will understand.”

The Joxter finally moved past Snufkin, placing a paw on his son’s shoulder. “Let me speak with Moominpappa. We will show you, together. Please. Allow me your time.”

Snufkin grit his teeth. Those tugging emotions again. Wishing his father would bring him into a hug, then wishing for the opportunity to shove him away. “Joxter… if you’re going to act, act before the wedding. You have three days.”

This seemed to satisfy the Joxter. He stole a chance to lightly tousle his son’s already messy hair, then disappeared into the shadows.

Snufkin stood completely still. His campfire had died down to a small pile of glowing embers, leaving the mumrik bathed in the dark, cold night. He was unsure of what exactly the next few days would bring, and now that his father was involved, he went numb. How he wanted to see Moomin, to curl up in his lap and be soothed to sleep by his beloved’s paws in his hair, wash away the feeling of the Joxter’s. Snufkin mediated with himself, deciding that swallowing his pride and asking Moomin to stay the night felt far less agonizing than losing sleep over his father.

And so, Snufkin made for Moominhouse.

Thank you for reading! This is chapter 1 of a 3 chapter fic. You can follow along here, or on Archive and Fanfiction! 🌱

#moomin #snufmin #snufkin #moomin fanfiction #hurt/comfort #fanfic

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janetkwallace · 8 months

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Some side character appreciation + a Moomins drawing ♥

(From left to right)

Top: Teety Woo, Mabel and Houska

Middle: Vampire, Winsy, Nadya, Muffle and Emma's Niece

Bottom: Misabel and Alicia

Inspired by this tumblr post: https://www.tumblr.com/flowerbloom-arts/740577495095623680

#fanart #traditional art #moomins #abstract #drawing #moomin fanart #collage #nadya #houska #wimsy #misabel #teety woo #fillyjonk

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inkl1ngmeh · 1 year

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Moomin fanfic☆ Snufkin's hidden illness~ (not finished yet)

"Snufkin!" moomin called out happily as he ran out of moominhouse.

Snufkin turned around and smiled at him. "Hey moom-" He said in a raspy voice which was cut off by a sneeze. "Ooh.. sorry about that..." Snufkin said with some confusion whilst his face was in his hands. "It's fine, don't worry about it." moomin said, trying to comfort him.

"Ah! moomin help me pull the rod!" Snufkin said in a hurry as he tried pulling on the fishing line.

As they both pulled the rod, Snufkin suddenly let go and sneezed twice.

"Awh" moomin said "the fish got away". Moomin stared at Snufkin with worry.

They both got up and walked towards the bridge. Snufkin stopped suddenly and sneezed. he wiped his watery, red eyes with his hankerchief and sneezed again . He rubbed his nose with his handkerchief to get rid of the sneeze, which caused his nose to run more. "Snufkin?" moomin asked concernedly. "Are you okay?" He said while looking concernedly at Snufkin. " Yes.." he responded in a raspy voice.

"Moominmama made tea probably. would you like to stay for dinner?" moomin questioned. "Sure." snufkin responded. As they walked towards moominhouse, snufkin kept his hankerchief in his hands , wiping his nose every now and then. As they walked past the bridge, snufkin sneezed twice before grabbing his nose and wiping it with his handkerchief. As they opened the door, moominpapa greeted both of them. " Ah moomin, Snufkin! did you catch any fish today?" moominpapa asked

"not really papa. I think its too cold still" moomin said

Moominpapa took a quick glance at snufkin.

"Snufkin, are you ok?" moominpapa asked

Snufkin cleared his throat quickly before answering "Yes moominpapa I'm ok...Will you excuse me for a second?"

"Yes go right ahead." moominpapa responded

Snufkin speedily paced towards the door and went outside to the porch.

He took out his hankerchief and felt the urge to blow his nose.. But he didn't want to look suspicious... So instead, he sniffled loudly, which led to another fit of sneezes... This has happened quite a lot these past few days. The sneezing and the coughing had become worse over time... The last sneeze had been the worst, but still not as bad as the first one.

he went back inside and sat down near moominpapa. he kept his head down with the hankercheif covering his nose whilst hiding it also. The tea moominmama served before was still hot and the steam was causing his nose to run more. He sneezed again but it was muffled, somehow causing moominpapa to flinch slightly. "snufkin?" moominpapa asked

"Yes moominpa-" snufkin was cut off with a sneeze. "Sorry.." snufkin added on

" it's alright. is everything ok with you?" moominpapa asked

"Yes I'm fine moominpapa." snufkin responded whilst clearing his throat

"Teas done everyone!" moominmama said from the kitchen. moomin walked into the room where moominpapa and snufkin were and sat down with them.

when the food was served, everyone began talking and eating, but, snufkin stayed quiet and ate slowly. Snufkin grabbed the napkin next to him and dabbed his nose with it. a few minutes pass and the smell of everything made snufkin sneeze. everyone stared at him. without snufkin looking, he suddenly stood up and said " excuse me for a minute please" and ran outside onto the porch. His eyes were watering, his face was flushed and had a nose like a tap. Suddenly moominmama came outside with 2 small mugs of tea. "Snufkin?" moominmama asked concernedly

"Moominma-" Snufkin's words were abruptly interrupted by a sneeze."Moominma-" Snufkin's words were abruptly interrupted by a sneeze. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle the sound. " Sorry," he said with his head down. Moominmama reached into her purse and found a hankerchief and gave it to snufkin. He took it gratefully and just placed it on his nose. As the fabric touched his nose, he sneezed.

And soon enough another sneeze hit. Snufkin groaned as he leaned against the railing.

