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(This is one of the major things I am trying to change, from now on.

One idea I read from a book regarding values is that: Living according to your values does not mean "be yourself" (because what does that mean, anyway?), but instead: "Be the person you would admire".

Somehow, this particular idea struck me very hard. I have admired a lot of people, online and offline. And I think: "I can never be like them." That's why they are so admirable, because they are doing something I can never do. They are being the amazing person I can never be.

I have believed in such a notion for as long as I can remember. I have believed that there is something I will never do, because I can't. And apparently that's also a fact that I can't change either.

This year, however, when I am thinking about how I actually want to live my life sounds cheesy af I know - something I have avoided/delayed thinking for so long - I had a realisation:

"Have I even tried?"

Other than dedicated self-help books, I have been inspired by/learning from other media I recently (re-)discovered. Not sure whether I just happened to stumble upon thought-provoking media during this time, or I started to look more closely into media in general.

Most of them are movies and video games. Especially movies. There is one I saw rather recently, that fits the idea of this...rambling very much. I would like to end this with a quote from that movie.)

「人間は大きな幸せを前にすると急に臆病になる。幸せを勝ち取ることは、不幸に耐えることより勇気がいるの」

"When faced with great happiness, humans suddenly become cowards. Seizing happiness actually takes much more courage than enduring unhappiness."

~ From "Kamikaze Girls", Tetsuya Nakashima

(I really need to write a separate infodump about "Kamikaze Girls" and "Memories of Matsuko" one day. Both movies, directed by Tetsuya Nakashima and introduced to me via another talented creation, really resonated with and changed me so much.)

[Personal rambling/infodump that somehow got very long]

(I really admire passionate people.

People who are openly enthusiastic about the things they are interested in. Who would freely talk about and make contributions to their interests. Even - and especially - if others may find them childish/weird/disgusting, or the circle of interest/following is a small and niche one (that's why I really admire artists making fan works for small fandoms).

As long as no one is being hurt, I would always support and admire people for being passionate about what they love. Even if their interest is something I don't know, am not interested in, or even a thing I myself find weird (which is hard, and I have seen quite a number of "weird" stuff).

And the main reason why I admire these people, is because I cannot be like them.

Maybe it's a mixture of nature and nurture. I have always been a terribly shy and introverted person. I am not good with expressing...anything. I am not good with words, verbal or written (I can already tell this infodump will get verbose). I have a very strong tendency to avoid. I am extremely skittish, easily nervous, and readily overwhelmed. Basically I am just...a very weak and pathetic person.

And the environment I grew up in...I am not sure if it played a part, or if this is a universal truth. Perhaps this is just my subjective, biased, narrow view, but I feel like conformity was a very important element in the environment I grew up in. You just...don't talk about things that are deemed uncool. Okay actually, you talk only about things that are deemed cool, things that most people appear to like. You don't stand out.

One example I always remember is how I would only talk about anime and games with my classmates (i.e. IRL people I met). In my childhood/teenage circle, the "cool" things were video games, anime, and sports (especially football and basketball teams). Popular culture (e.g. K-Pop) and fiction (e.g. Young adult fictions) also counted.

I am not a sports person, nor am I familiar with popular/trendy stuff (even now), so the only thing I talked to my classmates about were videos games and anime. Because they were part of my interests...

...even though as early as my childhood, I already had much more interests that I was much more invested in.

An example I got reminded of (due to recent events) was Zootopia. When Zootopia was first advertised and then premiered in 2016, I was immediately in love with it. Very much in love with it (puberty and emotional difficulties don't mix well). At that time, Zootopia really meant something very strongly to me (NB: It had absolutely nothing to do with the message/theme of the movie). That meaning persisted even after the movie screening ended, for 2 more years. Throughout those 3 years, I had legit cried because of it. Multiple times. It meant so much to me during a period of my teenage years, to an almost embarrassing level (yet it felt so real at that time).

