jeriendhal: (Default)
Sorry it's been so long since i've posted. Since LJ became a non viable platform I've been mostly producing fanfic and posting that on FFN and AO3. Here's what I'e been working on lately.

 Dragon Mom:
 I'm trying to work this into a coherent story instead of just a series vignettes. Slow going so far but right now it's my only viable idea now that the Red Vixen Adventures has concluded

She didn’t actually have a name. Indeed, she would have been insulted if she’d been told she needed one. “The Dragon of the Green Hills” was a lovely title, and it fit her perfectly. Well, if you wanted to get really technical about she was A Dragon of the Green Hills, but her son would earn his own title in time, assuming he didn’t accidentally spear himself on the end of some poor knight’s lance before he grew old enough for his own cave.


Earth or Bust : My ongoing The Martian fanfiction, covering the trip from Mars back to Earth. Though it's go my usual indulgence in character angst, I'm trying to keep it to a minimum, since Watney is usually cheerful. Still, I've got him dealing with a little trauma, giving all the stress he was under on Mars.

“I know you don’t like the idea, but think about it. This,” Beck tapped the Temazepam bottle in his hand, “isn’t a crutch, and it isn’t a cheat. It doesn’t mean you’re weak if you take it. It just means you have a problem, and you need help. Same as if you had an infection and needed antibiotics, or a band aid for a cut. That’s all."


The Long Recovery of Judy Hopps:
  Judy and Nick spend time on the farm as she recovers from her injuries in the previous stories. Mostly slice of life fluff and a bit of romance.

“Nick, are you okay?” she asked gently.

“Yeah, fine,” he gasped. “Y’know, I was totally prepared kiss my partner and best friend like an idiot without even asking her and torpedoing any potential romantic relationship before it even started never mind terminally screwing up the one we already have,” he said in one breath.

jeriendhal: (Default)
 Judy looked down at the slice of warm apple pie on her plate, a scoop of ice cream nestled beside it, and worried her incisors against her lower lip. “Maybe I shouldn’t have this,” she said.

 

Nick looked up from his own slice of apple pie, mouth already full with a bite, and mumbled around it, “Y’ gonna inshult t’ chef like ‘at?” He nodded towards Gideon Grey, who was whistling happily as he filled a cherry pie with filling behind the counter of his bakery. Judy was sitting with Nick at one of the small tables set near the front window of the shop, for customers coming in for a quick snack. He swallowed and continued, “Besides, you earned this reward.”

 

She had actually. Judy had jogged the six miles or so from the farm to the edge of town, huffing and sucking on a water bottle as Nick kept pace with her. It had been her furthest sustained run since she’d come back home four months ago. Better still, she’d finished it feeling exhilarated rather than exhausted like when she’d first begun her rehabilitation.

 

“I know I did,” Judy admitted. “I’m just not sure I want to run back home on a full stomach.”

 

“Walk back, we’re walking back,” Nick corrected with a grin. “Try not to run your old partner into the ground.”

 

“Thirty-two isn’t old,” she teased.

 

“Try telling me that again when you’re thirty-two.” He curled his lips over his fangs, like they were missing, and waved an imaginary cane, muttering feebly, “You gosh durned kids with your fancy computer phones and weird music. Back in my day we had to use CD players to annoy our parents!”

 

“All right, all right!” she said, laughing. “I’ll finish my pie.” She dug in and started chewing, Nick joining in, and conversation was put on hold for a while. You just did not waste time talking when eating one of Gideon’s creations.

 

Her right ear flicked back towards the front door as the bell above the sill chimed. Behind the counter, Gideon wiped his paws on the front of his apron and said, “Hey there, what can I do for… Oh, hello Travis.” She turned her head, to see Gideon looking dismayed as his former weasel friend approached the counter.

 “Hey, Gid,” Travis said, his grin too sharp to be friendly. “Gimme one of those cherry pies I know you’re baking today.”

Escaping your past )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 The next morning Nick woke up to the triple realization that 1) his right arm, trapped underneath  Judy’s body, had fallen asleep, 2) one of her ear tips had worked its way into his open mouth while he was sleeping and he’d started unconsciously nomming it, and finally 3) he really had to pee.

