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smokeys-house · 8 months

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The Cane King's Daughter

⭐️Art by @sator-the-wanderer, story by @smokeys-house ⭐️

⭐️Also available on ao3!⭐️

✨️Part two TCKD: A Story for Another Time available here✨️

Storms at sea are no rare occurrence. Squalls that sweep ships to their sides may be daunting, but no more so than the tumult of the lives of all folk, land or sea. Captain Whetstone, a self made pirate born on the coast of France, has made rather a name for herself. A large and fluffy brown moomin, she grew up hearing the stories of a free life at sea.

She sat wide upon a chair in the cabin of her ship. The strain of a pirate's life wore heavily upon her brow. The early days were rife with plunder and excitement, raucous laughter and cheers. She'd made it, or so she would've thought. She'd got the merry life she'd wanted, as for whether it'd be a short one would be up to the rule of law.

'Perhaps I've been at it too long.' the captain thought to herself. She sighed aloud, staring into the vanity mirror as if looking past herself. "Rouse yerself. Yer a captain, not some layabout on a fishing trip." She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and made for the deck. She'd grown weary of taking scores and the thrill of living on the run.

The crew still aboard The Honeyed Word were working diligently; hauling crates to and from the port, maintaining the ship, or otherwise making themselves useful. Marseille was bustling, lively, and lousy with merchant ships. The local law, while concerned about piracy, were not so eager to challenge those engaged in its splendors. Collecting a bribe was practically by the books in Marseille. It wasn't the pirate haven of Nassau, but at least here she could try to lie low for a while.

The salted sea air mingled nicely with the smell of cookery and the commotion of working sailors as the captain made rounds amongst what crew remained on deck.

"Cap'n." A grizzled old hemulen woman wiped the sweat from her brow. "Most of the crew 'ave headed into town. I assume you can simply follow the ruckus if ye be needing to find them." Her voice was coarse and thick, but with a sense of duty.

"As it happens, I fear I may be in search of drink myself." The captain shielded her eyes from the sun with her paws. "Keep an eye on things for me while I'm gone."

"Promise me ye don't be up to nothin' foolish. I seen that bored look you been wearin'."

"No foolishness here, Ruthie. Just a quick nip, and maybe a rest in a bed what ain't rollin' on the waves." She patted the hemulen woman on the back with a hearty thud, to which she chuckled mirthfully.

The way into town was fraught with people of all classes and lifestyles; merchants, traders, sailors, simple common folk, rich and poor. Marseille was a well populated city, and drew in people from all over. The captain trod a familiar path to her preferred local pub, one of the few she hadn't been run out of in recent memory. Despite the relative ease with which she carried herself, being spotted by knowing eyes would likely spell trouble, or at the very least more excitement than she was looking for.

"Didn't think I'd see you in here again, after last time." The barkeep didn't look up from polishing his glass.

"I'm not sure I remember the last time. Much to see around these parts I'm afraid, sometimes too much." She eyed a table of navy men in the corner as she approached the counter. It was a clean establishment, not necessarily upscale, but it did at least serve the more well-to-do in days long since passed. The place was littered with well crafted furniture and gave an air of high status, but the clientele quickly dimmed the illusion. The velvets adorning curtains and chairs had all faded, and some were torn in spots.

"What'll you have, Whetstone?"

"That'll be captain Whetstone from you. Pour me anything what ain't rum n' cask-water, and you can call me whatever you like!" The two shared a laugh as the bartender filled two tankards with ale.

"Word on the street is your boys are already wreaking havoc. Half my usual patrons have made themselves scarce. You've only been in town a couple of days I thought, but from the way folks are talking I would've thought the devil himself had popped up on our doorstep, and made himself at home."

"Oh, how lovely." Whetstone sighed and eagerly watched the man pour. "I'd have thought by now the folks 'round here would've been dreadfully bored by that sort of thing." She paid for the two drinks and clinked glasses with the bartender. "Not like the navy men do it any different while docked. We're all fixin' t' crack Jenny's teacup!"

"Aye, but your 'Jenny' is more often than not someone else's 'Sally', ye damn dog."

Whetstone raised a finger as she drank deep from her mug. "So long as she's not your Sally I'd say I'd done no wrong. Not my fault no navy men know how to keep a woman in good spirits!" She had a charismatic and an almost musical way of speaking, it was as though everything she said was a line in a play.

"And how might that be, oh great and wise slayer of maidens?"

"Spirits!" She motioned to the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, sharing a hearty cheer with a few eavesdropping barflies.

"And what might it be that brings you to Marseille once more?"

"Naught but the wetting of m' whistle and the tireless search fer comp'ny I reckon. I'm not quite so sure, I think I just wanted t' see yer ugly mug once more!"

She spent a few coins and hours there, seemingly wasting the day away. She knew that she wasn't searching for much of anything, and that she was simply tired of the hardships she'd chosen for herself. 'What use is a free life if I can't live it quietly?' She thought. 'All the excitement out t' sea, and all I'm wanting fer is a quiet day indoors.' Perhaps she'd grown weary of her trade, but taking a day for herself surely wasn't what you'd expect if you'd heard the stories about her.

"That's her right over there. The glum looking gal in the coat." Whetstone's musings were interrupted by murmurs rolling like thunder into jeers. The calm if somewhat gruff environment quickly became rife with tension.

"Seems our mutual friends have spotted a familiar fiend." The barkeep kept his paws busy, still cleaning glasses from patrons past. The captain appeared more tired by the idea than worried, propping herself up on the bar with her arms.

"You've got some nerve. Swingin' your snout 'round here like it weren't still smellin' of my girl's perfume." The hemulen navy man tucked one thumb into his belt as he approached, glancing over his shoulder back to his fellows.

" 'fraid I haven't seen your girl since she were someone else's. Last I checked, and likely still, she belonged to herself. Let's keep our paws in our pockets, shall we?"

"She seems t' think quite highly of you." His words were dripping with venom as he looked the captain up and down. He either had a chip on his shoulder or something to prove. "Turn 'n face me you bilgerat. I'm fixing to see what she thinks is so special!"

"Quiet over there!" A younger fillyjonk man spoke up from the corner, his face mostly obscured by a hat tilted over it. "Some of us are trying to drink in peace."

"What's it to you, boy? Shut yer gob afore I shut it for you!" The navy man leading the group continued to shout, tensions rising among the men behind him. He grabbed the captain by the collar of her coat. "Don't think even for a second I've not seen your face on them posters. Teachin' you a lesson and gettin' paid for it? Price on you's enough to split with these boys and then some."

The captain's eyes darted to and fro, seeking any opportunity to turn this around. The navy men must've numbered at least a dozen in total, all surrounding her. Them aside, patrons flanked them on all sides, acting as likely obstacles. Just as the situation was looking its grimmest, a near full glass flew across the room, finding its target to be the head of the man nearest Whetstone.

That one thrown drink began a large-scale brawl encompassing the entirety of the bar. The glass distracted the leader of the pack long enough for Whetstone to throw the first punch, square in the snout. The rest of the navy men, unable to tell the shouting of patrons from aggressors, and unable to tell who threw the cup, tore through the establishment. Skirmishes filled every corner of the room. The bartender calmly ducked into a room just behind the bar as it all began to unfold. The captain danced among the crowd, dodging blows and delivering them herself.

"This way!" Beckoned the be-hatted fillyjonk man, motioning to the alley entrance he was holding open. Whetstone fought her way through the flinging of paws at maws and more thrown drinks, toward the only friendly face in sight.

Just then, the bartender returned from the storage room behind the counter with a flintlock rifle and pistol in tow. He fired the musket straight into the ceiling, the boom overcoming the sound of the raucous crowd. For a moment, everyone stopped.

"Out of my bar." He spoke quite plainly, as though it were simply closing time. The navy men stopped their brawling and regained focus, looking about the room for their previously cornered quarry.

"Over there! After her, boys!" The sailors that still stood gave chase, stumbling over chairs and glasses underfoot.

In all the excitement, the captain had only just made it to the door when the gun went off. Her and her new acquaintance darted alley to alley, their pursuers forcing them through markets and over fences. Though the chase felt to them as intense as any they'd ever seen, it must have been quite the sight to see that many drunkards speedily shambling across town.

The shouting got further and further away, and luckily the throngs of the afternoon crowd began filling the streets once more. If it weren't for the simple fact that the captain hadn't been at the bar for as long as the rest of them, they likely would have caught up to her. She'd wisely abstained from anything too strong while in public, but a belly full of beer hardly makes for good running. With her wits mostly about her, and her ego intact, she'd made good on her escape thanks to a kind stranger.

Soon after, the busy dockside streets and afternoon sun quickly shifted into wealthy homes and a dimming evening sunset as the two evaded their would-be captors. Once they felt they had lost their assailants, the two caught their breath and the young man calmly led Captain Whetstone to a lovely gated garden bordering the wealthier part of town. It was well kept and filled with vibrant pinks, deep purples and reds, and a sweet floral aroma mixed with the salt of the nearby sea. Ornate metal bars formed a fence, wrapping the exterior of the garden.

"There's a greenhouse here where we can lie low. I like to come here to get lost for a while." The young man's voice shed pretense for a moment.

"Fine work, lad! And yer sure no nosy gardener's eager to do some midnight pruning?" The captain idly rubbed the petals of a nearby rose as she took in the view. "Posh bit o' living, this. Real pretty, though."

"Didn't think pirates cared for flowers. No, no one'll turn up. This square belongs to a wealthy family, used to be the daughter's. Haven't seen her around here in some time, though."

"We've all got our secrets, lad." She winked as she meandered through the garden to the greenhouse. The moon's rise baked a soft light throughout the interior. She idly rummaged through a cupboard above a potting bench. "Bless me tail! Oy, lad! They've got booze in 'ere! Some fine drink by the look of it. Supposin' the young maiden kept a few secrets, too." She snickered as she uncorked the bottle. She'd sobered a bit since her midday jog, and apparently wasn't eager to continue that trend.

"What's your name, anyhow? Ya know mine as it seems half of Marseille does these days. Why risk yer life fer a no good pirate?"

"Well… like you said, we all have our secrets, captain." The young fillyjonk sat upon a stool in the corner, seemingly familiar with the space. Whetstone poured a glass for herself and another for her new friend. The two shared drinks for a while, swapping idle stories late into the evening. The liquor spilled forth as did the relaxation and courage that comes with it.

"So… you're a pirate, ay?" The man swirled his glass in his paw, not looking up from his drink. "You'd know a thing or two about fighting with a sword, then?" He stood, walking over to the potting bench near where Whetstone sat against the wall.

"Aye, lad. I'd say I know a thing or two about swingin' a sword. What're ye gettin' at?" She steadied her eyes as they'd just begun to spin, realizing only now the risk of getting too drunk to stand with strangers about.

"Show me." He tossed her a wooden cutlass from beneath the bench.

"Secrets, secrets, secrets. My my my..." She caught it deftly, laying it across her lap. "I'm supposin' that's not the only thing y' be hiding from me."

"It's not, but if you beat me, I'll tell all."

"Ha, it'll take more'an that to get me into playfighting a stranger what won't say his name with a wooden toy."

"Scourge of the seas frightened by a youngblood after just a few drinks?" He used the point of his wooden sword to lift her chin and meet his gaze. Either he'd handled his liquor better than she did, or he was far more cautious than she was.

"Now yer just testing me patience, boy." She pushed aside the sword and finished her drink, rising to her feet. "Ye won't be needing t' set terms fer if'n you win. On account of ye won't. Take the first swing." She stood straight, sword idle in her paw, in an entirely unready stance. She took in a sharp breath, and exhaled slowly. She wasn't unfamiliar with the art of the un-sober sword, but she never did like to lose.

The man swung, overhead and diagonal to her shoulder. She tucked herself to one side as it flew past and struck the ground.

"Slow." Captain Whetstone teased.

He swung again, from left to right, to which she back-stepped.

"Clumsy." She continued her barbs with a wink.

He thrust at her belly in quick succession, the first one a narrow miss, and the second intercepted by the flat of the captain's wooden blade.

"Not bad! Once more!" She taunted, now fully engaged. Her feet planted firm and knees bent, she parried blow after blow. He sent out yet another thrust, this time aimed at her chest.

"Out you go!" She turned his thrust to her outside line and closed in. She turned her point down, pressing the pommel to his ribs, and pushed him out of the greenhouse door into the garden with a shoulder check.

"You're toying with me! Throw a cut at least!" The fillyjonk protested, panting, but on guard after managing to avoid falling flat on his face.

"Aye lad, I am! But here goes!" She threw a cut at a downward angle to cross his chest, or so it seemed at first. She feinted high, forcing him to guard his head and swung low, giving him a gentle tap on his thigh. "How's that?" She smirked. It was clear he was embarrassed, and perhaps a little upset. His face was red from drink, exertion, and now frustration. He threw several wild strikes out in a vain attempt to land a blow, to which she ducked several.

"Easy, lad!" She began deflecting his blows, hoping that he'd ease up. He brought his sword up as a club with both hands, over his head, letting out a tense shout as he swung. She blocked it static and right between the two of them, holding the bind. She turned her point under and went for a disarm, tossing his sword aside. Just as soon as his sword hit the ground, as did he, with a swift push on the chest from the captain. She stood over the fillyjonk, pointing her sword at his chest.

The fillyjonk's hat tumbled back, spilling forth long dark curls, previously tied back with ribbons that had since gone astray. The moonlight soaked into the fillyjonk's fur and hair, cascading shadows from the flowers that she had tumbled into upon onto her muzzle. The contrast between the bright blue flowers, her dark, rolling hair and the soft brown of her fur mirrored that of the shore and a stormy sea. To the captain, she was the very visage of romance. Perhaps it was the light of the moon, or the thrill of the fight, or even the blur of the booze, but she became immediately enamored.

"Well strike me pink! Hell hath no fury, eh? Now the question is, who scorned a bonny lass like you?" The captain lowered her sword, wearing a surprised grin on her face. "I'm supposin' now would be a good time to cash in on my winnings."

The evening stretched on into night, bringing with it the still presence of the full moon and the quiet breeze carried in from offshore. The night air was cool, and just comfortably so.

"My name's Marion." The fillyjonk acquiesced, true to her word. "Marion Cartier. It's my rum we've been spilling all night." She crossed her legs as she sat upon the cobblestone amongst the flowers.

"And this here'd be your garden then? The daughter o' the house as you'd said it. It's beautiful." She cupped the bulb of a flower in her paw. "If yer the daughter of a wealthy family, what business had ye in a bar like that one?"

"Same business I had in having a private garden. An escape."

"An' what was that bit afore I pushed y' down? Figure you'd take me in fer the bounty alive after gettin' me liquor'd up?"

"No… it's not that it's just…" Marion hesitated before answering, burning with embarrassment and the rum in her belly. Eventually she settled on telling the truth. "My father was right."

Captain Whetstone sat just across from her, light-heartedly rolling her eyes. "I'm supposin' that's got a story behind it. Night's young and I've nowhere better t' be, might as well let it out."

"He'd have me fall in line or sell me off just the same. If it's not helpful to his business, it hardly matters what I want."