Did I tell anyone about it, then? No. Not a single person. Not even my family. Although I did watch the movie with my family (I was still a bit too young to watch movies alone, I think), they didn't/don't know just how invested I was in the movie at that time. Of course they also don't know how much the movie meant to me, and how long that feeling persisted in me.

And don't even think about mentioning "Zootopia" around my classmates then. That was one sure way to get laughed at. So I didn't. No one talked about it, so you would not talk about it. Just...don't. You wouldn't get bullied outright (I doubt any of my classmates knew what "furry" was at that time), but...it was something just no one talked about. It was viewed as a "cartoon", and you don't talk about "cartoon" because it's seen as lame and childish.

This pattern happened again around 3 years later, when I really got into cartoons all of a sudden, especially the Duck fandom, in 2019. Yes, everyone knows who Donald Duck is. No, you do not tell people you like Donald Duck. That was another sure way to get laughed at.

I ended up keeping a lot of stuff to myself, and myself only. Such as my own interests, thoughts, feelings, opinions, creations...No one knew. Especially before I got active on social media. Literally no one knew about that part of me. No one cared. No one was interested. No one would listen. I had no one to talk to. So I didn't.

No one except myself, that was. I remember, when I was a child, my family noticed me talking to myself, or basically getting caught up in my own mind (and told me to stop, of course). I wonder if that was because I was lonely at that time? I don't blame anyone, however. Really.

On the other hand, I have been on social media/art-sharing sites as a watcher/observer a long time ago. I knew I wasn't alone in loving what I loved, such as Zootopia or Disney Ducks. I knew there was someone else interested in what I was interested in, and that provided me with the solace that I wasn't alone. A really big solace, too: At least I knew I wasn't alone in the whole world. However, in real life, in my immediate vicinity, I was really alone. Having a place to belong to is really important, apparently. It is something I once thought I could do without, but apparently I can't.

What results from all these predisposition is a tendency of me hiding and avoiding...a lot of stuff. Even now, on an anonymous online space, where (hopefully) no one I know IRL knows this is me, I still have quite strong reservation regarding sharing and expressing my interests (at least, some of them). Doing anything more than passive viewing.

My past, early experience being active online might have also contributed to this but that's another story

Something as small as liking, commenting on, and sharing other people's works. I still cannot feel free expressing my appreciation of other people's talent and passion. Either because I would be "exposing" myself to the recipient and others who saw me, or I just...chicken out/procrastinate because of my shyness, nervousness, and fear. Even though I want to tell them how brave they are for going through with what they like, how much they have changed my life, and how they have shown me I am not alone in this world.

Maybe it is because I can't be openly passionate about things, I really admire people who can.)

[pidayforpi]

[Personal rambling/infodump that somehow got very long]

(I really admire passionate people.

People who are openly enthusiastic about the things they are interested in. Who would freely talk about and make contributions to their interests. Even - and especially - if others may find them childish/weird/disgusting, or the circle of interest/following is a small and niche one (that's why I really admire artists making fan works for small fandoms).

As long as no one is being hurt, I would always support and admire people for being passionate about what they love. Even if their interest is something I don't know, am not interested in, or even a thing I myself find weird (which is hard, and I have seen quite a number of "weird" stuff).

And the main reason why I admire these people, is because I cannot be like them.

Maybe it's a mixture of nature and nurture. I have always been a terribly shy and introverted person. I am not good with expressing...anything. I am not good with words, verbal or written (I can already tell this infodump will get verbose). I have a very strong tendency to avoid. I am extremely skittish, easily nervous, and readily overwhelmed. Basically I am just...a very weak and pathetic person.

And the environment I grew up in...I am not sure if it played a part, or if this is a universal truth. Perhaps this is just my subjective, biased, narrow view, but I feel like conformity was a very important element in the environment I grew up in. You just...don't talk about things that are deemed uncool. Okay actually, you talk only about things that are deemed cool, things that most people appear to like. You don't stand out.