(back inside with moomin and moominpapa)

"do you think he's ok papa?" moomin questioned with concern

"Since mama's there then he should be" moominpapa responded

the front door suddenly opened. it was mama. Snufkin had decided to go back to his tent. he was exhausted and the only thing he wanted was sleep. mama noticed the two boys sitting at the dining table, and she immediately asked if anything was wrong.

Moominmama sat beside them. "Oh nothing's wrong mama..." moomin answered

She looked at moominpapa and walked into the kitchen.

(The next day)

"Morning moomin" moominmama said from the kitchen

"Morning mama" moomin replied " can I go see snufkin?" he added on

"Yes dear" moominmama said

(outside)

Snufkin was outside his tent. sat on a log infront of a small campfire he made that morning.

"Hey snufkin!" moomin called from the bridge

no answer

As moomin walked towards him more he repeated himself. "Hey snufkin" he repeated. Snufkin turned around, " Hello moomin." snufkin said in a sickly tone. "Oh, snufkin you sound off, more like awful." moomin said in a worrying tone. Snufkin was shaking from a fever and kept sneezing.

"sorry moom-" snufkin was cut off by another sneeze. moomin gave snufkin the handkerchief from the washing line . Snufkin took it and wiped his nose, sniffling occasionally.

"You don't look very good, Snufkin. We should go to moominhouse forsome tea" moomin commented

they both got up and stopped on the porch . Snufkin sneezed once more. As they entered the house, moomin took snufkin to the dining room and sat him on a chair.

Moominpapa walked in and saw snufkin with his head in hand on the table and his other hand in front of his nose. " Snufkin?" moominpapa asked "Are you okay?" He added

Snufkin looked up from his daze. "Yes a bit, moominpapa," he replied. moominpapa sat down whilst moomim went to get the tissue box from the other room. moominmama walked in the room with a tray of tea and gave one to snufkin. the steam from the tea caused his nose to twitch and hurt. He put the handkerchief over his nose and sneezed.

It was clear by the way how much pain he was in. moominmama was surprised and concerned for him. Snufkin suddenly fell off his chair and layed unconscious on the floor, his face was red and he was sweating. moominmama was alarmed and kneeled beside him. She lifted his head with one hand and checked his forehead. Her heart sank with worry when she found it slightly warm. "Oh no. he's burning up." moominmama panicked as she carried his limp body up the stairs and laid him on the bed. he woke up half an hour later and sat up slightly , trying to adjust to the bright light. he sneezed suddenly and rubbed his nose with the end of his sleeves. The door suddenly opened. it was moominmama and moomin, little my was there also. " Moominmama, why does snufkin look dead?" little my questioned

"i'm not dead!" snufkin responded whilst rubbing his nose

" and why does his voice sound weird, moominmama?" little my added

" because I have a cold, my" snufkin said with slight discomfort and irritation

he sneezed 3 times with his face in his hands and looked up a few seconds later and stared around. moominmama gave him some tea from grandmother's book of potions to help calm him down. After sipping the tea, snufkin sat back with a sigh.

Snufkin suddenly looked down with guilt.

Snufkin looked guilty. "Snufkin" moominmama started but stopped after seeing his expression change

moominpapa looked at them worriedly as moominmama speak. He had never seen Snufkin this Ill. In fact, he'd never seen snufkin get ill before. "You just need some rest snufkin. your cold symptoms are not the best." moominmama said as she was picking up the tray with the teacups on them. Snufkin nodded and sneezed suddenly. "Here, dear." moominmama said as she was passing snufkin the tissue box from the bedside table . "thanks." he muttered while taking some tissues from moominmammas' offering hand.

moominmama left the room, leaving snufkin with moomin and little my. "Snufkin?" moomin asked "should we leave you to rest?" moomin added

"If you want to." snufkin said as he tried to stay awake. A sudden wave of tiredness waved over him. his eyes began to flutter as he fell asleep.

#snufkin #moominvalley #moomins #moomin fanfiction

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erebius-moved · 1 year

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3-5 things that your character can be identified by.

emotions / feelings. grief. loneliness. self-loathing. anger. boredom.

colors. shades of brown. off-white. black.

scents. whiskey. weed. fresh dirt.

fashion. steely dan / old band t-shirt. black, sherpa-lined denim jacket. color coordinated layers.

objects. his denim jacket. acoustic guitar in the corner of his room. stuffed moomin under his bed. crushed carton of cigarettes. butterfly knife.

body language. scratching the back of his head. shifting his weight between both legs. constant fidgeting. self-conscious posture.

aesthetics. gnashing wolf teeth. dogs on leashes. wilting, dead flowers. the haze of blurry lights and muffled music when you’re wasted. looking at yourself from across the room.

tagged by: @godsgun <3 ! tagging: umm @lyriam :)

#dash games.#i like this one sm...

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flowerbloom-arts · 8 months

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The Moomins are gone. Oh no, what are we gonna do?

Coming soon: The "All New, All Different Moomins", starring just the minor/side characters of the series, people's reaction ranging from "Oh I've seen them before" to "Who the heck is that?".

Featuring: Nadya the Russian Spy, Winsy the Hermulen, Alicia the teenage witch, Misabel the depressed maid, Mabel (Mrs. Fillyjonk's maid), Aunt Emma's Niece, Muffle, Vampire, Houska and Teety-Woo.

Just a funny concept I had in mind hehe. I thought about that weird period of X-Men books following the Inferno arc were the main cast was seemingly dead and a new cast of side characters was made.