"Yer a grown woman, can't ye just use all that money o' yers to get yerself a place by yer lonesome? 'S what I'd do."

"The man practically owns me. I won't see any money that doesn't sit in his paws until I take up the mantle."

"...And the swords?" Whetstone was quick to dismiss the woes of the wealthy and continued sating her curiosity with questions. Despite the blooming feeling in her chest, she still found it difficult to feel sympathy for rich folk.

"Father fancies himself a duelist. I'm… I thought I could get to know him better if I could get him to see me." She eyed her paws, rubbing the areas hardened into calluses by many hours of practice. "Told me it wasn't worth my time to wield a sword. Told me I'd be good for nothing if it wasn't for the family business."

The captain looked over at the wooden swords lying on the ground and cocked her head to the side. "Those ain't dueling swords, lassie. That's a cutlass."

Marion's eyes stayed focused on her hands despite the captain's piercing gaze and raised eyebrow. Silence filled the space for a moment.

"I've uh… I'm not quite sure how to uhm… it's rather embarrassing, I fear. Given present company, especially."

"Spill yer beans. I've drank too much t' sleep now fer fear of hangover. An' it's far too long a night yet fer keepin' secrets. B'sides, I won, remember?" Whetstone laid up against a tree and began picking her teeth with one of her claws.

"You must promise not to laugh."

"Miss Marion, I hadn't realized we were school girls! I ain't laughin' now, but I sure could use a good'un, out with it."

"I thought I could be a pirate. Or a privateer. Something on the sea that isn't in the navy. I'd take off as a stowaway on one of my father's ships with a few good men and strike out on my own."

"If that's yer cover fer trying t' claim my bounty it sure is the most… creative ruse anyone's drummed up against me."

"I'm not trying to claim the bounty! Even if I was, you'd have killed that dream along with the one you're stepping on now." Marion paused for a short while, composing herself. The frustration in her voice was joined ever so slightly by the sound of tears beginning to well up.

"Ah, I'm sorry lass, but it's a mite hard to think of someone like yerself at sea… y' need more'an just a few good men and some sword swingin' skills. It's a rough life out there."

"But it's a free one. The sea keeps men honest… in a way. There's bluster, sure, like anywhere else. But the sea asks that you prove it, and I aim to."

"Aye… ye can't lie to her none, this I know." The captain looked to the sky, feeling a flutter in her chest. She was reminded of her youth, and the first time she felt the call to the sea. Though it hadn't been too many years, most pirates don't last more than a few. "You'll find yer way. The bold ones always do."

The conversation bled into thoughtful silence, the pair quietly ruminating on past and future. The captain balanced a near empty bottle on her knee, watching the liquor shift and roll within. She examined the label, taking in the details. A mustachioed fillyjonk gentleman wielding a bundle of sugarcane like a royal scepter sat cross-legged upon a throne also made of sugarcane. In his other paw, a coconut prepared to be a chalice.

"Cartier's Cane King rum blend…" Whetstone continued eyeing the bottle, comparing the fillyjonk on the label with her new friend. "Tell me, what did you say yer name was again?"

–

Captain Whetstone awoke with the early afternoon sun baking into her fur upon a makeshift bed within the greenhouse she had stayed the night before. Her coat had been draped over her like a blanket, and her head was pounding. She stood and stretched, remembering the night prior.

"I swear I fell asleep in the garden, though…" She thought aloud as she surveyed her surroundings. A note penned in fine handwriting sat upon the potting bench, and was tented neatly.

Ms. Whetstone

I should think you capable of reading seeing as you're a captain. You've given me much to think about. I've many choices to make. I apologize for leaving you unattended, but it's as I said that no one visits my garden.

I intend to convince my father to teach me about sailing. I'll tell him it's for to learn the family business, and that ought to be enough. Of course, you and I know the reasons why well enough. The next time you see me, it might be out at sea.

I took the liberty of coaxing you into the greenhouse for a more private rest. I've a busy morning to come.

It was a pleasure meeting you.

-M

"Coaxed me into the..?" The captain was much too heavy to lift. She imagined Marion rolling her on her side like a big fluffy barrel as she slept. She would've been beet red if it weren't for her thick fur. She donned her coat, shook off the embarrassment, and tucked the note into her pocket. With the morning ending and the afternoon just beginning, she thought it prudent to check in with the crew and nurse her hangover with a late breakfast.

Rumors of yesterday's excitement had reached every ear, and just as quickly sank into the sand like waves upon the shore. The king's navy almost always had reason to cause a stir and rarely did it ever go quietly, but with such frequency it joined the day's monotony. A chilled breeze and shapely dark clouds portended a storm to come, though the warmth of the sun persisted for the moment. The docks were alive as always, folks walking shoulder to shoulder, hardly taking note of one another. The cacophony of cooking, trading, buying, and selling rang through the air. The cumulative hangover was just beginning to peak as Captain Whetstone sat down to eat beneath an awning at a dockside restaurant. Through the din of the crowd, she could almost make out the song of seabirds and waves lapping on the shore. She didn't take to being in public well, but the liveliness of the docks drawing eyes off of her bought her a modicum of peace. This peace was short-lived, as a garishly overdressed fillyjonk man cut a path around him through the crowd, speaking loudly and with no lack of self-importance. He moved dramatically, as though he was performing a dance, spinning and gesturing flamboyantly.

"What fortuitous timing, you wishing to take up the family business. As it so happens, I've dealings with a gentleman from Curaçao this very afternoon!"

"Yes, well… I was hoping to start with more on the transportation side of things. Learning to sail ships and the like. I've been doing much reading on the subject." A timid, familiar voice followed shortly after him.

"Hmm? Oh, of course. I'm sure he'll be just as happy with that if all goes well. Regardless, Marion, how does 'Cartier's Cane King Curaçao blend' sound to you? Bold? Alliterative? Lively? Perhaps, too lively, do you think?" His exaggerated manner of speaking sounded as though all must hear. It was difficult to tell whether he was advertising to the world or simply lost within himself.

"Who will be happy with that?" Marion rounded the corner, catching up with her father. She was dressed in deep blues, in an outfit that portrayed her wealthy standing and matched her father. The duo stopped perpendicular to the restaurant Whetstone was eating at, looking out at a few ships along the dock.

"That one there's a wild'un." The captain nudged a nearby patron with her elbow. "Drinks like a sailor 'n aims to be one." The patron patently ignored her idle musings upon seeing they were pointed at the wealthy young woman, assuming it to be a joke with no punch line. She snorted out a quick laugh to herself when comparing Marion's current clothes to her getup the other night. She decided it best to keep her nose out of it and went about finishing her meal.

"The gentleman from Curaçao, my dear."

"And why should it matter to him whether I learn to sail?" Marion's confusion began to mix with her growing concern.

"Well you are to be married, after all. I should think him quite pleased to marry a sailor if he needn't a homemaker." He removed his watch from his pocket and stared impatiently at it for a moment. The watch and the fob were both silver that shone bright against the deep blues of his shimmering waistcoat. He slicked his hair back with his paw as Marion stood dumbfounded.

"Have you no shame?! Selling your daughter off for sugar and spirits! I would think a man of your status would at least have the guts to tell his own daughter about such an arrangement prior. We're done here!" Marion balled her paws into fists, turning to walk away. Just as she turned she felt a tug at the back of her shirt. Her father pulled her back forcefully, turning her to face him.

"We're done when I say we're done." He scolded under his breath, eyeing passersby in the hopes they hadn't seen his family matters turned public. He placed his paws upon her shoulders, holding her in place.

"Get off me!" Marion shouted, batting his arms away and making an attempt to flee. Just as she escaped his grasp, he raised his arm high.

Slap

Captain Whetstone looked up from her breakfast in time to see Mr. Cartier backhand Marion, who stumbled into a stack of tin plates and other dinnerware atop some crates, sending them clattering to the ground. The ruckus drew everyone's attention. Marion's father stood over her and shook his head. He took a clearly practiced stance, placing his hand disdainfully upon his brow, with the other resting on his hip.

Whetstone shook her head as she slammed her utensils onto the table. She stood abruptly, and threw her chair to the ground as she stomped over to the scene. Without so much as a word, she raised her paw and delivered a powerful open palmed slap to Mr. Cartier's cheek. He crumpled to the ground, both from the surprise of being slapped and from the sheer force of such a large moomin.

"I'll not have ye befoul my breakfast. Treatin' a young woman, let alone yer own daughter like that. Despicable." She spoke at him gruffly as she helped the young fillyjonk up onto her feet. Marion, awestruck and utterly confused by all of the events that had just transpired, simply stood behind Whetstone.

"I won't.. take that… from a brute like you!" He panted as he struggled both to speak and to stand back up.

"Aye, I imagine ye won't. And I don't be takin' nothin' from some fop exceptin' what's in his coffers. Scurry off out, ye bilgerat. I've got a devil of a hangover and I won't be wasting my time on the likes of ye."

"I'll have you arrested! Assault! Assault!" He shouted to the crowd forming around the trio. Much to his chagrin, the group seemed far more interested in seeing a pirate shake down a wealthy man than they were in coming to his aid.

"Guards! Gendarmerie! Somebody help!" The captain mockingly shouted in a pitiful voice. She spat to the ground near the man. "You think the law around here cares? Look around you. The people who carry your crates fer a coin. The folks who you exploit. Whingeing like that only works on folk what got food in their bellies." She stepped uncomfortably close to him, looking just down on him from a head above his height. "Anything left worth sayin', or are we done here?" The man could only look back at her with glassy eyes, stunned into brief silence.

"That's what I thought." Whetstone began to walk back to her table when she heard above the shocked whispers of the crowd, the distinct sound of a leather glove being thrown to the ground.

"A duel. You've thoroughly disrespected me and I'll not have the Cartier name besmirched by a ruffian like yourself."

The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed at the prospect. More folks gathered around, wishing to see what the gathering was for.

"What? Here and now? But I 'aven't even finished breakfast." She stopped only long enough to respond as she continued her stride to her table, not even turning to face him. Her gait was immediately interrupted by another leather glove, this one being tossed directly at the back of her head.

"A coward and a glutton! Afraid to challenge the famed fencing of Jules Cartier! I simply must laugh! Aha! Aha!" He forced out an almost theatrical laugh as he puffed out his chest. It seemed to him the world was a stage, and the thing he feared most was losing the audience. There was hardly a moment he wasn't scanning the surrounding group for approval.

"You'll be wantin' to be careful with what you say next.'' Captain Whetstone growled as she balled her paws into fists, turning to face him once more. "I didn't come to Marseille to kill a rich boy. I came to make merry and sell the scores I took from ponces like you!" She stepped in closer once more, slow and with intention. "Y' have no idea who yer talkin' to, do ya?" Her gravelly voice rumbled.

"From the smell of it, a drunkard. And from the look of it, a buffoon!" His confidence, though shaken, had returned as he began to shake off the slap. He dabbed at his cheek with a pocket square, and straightened his jacket.

"She's a pirate captain, father, don't do this!" Marion pleaded.

"Quiet, Marion!" Jules snapped. "This isn't one of your storybooks!"

"From the papers! Must you embarrass yourself at every opportunity? She's wanted and very, very dangerous!"

Whetstone shot her a flattered, knowing look. "Ha! Did y' hear that one, Jules?" She thumped her chest before tucking her arms behind her head with a cocky smirk. "Very… very dangerous." Her gaze was piercing, albeit smug. She was practically inviting him to hit her knowing full well that he wouldn't allow himself to be seen in such a light.

"A duel! I demand it! Face me or be branded forever a coward!" Jules' obstinations were increasingly childlike.

"As you like it, sugarboy. If I win, yer daughter goes her own way. And you pay off whatever price they got on m' head in Marseille. We fight to first blood, I'm not killing a man in front of his daughter. You let me know the time and place, Cartier. Send someone a'callin' down near this here restaurant. I'll be waitin'." The Captain parted the crowd as she passed. She righted her chair and sat back down, continuing her meal.

"Three days time. When I win, I'll be taking your bounty, and whichever rotten tub you floated in on. Live it up while you still can, Whetstone. You're about to make me even richer."

Captain Whetstone simply waved as he made his exit, her mouth full. Jules departed, entirely forgetting his daughter and the man from Curaçao. Marion, now the sole focus of a murmuring crowd, rushed to the table her would-be savior sat at.

"You complete and utter fool!" She slammed her paws down onto the table just across the captain. "You can't just go around inserting yourself into any old trouble you like!"

"That's a laugh right there." She swallowed her bite. "I seem to recall someone inserting themselves into trouble on my account just the other day. She looked a lot like you, matter o' fact... Took me fer a stroll in the garden in the pale moonlight." She took her last bite and set her utensils on her plate.

Marion slumped into a nearby chair, placing her head in her hands as the previously interested onlookers began to disperse. There were a few disappointed sighs, and life seemed to return to business as usual.

"You've no idea what you've done. Not that you'd care if you did, seems you've no thought beyond fun and fortune." She repeatedly cleared her hair from her face, looking into the table rather than across it to the woman now responsible for her fate.

"It's only to first blood, mate. I'll give yer dear ol' dad a good scratch and a scar to remember me by, and you get to goin' on whatever it is you'd like from then on. You've seen what I can do first-hand. It won't be but a quick bout."

"And I've seen what he can do, as well. He's a liar and a no-good cheat, but a proper duelist through and through. If you win I'll be on the street, and if he wins I'll be married off and you'll be in prison or worse in no small part on my behalf." Her brow furrowed. Her life had capsized and was now in the paws of a scruffy outlaw.

The captain took a small pouch from her belt and laid a few coins on the table near her plate, then slid the pouch over to Marion.

"I'm sorry, lass. I just can't sit idle 'round men like him. When yer out t' sea, aboard and abroad, y' get to thinkin' all manner o' things 'bout the way folks get on… Whole lot that don't make much sense. I don't know to make a social call by now. I don't know nothin' but me own code." She took a heavy sigh, pulling a long smoking pipe from her coat and chewing on the stem. "Take that there coin and put yerself up some place nice a while. It'll be a payday fer us both 'fore it's over, I promise ye that."

Marion sat quietly, gripping tight the pouch of doubloons. She wasn't sure what else to say, let alone what else to do. Captain Whetstone trodded off toward her ship, head full of thoughts and ache. Marion followed her not long after.

"Something more y'need from a… how'd you put it? A 'complete fool' like me?" The moomin turned her head over her shoulder at the woman sulking just behind her.

"You are many things. A rapscallion, a scallywag, a ne'er-do-well, but I fear I spoke unfairly of you in calling you a fool. One of the many things you are now, however, is responsible for me." She sighed deeply. "Whether or not you like it."

"Yer yer own woman ain'tchya? Can go as ye please, afore at least three days are up. I don't be needin' t' look after you." She chuckled.

"Consider it the price you pay for today's events, and my penance for yesterday's. I hardly think it wise to be anywhere my father could reach me at the moment."

"Won't be fur off my tail. Yer welcome aboard as long as you can stomach it!" She slapped her on the back, knocking her forward a bit as the duo made way to The Honeyed Word. "Hardly the worst punishment I've seen in all me days, 'avin a lass like you aboard."