One example I always remember is how I would only talk about anime and games with my classmates (i.e. IRL people I met). In my childhood/teenage circle, the "cool" things were video games, anime, and sports (especially football and basketball teams). Popular culture (e.g. K-Pop) and fiction (e.g. Young adult fictions) also counted.

I am not a sports person, nor am I familiar with popular/trendy stuff (even now), so the only thing I talked to my classmates about were videos games and anime. Because they were part of my interests...

...even though as early as my childhood, I already had much more interests that I was much more invested in.

An example I got reminded of (due to recent events) was Zootopia. When Zootopia was first advertised and then premiered in 2016, I was immediately in love with it. Very much in love with it (puberty and emotional difficulties don't mix well). At that time, Zootopia really meant something very strongly to me (NB: It had absolutely nothing to do with the message/theme of the movie). That meaning persisted even after the movie screening ended, for 2 more years. Throughout those 3 years, I had legit cried because of it. Multiple times. It meant so much to me during a period of my teenage years, to an almost embarrassing level (yet it felt so real at that time).

Did I tell anyone about it, then? No. Not a single person. Not even my family. Although I did watch the movie with my family (I was still a bit too young to watch movies alone, I think), they didn't/don't know just how invested I was in the movie at that time. Of course they also don't know how much the movie meant to me, and how long that feeling persisted in me.

And don't even think about mentioning "Zootopia" around my classmates then. That was one sure way to get laughed at. So I didn't. No one talked about it, so you would not talk about it. Just...don't. You wouldn't get bullied outright (I doubt any of my classmates knew what "furry" was at that time), but...it was something just no one talked about. It was viewed as a "cartoon", and you don't talk about "cartoon" because it's seen as lame and childish.

This pattern happened again around 3 years later, when I really got into cartoons all of a sudden, especially the Duck fandom, in 2019. Yes, everyone knows who Donald Duck is. No, you do not tell people you like Donald Duck. That was another sure way to get laughed at.

I ended up keeping a lot of stuff to myself, and myself only. Such as my own interests, thoughts, feelings, opinions, creations...No one knew. Especially before I got active on social media. Literally no one knew about that part of me. No one cared. No one was interested. No one would listen. I had no one to talk to. So I didn't.

No one except myself, that was. I remember, when I was a child, my family noticed me talking to myself, or basically getting caught up in my own mind (and told me to stop, of course). I wonder if that was because I was lonely at that time? I don't blame anyone, however. Really.

On the other hand, I have been on social media/art-sharing sites as a watcher/observer a long time ago. I knew I wasn't alone in loving what I loved, such as Zootopia or Disney Ducks. I knew there was someone else interested in what I was interested in, and that provided me with the solace that I wasn't alone. A really big solace, too: At least I knew I wasn't alone in the whole world. However, in real life, in my immediate vicinity, I was really alone. Having a place to belong to is really important, apparently. It is something I once thought I could do without, but apparently I can't.

What results from all these predisposition is a tendency of me hiding and avoiding...a lot of stuff. Even now, on an anonymous online space, where (hopefully) no one I know IRL knows this is me, I still have quite strong reservation regarding sharing and expressing my interests (at least, some of them). Doing anything more than passive viewing.

My past, early experience being active online might have also contributed to this but that's another story

Something as small as liking, commenting on, and sharing other people's works. I still cannot feel free expressing my appreciation of other people's talent and passion. Either because I would be "exposing" myself to the recipient and others who saw me, or I just...chicken out/procrastinate because of my shyness, nervousness, and fear. Even though I want to tell them how brave they are for going through with what they like, how much they have changed my life, and how they have shown me I am not alone in this world.

Maybe it is because I can't be openly passionate about things, I really admire people who can.)

[pidayforpi]

Nick Wilde sketch studies. This trailer seriously sparked new creative energy in me. Let’s see where this goes!