 

Cut for mild suggestiveness )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 TWO AM

 

The hours between Midnight and the grey predawn light had always been a magic time for Nick. Three quarters of Zootopia would be asleep, leaving it to the nocturnal animals like bats, raccoons and foxes. The street lights would be dimmed, and the shadows would lengthen. Sometimes Nick could walk for hours up and down the streets without seeing another soul, but knowing they were there, watching. It was something no daylight oriented mammal could really understand, that feeling in the air, the knowledge that there was a second Zootopia, occupying the same physical space as the sunlit one but so profoundly different in many ways.

 

Tonight for example, he’d taken a long walk to the tarmac two-lane road leading into town, only turning around when he’d reached the outskirts of town, listening to the crickets chirp in the grass and the occasional hoot of an owl. Then he turned back, whistling to himself and walked around the house to the back porch to catch a few winks before the Hopps clan began to wake up and start their long work day.

 

To his surprise, he found Judy waiting for him, sitting on the porch with her paws between her knees, ears flat and hanging low behind her head.

 

Bad Dreams, Bad Ideas )
jeriendhal: (Default)

Judy was sitting on a carved log stump in the backyard, diligently doing her ten (and only ten, on pain of Nick’s snark) forearm curls with a two-pound dumbbell, when her mom came up to her, bearing a pitcher of lemonade and a pair of cups on a tray.


“What’s up, Mom?” she asked, setting the dumbbell down.


Bonnie set the tray on a second nearby stump, then pulled up another to sit beside her. “Oh, just checking up on you. How’s your arm?”


Judy rubbed her shoulder and grimaced. “Weak. I’m working on it.” She looked closer at Bonnie’s troubled expression and lowered ears. “Something on your mind?”


Zootopia is built on compromises )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 The long white limousine came to a halt in on the gravel driveway in front of the farmhouse. Judy stood with Nick and her parents as Raymond, a seven foot tall polar dressed in a black limo driver suit, stepped out and opened the door, letting Kevin out. Kevin had his paws cupped carefully in front of him as he walked up to the porch, Mr. Big, Fru-Fru, and Little Judy standing in his palms.

“Mr. Big, Fru-Fru, it’s good to see you again,” Judy greeted cheerfully. Beside her Nick stood nearly frozen, a smile fixed on his face, not quite taking attention away from his panic floofed tail.

“Hello again, Judith,” Mr. Big rasped. “Thank you for letting me visit your lovely home.”

“Wouldn’t have dreamed of turning you away,” she admitted truthfully. Judy gestured to her mom and dad. “These are my parents, Bonnie and Stuart Hopps, and these are my sibs.” The four dozen or so of her brothers and sisters who had gathered on the porch to watch Mr. Big’s arrival all gave him little waves. “Mom, Dad, this is Mr. Big. He’s, ah, prominent business mammal in Zootopia, with interests in Little Rodentia and Tundra Town.”

Ahem... )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 “Run, Bun, run!” Nick shouted from the fence line, as Judy jogged along the path. She turned and waved to him and the dozen or so kits sitting on the fence, cheering her on. Two weeks of building up her endurance and she was finally able to run again, at least for short bursts.

Longer bursts, she told herself, glancing at the FitNip at her wrist, its timer running down the seconds. A full minute, you can do it!

She’d already turned and was heading back towards Nick and his entourage when the timer bleeped and she slowed down to a walking pace. Judy smiled to herself as the kits cheered and Nick beamed at her. The mere fact she was able to walk, not drag herself along in exhaustion, even after that speed burst, was enough to make her grin back at them as they cheered.

“Good going, Judy,” Nick greeted, pulling a water bottle from the cooler beside him and handing it over. “How are you feeling?”

She's fine, but Nick is about to have a panic attack )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 “I hate my body,” Judy declared. She was lying on her back in the bed in the guest room, her old room she’d shared with four of her sisters fully occupied, after the usual shift when older siblings moved out of the house. Nick sat on the edge, smiling down at her, the door propped open so no one started getting ideas about their relationship.

She’d walked back successfully, then rested like a good bunny until after lunch, when she’d walked again. This time around she actually had walked a full mile, only for Nick to make good his threat and bring her back in a wheelbarrow. Judy had been too tired and achey to argue with him, though she had insisted on walking herself up the stairs to her bed, rather than be carried.

“Think you can do it again tomorrow?” Nick asked.