The next three days brewed a strange energy for all around. Word got out about the incident at the docks, likely in part due to Jules' boasting. It wasn't enough for him to duel and beat a lowly pirate, nor befitting of his reputation. Whetstone's wanted posters had enjoyed a fearsome makeover, at Mr. Cartier's request. She now appeared monstrous, though devilishly handsome. Her bounty was attributed to both deeds she had done, and now tales some have told. Even in opposition, the fillyjonk could not be associated with the ills and ails of a true and "ugly" world. He did not just want to restore his reputation, he wanted to cement himself as a hero by defeating a villain. Criers, newsmen, even housewives and barflies were alight and giddy over the upcoming duel. A legendary scoundrel pirate versus a noble and upstanding upper crust citizen.

Word had reached the captain's crew by now, who were mostly uneasy toward their new found glory. Being a famous criminal still makes one a criminal, and being famous makes one a target. They'd watched as their normally steadfast captain had begun fawning over a rich young lady, while showing her the ropes as it were. Their new guest had been enjoying the captain's fineries and with none of the work to earn it. The pair spent much of the three days aboard romping about clad in silk, delighting in drink and distraction alike. If it weren't for the prize of having their charges cleared and paid off by someone with deep pockets, and the captain's usually fair treatment, a mutiny might've been in order. There'd been no talk of plans, and any crew that interrupted the captain were brushed off or turned away. It seemed as though their luck would soon run out if their captain remained lovestruck.

Tensions rose onshore surrounding the Cartier business as well, but as tensions rose, so too did the profits. The money minded men of Marseille had begun buying up as much Cane King rum as suited them. Some stocked up to resell and others to enjoy, but all were buying thanks to the sudden and fervent advertising of Mr. Cartier. He'd sent out servants swinging sample trays to swill all over town. The collective drunkenness among citizens alongside the excitement of recent events made for a city wide spectacle. It seemed duels and drinks drove sales and sail alike.

The buzz surrounding the affair became the calm before the storm on the day of. A party sent by the challenger arrived at the docks in the early afternoon along with a parade of onlookers. The usual liveliness of the harbor was instead abated by prolonged eager silence, joined only by the lapping of the waves and the stomping of boots.

"Captain Whetstone!" A pair of whompers shouted at each ship they passed, waiting a moment before moving on to the next. They looked for her at the restaurant as she had requested, but she never arrived. The challenger's party consisted of two whompers dressed in deep blues featuring ornate silver trim, a large and muscular hemulen clad almost entirely in leather, and a nibling carrying a long red velvet box. Down the docks they shouted, and down the docks more and more onlookers followed shortly behind.

"Captain Whetstone!" The whompers cried, over and over above the murmurs that had begun to swell. The captain, still fast asleep in her quarters, awoke with a start.

"Who wa- is… wha..whasit you want!" She stumbled to her feet, eyes squinted, an empty bottle tumbling from atop her to the floor. She quickly realized the voice was coming from outside the ship, and fastened a robe around her waist. Marion awoke from the commotion as well, following Whetstone's lead. The pair exited the captain's quarters to the sour faces of an armed and ready crew.

The first mate of The Honeyed Word, an older hemulen woman by the name of Ruth, spoke up from between puffs on her pipe. "I imagine that's fer you Cap'n. They've like to come a'callin' on her account." She motioned to Marion.

"I imagine so, too, aye. Worry not, I ain't steered you lot wrong yet, 'ave I?" Whetstone winked, and made for the deck, Ruth and Marion following just behind. The mood was tense, and not all of the crew were sure of their captain's judgements as of late. She arrived at the railing, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to see dozens upon dozens of folk, all waiting on her. The leather clad hemulen, who had presumably been hired muscle, shook his head at the sight of the supposed legendary pirate dressed in a frilly nightgown and robe.

"What do ye want?" The captain shouted.

"Captain Whetstone!" The whompers cried once more in unison. The nibling in the party opened his velvet case to reveal a long brass horn, about three times his size. He set up a tripod and rested the other end of the horn on it. The small creature drew a deep breath before filling the air with a short, but very very loud melody. The muscular hemulen covered his ears, and shook his head once more. "You've been summoned to duel the great Jules Cartier at his manor! We shall escort you!" The whompers bowed.

Marion appeared just behind the captain, wrapping her arm around the small of her back. She was similarly dressed in a silk robe and nightgown. In her other paw, she held a steaming teacup, and passed it along to Whetstone, who took a long, slow sip.

"But we 'aven't even had breakfast!" The moomin protested loudly.

"It's past noon!" The hemulen mercenary shouted, palming his face, and shaking his head once more before storming off. He parted the crowd, grumbling to himself on the way out. The nibling took up his horn once more, apparently announcing the departure of one of their party, much to the dismay of the gathered crowd's ears.

Ruth approached the duo, dropping on the deck just behind them their clothes, and the captain's sword with an unceremonious thud. "Don't be comin' back if ye don't win." She spit to the side.

"When I do come back, we'll be 'avin' words, Ruthie. Strong ones, too, I reckon. Mind yer tongue 'round yer captain." Whetstone began to put on her boots.

"If only ye could mind yers 'round whatever gal ye be fancyin' of late. Wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't fer you. Now the whole of Marseille wants a look at us, and the whole of the world wants the price on our heads. Keep yer promises, cap. Er I'll be keepin' 'em fer you." She headed below deck.

"Whaddaya reckon that means, Marion?" She looked around, puzzled.

"I imagine it was pretty straightforward, but you pirates are a bit hard to understand sometimes. Verbally, I mean."

The captain wheezed and laughed loudly, wiping a tear from her eye. "That we are!" She continued to get ready. "Anyway don't ye be worryin' about her, either. Everyone's a mite worked up I imagine. She's stubborn, but she's a good'un." She tossed her robe and nightgown onto the deck of the ship as she hopped over to the side of the ship to the dock.

The whompers were still in their bowed position, and a large chunk of the crowd had begun to disperse before hearing the captain's boots slam onto the wood. She had only dressed halfway up, boots, slops, a sash, a belt and sword. Her thick fur was disheveled and unkempt, an appearance apparently befitting the crowd's idea of a pirate. Ooh's and ahh's once more took shape, whispers and whistling as well. She began pulling her shirt on as she approached her would-be escort crew, coat draped across her arm. Marion shortly after hopped over, dressed quite unlike she had when she'd arrived. She rushed to the captain's side, attempting to avoid the gaze of the murmuring crowd for too long. The challenger's party parted a path as they beckoned the duo along quietly.

Marseille was silent and empty, shopkeeps shuddered their windows and covered their stalls, passersby rushed indoors, and the captain swaggered through the streets en route to her duel. Deep blue ribbons and brightly colored bits of decor began cluttering their path to Cartier Manor. Though sparse at first, upon nearing the manor proper, the whole of the area was densely decorated. Rugs and flower petals lined the walkway, and whatever surface could have something hanging from it, did. Red roses and white lilies were bouqueted and affixed opposite each other. Even the balconies of houses unaffiliated to the Cartier name had wreaths hung from them. The early afternoon sun baked the clouds in front of it as they gathered, and it seemed as though the sky would open up any minute. The air was humid and filled with the scent of loose flower petals being crushed underfoot, alongside the distant rains.

The nibling rushed ahead as fast as his little feet would carry him, horn in tow. He set up his tripod just outside a bespoke iron gate. Just beyond the gate was a vast open courtyard, filled to capacity with all manner of folk, many of which were dressed in finery.

"I'm a mite hazy, but, is yer dad always this.. dramatic?" Whetstone covered her face as she whispered to Marion.

"Seemingly more so than usual these days. This, I'd say, is less dramatic and more… absurd? Honestly I've given up attempting to understand the man."

"This way, Captain Whetstone." The whompers once again spoke in unison. They led her just to the side as they ushered the rest of the guests, Marion included, in through the gates. The nibling blasted the same tune as before as each made their way into the courtyard.

"So I'm not goin' that way?" The captain said, pointing across the fence.

"No!" The whompers said, cheerfully. Their smiles almost perfectly matched one another, along with just about everything else about them. They seemed as though they were simply pleased to be involved.

"Can y' tell me which way I am goin'?"

"No!" They cheered once more.

The trio stood for a few more minutes as the nibling welcomed more guests with his horn.

"Can I go in now?" The captain scratched behind her ears. Her tone was playful, but she was starting to get impatient.

"No!" They sounded almost the same every time. Captain Whetstone gave up and leaned against the fence, arms crossed. She wasn't worried about being late to the duel, nor really very much about the duel itself. The whole affair was turning out far more posh than she had imagined, and with each decoration and each passing upper crust guest, she became less and less worried. She gave into idle thought for a moment. Her mind chose distractions of all kinds, but more and more her mind wandered back to Marion. Had she made the right choice to interfere when she did that day at the docks? Had she done right by her so far? What would become of her next?

"Ahem"

"Wah!" Whetstone shouted, recoiling from the sudden interruption. "Who'sat!" She caught herself on the fence.

A muddler with very long droopy ears dressed in a most garish fashion held her paw out in front of her. Her hat was massive and had a large feather sticking out from it, along with several other adornments. She wore several pin cushions in various places, and a chatelaine of sewing materials hung from her hip.

"Ahem." She continued to hold out a paw to shake in greeting.

"What? Am I in yer way, or..?"

"Ahem. It's my name."

"What's yer name?"

"Ahem!"

"What?!"

The muddler sighed. "My name. My name is Ahem. As in hemming garments. It's what I do. I'm a tailor." She motioned to her collection of sewing tools and accessories.

"Taylor? But I thought y' said yer name was Ahem?"

Ahem patently ignored her. "Mr. Cartier has requested that you come along with me for the time being. Preparations for the… un-seam-ly events to come."

"...right." The captain squinted. "And will there be more sewing puns?"

"We'll put a pin in that one for now."

"Yer too quick fer me, lass!" She laughed out loud. She was beginning to enjoy herself. Things had taken quite the turn from the serious to the silly, and she was along for the ride.

"Quick indeed." She grabbed the captain by the arm, taking her to a room just inside the manor around the outside of the courtyard. The room was littered with fabric, tools, and mannequins of all shapes and sizes. One of the mannequins featured a fillyjonk-esque head with a familiar mustache made to resemble Jules.

"Rich bastard's got his own uhh… what do ye even call a room like this? Sewing dungeon?" Whetstone fiddled with just about everything in her path as Ahem snapped back and forth with her measuring tape across the captain's moominous form.

"Mr. Cartier has appointed me to make a coat for you. Something a little less stolen and salt soaked. He wants you to look flashy for his big day." She rolled her eyes.

"Big day. Pffft." She blew a raspberry. "Also I'll have you know I bought this one." She said, putting extra emphasis on the last two words.

"Pffft indeed." Ahem pulled aside a curtain revealing a tall and nicely rounded mannequin. Upon it was a coat fit for a pirate, though very well made and quite fancy. It was entirely black save for the trim, cuffs, and pocket covers that were a deep dark red, with shining gold buttons and an interior lining of red and gold paisley. A cutlass crossed with a rose was embroidered on the left breast. She snatched it off the mannequin and draped it over the captain's shoulders. "Go on, see how it fits. Your measurements seem almost exactly what I thought they'd be."

"It's quite lovely!" She put the coat on, pulling the sleeves over her arms. She jumped and jogged in place, bent down to touch her toes and stretched her arms. Then she mimicked punching, drawing and swinging a sword, and climbing the riggings of a ship. She pretended to draw her pistol with a flourish and blew the smoke from its imaginary barrel, and then curtsied meekly. "Fits great! Oh, one more thing." She walked up to the Jules mannequin and planted her feet. She drew her arm back and delivered a hearty slap just as she had the first time. "It's perfect, actually." The head of the mannequin tumbled to the floor.

"Three days is hardly long enough to craft something perfect. Let alone an entire ensemble that turns a ruffian into a posh pirate renegade as Mr Cartier suggested. So you'll have to make due with only the coat I'm afraid."

"Wait, three days? He asked y' to make a coat on the day that I slapped 'im?" She let out a single loud laugh. "I musta knocked something loose! How'd ye get m' measurements, anyhow?"

"Followed you around."

"But I hardly left m' ship after that business, how'd y-"

"You left four times, actually. Two of which you brought back food and wine."

"Ha! Typical. I like you, Ahem, yer fun! An' this coat is perfectly made t' measure, most folks miss just how big I am 'round the middle. You've got me thanks."

"You know, I think that might be the first time I've gotten a genuine compliment the entire time I've spent under the employ of Mr. Cartier. Go give him hell, captain." She smiled, pushing the moomin gently on her back towards the door. "Oh, but do mingle a bit first. I don't think Jules is quite done making a fool of himself yet. I'm sure he'll call for you." She began packing things into a large trunk.

Not long after, the strange events at Cartier Manor continued to unfold. Captain Whetstone found herself in the courtyard, and Marion in turn found her as well. Refreshments were being served on trays carried by servants in bright blue vests. The pair sat at a table under a parasol, similar settings littered the yard alongside tents, rugs, and a veritable ship's load of furniture. All of this surrounded a large stage, adorned with deep blue ribbons and flowers.

"That's a fine coat you've found yourself." Marion eyed the embroidery, sitting across from Captain Whetstone.

"Aye? A gift from yer old man I s'pose. Funny seamstress gal made it." She lifted it to show off the liner. "Yer house is massive! Just you lot live there?"

The captain made musings about this, that, and the other, chatting idly with Marion. Time stretched on, and the outing began to seem much less like a duel, and much more like a garden party. With each offered hors d'oeuvre, the captain took at least one of each thing, most of which she tried and set aside without finishing. She did, however, finish each flute of champagne that was brought by.

The captain held a glass at eye level, staring at the champagne within, boredom getting the better of her. "Marion, how do ye reckon they get the bubbles in th–"

"Welcome, all!" A voice boomed from the stage, commanding everyone's attention. "Today marks a momentous and fateful occasion." Jules' theatrical manner of speaking finally suited the situation.

He had chosen an outfit of deep blues and bright whites, with silver buttons. Each article bore a motif of white lilies, trimmed with shimmering silver. The calves and sleeves of his outfit were tight and fitted, while the rest was loose and flowing. All of it was made of a shiny satin exterior, and he wore a large and gallant cape upon his shoulders. It was no doubt the work of the same tailor of Whetstone's coat. His hair was slicked back, and his mustache was waxed into perfect, symmetrical points. Behind him stood a short and portly older moomin, with a curly powdered wig. He was dressed similarly to Mr Cartier, though much simpler and with a brooch bearing the symbol of the King's navy.

"Today, we bring a close to the scourge upon the seas. I, Jules Cartier, am to end the career of a pirate that has so long plagued the open waters." Not a word left his lips without some manner of posing added to it. Bravado seemed a natural calling for him. "But I, ladies and gentlemen, am no brute! We duel today only to first blood. I have called upon the aid of Governor Woodes Rogers, an experienced pirate hunter, to take down alongside me the infamous Captain Whetstone!"