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it me b-day _(:3 」∠)_

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well this fucking sucks

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Everyone: *going crazy over WildHopps*

Me:

LOOK AT HIS PRECIOUS FACE AND TELL ME: DOES HE DESERVE TO BE TREATED AS A MONSTER?!?!

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The Zootopia 2 trailer is out. I repeat. The Zootopia 2 trailer is out!

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(So, before last year, I had never watched any version of Wicked the musical.

I just knew it is supposed to be (based on a) fan fic of The Wizard of Oz, and the only song from the musical I knew was "Defying Gravity". But I knew not the story plot, nor any other songs.

Then, last Christmas, I watched the movie version of Wicked.

And I never thought "Defying Gravity" is used under that context.)

[※ Disclaimer: I actually never looked at the lyrics of the song, except for maybe the chorus]

[pidayforpi]

"I won't do anything to that thing, Coot," the hoarse voice on the other side of the telephone chuckled. "They are a protected group of people. As...pragmatic as I am, I have my code of conduct. I am still a professional."

On the outskirts of the jungle, Clinton Coot stood beside a wall-mounted telephone inside a village hut. He held the receiver close to his ears, as the person on the line continues.

"We are still professionals. I believe you will know what is the right thing to do with it."

"It is a young man, a him," Clinton retorted. "And he has a name."

"Clinton, I am not trying to play semantics with you. Nor am I trying to sound condescending," the voice softened, if only for just a bit. "You...really shouldn't be getting too close to that boy. You know you won't be there to stay."

"I know what I am doing," Clinton argued.

"Then I urge you to think again," the voice plainly replied, before breathing out heavily. "This is your last expedition, Coot. We both know you don't have much time left. You could drop dead anytime, anywhere. Whether you can really find those artefacts is an unknown in itself, let alone bring them home."

Clinton's grasp on the receiver tightened, his beak pursed into a slight frown. The voice paused, as if able to see the recipient's response, before continuing.

"In fact - and I should have asked you way earlier - why are you even doing this? A set of artefacts, usable only by descendants of three families. Out of - I don't know - so damn many families in the whole entire world. I know yours is one of them, but isn't there enough magical stuff for your family members? The artefacts aren't particularly powerful either."

Clinton closed his eyes, listening to the questionings of his colleague, against the backdrop of heavy rain falling outside and onto the hut.

"You are really in this alone, Coot. With so little help, so little clue. For what? No one else will go after them, nor will anyone congratulate you even if you do successfully return from your jungle adventure with your spoils.

"You know this is only going to be a labour of love, right?"

"I do," Clinton firmly stated. "And love...is exactly why I am doing this. For...someone in my family, I have to do this. I want to do this."

A sigh passed through the unstable telephone connection, but the sentiment conveyed was clearly received.

"You've always been too good of a researcher, Coot. You started this trip for someone's sake, and now you are phoning me for another person's," the voice sounded genuinely concerned. "I won't pry what you don't want to talk about, just as you never pried anything about me. However if this expedition is really because of your love for a certain family member, shouldn't you be spending your last few years - or months - with them?"

"I would rather do something that will benefit the rest of his life. Even if I spent all the rest of my time with him, doing so wouldn't change that child's fate," Clinton replied, remembering the promise he had made to himself the last time he met his great-grandson.

"This discovery can't change his cruel fate either, I know that. However, if only for his smile, I would do anything. Even if it's just a transient happiness with no guarantee, I would give it to him. If one day he discovers this artefact, and with it someone that understands him, someone that walks with him in his life...even for only a chance of that happening, I would do it.

"Just like the Caballeros: Someone who fights alongside you, no matter how cruel fate is. The companionship is what I wish to preserve and pass on."

"Then think about this aracuan bird you have been talking to me about. How's that any different?" The voice argued, almost immediately. "One day you will leave this jungle. One day you will leave this world, and we both know that day will come sooner than later. You will leave him. And how will that make him feel?"