“Slave driver,” she declared.

“I have a copy of The Nitwit’s Guide to Physical Therapy and I’m not afraid to use it,” he replied. “Starting a recovery program is easy. Maintaining it over time is the real slog.”

Nick hates Past Nick )
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
“It’s been a week.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not as tired as I was when we first arrived.”

“Yes.”

“I think I’m ready.”

“Yes.”

“Are you just going to keep saying ‘yes’, Nick?”

“No. Ow! Now I know you’re feeling better,” he said, rubbing his bicep where she’d punched it.

The first steps are always the hardest )
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
“I know we’re out in the sticks but come on,” Nick muttered to himself as he stared at his phone in dismay.

“What’s up, Nick?” Tommy asked, coming from inside to look over Nick curiously on the front porch.

“Need to get a Zuber ride to pick some protein from the store, but there’s no service in this area,” he replied.

“Around here Zuber is called ‘Y’all got room in the back for me?’” Tommy said with a chuckle. “I’m headin’ into town anyway to pick up some shop towels from Burrow Depot. You can come along if you want and we can swing by the Feed Lion.”

Friends and Partners )
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
His ears weren’t as big as a certain bunny’s, but Nick was started out of his doze in the hammock, as he heard the squeak of the screen door towards the front of the house. He rolled out of the hammock and landed lightly on his foot pads, checking the time on his phone briefly. It wasn’t even 4:00 AM yet, early even by farmer bunny standards. Can’t be a burglar, he thought. The house was a good mile away from the main road, making it a fair jog for potential thieves. The Hoppses didn’t even lock their doors. So if no one is going in, someone must be going out. One guess who.

Gut punch behind the cut )
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
Bellwether blinked, as the black cloth bag was pulled off her head. After she'd been grabbed, coughing and crying, out of the van by that huge wolf, she'd been stuffed, still pawcuffed, into the trunk of a sedan and driven around the city for almost an hour. Then the car had stopped and she'd been pulled out into a totally dark room, had the bag plopped over her head and moved up several flights of stairs to wherever she was now. She could smell comforting scent of old, dusty books, driving out the lingering smell of tear gas in her wool.

The world came into focus. She was in a library, or at least secure book depository, the shelves around her surrounded by a chain link cage. Standing in front of her on the other side of the cage was the tall wolf, mask removed, revealing penetrating gray eyes. Next to him was a shorter Persian leopardess and on his other side a small bespectacled marten leaning on a cane, and looming behind them a tall, furry bear. The leopard had a soy steak, or least Bellwether hoped it was soy, speared on a wicked looking combat knife, and was chewing on it idly. The bear, by contrast, seemed to be happily munching on a paperback copy of I, Robot.

You are being stalked... er, watched. )
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
Chief Bogo stared the two officers, both sitting on the curb a few yards away from the wrecked police van, resting nose first against a cast iron lamp post. Wilde was sitting still, except for the occasional wince as a paramedic picked bits of glass out of his fur, while Hopps was breathing unsteadily into an oxygen mask, trying to clear her lungs out. “Are you up to this, Hopps?”

“I'm... kaff! I'm fine, sir,” she said, eyes red with tears, her small chest heaving up and down as she fought to catch her breath. “Gotta get our statements in before... kaff... the memories get blurry.”

Wilde, eyes also red and still tearing, looked only marginally better than his partner. “She's right, Chief. We need to get this done.”

He nodded. “Start from beginning then. What happened after you picked up Bellwether?”

“Everything seemed all right, at first,” the fox said. “I pulled out into traffic, heading towards the on ramp. But it looked like it was blocked by construction, or something. Must have been a set up, herding us into the ambush.”

“It was a Persian leopard, female. Maybe in her late twenties, early thirties I...” Hopps bent over coughing again.

“And your attacker?” Bogo prompted.

“Definitely a wolf,” Hopps said, regaining her breath. “Taller than average, black fur, wearing a gas mask and a suit.”

“A suit?” Bogo asked, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, I thought it was weird too,” Wilde said, a ghost of a smile passing over his face. “Seriously, if you're going to ambush somebody, you should wear some practical coveralls. Much cheaper dry cleaning bill.”