Gasps were shared by the crowd, most of whom had likely never heard of Rogers nor Whetstone before the last few days. Jules was building drama for a performance, and the audience was absolutely enraptured.

"Should your hero prevail today, Miss Whetstone will voluntarily turn herself in at my behest. The streets of Marseille will no longer be subject to her whims, and its surrounding seas shall stand as an affront to all pirates who would dare approach!"

Rogers, the moomin standing behind Jules, stepped forward. He unfurled an almost comically long document and cleared his throat. "Captain Whetstone, of her own free will, submits heretofore under the crown and will be granted clemency for all acts perpetrated during her stints as a pirate, and shall be pressed into service of the king's navy, or be jailed at once and in perpetuity remain. Here listed are her many crimes, and associated parties-"

"You needn't continue reading Mr Rogers. They can see how long that page is." Jules interrupted.

"Am I going crazy?" Marion whispered across the table to Whetstone. "I mean I know it's been three days. But it's only been three days. A garden party is one thing, but to organize all of this?" She rested her head in her paws for a moment.

"I don't even think that there's the real Woodes Rogers." She squinted at the man from her seat. "Last I heard it, he were bankrupt or some such. Sued by his own crew. Ought t' be down n' out, not out n' about putzing around France." She searched her pockets for her pipe, remembering that she wasn't wearing her old coat. "That page he's got is like as any t' be blank I'd bet."

"Captain Whetstone, to the stage if you would!" Jules shouted, finishing his speech.

Marion looked across the table, only now showing her fear. "Be careful up there. He's quicker than he looks."

"It'll be over 'fore ye know it, lass. If yer dad wants to put on a show fer these folk, then I say let's give 'em a show." She picked up her champagne flute, and swaggered up to the stage. She took her place across from Jules.

"The fearsome pirate captain, Whetstone. Ruffian. Ne'er-do-well. Scoundrel and scallywag. You've plundered your way through the seas and sewn chaos among the citizenry, but that all ends today." Jules once again performed for the audience rather than speaking.

"Aye. All that n' more. And none of it could sate the devil inside me." She growled, mostly unconvincingly. She was, at best, unseasoned as an actor.

"You're drunk!" Jules said, tugging on a pair of leather gloves.

"An' yer annoying!"

"Name your second."

"My what?" The captain shot him a puzzled look.

"Your second. Someone you trust to bear witness to the duel. Have you never had a proper duel in your life? And yet how many have fallen to your sword alone? How barbaric." Jules rolled his eyes.

"Ah. Marion'll do it. She's good like that, seems despite yer efforts t' the contrary, you've raised a very capable young woman."

Jules flinched, balling his hands into fists as the captain shouted for Marion to join them on stage. He swallowed his anger, and continued the show. The moomin who may or may not have been Woodes Rogers presented a velvet box, and a servant presented another. They opened the lids revealing one to have within it a set of ornate dueling pistols with pearlescent grips. The other box contained two sideswords decorated with gold engravings upon their blades.

"The challenged may choose the weapons. The seconds shall inspect the weapons to ensure fairness and quality. Once we are all in agreeance, we shall separate ten or twenty paces, face one another, and the duel can begin in earnest upon the signal of each second." Jules delivered his clearly practiced lines to the crowd.

"Well I meant what I said. I won't be killin' a man in front o' his own daughter. No pistols. First blood."

"Swords it is, then. Ten paces instead."

"I ain't usin' one o' yer swords neither. I made this cutlass and ye won't part me from it." She removed her sword from her belt, handing it to Marion, who had just arrived on stage. "You and yer second can inspect that'un."

"Very well, captain. I suppose I should have expected no less from a pirate." His words were intensely venomous, annunciating each word with a pompous anger. He turned to face the audience. "The pirate has elected to use her own, crude blade even within the context of a gentlemanly duel!" This elicited whispers from the crowd.

Jules paid no mind to Marion as she presented Whetstone's sword to him and his second. They looked at it for only a moment and both scoffed, despite its elegance and craftsmanship. The captain and her second both carefully examined Jules' blade, finding no flaw or alterations. They agreed, and each took their sword as they took their place on stage. The crowd was silent, and the sound of thunder echoing in the distance was joined only by the footsteps of the two duelists as they took their paces.

Jules held his sword point up, taking a dueling stance as he measured each pace. The captain had returned her sword to its scabbard, and was still holding her flute of champagne. She took each step as though she were crossing stones in a river, occasionally pretending to lose her balance playfully as she watched the audience.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

With each step Marion's heart raced, she feared for her future, and for her newfound freedom. She'd found a fondness these last three days and had mostly forgotten her anger to her father until she met with him once more on stage.

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Jules gripped his sword tightly, eager to rewrite himself as a hero to the people of Marseille. He turned in his position, waiting for the signal from the seconds. The captain turned as well, sword sheathed, glass in hand.

"At your will, Mr Rogers." Marion stood beside him near the rear of the stage, out of the duelists' way. Her voice was shaky.

"Begin!" Woodes Rogers shouted without hesitation.

Jules lowered himself, rushing into a full sprint.

The captain tossed her glass into the air, straight. She drew her cutlass quick as lightning, and with incredible speed and precision, cut the stem from the bell. As the glass descended, she caught it in her paw. The audience gasped, a few even squealed as the base sailed far off into the crowd.

Jules stopped in his tracks for a moment, on guard. It was too late to back out now, despite the impressive display.

She took a long, protracted sip before gently setting the unharmed top half of the glass onto the stage upside down next to her, empty. "I hope y' brought yer dancing shoes." She extended her arm, the point of her sword idly aimed at her opponent.

He rushed to strike first, despite his showmanship he aimed to end the duel as fast as he could. He thrust to the captain's side. She sidestepped, grabbing his wrist with her empty paw, and used his momentum to throw him to the ground. He landed with an anticlimactic albeit quite loud thud on his back.

"That's disappointing, Jules. I thought y' wanted to give these fine folk a show." She spoke at stage volume. She stood over him, the tip of her cutlass resting just above his chest.

"It's to first blood, captain." He gripped his sword tightly, and swept at her ankles. "And I'm not bleeding yet!" He jumped to his feet the moment she was on the defensive.

She back-stepped, narrowly avoiding his swing. The audience roared to life having been in rapt silence during their first exchange. They shouted and cheered, nearly drowning out the following clanging of steel.

Jules ferociously delivered cut and thrust after cut and thrust, he was as well practiced as Marion had said. He'd not met an opponent yet that could hold against his onslaught, and yet the captain was calm and focused, dodging and deflecting each of his blows.

Whetstone feinted high as she had done with Marion, then swung low at his legs, cutting just the fabric of his pant-leg as he changed his stance.

She laughed. "Ha! Got yer daughter with that'un, too!"

He snarled, lunging in and following up with several repeated thrusts. The captain knocked each of them aside. She bound her sword against his and closed any distance between them, using her weight to throw him off balance. Jules fell to the ground once more, but rolled off his back and onto his feet again. He rounded her, swapping sides hoping to gain an advantage. He threatened a cut, but dropped his leg and reached out for a long thrust to the captain's inside line. She had previously been neglecting it and stepping aside, and she wouldn't step aside if she had thought it was a cut. He drove his point home as fast as he could, and then-

Thwap!

Whetstone batted aside his blade by the flat using her paw! She charged in now that he was open, blade raised high. He managed to raise his guard just in time, barely withstanding the weight of an oversized moomin crashing against his sword arm like a heavy wave against a ship's bow. He rounded his opponent once more, returning to his side of the stage.

Jules hated being on the defensive. He hated even more his opponent. He hated that despite his assuredness in his own skill and the effort he put into this display, he had not bested the captain as quickly as he had hoped. His off hand left his hip, abandoning his dueling stance. He abandoned his footwork, too, in exchange for a mad dash. He began throwing wild cuts in front of him as he charged, yelling the whole way. She threw all of her might into one heavy cut, knocking his sword off line once again. He reeled, regaining his composure.

He realized that he could not beat her in a competition of strength, nor speed. He would have to stay calm and search for an opening. "The leg!" He thought to himself. "She may be twice the size of your average moomin, but she's still got shorter legs than a fillyjonk!" He closed in once more, focusing in on waist level thrusts. He began changing his rhythm, repeating the same passing steps in his approach. He'd stab and wait for her to cut, then step and do it again. Biding his time until she went for something trickier.

Whetstone noticed the change in his attitude. He was lithe and by now much more warmed up. It was as though he'd settled into the flow of battle. She held both arms out to her side, as if to say "come at me!" Completely opening up her defenses. He threw a cut to her chest, following up on her opening. She took her sword by its spine at one end, and the grip with the other, and swung up as though she were forcing open a window. He reeled once more as his sword was knocked away, but the captain was wide open for exactly the kind of attack he'd hoped for. He readjusted, then swung for her thigh.

Seeing this, she leapt back once, being caught off guard by such a near miss. She'd kept her cool through most of the fight, but she was beginning to worry that her fooling around might cost her new friend dearly. She leapt back again, escaping his reach. She spun off her front leg. Jules watched, unsure of the captain's intentions with such a maneuver. He saw her rear leg swoop up midway through the spin, and then back down as she completed it, as if in slow motion. At first he was confused, but then he remembered. "Oh no." He thought. "Not like this!"

Her back foot kicked the glass she had left on stage, sending it flying straight at his face. He brought up his sword to block it, or knock it aside, but it was in vain. It shattered against the base of his blade, sending shards flying past it. The collective gasp from the previously uproarious crowd would have sucked the air from the room were they not outside. Even the coming storm stood silent as a trickle of blood ran down Jules' forehead. He reached up and touched it gingerly, examining the aftermath upon his paw.

"I believe that's first blood, Mr. Cartier." The captain flourished with her sword a moment before returning it to its scabbard. She faced the audience, curtsied meekly, and headed off toward Marion at the rear of the stage. Much of the crowd were confused, some even angry. There was cheering and jeering alike, booing and whistling. Jules remained on stage, utterly defeated as the rain began gently dropping.

"Congratulations, Miss Whetstone." Jules said. His voice was much less performative, taking on a sinister tone. The captain continued her stride, merely raising her paw dismissively. "You have won the duel…" Jules rushed toward her. "But you will lose your life!"

"Whetstone! Look out!" Marion cried as loud as she could.

The captain turned to see Jules just behind her, and coming right at her head was the tip of his sword. She threw herself back, headfirst, but it was too late. His sword dug into her face and tore across her left eye, stopping around the middle of her forehead thanks only to luck and to Marion's warning. She shouted in pain, clutching at the wound on her face with one paw and drawing her sword with the other.

"This isn't fair!" The wouldbe Woodes shouted, sprinting away. He stumbled into the table that had the dueling boxes atop it, knocking it over. "You didn't tell me you were going to kill her!"

The audience bellowed with shouts of a similar kind.

"The duel is over! Stop!"

"You lost! Give it up!"

"He's lost his mind!"

Many voices cried over one another.

Several members of the audience shrieked in fear from the sight of so much blood, and several others rushed to the stage in an attempt to stop him from continuing his assault.

"Y' cowardly bastard!" The captain growled, fighting as hard as she could with the use of only one eye. "Marion! Get yerself outta here!" She looked around in a half blind panic.

"Duel or no duel, she's a wanted woman! To the man who brings me her head, you'll claim the bounty and I'll make you the richest man in Marseille!" Jules drew the crowd into a frenzy. Those who weren't tempted by his offer began running to the gate, and those who were tempted began surrounding the stage. They were unarmed but very much outnumbered the two who were now stuck between Jules, the manor, and the gate leading back out into the streets.

Marion rushed in the same direction as Woodes, shaking with panic. She had to act, and quickly. She picked up one of the pistols from the open dueling boxes, pointing it at her father. She tightened her grip, steadying herself. She'd never fired a pistol before, and despite everything, she'd never wanted to kill her father. "Stop! Stop attacking her this instant or I'll shoot you!" She shouted. Tears were streaming down her face, her hair and clothes now soaked with rain as the storm raged on.

The captain backed off from the fight, holding her ground as Marion made her plea. Jules stopped as well, turning to face his daughter. The herd of newly made bounty hunters waited, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

"Make sure you take that one alive." Jules pointed at Marion with his sword, gesturing to his makeshift militia.

Click

Marion pulled the trigger, filled with an array of strong emotions that all burnt up in her anger. Jules paused briefly, seemingly offended. His eyes were wide and mouth agape. The flint struck the frizzen, yet there was no smoke, no flash, no bang. The rain had soaked the powder thoroughly, forcing her threats empty.

The moment seemed to drag on, the clear line in the sand now drawn between Marion and her home life. She screamed, barely able to hear herself as she threw the gun at him, reaching next for the sword left in the box. The captain used this as an opportunity to rush to Marion's side, scooping her up in a bridal carry at full sprint, off stage.

"After them, you fools!" Jules regained focus after his brush with death. He'd gone too far now to give up. He'd all but given up on raising his daughter to be the way he wanted her, but he refused to relinquish even the slightest bit of control, especially to a pirate.

Captain Whetstone ran as fast as she could toward the gate. The path was clear and the only remaining bystanders had just made it through. Jules was the fastest among the duo's pursuers, quickly taking charge ahead of his group. The grass underfoot was slick, and the rugs placed upon it now waterlogged. Thunder crashed within the sky, bellowing throughout the humid air below.

"Come back you coward! Blaggard! Face your fate!" Jules shouted above the racket of the storm as he ran.

The captain stumbled, woozy from her injury, dropping Marion in the process. They both stopped only a moment, with Jules gaining on them. The gate was tantalizingly near, and their hope for escape pushed them onward. The pair righted themselves and passed the threshold, soon to be followed by Jules and his cohorts.

"I have you now, you wretch!" Jules raised his sword, closing in. He chanced a cut at the captain's leg rather than attempting to tackle a woman likely twice his weight.

tst-BOOM

A shot rang out, crushing beneath it for a moment the sound of storm and step alike. Smoke plumed from a covered balcony one floor up, just outside the gate to the Cartier Manor courtyard. Whatever onlookers remained nearby scattered at the sound.

"I reckon I already told ye…" a hoarse voice spoke from behind the smoke. "Keep yer promises, Cap'n. Lest I be keepin' 'em fer ye." A rugged hemulen woman set her spent rifle to the side, lifting a loaded one from a row against the railing she was perched at.

For the briefest of moments the world fell silent as those in the vicinity searched for the object of Ruth's aim. The silence broke with the anguished scream of Jules, his sword clattering to the ground as he clutched his arm where he'd been shot.

"Ruthie!" The captain shouted, gleeful and relieved.

"Put some wind in yer sails, kid! Ye promised me no foolishness. Ye get that girl outta here, an' maybe I won't be considr'in it foolish n'more!" She took aim, putting a shot between the wounded Mr Cartier and his thugs. The shot caused a few of them to rethink, running back into the courtyard. She once again set her empty rifle aside, picking up a fresh one. "Avast! I've got 'nuff guns up 'ere to take the lot of ye! What'll it be?" She asked the duo's pursuers, mounting her gun on the railing.