Sorry it took so long to answer your ask!!! I wasn't motivated to draw all those characters at once for the joke but then I thought I'd take the opportunity to just doodle them in class haha

#moomins #moominvalley #art #moomin nadya #moomin wimsy #wimsy #moomin mabel #misabel #moomin alicia #emma's niece #the muffle #moomin hauska #moomin vampire #teety woo

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hemulenish-hijinks · 2 years

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Welcome to the first round of the Best Hemulen Bracket!

I am your host, @flowerbloom-arts, and over the next few weeks we are going to pick our favorite hemulens from each pair, carefully selected according to commonality.

There are many, many hemulens in the Moomin franchise as a whole, but who is the best?

After careful considering, I sadly must only pick 32 of them to compete against eachother. You may not know some of them, but I will be providing information on each one for each poll!

Polls:

Side 1:

Mr. Hemulen (bug collector) vs Mr. Hemulen (plant collector)

Aunt Hemulen vs Nana's Fiance/Mr. Hemulen's Nephew

Party Dresser vs Riviera Boutique Keep

Charity Volunteer vs La Goona

The Pisciculturist vs the Philatelist

The Botanist vs the Zoologist

The Inspector vs Henry

Officer 1 (Moomin Begins a New Life) vs Officer 2 (Moomin Builds a House)

Side 2

The House Seller vs Sadling

Wimsy vs the Big Hemulen

The Park Keeper vs the Park Wardress

The Small Hemulen vs the Jailer

The Orphanage Principal vs the Hemulen Aunt

The November Hemulen vs the Hemulen Who Loved Silence

Dragon Adopter vs Intruder

Hatton the Prospector vs the Muffle

Here are some reasons why I chose these hemulens in particular, you may skip this part:

1. I didn't pick any 2019 Hemulens because they tended to be rather muddled adaptations of other pre-existing hemulens. You may consider those versions when it comes to voting if you'd like, but be warned, nearly none of them are accurate to the source material.

2. The Hemulens had to have atleast 2 panels of dialog (the Charity Volunteer) or a relevant role to the story's plot (the Dragon Adopter and Intruder). So, apologies to the cowboy Hemulens from Moomin Goes Wild West and the like.

3. These are honestly the 32 I could remember off the top of my head, there were a handful few others but these were the ones I was personally interested in enough to remember.

4. Sadly some resources are unavailable to me like the Fuzzy Felt adaptation, so if there were any hemulens exclusive to that show that you were confused as to why they weren't included, I'm very sorry.

5. Some characters are either in a grey area or difficult to tell if they're meant to be hemulens, so I picked those who are unmistakably hemulens or atleast generally accepted as such.

#poll bracket #tumblr polls #poll #best hemulen bracket #hemulen #the hemulen #mr hemulen #moomin inspector #la goona #moomin park keeper #moomin hemulen #masterpost #moomin #moominvalley #tanoshii muumin ikka #moomin comics

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spheresr4cubes · 1 year

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I do Moomin fanfic now, apparently

LINK: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14216768/1/Long-Time-Gone

Moomin Valley -- Long Time Gone

Nuuska (Snufkin) finally meets his father and hears the strange tale of what kept him away for sixteen long years. //TW: Dissociation, alcohol, drowning.

CHAPTER THREE (3/4)

“Oh, pitiful little thing,” said a scratchy, low voice. “Come in, let me help you.”

Juksu gasped awake, ribs sore, the taste of seawater in his mouth. But the sweet, herbal smell of the dim room assured him right away that he was no longer at sea. He tried to move, and his body ached like he’d been lying in the same position all night. Wooden beams above his head dangled drying flowers, which waved slightly from a draft.

“It’s just a broken arm,” said the voice, muffled as if from another room. “Sit down and try not to cry so much.”

Juksu sat up slowly, putting his bare feet on the dry, cracked driftwood floor. The room was small, not much more than a large closet, and there were other equally-barebones beds lining the walls. Only one was occupied and not by either of his friends. He stood carefully and walked quietly to the only door, opening it very slightly to look out.

“Alright, this is going to hurt a bit,” said an elderly creature, hunched facing away from him. A great mane of curly, silver hair was pulled loosely against their back, and a crying child sat in a rickety chair with a crooked arm held out. The old witch—for Juksu was quite sure they were a witch—plucked what looked like a white pearl from a nearby basket and threw their head back as they swallowed it. The witch grasped the child’s arm and snapped it back into place with a sickening crunch! The child screamed but quickly quieted with a look of bewilderment.

“There,” said the witch. “All better.”

The child flexed her arm, testing it, and wiped her face dry with her hands: “Thank you.”

“No thanks needed,” said the witch, “but bring me a leg of lamb the next time you have one to eat.”

�� “Yes,” said the child. “Thank you! Thank you!”

And with that, they ran outside. The witch sighed in relief and brushed off the seat of the chair with a tiny broom: “Come on out, dear. It’s about time you woke up.”

Juksu hesitantly opened the door and stepped through into the sunny room, beaded curtains casting red and violet specks across the warped floor. Boxes and jars and bottles sat on every available surface, and the air smelled of something on the cusp of burning. The witch turned to him with a crooked, silver-toothed, knowing smile cracking across their dark face.

“Oh, good, you don’t look any worse for wear!” they said with a delighted clap of their gnarled hands. “I was a little worried, I must admit, but it seems I still have my arts about me.”

They hobbled forward and took his hands, inspecting them: “Not a hint of blue! You’re not feeling dizzy, are you? Short of breath? Confused?”

“Confused, I’m afraid,” said Juksu politely, and the witch waved a hand.