Clinton unconsciously turned his head to the bedroom beside the living room, where he knew a young, pink bird was struggling to sleep alone in the thunderstorm.

"Of course I knew our time together is borrowed, but...what else can I do?" Clinton cursed himself for not having a sound reason to argue back. "I...I see my great-grandson in him: A young child, tormented by the cruel hand of fate, crying for something that is not their fault for a single bit. I can't leave him alone. I...can't. If our encounter could change his life for the better, this will all be worth it."

"And that's where the problem is, Coot. Before, he had always been alone. Now you enter his life, have him become attached to you, make wonderful memories, experience what it is like to be cared and loved...and then you leave?" The voice retorted, before becoming silent. Only the sound of occasional, deep breathing indicated the call was still ongoing.

After a deafening minute passed, the speaker restarted the conversation with another heavy sigh.

"Coot, you know I care for no one. Not you. Not the aracuan bird. I am the worst person you can ever ask for help from. If you still want to continue, let me say this. And although it will sound coldhearted even coming from me, I mean this in the most factual, impassive way possible," the voice warned.

"To you, he should be just a tool. For the sake of you and him, treat him as such."

In response to this, Clinton felt he had long prepared the words to retaliate with.

"If only for a single person to feel like they are not just a tool, I will give my life."

Clinton could feel his opponent shrug through the telephone line.

"I wish you good luck then, Coot," the voice returned to its nonchalant, business tone. "I will be waiting to meet this aracuan bird in person. Should he ever come to the Institute, I will make sure he is properly taken care of. Before then, let me know if you need any additional help in your journey. You must be really desperate to seek refuge in an unknown village in a strange jungle."

"Thank you for your offer, Sheldgoose," Clinton replied, his tone also reverted to a faux professional one. "Although, I believe Ari and I can handle the rest ourselves. You've given me enough help."

"I see. Ari, eh...?" Baroness Von Sheldgoose snickered. "I pray you can really change his life for the better. Show him he is not just a tool the world views his people as. I have no respect for neither good nor evil. But what I have respect for, is a person's perseverance in pursuing good or evil.

"I pray you will stick to your words to the very end. Although, having known you for so long, I believe I need not worry.

"You really are a kind soul, Clinton."

Sheldgoose softened her voice for that last sentence, to the point Clinton would have thought she had handed the telephone to someone else.

Before Clinton could say anything in reply, the call hung up from the other side. Listening for a few moments to the beeping sound of an ended phone call, he returned the receiver to the telephone on the wall.

His eyes drifted once again to the sleeping aracuan bird, through the slightly opened door. Ari twisted and turned in his sleep, especially whenever a thunder echoed from afar.

Remembering his meeting with the lonely aracuan bird on the jungle floor for the first time, Clinton's determination burned only brighter.

"If only I can save a single soul from despair, this life will be worth it."

(23-7-2025)

[pidayforpi]

"I...I was scared," Scrooge confessed. "Really scared."

"I was so scared, the thought of lying or hiding never came to me. I was more afraid when Donald found out the truth himself."

"But even more than that...I was afraid of bearing the consequences."

"Donald thought I didn't realise my mistake, that I didn't know I mess up, and that it was my fault. That's why I had been so reluctant to take responsibility."

"...He was wrong. I knew it. I knew it very clearly that I messed up. I knew it was my fault, all of it, and that Donald did nothing wrong. He could have done nothing to prevent it. He wouldn't know. I knew it. Everything, from the very start."

"But...I was afraid, Daisy. I was really, really afraid. I did admit everything to Donald, but then I...I ran away. Avoided. Passed the buck. Left him to clear all the mess he didn't create in the first place."

"...Like I have always done."

"'As long as I am not the one stuck with misfortune...' Oh, like I have always thought..."

"You know, lass? The saying that 'misfortune is inevitable in life'? Everyone would agree with that. Misfortune is inevitable indeed."