“Nick, don't make me...” Hopps tried to raise an admonishing finger, and bent over in another coughing fit. Wilde looked her in concern, gripping her paw until she was able to talk again. “Anyway,” she said, “he fired a grenade right at us. Smashed a hole in the windshield. Tear gas.”

“I jammed on the brakes and tried to serve out of traffic, right into the damned lamp post,” Wilde continued. “Couldn't see anything between the gas filling the compartment and trying not to puke and cry my eyes out at the same time.”

“Did either of you fire your weapon?” Bogo asked.

“Didn't get the chance,” Wilde admitted. “By the time I fell out of the driver's seat and was able to see, the suspect had already pulled Bellwether out of the van and into the SUV that pulled up. Driver was a bear, I could see that much.”

“Polar bear?” the chief inquired.

“Brown,” Hopps said. “I think. Definitely not one of Mr. Big's I'm sure.”

“How did the wolf get the doors to Bellwether's compartment open?”

“My fault, Chief,” Hopps admitted. “I... I just couldn't breathe. I started hyperventilating, and then I threw up and started choking.”

“Sorry, Judy,” Wilde said, looking down at the sidewalk. “I didn't even see you were in trouble.”

“Not your fault, Nick,” she reassured him. “You were already out of the driver's compartment and blind as well.” She turned back to Bogo, her breathing slowing down, lung finally clearing of the gas. “Anyway, the wolf grabbed me by the scruff and pulled me out of the passenger seat. I had my dart gun, but I was too out of it to try and fire.” Hopps, being a bunny, was too small and light to use a proper pistol, or at least not a very large caliber one, so she habitually carried an optional reguation air pistol with tranquilizer rounds. “He disarmed me and pulled the keys off my belt. I'm sorry, sir.”

“Were you able to get a good look at him?” Bogo demanded.

“A little,” she said. “His pelt was black, like Nick said, but with some salt and pepper, gray hairs I mean. Couldn't see what color his eyes were through the mask. He was... very polite.”

Bogo leaned forward. “Wait, do you mean he spoke to you?”

She nodded. “Yes. He said, 'Sorry about this, Officer Hopps. Now please stay down.'” Hopps blinked, “Wait, how did he know my name?”

Wilde's ear perked up in interest. “Could have gotten it off your uniform tag.”

“Maybe, but by then I was face down on the ground where he'd dropped me.” She frowned. “No, not just face down. He made sure to set my face over the edge of side walk, so when I threw up I wouldn't choke. He could have just left me in the passenger set and grabbed my keys there. I'm pretty sure I would have suffocated though.” She shook her head in disbelief, “I think he saved my life.”

“One last thing,” Bogo said. “That suit he was wearing. Did he have a tie on?”

Wilde blinked at the question. “No, come to think of it. It was very stylish though. Italian I think.” The fox officer looked at the chief in curiosity. “Do you think you know this guy?”

“Not directly, but I've heard reports about him,” Bogo told them. “Almost urban legends. A few years ago in New Yak City, there were sightings of what they called 'The Wolf in the Nice Suit.' Black, salt and pepper fur, stylish suit with no tie, and tended to speak very softly and carrying a helluva lot of fire power. He and a few unidentified compatriots managed to shed light on collusion between the police and the local mob. Big scandal.”

“So he's a good guy?” Hopps asked, ears perking up.

“I wouldn't say good,” Bogo rumbled. “He's a vigilante who left a few bodies in his wake. Though most of them were criminals, or cops so dirty that they probably bathed in a pig wallow. Even then, most of his targets ended up with just bullets in their kneecaps. And at least twice, he took out armored cars with the same MO used here.”

“So what's his motivation for grabbing Bellwether?” she wondered. “She was already on her way to be tried for her crimes.”

“That's what we need to find out,” Bogo said. “From this point forward your top priority is to find the Wolf in the Nice Suit and Bellewether, and bring them both in for justice. Is that understood, officers?”

“Yes, sir!” they both replied.

“Good. Now get to work!”
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
“Dispatch, Van Three is 10-76 to Zootopia Penitentiary,” Judy said crisply into the mike in the seat beside Nick, as he guided the van out of the police lot and into Zootopia's early morning traffic. “ETA ten minutes.”

10-4, Van Three, Clauhauser replied back at Precinct One. Have fun!