“To be expected! To be expected! Come on now, sit down, and we’ll get you something to drink.”

They ushered him to the same rickety chair the child had sat in and bustled to a fireplace set into the wall nearby. The lid of the cast iron pot on its post lifted by itself, and a ladle poured thick liquid into a wooden cup the witch suddenly held. They waved a hand over it and handed it down to Juksu as the instruments put themselves back where they belonged. He sniffed the cup—it was nearly odorless, only the slight twinge of something burnt and… chicken? As he had the thought, little pieces of boiled chicken rose up from the bottom, and the liquid lightened into a creamy broth. The smell changed, wavering between a burning pinewood fire and the soup itself, savory and comforting. The witch raised their eyebrows encouragingly, and he drank. It was delightful.

“Now, I bet you have all sort of questions,” said the witch, pulling a stool from beside the fireplace and sitting down in front of him. “Ask away in your own time.”

Juksu did not hesitate: “How did I get here? And were there two others with me?”

“Aye, so quick! Yes, dear, there were two others with you, safe and sound, barely a whisker out of place. You got here on a ship, I understand, and it was beaten to pieces by a creature from the sea. Really, you’re lucky you didn’t meet the same fate.”

“Because of you?”

“The creature let you go before you ever washed up on my beach, dear. All I did to help was pull the water out of you and stuff your soul back in. Oh, don’t look so concerned! It happens all the time. Those friends of yours were very adamant it be done quickly, so I was worried all the rushing might have ruined something, but you seem fine enough.”

“And where are they? My friends?”

“On an errand. My services have a price after all, and you were rather expensive.”

“Oh… that’s new.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve never been expensive in my entire life.”

The witch chuckled, and it was a strained, raspy sound: “Well, there’s a first time for everything. At least you can have a sense of humor about it.”

“What was your price?”

“There’s an island in our bay where another witch lives—a vile, selfish thing. A long time ago, they stole a magic ruby from me, one with special powers, and I want it back. In exchange for your life, those boys went to get it.”

Juksu frowned: “Is it dangerous?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Juksu nodded and thought, but there wasn’t much to think about. Not really.

“Alright then,” he said. “I don’t suppose my shoes survived with me, Miss—?”

“Petroula,” said the witch with a nod. “Don’t wear the name out.”

The island, its white palace, and its volcano sat shimmering in the golden sunrise as Juksu stood in the front door of Petroula’s house, checking his trouser pockets. His pipe had survived, his tobacco was safe, and his handkerchief was dry, if stiff. His pocket knife was gone.

“All in order?” asked the old witch from behind him. She came to stand in the door as well, sipping a foul-smelling tea.

“That’s where they are?” Juksu asked, nodding to the island, and Petroula grunted in the affirmative. “I don’t suppose there’s a ferryman?”

“None but the one you nearly met when you arrived.”

“Hm… I shouldn’t like to meet him again.”

“Thought not. But, if you have the strength, I have a rowboat.”

Juksu lifted an eyebrow at her: “At what cost?”

“You’ve already paid, young one. At a friendly discount, of course.”

“Oh? Are we friends?”

“Forgive me, if you will, but I’ve sampled your dreams, child. I know your mind and cannot be your enemy—doesn’t that make me your friend?”

She held out a dark, gnarled hand as weather-worn as the olive tree in the yard. Juksu considered it a moment, then took it.

“Yes, I think it does.”

“I’ll tell you as I told your friends,” said Petroula as they stepped down the rickety dock. “Beware that old fiend and their appetites. They keep the ruby close to the chest, and time will slip away from you as you search for it, so hurry!”

Juksu nodded his understanding and reached up to touch the brim of his hat to her before remembering he had lost it.

“Thank you for all your help, madam. I’ll make sure you receive what you’re owed, and more if we can spare it!”

They shook hands, and she reached up to pat his cheek fondly: “Go now, young one. Find your friends and come back soon!”

Juksu hopped down into the little rowboat, took up the oars, and rowed steadily out into the river with the heat of the rising sun on his face.

Fredriksson had been right—this really was a beautiful place. The bare rock of both the island and the mainland was pale and shone brightly with the light. Thin, pointed trees reached up to the bluing sky, and the water all around was deep and crystal clear. The houses of the town stuck out like white teeth from the hills, their shaded windows slowly coming to life with people waking up into the day. The air was crisp with a cool sea breeze.

And then, it was all off. The sky became dull and yellow, as if down to twilight again, the sun nonexistent. The far shore of the mainland blurred as if touched with haze, and the town became lifeless and still. Juksu frowned at it all, confused, as his boat crackled on to the pebbled beach of the island.

He pulled the boat further in and left the oars inside. The black and white pebbles beneath his boots kurkled and clattered with every step, finally falling silent as he climbed up the incline to greenery. The grass was short here, the wildflowers rugged, violet, and fragrant, and with one final heave on to more even ground, Juksu found himself quite suddenly in an orchard. The pale-walled palace loomed nearby, its great glass windows shimmering in the diffuse sunlight.

It was as he was pondering how to approach that someone laughed.

The woman—no, the man—the witch of the island stepped from behind the nearest pomegranate tree, xeir throat dripping with deep red jewels like the fruit’s seeds.

“Well, well, well,” xe said, sonorous as a brass horn. “Another visitor so soon? Who let you into my garden, little one?”

Juksu grew uneasy under xeir gaze but smiled and playfully replied, “A trickster, fair spirit, for I was promised Hell and seem to have arrived in Heaven.”

Xe took another step, snakeskin cloak trailing out from the tree: “A Heaven for some is Hell for others. How would you know which is which?”