"But - oh, when was that I first discovered this evil secret... - misfortune can be passed around. As long as someone else receives the misfortune at the end, it doesn't matter who created it in the first place. It doesn't matter whose responsibility it should have been."

"As long as I pass each and every misfortune to someone else...As long as I avert my eyes away from whatever underhanded tricks I am doing...As long as I run away better, smarter, quicker..."

"If happiness is to get rid of all misfortune in life, by any means necessary...so be it."

(30-6-2025)

[pidayforpi]

you gotta have freaks and gross weirdos in your life it’s imperative to understanding the truth of humanity

[pidayforpi]

Adult realization: you will make mistakes, you will act irrationally. You will commit some wrongs that cannot be fully righted. People will dislike you and misunderstand you for all sorts of reasons. None of these make you a bad person. All you can do is try your best to be kind and just to people, grow and learn.

[pidayforpi]

(Edit: Watched Kamikaze Girls today and it did break me.)

(Something I just realised:

I watched a movie in April 2024, and it completely broke me.

I watched another movie in April 2025, and it also completely broke me.)

[pidayforpi]

(Something I just realised:

I watched a movie in April 2024, and it completely broke me.

I watched another movie in April 2025, and it also completely broke me.)

[pidayforpi]

More trailer au ramblin's, this one about years

All subject to change. But the year all these "exciting" events take place is 1967. Because I decided to have the main Beaksloose family members born exactly 40 years before how I placed them in my "canon" au's. So Gyro is 1941, Mark is 1943, and Boyd is 1959 (Mark got teen eggnant with him). And this works out because I can make Donald's birthday the actual day he was created, so he'd be 33. I dunno how old I want to make Fenton, around Mark's age or a little younger.

This makes Boyd, Huey, May, and June boomers!

[pidayforpi]

Breakdown

Nick sat in the emergency waiting room, his head buried in his paws. Everything trembled. His lips, his legs, his paws. He tried to will the shaking to stop but it persisted brutally, mercilessly, taunting and tormenting him as he waited.

“Nick…” Benjamin began gently, turning to the fox next to him. “I’m going to the cafeteria to get something to eat. Are you sure you don’t want me to get you anything? A coffee, or a blanket or–”

“No,” Nick replied, quiet and firm. At least he could keep his voice steady. “No. Thanks, I’m fine.”

The portly cheetah nodded, his eyes red from crying, and rose from his chair with an exhausted sigh.

Nick Wilde was not fine. The events from earlier that evening played in his head over and over and over again, forcing him to relive the horror. The sounds, the screams, the wild chaos of it all echoed and flashed in his mind viciously, threatening to drive him mad.

It wasn’t Gary’s fault. Nick had to keep telling himself that. It wasn’t Gary’s fault. The snake had been physically forced to sink his teeth into Judy’s back. The whimpered, agonized choke Judy had let out when the venom entered her body was a thing of nightmares. 

She fell to the ground, a small, crumpled heap.  

“No,” Nick breathed out, almost voicelessly. He rushed towards her, ignoring the vigilante that was now fleeing the scene. “No, no, no, no, no, no!” The words tumbled out of him uncontrollably, like vomit. “No, Judy, no!” 

He scooped the rabbit into his arms. Gary hovered over her, his eyes pouring tears out, his wretched, anguished howls ricocheting off the walls around them. Nick had vaguely remembered screaming at him to shut up, his voice so vicious and horrible that Gary immediately obeyed and rushed to get help, still sobbing and apologizing incoherently. 

“Judy, Judy, hey,” he said, not recognizing his own voice. It was now whimpery, frantic, out of control. He lifted her little head up and every strand of fur on his body stood straight up when he saw her eyes; grey, clouded, hazy. Vacant. They were beginning to dim. 

“NO! GOD, NO, NO! DON’T GO, JUDY! PLEASE DON’T GO!” Nick continued not to recognize his own voice. He felt disembodied, as though his spirit had taken a step out of his earthly form and was now watching as grief consumed it. 