Captain Whetstone and Marion ran as far and as fast as they ever had before. Despite eventually making their escape, the two were in need of leave from Marseille. Jules' ire is doubtless to have stirred all manner of trouble, and he had a wound to prove his opponent's guilt. When they arrived at the docks that evening, out of hiding, The Honeyed Word was no longer moored at the harbor. The surrounding area was lousy with law, searching for the both of them. They spent that night together in a cove on the beach tending to Whetstone's wound, making plans for tomorrow and the tomorrow beyond that.

–

"That's awful, Miss Puukko!" Moominmama had returned from the kitchen to the veranda with a tray set for coffee. She set it down upon the table, having a seat next to her husband.

"Yes, quite! And what became of the two of you next?" Papa asked from his seat across the table. His agreeance to Mama's exclamation was betrayed by the excitement in his voice. He held a love for all things nautical as well as for a good story, and could not hide it.

The fluffy brown moomin scratched at the underside of her snout, eyes fixed on the distance as she reminisced. It was a calm, and pleasantly warm evening in Moominvalley. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon and crickets chirped from their hiding places. She puffed on her pipe, exhaling deeply with a contented sigh. She bore a scar across her left eye, and the heavy brow of a long life. Seeing her dressed comfortably, swapping stories on the veranda, you'd hardly believe she'd once been a fearsome pirate captain. Obscurity suited her quite well, as the last breath of a legend long past.

"In my absence, Ruthie 'ad told me crew t' weigh anchor an' make fer somewhere near. I reckon I'd consider her t' be a hero, least by my account anyway..." She took another drag off her pipe. "Trouble were certain to have found them if she hadn't got 'em outta there. That was the last anyone saw of her. Sent some men that-a-way fer to go about findin' her some time later. Not hide nor hair. I think she aimed t' make the rest o' her life a quiet one."

"But you pirates are all flare and bravado! A life of excitement, and er, uh, and freedom! Why would you want to give up that?" Moominpapa gestured in his chair as he spoke.

"Papa…" his wife laid her paw on his arm as if to settle him down.

"It's a fine thing t' be sure, fer a spell. But it's got its rigors. I fear what I mean t' say ain't kind enough fer this valley. It's foul, and it's wretched. Turn folk into beasts and beasts into.. well I hardly even know what ye'd call it. Bastards 'n scoundrels. When ya find a one like the one I were sweet on, well… it's hard t' live a life like that seein' thems that you'd protect with their teeth gritted behind a sword." She dropped a sugar cube into her cup, watching it slowly dissolve beneath the dark waves of coffee.

"And to think I'm the one writing memoirs." Papa mused. "And what happened to Marion?"

"After we made it back aboard me ship, I weren't in a way fit fer sailing. Without a first mate and without their captain and helmsman, the crew had t' band together. They fell in with Marion right quick. She'd read up on sailing her whole life, call to the sea an' all that. Just ne'er put it to practice. Did a good turn at the old bailiwick once more, plundered as many ships carryin' the Cane King stuff 'tween Nassau, Curaçao and near Marseille as we could. She learnt t' be quite fierce in a short while. A force to be reckoned with under my care. We became as tall tales walkin'... We got t' bein' quite close, too. Didn't ne'er get to talking out the particulars though, I'm afraid."

She stopped for a moment, enjoying the coffee, company, and relative peace and quiet. Ever since she'd moved to Moominvalley she'd known more peace than she ever had. Even in her own childhood home, there were always storms and turmoil. As no more than a pup on the seas apprenticing under good men, she knew even further strife and noise. From her start on the seas she thought she could earn the peace she had now, and never did.

"It's funny how misfortune and heartache can get ye where ye need t' be goin'. We coulda stayed tall tales iffin things hadn't shaken out like they did. The thing about it is…" She took one last puff on her pipe before tapping it into the ashtray.

"Whether or not ye tuck it when ye run, if ye made yer tale long enough, someone always catches ye by it in the end. But that's a story fer another time I suppose."

#puukko #moomins #moominvalley #moomin oc #first mate marion #fillyjonk #sator you did an amazing job with the cover i cant express just how much i love it! ❤️❤️❤️#i really hope everyone likes the story it took a loooong time #in case anyone's wondering this is that big project ive been talking about #the one that used to be called sea of stars and underwent multiple rewrites #the sequel is already in the works! so hopefully it shouldnt take as long as this one did #the sequels also gonna be shorter than this. more like an addendum really. then we can take the travel log series off hiatus!#i still dont know how to tag writing stuff #anyway please give this a read if you can. id love to hear what you think! send me an ask! ^^#also expect me to reblog this like a hundred times #Whetstone's whispers

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bugeyedfreaks · 1 month

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Do you have any pet peeves about how the fandom often portrayed the Girls? minus the shipping related stuff

I’m in a good mood today and I haven’t really felt like I’ve been on the current pulse of what the fandom’s been up to nowadays… so neither is conducive to me thinking too deep about my pet peeves. 😆 I guess the way that Blossom is usually written/portrayed kind of gets on my nerves a bit because it seems like people just kind of don’t get her character (I have seen some recent portrayals from some people online that just haven’t gelled with me… she’s either emotionless or way too formal and serious, and I could probably actually start ranting about some more stuff I’ve seen but I will spare you guys the essay 🤣).

As for the other girls, I haven’t really seen anything recently about Buttercup that’s really aggravated me or anything, but it does kind of feel like Bubbles gets the short end of the stick most of the time, at least when it comes to any substantial fics of her character or anything (I know in my fandom career I am definitely guilty of sometimes kind of forgetting about her… I love her dearly but she’s so good and sweet and drama-free, so she tends to get regulated to the status of like a background character a lot of the time). I could be wrong about the lack of fics though, because like I said, I haven’t really been on the cutting edge of scoping out what the fandom’s been up to (…honestly, sometimes I deliberately avoid it… 😅).

#speaking of which I probably have more pet peeves on how the fandom treats the villains…. MAN #the ggg fans have actually recently really been putting out some awesome stuff which is so impressive to me #but like other than that I would kill for some more villain-centric stuff #or for people to remember that there are other characters besides the ppg and rrb sometimes lol #also PLEASE if you see some fanfic or thing you’d think I’d like I would love recs! please send them to me!!#whenever I get sent a rec my heart leaps and the world is beautiful 💕❤️💕

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animelover20 · 4 months

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🎶when you get this, put 5 songs you actually listen to, then publish. Send this ask to 10 of your followers (positivity is cool)🎶

Ooooh this is cool,I like this one.

Anyway these are in no particular order. (And all are from my doffy playlist but shush it's good.)

1. Take me back to Eden by sleep token

What can I say it's good and I find myself listening to it quite often.. being 8 minutes long has its pros and cons tho. Also my first song I listened to by sleep token.

2. In My Room by insane clown posse

..yeah I'm a lil weird. Anyway this one's just cool to vibe to. And the imagination it fuels god damn. I love songs like this. Like very fucked up undertones,helps the imagination.

3. Saga of a new era(or shinjidai no saga)

Doffy sings this and it's fucking so good. Literally got my nose running because it makes me excited. Love this shit so much (doffy also laughs in it which😩)

4. Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In.

Ah my good neurodivergent friend will wood and the tapeworms😌 yeah if you haven't already noticed I like really loud songs but they gotta have good lyrics. Ya know. That's definitely the tism but.. yeah.

Anyway I'm adding another paragraph to this because I didn't describe it(oops) loud and vibey as fuck. Love will wood for that.

5. And last but not least. Concrete jungle

Bad omens is such a good band and them and sleep token have similar vibes. Anyway I personally like concrete jungle because it was the first song I heard from them(ty moth) imagination also runs wild with this one.

So yeah there ya go. There are my 5 songs and while they may be weird. Fuckin who cares really? Anyway sorry if this is a bit shit I've only just woken up.

#the fucker answers #ok so please ask me stuff like this again i enjoy it #what a way to wake up man☺️#thank you anon❤️#also i may not send this to people because i forget.

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mangoob · 2 years

Text

People should stop being weird some about celebrities

They’re just kinda people too everybody

Treat your favorite celeb respectfully <3

That is my PSA for today

#sorry more serious post #but seeing people be invasive and really creepy with celebrities makes me upset #they’re just chilling just like you #(at least the good nice celebrities obv)#so please kindly remember that #take pics with them only when it’s appropriate #and try not to make them uncomfy with your actions #(stuff like sending love letters yknow)#remember they have boundaries too #thank you❤️#that is all #this is directed at the universe #no one in particular #celebrities #hollywood

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dewitty1 · 4 months

Text

Saturday Six (Stuff)

Having to deal with going up to my parent's house the past few weeks has been a huge pain. What with shoveling snow (granted @astutesnow did most of that) and then dealing with the furnace going out this week, plus all the cold days of being outside and feeding the (wild) birds. Ugh. I think what's most irksome is my parents always choose to leave in the coldest parts of Winter and leave me to deal.(¬д¬。)

Money is a huge stressor for me rn. Mainly, not having it. Business needs to pick up ASAP.(⑅ ‘﹃’ )

Leeloo is six months old and she's amazing and goofy! She has major zoomies, and gets into everything! It's got to be the Siamese, and just plain old kitten curiosity. (=^-ω-^=)

My BFF got me what I thought was going to be a sweater from a Fb advertised site. Haha, nope it was made out weird fabric with the design just printed on and you can hardly tell what it is.(;*´Д`)ﾉ

I'm kind of getting tired of the American Association or Retired Persons trying to get me to join. I'm old but not THAT old, Ok? Plus I'll never be able to retire. Not unless I'm too disabled to work, which even then I'll just have to deal with it like I do now.（’-’*)

Got all my accounting and inventory caught up last week, so I'm ahead of schedule for the accountant! One of my goals this year is to keep getting better with that stuff. Oh and my sales taxes too, eep. I messed that up this year. Gonna do better. (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

#Saturday Six #January 20 2024 #About me #Personal #Please do not rebloggle #Carey rambles about life and stuff and things and ya work is dead as shite rn so please send good vibes and whatever help bc I need work!!!#The damn electric bill is gonna be so high next month ughhhh and I've already asked for help from the parentals jfc #Anyway enough booohoo from me #Something will work out #I hope y'all are having a good day or night wherever you are #I appreciate y'all reading my nonsensical rambles whenever I post them #Hugsss from mom or just a friend whatever you need right now because I know I need hugsss too٩(๑•◡-๑)۶ⒽⓤⒼ❤💜 💙 💚 💛 ❤️ 💗 💕 💖#Now back to your regularly scheduled programming

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themetalheadhippy · 1 year

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Bruh if you post the back in that I'm going to be nutting all day.

I thought people were doing that already??? 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

#i mean correct me if im wrong #gonna take this as a compliment #thank you 👍🏼✌🏼❤️#anon #anonymous #thanks for the ask #ask me #ask me anything #ask me shit #ask me stuff #my ask box is open #send anons please #send anons #ask me whatever #ask me any question

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navybrat817 · 6 months

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I wish I had a smitten Bucky. Just sees me and wants me. 🥺

I know the feeling, nonnie.

Check Yes or No

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky instantly falls for you, but waits to ask you out.

Word Count: Over 2.1k

Warnings: Fluff, could be seen as instalove on Bucky's side, attraction, slight insecurities, minor time jump, Alpine being the best, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I can't send Bucky your way, lovelies, so I hope you enjoy this short, surprise fic! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't looking for love the day he met you, but it found him anyway.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted from his seat when he walked into the conference rooms and nodded to the spot beside him that you occupied. “I’d like you to meet our newest transfer. She’s also moving into the Tower.”

He was a changed man the moment your eyes met. Breathtaking was a word to describe you given how he had forgotten to breathe. He had witnessed many sunrises and sunsets in his life, a kaleidoscope of colors painted in the sky to both soothe and awaken the soul. They paled in comparison to the beauty before him.

One glance and he belonged to you completely.

“Hi, Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.”

While he wasn't sure if Heaven existed, you speaking his name was like hearing the voice of an angel.

“I’m Bucky.”

Of all the things he could've said, reiterating his name was what his mouth went with.

Instead of giving him a weird look or brushing him off when he scowled at himself, you smiled. “I look forward to us working together.”

Bucky couldn't tell you what the meeting was about that day, but he remembered the details about you. The way you leaned forward in your seat to pay extra attention when someone else spoke, also giving him an ample view of your chest before he reminded himself not to stare. The slight crease in your forehead when you jotted down an important note. And the soft giggle you let out when Steve cracked a joke.

He suddenly wished he was funnier.

“Have a good rest of the day, Bucky,” you said when the meeting ended.

Bucky didn't have to try to smile with you. It just came naturally. When you smiled back, it was easy to imagine what it would be like if you were his girl.

“You, too,” he replied, giving himself a mental victory for not screwing up his words this time. “Wait!”

You paused and looked at him expectantly. “Yeah?”

Bucky realized he had no reason to keep you from leaving. He just didn't want you to go. “Do you need help moving your stuff in?”

“I actually got my things moved in late last night, but thanks for the offer,” you replied, checking the time with wide eyes. “I'm so sorry. I have to go. I’m in 2L if you need anything!”

“Bye,” he called after you, turning in his chair to watch you go.

How did he miss you already?

Though Steve had a knowing look in his eyes, he graciously kept his mouth shut as he left the room. He reminded him an hour later that he wouldn't break any bylaws by asking you out. The punk somehow knew that you weren't seeing anyone.

Which made him happy.

While he appreciated Steve looking out for happiness, he still had to get his head on straight.

“Once I completely trust my own mind, maybe I will,” Bucky said, even though the stuff was already out of his head. He owed it to himself to take his time. And you.

Imagine his surprise when he found a note from you on his door the next day.

Hey, Bucky! Lunch on me today? Check YES or NO.

The lopsided grin on his face wouldn't go away when he read it again. You must've been interested in him enough to ask about him. How else did you know his apartment number? Why else would you ask him to lunch?

He nearly shouted “YES” in the hall before he came to his senses and simply checked the option before he returned the note to your apartment door.

When he met up with you later, he told himself it wasn't a date. It couldn't be, right? It didn't keep his heart from stopping when you answered your door. Dressed down and casual, you looked like an angel went to Earth just for him.

“Hey, Bucky,” you smiled. “Ready to go?”

He hadn't said much on the way to the cafe since he was too busy hanging on to your every word, but it was like he had known you for ages as you carried on the conversation. Your questions weren't invasive and you didn't seem to mind the occasional short answers. It was also the shortest meal of his life, over too soon for his liking, and he also refused to let you pay for his meal.

He wanted to show you that gentlemen still existed.

“Lunch again next week?” You offered.

“Sure,” he answered, his head spinning from giddiness.

But it wasn't a date.

It was time to change that.

Today was the day. Six months from the day he met you. Six months of chatting with you between missions and slowly getting to know you over weekly lunches. Six months of falling for you more and more each day and he finally worked up the courage to ask you out.

But falling was the easy part. Confessing was an entirely different story. He would either crash to the ground and hope his wounds would later heal or you’d catch him as he fell. No matter what, he wouldn't let his nerves get the better of him.

“Just like we practiced, okay?” Bucky asked.