There was mischief in the curve of xeir lips as xe spoke, and Juksu put his hand to his chest and gave a small, polite bow of the head.

“Fire,” he said, “and the only fire here is that which your beauty has sparked in my heart.”

The witch of the island chuckled and came closer, xeir eyes flashing like falling shards of glass, and as xe spoke again, the sharp white steel of xeir teeth bit into each word.

“The little one has a silver tongue! How unexpected. Storms often wash rubbish to my shore, but you are an interesting find.”

“I don’t suppose the storm you speak of was recent,” Juksu prompted hopefully. “Two friends of mine are rumored to have landed here.”

The witch sneered: “Flotsam and jetsam. Cheap, painted tin.”

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

The witch considered him a moment, looking him keenly in the eye and down over his white shirt, his beaten pants, his old boots. Xe grinned and curled a finger at him.

“I have you treasure safe and sound, little one. Come with me.”

Never was a gilded cage so artfully rendered as the east wing of the witch’s palace. The smells of the orchard blew in with them as the heavy wooden door opened, the witch ducking under the delicate golden archway. Golden, columnal trees arched up from the stark white floor to the ceiling and bore silver fruit. The walls were all bright marble and solid, threaded with glittering ore as if they’d been carved straight from the mountain into which the palace was set, and every door set into them was chiseled crystal, every window impossibly intricate stained glass.

Juksu looked upon face after face of the unique creatures captured in the art and whistled.

“What a lovely house! Your builders must have been very talented.”

“Oh, yes,” giggled the witch. “They had such delectable minds, I couldn’t help but sample them.”

Juksu frowned at that term—“sampled”, as if they were hors d’oeuvres. That was the way the old witch Petroula had described watching his dreams.

“Here we are,” said the witch of the island, opening with ease one of the crystal doors. “They are fast asleep, the poor things.”

The two of them stepped inside, and xe drifted to the round, soft nest of a bed against the far wall and motioned him over to see.

“Are these yours?” xe asked.

Hidden under countless violet cushions, pillows, and sheets, as if tucked into the gullet of a strangled beast, Fredriksson and the Muddler slept very deeply. They didn’t stir at all as the witch pinched their faces and laughed, “How peaceful, hm? I thought they looked promising, but alas, they’re as bland as unsalted bread.”

Juksu tilted his head at xem and joked, “Have you tried talking to them when they’re awake? I promise, they’re more interesting that way.”

The witch smiled, petting the Muddler’s fuzzy head: “I don’t usually talk to my food, little one.”

It was suddenly cold. The air fell stale. The glamor of the gold and silver and crystal faded as if a candle had been snuffed out, and the witch showed xeir teeth, placing the point of one obsidian talon between the Muddler’s eyes. He began to shiver and whimper. Juksu kept his mouth shut, though every fiber of his being cowered. The witch stared into nothing and smirked. Xe lifted xeir finger away, and Muddler quieted. The warmth returned to the room.

“It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?” the witch asked. “Since you last saw them? Were you scared for them?”

“Yes,” Juksu answered truthfully.

“And now?”

“Yes.”

Xe peered curiously down at him: “You hide it well. I wonder how delicious you might be.”

“If you’re so bored by them, why not let them go? The Muddler there has a wife and two children waiting for him.”

“And yet, they don’t appear in his nightmares. The little creature only fears for himself, only in the here and now. And the other—well, he hardly fears anything. I can’t even make a snack of him. Simple, dull, the both of them.”

Xe hissed in disgust and circled the bed: “I could be persuaded to part with them. Perhaps… if there was something to trade?”

“Of course,” said Juksu without hesitation. “What could I offer?”

The witch was on him in a flash of snakeskin, talons lightly caressing his cheek.

“Are you in the habit of bargaining your soul?” xe asked with a hungry growl.

Despite himself, Juksu shrugged: “I courted the Mymble, and that’s not all that different.”

The witch threw xeir head back as xe laughed, rubies jostling against xeir chest.

“What are your terms, little one?”

Juksu thought carefully, or at least as carefully as he could with veritable knives under his chin: “If you’re the type who feeds on dreams, you can have mine, if you like. In return, Fredriksson and Muddler get to go home.”

“You would open your mind to me so freely?”

“Well… perhaps if I also get to wander around sometimes. I do love my evening walks.”

The witch smiled xeir many bright teeth, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Deal,” xe hissed and immediately grasped his head between xeir hands, fingers splayed like a spider. “Let’s see what manner of creature you really are.”

When he awoke again, he was in the violet bed, the witch leaning over him with an unsettling look of absolute delight. His friends were nowhere to be seen.

“Delicious,” the witch sang. “Absolutely delicious! Your deal is acceptable, young one!”

Xe held out one taloned hand, and Juksu shook it as best he could—the entirety of his own hand only held xeir fingers. He sat up and stretched as if everything was completely normal: “Was I asleep very long?”

“Not at all,” said the witch. “Just long enough to dream. The perfect little snack!”

“Nothing too unsavory, I hope?”

The witch blinked curiously down at him, tilting xeir head: “You’re very calm about all this. Doesn’t this frighten you?”

“Oh, certainly,” said Juksu, slipping off the bed. “It frightens me very much.”

“You don’t look it at all.”

“I’ve had lots of practice. Can’t be quaking in my boots during every rainfall, can I?”

The witch stared at him: “The rain… really…”

“Just one of those things. Say, do you mind if I smoke?”

Xe raised a pale eyebrow and shook xeir head: “No, though I’d prefer you do it outside.”

“Yes, sir… er, ma’am…? Do you have a name?”