Sirens howled in the distance, getting louder and louder. The convulsions began. Her muscles began to twitch, and she let out an involuntary choked, gurgling sound. Nick would never forget those awful, horrible sounds. Sounds that indicated something very, very bad was happening to her body. Destroying her insides.  

“JUDY!”  

A clawed hand grabbed hold of Nick and yanked him back.  

“What the hell is going on?! Where is the vigilante–” Chief Bogo roared, stopping when he looked at Judy. His shoulders sagged. “God,” he breathed out.  

Nick shuddered. It was cold in this waiting room. Why were hospitals always so damn cold?

One of the paramedics that arrived on the scene, a strapping young cheetah, had been tasked with holding Nick back as the rest of the medical team assessed the dying rabbit. 

Her eyes were still cloudy and empty. Glazed, like donuts. She had begun to break out in a sweat, and most of her fur was drenched. Nick watched in horror as a strange, twisted, smile began to slither across Judy’s face.  

He involuntarily tried to rush towards her again, but was held back by the cheetah. “Wha..” he began, breathing heavily. “Why is she smiling like that? Why is she smiling?!” 

“She’s hallucinating from the venom,” a coyote paramedic had matter-of-factly said. Another paramedic came and gave the coyote a syringe filled with an odd, milky white liquid. “This is no antidote, but it should buy us some time till we get her to the hospital,” the coyote said as she briskly injected the serum into the rabbit. The convulsions tapered off, and Judy closed her eyes. 

“JUDY!” Nick howled, boiling over in grief and panic. 

“Judy Hopps? Judy Hopps's partner?” A voice called out in the waiting room.

Nick stood up, along with Chief Bogo, Clawhauser (who had returned from the cafeteria with a dozen donuts), and several other colleagues who had been at the scene. 

The porcupine nurse looked around with uncertainty. Chief Bogo looked at Nick and gave him a firm, resolute nod.

“Um…I’m her partner,” Nick said quietly as he approached the nurse.

The nurse nodded and removed her glasses. “Officer Hopps is responding well to the antidote.” 

A collective sigh of relief was released in the room. Nick felt he could have collapsed from the release of tension, and resisted the urge to grab the nurse’s shoulder to steady himself.

“She…she will still need to recover from the effects of the venom,” the nurse continued. “But she’s doing well. All of her vitals are stable. We are going to keep her overnight here, just in case anything changes.”

Nick nodded, unable to speak. 

The nurse smiled warmly. “She’s very lucky,” she said. She looked at him meaningfully and then around the room. “Would anyone like to see her?”

Chief Bogo wanted to say yes, but looked at Nick again, silently expecting him to immediately volunteer. 

“Uh,” Nick began shakily. “Uh…Chief…Clawhauser…why don’t you go see her first? That way you can head back to the office sooner rather than later.”

The chief furrowed his brow and exchanged a glance with Clawhauser. “Very well,” he said resolutely. “Come along, Clawhauser.”

“I can already feel the water works coming on again, oh goodness,” Clawhauser moaned weepily as he followed the chief and the nurse. 

Nick lowered himself back into his chair. 

Coward. Coward, coward, coward. 

At least he knew it. He just couldn’t bring himself to see her. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t strong enough.

He buried his head into his paws again. 

He didn’t know how long he had spent in that position, but after some time he suddenly felt a small, warm paw tenderly touch his arm.

He looked up.

“Doc?” He asked, his eyes widened in surprise.

“Hello, Nick,” Dr. Fuzzby greeted him softly. “How are you?”

“I…” he began, but dissolved into bitter, exhausted laughter. He looked away.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Well, I heard what happened, Nick,” she said, her voice warm and gentle. “I came to pay my respects.”

She paused, studying his expression. “How is she?” 

“I think she’s fine,” he answered, cursing himself for saying ‘I think’. 

Dr. Fuzzby raised her brows. “‘You think’…have you not been in to see her yet?”

Nick avoided her eyes, his shoulders beginning to shake. He didn’t say anything.