“Meow.”

Alpine nuzzled her head against Bucky’s with a gentle purr when he huffed. She was his little partner-in-crime through and through. Like you, even though you didn't realize it, the little white ball of fur helped save him. He was fairly certain he wasn't supposed to bring her to this floor, but any reprimand would be worth it.

Besides, the Tower, office, anywhere they operated should allow them to have their pets with them, especially for emotional support.

“I'm counting on you,” he teased, placing the folded up piece of paper in her mouth. “Go.”

He peeked around the corner when he set Alpine down. The sun illuminated you from where you sat in the lounge, curled up in your normal spot on the sofa. You liked to relax there occasionally to read. He wondered what book you had with you today.

Thankfully, no one was around to disturb you.

Except for him.

“Alpine, is that you?” You asked when you looked up, closing the book as the cat approached you. While the feline was cautious of some, she warmed up to you immediately when you met and solidified that you were the one for him. “Whatcha got there? Where’s Bucky?”

His name spilling from your lips was still one of his favorite sounds.

He held his breath when Alpine jumped up beside you, opened her mouth, and dropped the paper in your lap. He immediately began to second guess himself when you unfolded it with a furrowed brow. Why did he think this was a good idea? Why didn't he just ask you like a normal guy?

To be fair, he hadn't been normal for some time.

“Will you go out with me? Check YES or NO. Love, Bucky,” you read out loud with a huge smile, which was enough to make his heart race. You giggled a moment later when Alpine bumped your hand, the soft noise making his stomach do a funny sort of flip. “Okay, okay. Let me get my pen out of my bag.”

Bucky exhaled a little as he moved to stand in the doorway. You didn't toss the paper away, so that had to be a good sign. He carefully kept himself from showing any outward emotion when you met his gaze, but his knees nearly gave out. His palms also began to sweat when you gave him a half smile.

Just when he thought you couldn't look more beautiful than you had the day before, you proved him wrong.

He ran a hand through his hair and hoped he looked halfway decent since he hadn't brushed it. But you commented a few weeks back that you liked it long when you saw an old photo, so he wanted to grow it out. He lost count of how many times he imagined your fingers in his hair

Maybe one day.

Watching you grab your pen, it was like he was drowning. The tide pulled him under as you made a mark on the sheet. His lungs burned when you handed it back to Alpine. He couldn't come up for air. He couldn't breathe.

Until you smiled again.

“Thanks, Alpine,” you said.

His cat gracefully walked back to Bucky and he swore he caught you trying not to giggle as she climbed up his leg. His heart hammered in his chest when he took the slip of paper from her mouth. Meeting your tender gaze, he couldn't bring himself to open it though.

After he told himself he wouldn't let his nerves get the better of him.

“Not going to see what my answer is?” You asked as he carried Alpine into the lounge.

“I want to,” he replied, sighing as he took a seat beside you. His cat was perfectly content to lay in his lap. “But I’m questioning if I did this the right way.”

The note you gave him for a simple lunch request may have been a small gesture in your eyes, but it meant the world to him. He thought by asking you out this way that he could give you something meaningful in return. Something that only the two of you shared.

That was all he wanted.

You turned toward him, your knee touching his. The small touch sent heat down his spine. “Open it and you’ll find out.”

He nodded, thankful that his vibranium hand didn't shake as he lifted the sheet. “Wait, let me say something before I do.”

The corner of your lip tugged as you tried not to smile. “Bucky-”

“I like you. I really like you. I have since the day we met. And I'm going to like you tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that,” he admitted in a rush, catching your sharp inhale as he looked into your eyes. “But I know my past isn't easy to deal with. If you just want to be a teammate or colleague, that’s okay. Just. Being a part of your life in some way is more than enough.”

Alpine lifted her head and looked between the two of you, as if she was waiting with baited breath to see what would happen next.

Bucky felt a crack in his heart when you didn't speak or react, his body slumping slightly into the couch. It was okay. He took a chance and told you how he felt. He wouldn't force you to reciprocate.

“Bucky?” You asked above a whisper, reaching over to help him unfold the paper. He gasped when he saw the checkmark beside “YES”, blinking rapidly to make sure you picked that box. “I really like you, too.”

“You do?” He exhaled, grasping your hand with renewed joy. He was careful not to squeeze too hard. Hurting you was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

“Yeah. Pretty much since the day I met you,” you admitted, glancing in your lap before you met his gaze again. He saw stars in your eyes. “And your past isn't your fault, Bucky. You aren't something to ‘deal with’, okay? You’re a good man. I can give you a whole list of reasons if you need it.”

Physically, Bucky’s body was in peak condition. Your confession, however, caused all of the air to leave his lungs and made him weak in the best possible way. A familiar warmth moved through Bucky’s veins as he breathed again and it dawned on him at that moment that he hadn't felt cold since you walked into his life.

Not once.

Your faith in him gave him strength. Your mere existence gave him the courage to try. And he didn't have to go it alone.

“Wow,” he breathed, relieved and elated as he gave you a small smile. “How about tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date,” you smiled.

“Great,” he smiled back. A date. He couldn't wait to see the look on Steve's face when he told him that he finally asked you out.

“And I think the note was purrfect,” you teased at Alpine before you scrunched up your face. “I ruined the moment, didn't I?”

Bucky brought your hand to his mouth, kissing it as gently as he possibly could. He could hear your heart race. So was his. “Not at all.”

He knew it was too soon to say he loved you and it was likely too soon for you to feel that way about him, but he felt hope in your smile that you would one day.

For now, he had a date to plan all because you checked “yes”.

We know it'll be the best date ever, right? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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archiverstappen · 7 months

Note

HI!! Hope you are well! I was wondering if you could do a smau, ferrari!reader (daughter of the ferrari family, like hier to the company? Idk how to explain lol) x max verstappen, where they have known eachother for a while through Jos and stuff, and they are really close, but everyone thinks it's just because they are friends? And then max hard launched reader because everyone is shipping her with one of the ferrari boys? Thanks! <3

hard launch ✧ max verstappen

max verstappen x ferrari! fem! reader

masterlist

had so much fun writing this! thank you for sending in your request anon <3 (requested)

[twitter]

[instagram]

yn_ferrari

liked by charles_leclerc and 1.830.616 others

yn_ferrari eat pasta drive fasta 🍝

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scuderiaferrari See you tomorrow boss 🫡

username mother is mothering more than she has ever mothered before 😍

charles_leclerc bet you were drunk after drinking that amount of wine

↳ yn_ferrari stop spreading lies

↳ username never beating the couple allegations

↳ username i ship it🥰

username “CHA” for CHArles?!??! 🥺🥺

↳ username GIRL😭😭

maxverstappen1 🫃

↳ yn_ferrari papa asked you to let charles/carlos win for once🥹🙏🏼

↳ maxverstappen1 As much as I love papa, I’m afraid I can’t do that💙

↳ yn_ferrari @/nicorosberg please do your magic

username IS THAT MAX IN THE 3RD PICTURE?!

↳ username it’s charles😌

yn_ferrari

liked by carlossainz55 and 1.288.711 others

yn_ferrari always a meaningful race at monza! so glad to be back and see all the tifosi that came to show their support❤️ congrats to @/carlossainz55 for the podium! (and to @/maxverstappen1 for breaking the record 😒)

view all 1.172 comments

maxverstappen1 Thank you, Y/N😚

↳ yn_ferrari it’s all your fault! @/nicorosberg 🙍‍♀️

↳ nicorosberg Forza Ferrari❤️

↳ yn_ferrari you’re welcome, i guess you deserved it🤷‍♀️

↳ username is it just me?? but i feel like y/n is so rude to max sometimes :/

↳ username girl chill😭😭 that’s just how they are, they’ve been friends for over twenty years now

scuderiaferrari Lovely to have you and bossman here! Please visit often❤️

↳ yn_ferrari i think i still have to recover, feels like my hand is broken by how hard papa squeezed it throughout the race

username “ferrari fans always in spain (without the s)” SO TRUE 😩

charles_leclerc Are we still on for the family dinner tonight

↳ yn_ferrari you’ve been uninvited, you almost gave papa a heart attack

↳ carlossainz55 😂😂😂

↳ yn_ferrari you too mr. sainz

↳ carlossainz55 THATS NOT FAIR

username i just love the banter between charles and y/n😭 i want what they have

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[instagram]

maxverstappen1

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maxverstappen1 You still make my heart beat fast, Ferrari❤️

tagged: yn_ferrari

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yn_ferrari i thought i told you to keep it PG😡 5 SECOND PENALTY FOR MAX VERSTAPPEN

yn_ferrari unoriginal caption taken from song lyrics?! 183621 SECOND PENALTY!!

↳ maxverstappen1 I love you🥰

↳ yn_ferrari love you too 😮‍💨

username SCREAMING CRYING WTF😭

username i can’t see i’m blind😵

redbullracing SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY?! 😮

↳ scuderiaferrari FORZA FERRARI SIEMPRE!!!🐎

papaferrari Please delete

papaferrari @/yn_ferrari I think we need to have a little chat

↳ yn_ferrari i’m not the one who posted the pictures😭

↳ papaferrari Okay… Please tell Max not to come to the dinner tonight 👍😁

↳ maxverstappen1 WHAT NO, I CAN EXPLAIN

username b-b-b-but charles + y/n? 🥲

↳ username we lost💔

username a good day to be a ferrstappen shipper

↳ username WAR IS OVER

username THE 2ND PIC I-

charles_leclerc Took you guys long enough🙄

yn_ferrari

liked by maxverstappen1 and 3.921.551 others

yn_ferrari some things never change

tagged: maxverstappen1

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username okay i guess they’re cute or whatever🙄

maxverstappen1 ❤️💙

papaferrari Can you just give this old man a break…

↳ username i volunteer to be your daughter 🧎‍♀️

username fell to my knees in the middle of walmart

charles_leclerc 20+ years of this 🫠

↳ yn_ferrari 😬😬😬

↳ maxverstappen1 💪💪💪

username i just need to know papa ferrari’s current favorite grid son, given all the situations happening right now😂

↳ yn_ferarri will always and forever be @/sebastianvettel

↳ charles_leclerc WOW

↳ carlossainz55 WOW

↳ maxverstappen1 WOW

↳ kimimatiasraikonnen Wow.

↳ sebastianvettel 😁😁😁

pictures (c) to pinterest and instagram

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adarafaelbarba · 2 years

Text

I'm sitting here, reading for my exam

someone, please send me stuff to write and/or react to! ❤️

#karen speaks #please send me headsanons from any show or movie #pls send me stuff! ❤️

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slutforln4 · 5 months

Text

ALL MINE

🖇️ in which your drunk best friend turns into something more, perhaps?

🖇️ request from a lovely anon! had to wreck my brain on how to write it haha. send in an ask to lmk how i did!

🖇️ warnings: 18+ MDNI !! this is an nsfw work. its also 3.1k words long...

🖇️ lando norris x reader

It’s nearly two a.m. when you get woken up by a spam of messages from none other than your best friend, Lando.

Lando: Heeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy

Lando: Could uou please come pcik me up?

Lando: I’n a bit drunk hahaha

You giggle at his misspelt messages and type up a quick reply as you tug on a sweatshirt and sweatpants.

You: Yeah, where are you?

Lando: You jnow the club with the huge dj table? The one I love?

You: Be there in 10.

Lando: thank youuuuu ❤️

It’s a little silly how a red heart emoji is making you blush. Lando’s always been affectionate over text and in real life, so it's really nothing new. But, what definitely is new, are the feelings you have for him.

It took you three years of friendship to realise that Lando makes you feel happier and more loved than any of your ex-boyfriends ever did. He was there for you during all the break-ups and comforted you by delivering roses to your house every week. And he still does.

You look over at this week’s bouquet of roses on the bedside table of the hotel and smile at the note. ‘Much love, Lando.’ It reads, with the sloppiest yet cutest heart you could imagine drawn underneath it.

Lando’s always been affectionate, but maybe more so when it comes to you.

Everyone else on the grid noticed the way he looked at you and he never denied it when they asked if he liked you more than just a friend. You’d sit in a corner of the garage, tucked away from all the chaos of the mechanics and the roaring engines, but you’d still watch the races intensely. And, he’d be lying if he said that he wasn't doing better with you there.

When you’re on the paddock, it's almost like you’re Lando’s good luck charm. He ends up getting high spots on the pole each time you join him on the races and watch from the side. Or maybe it was the thought that when he finished the races, you'd be there waiting for him with your arms wide open to embrace him in a hug that felt like it wasn't platonic at all. Neither of you are sure if it was.

The cold night air hits your cheeks as soon as you leave your car. Maybe it wasn't the best decision to wear sweats to a club, but it's not like you’d be there for long. You text Lando that you’re there and wait for him to read the message, but he doesn't. You text Oscar, he replies in an instant.

You: Hey, are you at the club with Lando?

Oscar: Yes, he’s been whining for you. Are you here?

You: Yeah, I’m outside the club actually. Could you please ask him to come outside?

Oscar: Give him 5 minutes to gather his stuff.

You: Alright, thank you.

You nervously clutch your phone in your hand as you lean against your car. Something feels different about tonight. Sure, you were at the race and saw him kick ass out there. Maybe it was the fact that he placed fifth and was beating himself up for it.

Back at the hotel, before he left for the club, he was ranting to you about everything he could’ve done differently.

“I’m stupid,” he sighed, sitting down on the bed next to you and placing his head in his hands. “Could’ve been P3.”

“Hey,” you softly caressed his back as you spoke. “You were amazing out there, truly. It wouldn't take a genius to notice the potential you have. This year just wasn't your year, you’ll do better next season.”

By the end of your speech, Lando had pulled you into his lap and softly caressed your hair as you played with his. “You’re right.” He smiled, fondly. “I’ll do better next season, because I have such an amazing girl like you by my side, hm?” He softly caressed your cheek and you nodded, smiling at him.

Your thoughts get cut off by the sound of Lando and Oscar talking as they leave the club. “Mate, I’m fineeee,” you heard Lando speak. He had an arm around Oscar’s shoulders to keep steady, yet was practically carried by Oscar the whole time.

“No, you’re not, you can barely walk.” You see Oscar roll his eyes as he helps Lando get to you. When Lando’s glossy eyes land on you, he grins.

“Y/N!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around you. You reciprocate the hug, wrapping your arms around his neck and inhaling the familiar scent of your best friend. As intoxicating as it is, you manage to pull away slightly. “Why didn't you come inside? Max was downing shots like craaaazyyyyy”

“Maybe next time,” you laugh.

Lando pulls away and turns to Oscar. “This guy,” he points to him, causing a confused look on Oscar’s face. “He’s the real champ.” Lando laughs, wobbling over to Oscar. “Great job, mate. I’m very jealous and upset, but you did so great.”

“You also did really great, Lando.” Oscar smiles at Lando, “McLaren said you’ve had a great impact on the team.”

“Aw, really?” Lando grins and it warms your heart. “That’s so sweet. Listen, I will catch you later, I got a pretty girl I gotta get to, alright?”