“Many. But you may call me Circe.”

“Pleased to meet you. Juksumuikkunen, at your service.”

Nuuska snorted, lying dizzily in the grass: “Very personable, aren’t you.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean,” Juksu slurred, puffing his pipe.

“So, you’re not always hiding under benches and wandering around mumbling to yourself, then. You can sit in polite company.”

“Can doesn’t always mean you want to, kit. Besides, I was absolutely out of my mind with fright! I won’t deny it now, I was terrified! But not a word of that to the others, do you hear?”

“Of course. It stays here.”

“Thank you kindly. In any case—” he stretched out and leaned upon one hand “—the witch wasn’t all that bad. Sure, they were a horror to look at, what with the teeth like a metal shark and claws long enough to slice through roast beef, but really, there are worse people in the world. Kit, look at me when I say this—there are worse people in the world. But for the time being, I spent the days wandering the absolutely gorgeous island and finding things to eat—there was nothing in the palace pantry, as I found out—and the nights were mostly spent in short talks with the witch and long, long hours of the most vivid dreams I’ve ever had.”

One time, his father was a dog, for some reason, the floppy-eared kind that likes blueberries. He’d sit on an uncomfortable wooden chair all day long and howl and howl and howl like it was the end of the world, but when it came time for Juksu to take him for a walk, the dog-father was always much too tired and would sleep instead, a miserable creature just as he had been in life.

Many times, the Sea Symphony was sinking, and it was raining terribly hard, so hard that water leaked through the deck boards and dripped into the kitchen and beds. Water from above, water from below, and not one of the three of them could swim. Sometimes, it was daytime, and they could see the creature coming for them, all teeth and eyes and scales. Sometimes, it got them. Sometimes, it was so dark that all there was was the vague sounds of splashing and bubbles and the ship creaking.

He did not like those dreams.

Another time, he dreamt that he was dreaming of entering a pie-eating contest but was awaken just as it was about to start, only to find he had fallen asleep just before the real pie-eating contest. The prize for winning was an empty coffee can that Muddler wanted very much, and despite just waking up, he did not want to disappoint him. Fortunately, little Nuuska was under the table eating the extra pies, particularly the plum pies as he was very fond of them.

“You’ve really never eaten one?” Juksu asked incredulously. “How have you never eaten a plum?”

They were walking through the orchard on the west side of the island, admiring the ripening fruits. The ever-present twilight had grown comfortable and usual, and a light wind blew up the steep cliff-face nearby.

“We didn’t have them in our homeland,” said Circe in a matter-of-fact tone, “and I wasn’t sure when I saw them planted here. I’m immortal, not impervious.”

“What about peaches, have you had peaches?”

“No.”

“Apples? Pears?”

“Pears, yes.”

“Goodness, you haven’t lived until you’ve had a good apple. It’s too bad they’re not in season yet. When summer comes, you ought to try one. Oh, hold on, there’s a tree here—”

Juksu hopped up the trunk of a plum tree, pipe still in his mouth, and climbed to the top. The fruits there were a dusty purplish-red, firm in the skin, and heavy for their size—perfect! He picked one and climbed back down, leaning over the lowest branch to present it to the witch. Xe hesitated.

“Go on,” Juksu said encouragingly. “It’s a bit like a firm grape with a pit in the middle.”

Xe observed him, the sunlight catching in xeir opalescent eyes, and took the plum, taking a bite. Xeir face immediately softened. Sweet juices dripped down xeir chin, falling on xeir red rubies.

“It’s delicious!”

“See?” Juksu chuckled, puffing his pipe. “How could you never have been tempted when you live in an orchard?!”

“I’m not sure!” said Circe, and xe sounded bewildered. Xeir teeth ripped into the plum flesh hungrily, with the voracious fascination of a starved Nibling.

The Mymble’s children had made snowmen and were pitting them against each other in a snowball war. He and she managed to sneak away for a little while and make messy snow-angels in the forest, until a prince on a horse rode by and asked for directions to the nearest merry-go-round. Mymble, at that point, stopped everything and stood and offered to show him the way, and off they went on that stupid horse, leaving Juksu behind in the snow.

“The tall one with the red hair?”

They were having a dinner of various fruits on the mighty stone veranda, wines from the deep cellars under the palace between them.

“Oh yes, that’s the Mymble. She’s an old friend of mine.”

“Really… a friend?”

Juksu raised an eyebrow: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your Mymble didn’t feel very friendly.”

“Hmm… is that so…”

Circe picked a grape off of a bunch and observed him closely as xe ate it: “You were in love, weren’t you.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Your ears are burning.”

“They are not.” He picked a grape as well, then sighed. “Alright, yes. Yes, only for a little while.”

“Only a little while?”

“Yes, but I’ve always been fond of her… as a person, y’know?”

“I think so. But again, your dream-Mymble was not very friendly.”

“Dreams don’t have to line-up with real life.”

“No, but feelings do.” Xe picked a grape and pressed it to his lips. He ate it. “She betrayed you, didn’t she?”

“It’s not really a betrayal when you don’t make a deal first.”

“A ‘deal’? Really?”

“You know what I mean.”

“You mean you made no promises.”

“None. Neither her nor me. It is what it is. People for her are like places for me—we don’t tend to stay very long.” He held up a grape so that the light shone through it, and it glowed a deep red. “After our boy was born, I thought it might be different, that it might tether us together somehow… or something. But he didn’t. He’s just a boy. And I’m just a fool.”

Circe glared at him, not daggers per se, but something sharp. Needles perhaps. But soon xeir gaze softened, and xe quietly admitted, “I understand.”

