#cloppy

[100-days-of-hsbc]

Day 62

[ambiguouscarousel]

I'm not home so I can't make the upd8 art I want but I can render Cloppy with love

[moldsporr]

Please let cloppysprite be real. Swiss. Swiss. I am speaking to you directly in your ear. Listen to me little man. Swiss

[im-the-antonymph-of-your-mom]

I wish a fetch modus card being prototyped was even remotely likely, if they're even physical objects. Imagine Cloppy underlings and king and queen

[grittersolra]

Thank you senpai !!! * hugs *

@cloppy-pony

[theafricansim]

Thank you all for your support - it has been a tough Christmas and New Year without Cloppy but we are alright. <3 It means a lot that so many of you commented, wrote me or supported me in some way. These are just a couple of personal pics of our many happy years with our beautiful crazy gentle-hearted bundle of nerves, fur and love. Thank you again.

[theafricansim]

Personal

My beautiful dog Cloppy died two days ago after a year’s battle with cancer - caring for him became a full time thing so that’s why I was not posting for some time. I’m really sad right now so I will remain on hiatus indefinitely. Thank you all for understanding. I miss my boy so much.

[fiftysevenacademics]

Office Romance

Clippy always feels a tug of excitement when Lavinia slides a few sheets of cool, white paper between her legs. No, not that kind of excitement! I don’t know what you do when you slide paper between your legs, but for Clippy it’s work. It makes her feel Really Useful, like that little train engine she used to love when she was just a tiny, unbent scrap of wire watching TV while her mom held down the fort on Lavinia’s desk.

Today, she grips the paper firmly between her knees and prepares for the rough landing she’s sure to receive when Lavinia tosses her back onto the desk. Instead, she rides the crest of a smooth flip through the air, to bounce against Lavinia’s thigh as she walks away from her desk. Clippy can barely contain her excitement. A field trip! She hopes it’s to Ms. Jenkins’ office. She loves to stand rigidly at attention while Lavinia’s boss examines the stack of papers. When she praises Lavinia’s work, Clippy swells with pride. Lavinia never thanks her, but Clippy can tell by the way she adjusts her over the papers to sit just so that she understands how much depends upon a hardworking paper clip. She must feel grateful, even though she never says so.

The lights get brighter and Clippy hears voices and the whir of machines. Her blood runs cold. She’s in the copy room, where they torture staples with pliers and turn paper clips out to fend for themselves! She squinches her eyes shut and clings to the paper as tightly as its matte surface permits, bracing herself for the inevitable burn as Lavinia jerks the paper away. If she’s lucky, Lavinia will hold her in her palm while the machine works. She’ll get hot and damp with sweat, but soon it will all be over. Lavinia will replace the paper and they’ll return to the office. She’s pretty good about that, but Clippy has seen what other people do, and heard horror stories of clips being tossed into a little cup near the copier and left to starve in an overpopulated prison of forgotten wire. Or, worse, of clips that have fallen behind the copier and never been seen again. They say at night you can hear their screams.

But Lavinia is acting a little strangely. She’s got her headphones on and is humming along to a really sappy love song like it’s the only thing in the world that matters, with a faraway, misty look in her eye. She opens the cover of the copier and puts the paper face down against the glass.

“No! No! Don’t crush me!” Clippy shouts, but Lavinia does not respond and closes the lid. The weight presses Clippy against the cold glass too firmly to move, although once she relaxes, she discovers that she can still breathe just enough. She peers through the glass at the mechanisms within. They’re dark and still. They radiate a brand of loneliness she knows too well.

Lavinia presses some buttons and gets angry about an error message. A paper jam. It figures.

“Damn thing!” she swears as she throws some drawers open, pulls paper out of rollers, and slams the drawers shut again. Clippy sees some parts jiggle and hears a little gasp of pain.

“The hardest working one in the office,” she whispers, “and no one appreciates you.”

“Thanks,” he replies.

“I’m Clippy. What’s your name?”

“Coppy. Sorry, can’t talk now.” He starts to make grinding noises and soon shivers with the effort of feeding paper through his guts.

A blinding flash of green light rolls over Clippy. She bathes in its warmth and although she can’t see Coppy through her closed eyes, he is stroking her, licking her, making her shudder through and through with pleasure. Coppy shoots a few sheets of paper out into the tray, and looks lazily at Clippy stretched out in the darkness on top of him.

“I can’t stay,” she murmurs.

“I know. Will I see you again?”

“I hope so.”

All at once they’re surrounded by fluorescent light and Clippy is spun away from the glass in Lavinia’s hand. Coppy feels a scrape and notices a new scratch on his glass. It just barely hurts, and makes him feel warm again at the memory of Clippy’s hard, slender body against his. He hopes they don’t call the repair person.

“I might never see her again, but I can have her scratch forever.”