Oscar nods and locks eyes with you, noticing the slight blush on your face at Lando’s words. “Alright, mate. Night.” He says to the both of you.

“Night, Oscar,” you and Lando reply in union and he laughs. You open the passenger door for him and he gets in, but instead of buckling up, he just sits there. “Buckle up, Lan.”

“Sleepy,” is all he says. You roll your eyes and smile at his laziness before reaching over and buckling him up. You have to try your best and ignore how his face is so close to your neck, and how you’re so close to his neck. The button-up he wore today was half-way to being fully unbuttoned and the mere glimpse of his exposed chest made you weak in the knees. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks, Lan.” You smile and start the car, driving back towards the hotel. There’s an unexpected silence in the car and you can feel Lando’s gaze on you. After looking at the rear-view mirror and seeing just how red he made you, you pray he’s too drunk to tell.

You feel his gentle tug on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “This mine?”

You look down and realise you did, in fact, put on Lando’s sweatshirt instead of your own. “Oh, shit. Yeah, sorry. Probably mixed yours up with mine.”

“No, it's alright,” he hums. “Looks better on you. I like you in my clothes.”

You’re sure that if Lando wasn't wasted right now, he’d be giving you so much shit for being a flustered mess. But you can't help it when he’s being so sweet to you.

The hotel comes into view and you look over at Lando. He was already looking at you. “We’re here.”

He unfastens his seatbelt and opens the door, before making his way around the car to open your door. Even though he’s drunk, he remembers the little things he does for you. You’ve told him multiple times that he doesn't have to do that, you’re fully capable of opening your own door, but he persists.

Lando’s hand reaches out to help you get out of the car and the warmth of his palm in yours sends sparks through your body. He seems to notice it, but says nothing about it. Yet you notice the slight smirk on his face.

He seems to be less drunk than when he was with Oscar. He walks just fine without needing to support himself on you, but regardless, he wraps an arm around your waist and leads you into the hotel.

“Don’t you need help walking?” You laugh, slightly, as you remind him of what he was like only ten minutes ago.

“Nope,” Lando shrugs, reciprocating the smile on your lips. “Had to pretend to be very wasted so I’d have a reason to leave. I’m still a little tipsy, though.”

“And Oscar bought it?”

Lando can't help but laugh at the memory of Oscar practically dragging him out of the club. “Yeah, apparently he’s very gullible.”

You smile, looking at Lando’s face and studying every feature. The moles on his cheek and neck have always been your favourite feature of his. You love drawing shapes on his skin, as if you were connecting the dots. And that smile of his... The sight of it made you melt.

The elevator dings at your floor and Lando leads both of you towards your room. For some reason, you grow nervous. You’re nervous that this affection won’t be there when he sobers up in the morning, so you’re dreading every second until you go to sleep.

“Did you like the roses?” He asks, setting his stuff down on his bedside table.

You look over at him and smile. “Loved them. Thank you.”

“No need,” he’s quick to shut down your thanks. “I told you, you deserve it.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been sending me roses every week for months now,” you tug off your sweatshirt and get dressed for bed. Lando watches. “I don't do things like that for you, it makes me feel like it's unfair.”

“It's not unfair,” he lays down in the bed, watching as you carefully take off his sweats and place them in your suitcase. “It’s what friends do.”

“Is it?” You ask with a small smirk, getting into the bed. “Do friends also share a bed?”

“If it's cheaper, yeah.” He references the prices of the hotel and how expensive it would’ve been if you had gotten a room with two beds instead of one.

You look at him with a soft smile. “You’re rich enough to afford a bigger hotel room.”

“Are you complaining about sharing a bed?” Lando raises a brow, playfully. You shake your head. “Alright, then come here,” he raises his arm and invites you to cuddle with him. Again, not the first time you’ve done that, but something about this time feels different.

There’s something different about you when you lay your head on his chest and something different about him when he wraps his arm around you. It’s a lot more gentle. Maybe more loving?

Lando wonders the same. “Do you think friends cuddle?”

You can tell it's his tipsiness talking, but still, you reply. “Yeah, all the time.”

You feel his chest rise with a sigh. Lando’s not sure what he wants you to say. Maybe he’s looking for a reason not to be platonic with you. Maybe he’s looking for things that you two do that aren't considered platonic. Though, many would consider this not platonic. The way he’s wrapped around you is incredibly loving, if anything.

Neither of you are sure when you started doing not-so-platonic platonic things, but you’ve been enjoying it. The occasional nicknames, forehead kisses, hugs that last longer than they should, cuddles, longing stares across a crowded room.

Somehow, you always manage to find each other, even in a sea of others.

“Lando,” you look up at him and notice he was already looking at you. You’re not sure what you want to say to him. There’s so much to say, yet so little comes to mind. One look at him and all your thoughts, even the most coherent ones, become a jumbled mess.

Lando presses a kiss into your hairline. “Hm?”

You don't answer for a while. The hand that was resting draped across his torso slowly trails up to his jaw. Your fingers trace his jawbone and trail up to his moles, playing connect the dots with each and every one of them. Lando’s breathing became more jagged when your thumb traced his bottom lip.

As your hand cups the right side of his jaw, you ask.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

That’s all that it took. The soft plea that left Lando’s soft lips urged you to gently place your own against his. You don't move at first. He doesn't either. Your lips stay touching but neither of you move, either too scared of being pushy or too scared to take it too far.

Lando’s the first one to initiate any movement. His lips start moving against yours and your lips copy. It doesn't take long for you to find a good rhythm. Everyone always says you two were made for each other, and this was the moment you realised it’s true.

Your fingers tangle in his hair and his hands travel to your waist. There’s nothing awkward about this, you somehow already know what to do and how to act in a way that’s far from your usual ‘platonic’ acts.

When you softly tug on his hair as you deepen the kiss, Lando whimpers into your mouth and it might be your favourite sound. “Touch me,” he says, under his breath.

Your hand trails down from his hair, down his back, making sure to softly caress it as it reaches the hemline of his boxers. Your hand softly runs over his side, making his skin erupt in goosebumps. “Still ticklish, Norris?” You smile against his lips.

“Mhm,” he replies, his hands pulling your hips to roll against his. You feel his erection pressing onto your pelvis, making the ache in the pit of your stomach worse. “Now stop teasing me.”

The hunger in his voice makes you quicken your movements. You place your hand over his clothed erection and when you wrap your hand around it, a small moan leaves his lips. You’ve barely touched him, yet he’s a moaning mess in your hands.

Your lips press onto his harsher as you begin palming him through his boxers. There’s barely any stimulation happening to his cock, but the mere thought of you being the one to touch him like this, makes him more sensitive to any kind of physical contact with you. He wants to savour and feel every last ounce of your attention tonight, because he’s not sure what this means for your friendship afterwards.

You wrap your hand around his cock and apply some pressure when you stroke him. He’s a moaning mess, softly whimpering as you bite his bottom lip. It takes a few more strokes until you can tell he’s close, so you pull away.

Lando’s confused eyes lock with yours only to realise you’re unclasping your bra and tugging off your panties. He does the same and drops his boxers on the floor, his erection hitting his abdomen with a soft slap. It’s almost like Lando can read your mind when he lays on his back and places his hands on your waist as you sit on his thighs, not daring to take him.

“You scared?” He asks, softly. You knew he had some length, but it didn't seem that long through swimming trunks or boxers. Not to mention the intimidating combo of length and girth Lando seems to be blessed with. When you nod, he slowly flips you over to lay on your back. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

He places a small kiss on your forehead and you feel his hand reaching down to your pussy, a finger slipping between the folds. “So wet for me.” Lando mumbles against your lips. You feel him lining the tip up with your entrance, but he doesn't move it past that.

Lando keeps it there as he softly kisses you, his lips trailing your jaw, neck, collarbone. He leaves small bites and hickeys, earning enough moans from you to last him months of remembering this moment for when he needs you again.

When you whimper into Lando’s mouth, your hips jolting closer to what you want, Lando smirks. “You want it, hm? You want me to fuck you dumb, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you mumble against his lips. “Please.”

You feel him pushing his cock into you, the size of it stretching your walls in a way you couldn't have ever imagined. A slow moan leaves your lips and he’s only halfway in.

“Taking me so well, aren't you?” He kisses your neck, licking a spot before softly sinking his teeth into your tender skin. It hurts but fuck, does it feel good. Lando pushes his whole length into you with a short thrust and you gasp at the sudden feeling of him hitting your cervix.

“Lando,” you call out when he slowly pulls out and slowly thrusts back in. “Fuck.”

“You can take it, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, as he pulls out slowly again. This time, his thrust is more aggressive. You feel him slowly speeding up, your moans only increasing in frequency. The shape of his cock and the way he stretches your walls makes your mind go dizzy.

Lando trails kisses down your chest, placing as many hickeys as possible. He wants to make sure you remember tonight. He wants to make sure both of you have a reminder of what happened for days to come.

“Such a good girl,” he lowly hums into your neck, resting his head against your shoulder as his tongue swirls and licks the skin between your collar and jaw. “Pretty pussy all stretched out for me.”

“Fuck,” you squeeze your eyelids shut at the new feeling Lando praising you.

“You like that?” He smirks against your jaw. “Does my pretty girl like praise?”

“Say that again,” you urge him, your hands frantically moving from his hair to his jaw to pull him in for a sloppy kiss. “Tell me I’m yours.”

“You’re mine, baby,” he kisses your lips, his thrusts beginning to turn sloppy. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you affirm against his lips, feeling your own orgasm approaching. “Fuck, Lando. Keep going.”

“You gonna come for me, huh, baby?” He says between his strained moans, his hips slapping against yours as both of you nearing your highs. “C’mon.”

“I’m about to-” your sentence is cut off by a loud moan when Lando’s hand slips between your bodies to find your clit. He starts rubbing the throbbing bud in circles, applying pressure from time to time.

“I’m right there with you, baby, let go.” He kisses you again and again, slowly slipping away to nuzzle his head into your shoulder when both of you moan in pleasure. You feel his warmth spread inside you and he’s sure he’s never felt anything like this before.

He thrusts the cum into you before pulling out and flopping on his back. Both of you are a sweaty mess, still kissing. After a short while, Lando gets up to go get a towel and clean both of you up, and you change the sheets before laying back down.

“So…” your head rests on his chest when you begin to talk. You look up at him, worry slowly filling up your system.. “Still glad you left the party?”

Lando laughs. “There's no place I’d rather be.”

#formula one fanfic #formula one #f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris smut #lando norris x you #f1 x you #formula one imagine

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adams-angels · 3 months

Note

Can you do one where Adam sees you as a place holder for his wives and doesn’t respect you ever but when you want to leave him he realizes just how much he truly cares about you and then like over course of a period of time (your choice) we forgive him :)

Thank you for listening ❤️

This was a fun one! I love a bit of angst. Can't get enough of the stuff!!

💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖

Reader POV because I got a similar ask which I'll write as Adams POV

Used

It's all I ever asked for. To be respected. To be loved. It wasn't fair. Why did I have to be alone and wait for him while he was out galavanting around the heavens! How was it fair? He'd only ever sees me for sex. He wouldn't reply to my texts but god fucking forbid I miss one of his texts.

Or in this case ignore. I've had enough. I'm not being second choice anymore! So I texted him "we're done." I know it's cowardly to "break up" via text but it's not even like we were dating! I placed my phone down on my side table. I should of put it on silent. Why didn't I put it on silent.

Curling up on my bed, tears flowing from my eyes as I hear the vibration on my phone. He's either calling or text bombing me. I pick up my phone to see several missed called and about 20 texts already.

You think you're better than me?!

You're nothing!

I'm Adam!! I can get ANYONE I FUCKING WANT

YOU THINK I NEED YOU?!

I sob.

I must of fallen asleep during my crying of self pity. I stretch out my arms as I sit up only to see Adam at the doorway. I scream in surprise, falling off my bed hitting my phone off the nightstand in the process. "Adam?! What the hell are you doing in my apartment?!" I yell at him.

He stands there, looming over me. "You want to leave me?" He asked, never had I heard him so emotionless. I tut as I stand up. "You say that like you cared." I retort, picking my phone up from the floor. "Don't look at that." He took a step towards me, reaching out but I pulled away. "Why? You next me nasty shit? Telling me I'm worthless? That I was lucky to -" he interrupted, "y/n, I'm sorry. I just want to know what I did wrong."

I can't help but sigh, collapsing on my bed, hair covering my face. "I just... I can't... I don't want to be a place holder for you." I can hear Adam moving closer, his wings dragging across the floor. "What are you talking about?" One of his hands land on mine. "I don't want to be someone you just use until you find someone better." His fingers interlace with mine as his other hand brushes my hair from my face revealing my teary eyes. "I just want to be... I don't know, Adam."

His hand cups my face and I just can't help but melt into his touch. "Be mine?" I shrug in response. Clearing his throat he clarifies, "no, I'm asking. Be mine." I can't help but look at him like an idiot, my heart skipping a beat. "What?" He recoiled. "I mean, maybe we could start again? Like.. properly?"

"You mean like.. date? What happened to "I don't date. I'm the first man. I have the first penis ever bla bla!"" He stares at me with a blank expression. "I don't sound like that." "You do." Adam brow furrows in what I can only assume is annoyance. "Whatever, y/n, please. I can't lose you. I don't want to lose you. Please don't leave me." Never have I seen him look so weak. So... Small? "I'll have to think about it." I can't tell if he feels relieved or worried. Maybe both. "H-how long will that take?" He asked with a hint of desperation.

"I don't know, Adam." I shrug. My words hung in the air. "I really care about you, y/n. You have to believe me, babe." He kissed my hand before releasing it. "Just.. uh... Delete those texts. I didn't mean any of it." I watch as he leaves my apartment. No through the door of course, no, he always had to leave from the balcony. I usually watch as he flies away. But not this time..

It's been about a month since I last spoke to Adam. I've seen him about. Doing his thing. It makes me laugh. When ever he notices me he freezes up. Just last week he was talking to Sera and as soon as he noticed me walk past he just stared. I swear I heard Sera say "earth to Adam."

Today I decided. I head towards his office, walking past several anxious angles. I heard yelling come from inside his office and then something smash. Before I could knock the door swung open and standing before me was a very frustrated Adam. His feathers were literally ruffled. "Y/n?" He was surprised to see me but his expression changed quickly as he remembered in was in the presence of his underlings. "Come in." He stands aside letting you in to his office. It was mess. I mean, I've seen it messy before but this was a whole new level. Documents everywhere, a smashed mug on the floor and coffee stains on the wall. "Bad day?" I commented he grumbled in response. "There are no bad days in heaven."

He slumps down on his chair, watching me as I walk over to his office window, opening it to get some of that heavenly fresh air in. "So... I thought about it." He perks up, sitting straight. "And?"

"and I'm willing to start again. Properly." I don't even get a chance to turn and face him before he's already darted from his chair wrapping me in his arms. "Fuck, thank fucking Christ. Don't do that to me again. Please." His wings surrounded us. "Please, I'm sorry. I'll treat you so much better." "Promise?" "Yes, promise."