“Nick…” she prodded.

A strangled choke escaped his lips. He forced another incoming one to stay down before answering her.

“You didn’t see what I saw,” he said, his voice ravaged by grief. “You didn’t see how she looked…you didn’t…you didn’t see her eyes , I…” he faltered and shook his head. 

Dr. Fuzzby stared at him gravely. 

He looked back up, finally, truly meeting her eyes. “I’m scared,” he admitted. His voice was small, almost child-like.

Dr. Fuzzby’s eyes flickered with warmth. “What are you scared of, Nick?” She asked him softly.

Nick swallowed before continuing. “I’m scared I’m going to go into that hospital room and see her and just…break down completely.”

Dr. Fuzzby placed a paw on his arm and leaned forward. “It might sound scary, Nick…” she began. “But I think it’d do you a world of good.”

He looked at her silently, his eyes big and almost prey-like.

“Open your heart, Nick,” she whispered warmly. “I know you can do it.” She pulled her paw away and took a few steps back.

“I think you should go in and see her,” Dr. Fuzzby said firmly. “I’ll wait here. Okay?”

Nick nodded and slowly stood up, his legs shaking. He took small, deliberate steps towards the room where Judy was waiting. Just as he was about to turn a corner, he looked back at Dr. Fuzzby, who’s eyes flickered with encouragement. He headed towards Judy’s room.

The door of her room was beige and blank, the knob silver. He stared at it for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. 

I’m not ready. I’m just not ready, I should turn around and – he forced that voice to quiet.

With one heaving breath he turned the knob and gently pushed the door open.

The room was empty, save for the hospital bed, the EKG machine and the vital sign monitors that beeped softly, steadily. A small rabbit lay in the middle of the bed, under the covers. Her eyes were closed and her little chest rose and fell, slowly and deeply.

Nick’s shoulders lowered. Judy was one of the most vibrant, vivacious, energetic creatures he had ever known. Always flitting about between cases, chattering, pushing, never giving up. To see her, pale and colorless, lie so, so still , made something in his heart twist and wrench. A lump began to form in his throat.

He began to take a step back, to turn towards the door and leave, but she stirred and mumbled softly. He froze and looked back at her. 

Slowly, Judy roused from sleep, opening her eyes. Her eyes . Her eyes! Tired but rich and amethyst and no longer plagued with that milky, venomous haze.

She blinked, once, twice, opening her eyes a little wider now, and met his own. The lump in Nick’s throat grew tenfold. He whirled around, away from her, a sharp, ragged inhale escaping his lips. 

Judy watched him with half-lidded eyes, still exhausted from the effects of the venom and treatment. She breathed slowly and steadily, silently watching his back as it hunched over, his shoulders as they trembled.

His shoulders suddenly steadied. His breath steadied a bit. Nick straightened up. There was something very intentional about his movements, as though he were removing a mask he had worn all his life. He turned around to face her. 

His eyes were filled with tears.

Judy’s expression softened. A small, endeared sigh escaped her, and her own eyes began to well. She slowly, weakly raised her paw and extended it towards him.

Nick fell upon her. An odd, unfamiliar sound was tearing out of his mouth and he realized it was sobbing. He threw his arms around her and buried his head into the crook of her neck, crying uncontrollably. The emotions tore out of him like the breaking of a dam. Judy wanted to reciprocate fully but was completely exhausted. She melted into his embrace, squeezing her eyes shut and letting tears escape their corners. Nick kissed her everywhere. Her forehead, her ears, her muzzle, her eyes when she had closed them. Judy nuzzled into him, reveling in his silent but fervent declaration of love.

“Oh, you foxes…” she teased softly. “So emotional.”

[pidayforpi]

new tag game: the thing you most often pretended to be as a kid—whether it was a horse, a bride, a queen, a specific character, a knight, a lawyer, a baby, anything—is symbolically representative of you currently. what is it for you?