“Oh, oodles,” Nick said, once Judy had clicked off. “Can't wait to see Smellwether's face when she finds out the chief chose us to transfer her over to the feds.” The fox grinned over to his bunny partner.

This fun won't last )
jeriendhal: (Marty Greycoat)
She was pretty sure she didn't want to wake up, or maybe she was finally awake enough to realize that she shouldn't be. At any rate Judy's body was sending signals to her that she was under some pretty heavy painkillers, and that moving would definitely be a bad idea right now. The only thing she could be certain of was the feel of someone's paw, bigger than her own, holding her right paw in a light grip.

Do you know how many of my stories end with characters waking up in a hospital? )
jeriendhal: (Marty Greycoat)
It’s a mask, not a muzzle, Nick told himself firmly. The heavy rubber gasmask of the suit covered his face from nose to the base of his ears, his peripheral version caged by two small, oval Plexiglas windows, inducing a feeling a claustrophobia that was hard to shake. He breathed in, tasting rubber in his mouth, the airflow restricted slightly by the mask’s filters, though not enough to choke him. His paws were inserted into equally heavy rubber gloves, little foam pads at the fingertips sheathing his claws so they wouldn’t tear through the rubber and expose his skin and fur to the toxic Night Hunter again. Over all of this was the protective suit, canvas coated with baby blue dyed rubber, like a baggy, heavy space suit. The sun wasn’t even up yet and he was already panting into the mask, sweat pouring down his back and gathering in the suit’s feet.

He'll have more reasons to sweat soon. )
jeriendhal: (Marty Greycoat)
"You know why I moved from South Africa to Zootopia?" Bogo asked Wilde, who was standing beside the chief in front of the station house, as the rest of the precinct's officers finished coming together in ranked rows, helping each other fit themselves into hazardous chemicals gear hastily requisitioned from Zootopia General. The sky was growing red in the east, promise of the dawn to come. Bogo wondered if Zootopia would still be standing by the time it set again.

The calm before the storm. )
jeriendhal: (Marty Greycoat)
Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt.

"Yo, this is Finnick. Leave a message. I might get back."

"Finnick, if you're still alive, pick up the goddamn phone!"

"Mind not yellin' in my ear? I'm kinda in a tight squeeze here."

"You always answer your mobile like you've got it set to voice mail?"

"Why not? Half the time it's some guy from New Delhi tryin' to tell me about this cruise I won anyway. Whassup, Nick?"

Finnick in a fix )
jeriendhal: (Marty Greycoat)
Clawhauser had been hopping, metaphorically at least, the past few hours. Coordinating the ZPD response with the Zootopia Fire Dept. as they fought the building fire in Sahara Square had been quite a job, never mind his regular dispatcher duties as he fielded calls from other officers on more routine matters. Life in the city wasn’t coming to a halt, despite the emergency with that awful Volkov character. He been so busy it had taken him a while to realize he hadn't even eaten in the past hour.

Now with the fire out, and Nick and the Hoppses were safe, there was finally a bit of slack time, and he was able to flag down Fangmeyer and have her take over for a few minutes while he went to take care of necessities. Not to mention get a soda from the vending machine to wash down his next scheduled dose of painkiller for his aching shoulder.

In Which Clawhauser is Once Again Awesome )
jeriendhal: (Marty Greycoat)
Catching up with the chapters already posted to Fanfction.net

* * *

"Hi Volkov, I'm Nick," he replied, switching gears from utter terror to well-honed glibness, mouth operating on automatic pilot while he tried to figure out what to do next. "Sorry if I'm looking surprised. It's just with a name like yours I was expecting a wolf, not to mention a guy. I don't know much Russian, but wouldn't the feminine version of Volkov be 'Volkova'?"

"Yes, and it is usually a wolf's name," she said, looking amused. "But, as the bumper sticker says, in Zootopia anyone can be anything. Here I am a wolf, a hunter, like in the old days when prey were a food source, not a bunch of nasty, clever creatures with horns and spears. " Her fingers stroked the fur of woven tails draping her shoulders. "Do you like my coat?"

"Can't take my eyes off it," Nick admitted with complete honesty.

"I made from the tails of a rival organization in Moscow. They thought they could negotiate a truce, work together with me." She bared her fangs. "I killed them all. After that, no one negotiated with me, they simply did as they were told."

A Scout is loyal... )

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