“Oh?”

“It’s been a very, very long time, but… yes. I think I do.”

They looked at each other for a long moment until xe sighed and turned to stare out into the dull haze beyond the veranda columns. Somewhere out there, a town was living.

“I miss my woman sometimes, especially when I’m on the beach. She so loved pebbles and pearls and all myriad of stones and could work great magic with them. When I fell in love with the town, she grew jealous, and when I decided to stay here to stall the volcano’s eruption, she threatened to leave me behind. I don’t know if she ever did, but… she has never come to visit me.”

Juksu sat back, drinking from his goblet. Should he tell xem? Would it be comforting at all to know Petroula, the old witch, was still alive and well and in that town? He decided against it—he’d been sent here by her to steal something, after all, and telling Circe the circumstances under which he’d met the old woman would not help his escape.

“That’s a shame,” he said instead. “I’d say you’re decent company.”

“Would you now?” Circe asked, turning back to him with an amused glint in xeir eye.

“Oh, I’ve certainly had worse hosts. Look here—” He pulled his shirt collar down a bit to show a scar on his collarbone “—that’s a souvenir from a Chupacabra husband who caught me brushing and braiding his wife. I think I stayed in their house for maybe three days, and not once was I offered any wine.”

He sat forward and rolled up one sleeve, showing another: “This one’s from a shopkeeper who thought I was stealing his stupid pottery, when really, I’d been invited in by his son and was only admiring them. He tried to cut off my hand for thieving, but the axe was too dull.”

Circe chuckled, leaning upon xeir hand: “It sounds as if you’ve been too many places for your own good.”

“Not at all! Everything has an upside, no matter how bad the situation seems to be at the time. I’ve eaten the best meals and slept in the softest beds of the prettiest people, even if it means I got chased out afterward, and that makes it all worth it.”

As he said this, Circe sat closer and reached out a talon to his face. He did not flinch.

“What was this one, then?” xe asked curiously, touching the pale line above his lip.

“Oh,” he said casually, though he could feel himself tensing, “I just cut myself shaving as a kid. Silly mistake, really.”

Xe moved upward and brushed a curl up from his forehead: “And this one?”

“Glass bottle in a bar fight.” He couldn’t help but stare as xeir eyes locked on to his. “Kid didn’t like me flirting with his mother.”

“ ‘Flirting’?”

Xeir finger curved down the side of his face, playing across his throat.

“You know, saying nice things to someone so that they like you in more ways than one.”

“And do you mean what you say?”

“Well, there’s almost always something nice to say about people.”

“Such as?”

The wine was heavy on xeir breath, xeir lips stained purplish.

“What big eyes you have!” he replied more quietly than he meant to. “Like quicksilver in a cup!”

One talon dug into the soft spot behind his jaw, the others stern against the side of his neck, and Circe stared at him. He knew xe could feel his heart beating there. Strangely, he found himself trembling. Circe smiled and leaned down.

He closed his eyes, picturing somewhere else, somewhere darker and less lonely, a storm whirling by outside while the fire crackled and flickered in the draft down the chimney. The salt-dried wood of the Oshun Oxtra’s pilothouse tower. The children all asleep in another room. A sixth game of Patience and an idle chat and the inexplicable draw toward the woman across the table. Her plump hands holding his.

Circe pressed xeir lips against his, nothing important, nothing special, just a kiss, an ordinary kiss, just like back then.

Mymble had chuckled at him: “Why so shy?”

Circe did not ask. Xe said nothing at all but took his face in both hands and kissed him again. Xe was feverishly warm, solid, unyielding. He kissed xem back anyway.

“Papa. Papa!”

Juksu blinked and realized he hadn’t in a long while. His eyes had gone dry, and he rubbed them, laughing in embarrassment.

“Sorry, sorry. I got lost in it, I guess. Where-where did I leave off?”

Nuuska frowned at him, concerned, but said, “ ‘Like quicksilver in a cup’.”

“Ah.” Juksu picked at the grass and tried to gather his thoughts but finally threw his hands up. “Y’know, the details there don’t really matter! What matters is that I saw the witch without their clothes and noticed something strange…”

He did not sleep that night. He pretended to for some long hours, listening as Circe fell in and out of xeir own sleep, and he thought. In what should have been the early morning, he finally worked up the courage to turn over.

Circe was fast asleep in the bed before him, breathing softly, silver hair askew. There it was, just as he thought he’d seen it—a small, milky-white stone embedded into the space between xeir shoulder blades. It was not bone, of that he was sure. Thin gray veins threaded through the otherwise perfect color, and though it was a little rough, there was the shine of polish.

Juksu dared not touch it. He stared at the dead eye of it and thought.

The old witch Petroula swallowed stones to use their power, it seemed, just as she had swallowed the pearl before healing that child’s broken arm. Would it be such a stretch of the imagination for another witch to embed those stones into their body? What difference could that make in their power, if any? And if he was right, that this strange stone fed into xeir abilities, what would happen if he took it? If he pried it out of xem right now, aside from immediately waking xem up, what would that do?

Circe grumbled in xeir sleep, and he tensed. He couldn’t stay here. He needed a walk.

Carefully, Juksu slid off the mattress and found his clothes. He broke off one of the small blossoms from the almond branches in the table vase and laid it on his pillow—that at least might be enough to put xem at ease while he went to clear his thoughts.

It was another lovely twilight in the orchard. Juksu grabbed an apple from a low bough as he went and ate even though he wasn’t hungry.