～⁠♡✧⁠｡ I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! ｡✧⁠♡～⁠

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel smut #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam smut

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helen-with-an-a · 2 months

Text

I am an Adult pt 3.5

Hi. So I wanted to a sub-chapter kinda thing about Lena's side of the relationship/first few months etc. So here it is. Also shout out to the anons who gave me some inspo for this - u really helped. Also, I would like to preface this by saying I don't really know much about the Wolfsburg team as a whole, so if anything's wrong please let me know.

In this fic - the bold text is meant to be in German (but I didn't want bascially the whole thing to be unreadable for people) so just imagine it's in German

Barca Femeni x Reader / Lena Oberdorf x Reader / VfL Wolfsburg x Lena Oberdorf

Description: R and Lena's relationship from Lena's perspective

Word Count: 2.7k

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 3.5 : Part 4

Lena was too smiley. That was the first thing Jule noticed after the Barca match. The hotel they were staying in was nice, the weather was very warm compared to Wolfsburg, and the day off was well deserved.

“What’s up with you?” She asked her best friend, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Lena dismissed her as she fell onto her bed, phone in her hand.

“Speaking English now, are we?” Jule teased, studying Lena. She had a slight flush to her skin that wasn’t there this morning. She seemed too happy for someone who had just been ‘exploring’ all day. “What did you do today?”

“Nothing … uh, nothing much; I just wandered ‘round a bit,” Lena said distractedly. Jule hummed in false agreement. Something was going on.

A gasp pulled Jule from her inspection. It was Lena, staring joyfully at her phone before hurriedly typing away. Ok, something was most definitely going on, and Jule was going to find out what and soon.

“I’m going …” Lena cleared her throat and shook her head as if to shake away the English. “I’m going to go shower … uh … yeh.” She gathered up her stuff and headed to the attached bathroom, leaving her phone on the bed. Perfect, it was time to snoop; Jule congratulated the universe on its opportunistic timing.

[Initial]💙❤️: SPOTIFY LINK – One Direction, ‘I Should Have Kissed You’: https://www.spotify......

L💚: SPOTIFY LINK – Odeal, ‘Next Time’: https://www.spotify.......

Who was ‘[Initial]💙❤️’ ? And why were they sending Lena a link to old One Direction songs? Specifically, ‘I Should Have Kissed You’? And why was Lena sending a song back telling them ‘next time’? The bathroom door opened a little.

“Jule, did I leave my phone?”

“Uhhhhhh, yeh, you did. Here,” Jule quickly locked Lena’s phone and rushed to hand it to her.

“Gracias,” Lena said absentmindedly, closing the door again. Spanish? Since when did Lena speak Spanish?

Slowly, the pieces slid into place for Jule. Lena had been out all day. Lena came back too happy and constantly looking at her phone. Lena replied in English and Spanish. Lena had received a text telling her that someone should have kissed her. Lena responded with the promise of next time. Lena was definitely on a date.

It wasn’t confirmed for Jule until the return leg. Much like in Barcelona, Lena disappeared all day and reappeared, looking far too happy the day after. She definitely went on another date.

“So,” Jule said as she cornered Lena in the locker room during recovery. “How was your date?”

“Oh, it was great. We went-” Lena froze. How did Jule know about her date? “W-what date?” Lena tried to cover slip up. Jule grinned devilishly, refusing to let Lena weasel her way out of this questioning.

“You know, your date with the Barca player,” she laughed at Lena’s horrified expression.

“I didn’t … What … me? No … I don’t,” Lena rubbed the back of her neck, trying to hide the dark blush adorning her cheeks.

“Don’t lie to me, Lena Sophie! I am your best friend. You went on a date, 2 dates, and didn’t tell me,” Jule said, slightly hurt that Lena didn’t trust her with this. It was well known that Lena didn’t do dates; she didn’t do the emotional side of romance. She flirted, she charmed, and she took people home – only to have them leave the next morning, often not quite remembering their name when the sun rose. To see her friend finally consider a date, multiple dates - and maybe something more – Christmas had come early for Jule Brand.

“What d-” Lena started to deny, but after seeing Jule’s face, she knew she was caught. She sighed before spilling her happiest secret, “She asked me after the Barca match if I wanted to see some stuff in Barcelona. It was such a good time. We went to breakfast, and she made me try all these Spanish and Catalonian pastries. Then, she showed me all the tourist spots. She took me to lunch and stuff and then showed me all the quieter places she likes to go. Then, we ended with dinner, and it was just, ugh. So, so perfect.” Jule smiled, liking this side of Lena she hadn’t seen before. “And then, we so nearly kissed when she walked me back to the hotel and then she sent me a song telling me she wanted to kiss me and,” Lena sighed dreamily. “And we’ve been texted and phoning and whatnot, but I asked her out after our match on Sunday, and we went to the Christmas Market, even though it’s only November because she mentioned she’d never been to one before, and we ate far too much and then …” Lena paused, the romantic gushing so uncharacteristic of her. “She kissed me. She kissed me, Jule. And it was so perfect, and, ugh…” she trailed off again. “I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispered, grinning to herself as she confessed.

“She sounds wonderful, Lena. But who is ‘she’?” Jule teased lightly, nudging her best friend.

“Um … Y/N. The number 17 put 2 past us on Sunday,” Lena smiled as she said your name, a lovesick expression taking over. “She’s got this smile and, god, her laugh. It’s like angels or something. She so, so beautiful, Jule.” Lena gushed. Jule hadn’t seen Lena like this, ever, but she wasn’t opposed to the in-love ramblings. She liked this side of Lena and hoped she would stay for a long while. “But she’s also funny, and kind, and sweet, and just … she’s already picking up German for me. I didn’t even ask her to; she just turned up here, and at the Market, she went to ask a seller about this piece of jewellery, and it was in pretty decent German. She was so cute, she got all blushy and shy afterwards and…” she sighed again. Her fingers coming to fiddle with the woven bracelet on her wrist – a gift from you to remember you by. Like she could ever forget you.

“Wow, Lena. When can I meet the girl that’s got you so lovesick?” Jule teased gently, bumping her shoulder against Lena’s.

“Not for a while, sorry, Jule. It’s just, it’s all so new, and we haven’t really discussed what we are yet, and we won’t be able to see each other for a while because of our schedules and, um…” Lena had the decency to look slightly embarrassed at her response, but she loved the idea of being able to keep you all to herself for a little while.

“No, I get it, no worries,” Jule smiled understandingly. “I can see that she makes you happy, and that’s all that matters,” she added, squeezing Lena’s hand at her words. “But I will require regular updates from you about how things are going, ok? ‘Cos … my best friends in loooove,” she sang out, laughing at Lena’s bright blush.

“Yeh, yeh, let’s go to recovery, c’mon,” Lena said, shoving her friend out of the empty changing room.

--------------------------------

[Initial]💙❤️: I want to tell them about u x

L💚: Tell em

L💚: Can I tell my team?

[Initial]💙❤️: Omg yesssss xxxxxxxxxxxx

Lena had permission from you to tell the team, and she was so, so happy about it. Telling Jule made everything feel so much more real; she couldn’t imagine how telling the team would go. She figured she’d start with the girls she was closest with.

Jule, Ewa, and Sveindis all gathered in her living room as Lena stood nervously in front of the TV.

“Um, so … I have something I need to tell you guys,” Lena said, fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt. Why was she so nervous? She loved the idea of being able to take you out on dates without hiding anything; she wanted to be in the crowd when watching your matches; she wanted to kiss you in front of the whole world … and yet she was nervous about this. If she had to guess, she would say it’s because she hasn’t done this before. She doesn’t date, and she’s never had to introduce her teammates to a partner before, but here she was, about to burst your little bubble of private joy. You had told her you’d done it already – or at least, you didn’t discourage the team when they snooped and didn’t stop them from guessing.

“Oh, my god. Are you leaving?” Sveindis asked.

“What? No!” Not yet, anyway. Lena replied.

“Are you dying?” Ewa countered. Lena was slightly shocked at her question.

“Ewa!” Lena gasped.

“Are you pregnant then? Did something happen? Are you ok?” Sveindis sat up, full of concern for her friend.

“No, good God, no. No, I’m fine.” Lena looked horrified that that was what her best friend’s brain jumped to.“I … I just needed to tell you that I have a girlfriend…” There was a split second of silence before Sveindis and Ewa burst into hysterical laughter. Lena looked towards Jule, unsure of the scene in front of her.

“Yeh, right. Good one, L.” Sveindis joked between peals of laughter.

“A girlfriend, nice one, Lena” Ewa wheezed.

“Guys,” Jule tried. She could see Lena’s face fall. When Lena had invited them to come over this afternoon, she had been so excited—she could finally share with her friends, her family, that she had a girlfriend—an actual, real girlfriend who treated her well and made her oh-so-happy. And now they were laughing at her. Was the idea of her being in a relationship so comedic that it brought tears to their eyes?

“You know what, fuck you. Get out, get out now.” Lena shouted, causing an immediate cease to the laughter.

“Lena, c’mon. That was a good joke -” Ewa started.

“It wasn’t a joke. I have a girlfriend. And I wanted to tell you today, but you think it’s basically impossible for me to have one. So, Get. Out!”

“Are you serious?” Sveindis asked.

“Get the fuck. Out. Of my House.” Lena replied, moving to open the door for them.

“Not about that, about having a girlfriend?” She ignored the open door, a clear sign that she was unwelcome at the moment.

“Yes. And I was really excited to tell you, but you guys find it so hilarious that I could have a relationship.” Lena said, hurt that her friends were so disbelieving of her.

“No, it’s just … you’ve told us so many times that you don’t date. You are … were … so adamant over it.”

“And when you stopped mentioning your one-night stands and stuff, we figured you were going through a dry spell or something,” Ewa added.

“We’re sorry for not believing you,” they both hung their heads, embarrassed that they hurt a close friend. Lena closed the door gently and returned to the living room.

“Does this mean I can finally meet her?” Jule asked after a moment of awkward silence.

“You know who she is? That’s not fair; how come Jule gets to know first?” Ewa moaned.

“Not yet, Jule. I still need to tell the rest of the girls first,” Lena sighed, sitting down on the armchair by the window. “And Jule knows first because she figured it out.” She explained to Eva.

“You should have seen her after the Barca match. She was so giddy, all blushy, and staring at her phone. Ugh, it was so cute. And then, after the home leg, she came into the changing room and couldn’t stop smiling. I’m surprised you haven’t caught on sooner; she’s not very subtle.” Jule gushed.

“So, it’s a Barca player? Who is it?” Sveindis asked.

“No, wait, let me guess,” Ewa shouted. “Ba-Batlle? Is that how you say it?” Lena giggled as Ewa bounced excitedly on the sofa.

“No, she has that maybe-thing with Bronze. Coll?” Sveindis countered.

“No, she’s definitely in a relationship; they did a lock screen video thing, and she was her girlfriend” Ewa and Sveindis pushed their heads together, coming up with ideas of who might have stolen their best friend's heart.

“What about Y/S/N? Y/N? Is that her name?” They looked to Lena for an answer. Whilst a verbal one wasn’t given, it wasn’t needed. The beaming smile was all that was required.

“Awww, she’s a cutie.” Ewa came over to hug Lena

“Real sweet, too. She came to check on Camilla when Pina did that tackle.” Sviendis agreed. “Now, tell us all about it. I want all the details!” They all got themselves comfy as Lena spilt all the information about the best few months of her life.

L💚: I told some of them

[Initial]💙❤️: Omg really??

[Initial]💙❤️: What did they say?????

L💚: They didn’t believe me at first ahahahaha

L💚: They thought u may have been Ona or Cata !!!!

[Initial]💙❤️: ahahahahahahhahahhahahahhahahaha

L💚: But then they said ur a cutie and real sweet

L💚: Which u r, obviously xxx

[Initial]💙❤️: Stoppppppp

[Initial]💙❤️: Ur gonna make me cry xx

[Initial]💙❤️: R u gonna tell the rest ?????

[Initial]💙❤️: No rush or anything xxx

L💚: Yeh I am xxx

L💚: I wanna tell the world ur mine xx

[Initial]💙❤️: now I’m actually crying wtf

[Initial]💙❤️: 1 photo image attached

[Initial]💙❤️: I wanna tell the world ur mine xxxxx

L💚: Schatzzzzzzz xxxx

[Initial]💙❤️: A nickname now?

L💚: Shut uppppp

[Initial]💙❤️: never

[Initial]💙❤️: Meine Liebeeeeeeee

L💚: 🩷🩷🩷🩷

--------------------------------

“Obi,” Alex called as the training ended for the day. “I need to talk to you.” Fuck! Lena tried to remember what she might have done to piss Alex off. She had behaved all training session – for the most part; the thing with the water was Riola’s fault, not hers. She was guided into an empty media room and was met with Svenja sitting on the table. Fuckkkkk! What had she done? Two players she saw as maternal figures had their Angry Faces on.

“Before you say anything. It wasn’t me,” Lena rushed to cover her back.

“What wasn’t you?” Svenja asked.

“Whatever you think I’ve done,” Lena answered cryptically. She wasn’t admitting to anything.

“So, you don’t have a girlfriend then?” Alex asked. “Sveindis was lying to Vivi?”

“Um … my answer depends on how mad you will be.” Lena ducked her head to avoid Alex’s gaze.

“We’re not mad that you have a girlfriend, Lena.” Svenja pushed herself from the table and took Lena’s hand.

“We’re mildly irritated we found out from changing room gossip,” Alex added, coming over to squeeze Lena’s shoulders. “Look at me,” she instructed when Lena still refused to look her in the eye.

“Your girlfriend is Y/F/N Y/S/N, yes? Barca’s number 17.”

“Yeh,” Lena couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her face at the mention of you.

“Does she treat you well, Obi?” Svenja asked.

“Yes, she treats me very well.”

“And you treat her well?” Alex added.

“I like to think so. She said I make her happy.”

“Good. When will she next be in Wolfsburg? Or at a match?” Svenja asked

“I’m going to see her at her away game in Madrid when we have the free weekend, but our schedules don’t line up for a while after that. They match up again just after the international break, so she’s coming here.” Lena explained.

“Good, gives us longer to prepare a speech.” Alex said to Svenja

“Speech?” Lena asked, slightly weary of what might happen – she knew that the 2 women could be very intimidating, especially if you weren’t German or didn’t know them very well.

“Yes, a speech—the ‘do not mess with Obi’ speech. I don’t doubt you will get one from Putellas and maybe Bronze and Paños, too. They seem very protective of her.” Svenja pulled Lena into a hug as Alex ruffled her hair.

L💚: Whose speech will be worse? Alexia’s or Alex and Svenja’s?

[Initial]💙❤️: Hmm, scary Germans or scary Spaniards???

L💚: I will endure it

L💚: Just for u Schatz

[Initial]💙❤️: As will I

[Initial]💙❤️: Only 4 u meine Leibe

I hope you enjoyed this little sub-chapter thing. I'm on my uni holidays atm so hopefully I can write the next chapter fairly soon but I do have deadlines etc <3

Also thank you to all the love from the anons ahaha - it means a lot to me <3<3<3<3<3<3

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