The facts of the matter were these: he wanted to go home; Circe would not let him go home so long as there was no one else to feed on; no, there was no way to find someone else to take his place; and Circe would not leave the island so long as the volcano was a threat to the Gotoran town across the bay.

Now… the original reason he, Fredriksson, and Muddler had even come here was to get a fire gemstone from the heart of the volcano. If it really existed—and he was beginning to think that it most certainly could—what were the odds that taking the gem might silence the volcano forever?

Juksu bit into his apple and looked thoughtfully up at the green shield-dome before him. He didn’t know exactly how volcanoes or magic or anything like that worked. And if the volcano was suddenly no longer a threat, wouldn’t that unleash Circe upon the world? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if xe got out there, he thought. Being on an island all alone would do terrible things to a person’s mind, and maybe xe’d be a better person knowing Petroula was still waiting for xem. He somewhat doubted it, if he was honest, but what was the harm in hoping for the best?

Worst came to worst, nothing would change, and he’d still be stuck here, though maybe he could use the fire gem in some sort of deal for his release. Or at least he’d have what they came for. If he ever saw the others again, maybe this all wouldn’t be for nothing.

Alright, it was settled. Juksu buried his apple core, took a breath, and set off toward the volcano.

It was not a large volcano, he thought. He’d always imagined volcanoes as tall as the mountains around Mumin Valley or the Autocrat’s Island, but this one was old and worn by wind into a low, wide hill. As such, it wasn’t particularly difficult to get to the cavernous crater—no, the difficulty came from staring into the deep dark of the widest lava tube he could find.

Ah, the smell of brimstone and long-sleeping fire. The Muddler would have been terrified.

Juksu walked in casually, feeling the wet wall as he went and whistling just to hear the echo. The tube became smaller as he went, and he was soon crouching, then crawling. It was a good thing he wasn’t claustrophobic, he thought as he shimmied into a smaller off-shoot tunnel.

What was it Fredriksson had said? The gem should be on the west side, where he was, likely down in the wall of an old lava pocket. Simple enough, really. He’d stick to one side and not risk too far a drop or too tight a squeeze. While he’d like to find it as soon as possible, he was aware that the likelihood was—

The air changed. It was more than warmth, it was heat. The air dried out around him, drying out his nose. The brimstone smell strengthened. He listened closely, hoping that lava made some kind of noise as it flowed, but heard nothing. There was no change in the darkness either, no approaching wave of light—maybe he was fine. His whiskers tingled with the heat, and he followed them, nothing that the stone beneath his hands was still cool to the touch.

Only when the heat finally began to water his eyes did he see a slight glow ahead of him. It radiated from a single point in the dark rock, a jagged bit of firelight ebbing dimly like a dying coal. Juksu stopped in front of it, squinting, and reached out to touch it. The tips of his fingers sizzled, and he jerked back. He thought a moment, then dug in his pocket and brought out his pipe and handkerchief. He folded the handkerchief over and held the gem firmly, wriggling it loose from its socket. It wobbled and came out, and Juksu quickly tucked it into the open end of his pipe, where it sat snuggly, glowing gently.

“What luck!” Juksu sang to himself and put his pipe between his teeth. “I only hope you won’t burn my precious pipe. Made it myself, you know.”

As if in response, the gem gave one last ebb of light and dimmed. The air cooled again, and Juksu stared down at it in surprise.

“Well, that’s nice of you” was all he said and began crawling his way back out of the tubes.

The twilit sky was the same as it had been when Juksu had entered the volcano, but his spirit was a tad brighter. He held the fire gem in his hand now, admiring its shape and clarity. It was, fittingly, a fiery blood-orange color, cleanly formed into two hexagonal facets, about the size of a large marble or perhaps a fat grape. He had to beat down the temptation to eat it and put it safely in his left pocket.

The east entrance of the palace was blooming with honeysuckle now, and the strong scent followed Juksu in as he quietly shut the door behind him. As he passed through the stained-glass hallway, he heard a whine. He stopped in his tracks and listened, his ribs suddenly aching.

There it was again—a whine like a distressed dog from behind one of the crystal doors. Curious though apprehensive, Juksu turned the doorknob and found it locked. It was probably nothing, right? He could walk away right now. Perhaps he was tired or had inhaled too many fumes from the volcano. Maybe he was hearing things. But he’d already found his hairpin and paperclip in his boot, already stuck them in the lock, already pushed one, two, three lock-pins into place. The lock turned, and the door opened silently on to a dim room, refracting light beaming into lines of light and dark.

It was a bright line that illuminated the brown paw hanging over the edge of the bed, out from under the violet sheets.

Juksu hurried to shut the door again, making sure it didn’t lock on him. He hurried to the bed and lifted the covers as the Muddler whined in his sleep again, kicking softly. Fredriksson lay silent and still beside him, entirely dead if not from the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Juksu stared, mortified. He shook them.

“Muddler!” he hissed. “Muddler, wake up! Fredriksson, please!”

They did not stir beyond Muddler giving one last whimper and falling silent.

How were they here? How were they still here?! Circe had lied to him, that’s how. Xe said xe’d let them go! They’d made a deal! His heart ached, and he stared at his friends for a long time as he thought. He thought of the gem in his pocket and the volcano. He thought of Circe kissing him while Muddler and Fredriksson were trapped in their sleep. And he suddenly thought of the old witch Petroula and her warnings.

“Beware that old fiend and their appetites. They keep the gem close to the chest…”

Close to the chest.

He knew what he had to do.

#moominvalley #moomin #fanfic #fanfiction #nuuskamuikkunen #juksu #snufkin #joxter #long time gone

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