#Moomin House’s Kitchen

[rement-fanclub]

Moomin House’s Kitchen

[smokeys-house]

⭐️Also available on ao3!⭐️

💫 sequel to TCKD 💫

⭐️ Art by @miranagi, writing by @smokeys-house ⭐️

The Cane King's Daughter: A Story for Another Time

"Ah, Miss Puukko, I thought I'd find you here!" Moominpapa arrived through the kitchen door of Moominhouse, finding his wife and an old friend cooking in tandem for the evening's dinner to come. "The children said they saw you coming down the mountain not too long ago. It's been a while since your last visit!" He smiled, dusting off his hat before placing it right back atop his head. He looked as though he'd been in a hurry to get here.

"Aye, that it has." Puukko was squinting as she struggled to dice vegetables, the counter was quite low for her, and the kitchen quite small. She ducked underneath the stove's hood in order to add them to the pot. She wasn't terribly large, but she'd gotten quite used to living in a house her own size. She was happy to help, albeit much happier when the help was getting something down from up high.

Moominmama chuckled softly at the sight of the large moomin stooping in her kitchen. "Why don't you help papa set the table? I can finish up in here." The pair left Moominmama to her cooking as they brought dishes and silverware into the dining area. Moominhouse was calm, quiet, and now filled with the aroma of a nearly ready home cooked meal.

"Miss Puukko, forgive my er, uh, impatience, but uh, I do believe last time you were here you had said you had a story for another time." Papa began organizing each table setting.

"Aye. I believe I did."

"And it would appear, er, uh… that it is another time. Isn't that right?"

"Hmm… I'm thinkin' ye might be right. Can't be sure. Now what was it?" She playfully rested her snout in her hand with her arm crossed beneath it, striking as contemplative a pose as she could muster.

"I believe you were telling us about how you got caught. After Marion had joined your crew." Mama said, entering with a steaming tureen of stew, and setting it upon a potholder on the table.

Puukko eyed the other table settings. "I'm afraid that one's a bit impolite. Mightn't be good fer the young ones."

"The children are out camping this evening, I've just seen them off before arriving." Papa said, taking his seat. "They won't be back for at least another two days, if the weather holds."

"Then why'd we set the whole table and cook all that extra stew?" Puukko asked.

"It'll be nice in case they come back early. If they get rained out I'm sure they'll want some stew to warm them up." Mama smiled as she sat at the head of the table adjacent to her husband.

"I see… It's still not the nicest o' stories I fear. I think it can wait fer after dinner at least." Her reticence was apparent, as she idly fiddled with her utensils. She was seated across from Moominpapa, next to Moominmama.

"Nonsense, go right on ahead! No need to spare us the details, we're all adults here." Papa said. He was eager to hear the rest of the story, his repeated encouragements were evidence of that enough.

"Well… I s'pose ye earned it after sittin' through the first part. Ye know where it all started, but some time after that…"

–

Years had passed since Captain Whetstone had become legend in Marseille. Stories and songs alike featured a fearsome and dashing rogue doubly wounding a wealthy rum purveyor. The Cane King, as he'd taken to calling himself, had grown rather fond of his reputation after thoroughly scrubbing it of any misgivings. Each version of the tale was told a bit differently, but Jules Cartier, the man himself, was eager to remind the public of his own sanitized version.

There was always a pirate by the name of Whetstone. She was often depicted as devilishly handsome, and highly capable. Just as often, though counter to the first, she was depicted as monstrous, or drunk and oafish. Regardless, one thing was certain: she'd steal off with the Cane King's daughter. The fight that occurred at Cartier Manor was witnessed by many, though few spread the truth of Jules' cowardly actions following his defeat in the duel that day.

In the time since, Captain Whetstone and her now first mate; Marion Cartier, had plundered many ships associated with the Cartier family business. If there was a crate with the Cane King's face on it, the crew of The Honeyed Word was not far behind. Despite this brazen and rampant piracy, the age of swashbuckling sailors seemed near an end. Those that still engaged in the splendors of piratical adventure hung their hats in Nassau, living a free life off stolen coin. Legends had risen and fallen just like the waves they'd sailed upon, and yet few remained afloat.

"Cocoa?" A fillyjonk woman with a soft voice knocked at the door of the Captain's cabin. She entered just after.

"Ah, no thanks. I'm afraid it doesn't mix well with pipesmoke." Captain Whetstone replied from her seat at her desk.

"No, I mean as in the last bit of your name. Ko-Ko. It's cute. It makes for a good nickname." Marion was, as always, earnest to a fault. "I've just seen the quartermaster, he and I feel we've taken on all we can for the time being. That last haul was a big one!"

"Aye…" Whetstone said, taking in a deep breath before continuing. "Don't ye be callin' me that where the crew can hear, lass. Not but one knows me by Puukko these days. And that'd be you."

"But Whetstone's no fun for nicknames, cap!" Marion teased. She never seemed freer than when dressed for a day's work aboard a ship. Despite having her life upended all those years ago, it seemed she'd finally found where she belonged. She'd long since abandoned her garish trappings, finding herself far more comfortable in clothes fit for salted air.

"Nassau." The captain stood from her chair, smoke gently drifting from atop her pipe. "That's why we're sailin' fer Nassau. Dump the lot on the usual friendly faces." Her voice had grown raspy and deep over the years, but not without charm. She approached Marion, casually resting her paw upon her lover's cheek as she cleared the hair from her face. She took a moment to look into her eyes. Sapphire blue, and bright like stars. For all the time she'd been hardened as a pirate, she'd thought nothing could make her feel quite so soft again.

"Captain?" Marion stood awkwardly, blushing brighter with each passing moment. She beheld the captain's face, rugged, yet kind. Jules had given her quite the scar, a large streak bereft of fur stretched across her left eye.

"Marion.. I been doin' some thinkin'. Ye been talkin' of want fer t' see the world, and I been thinkin'... maybe I could be the one t' show it to you." She hesitated a moment, searching for the right words. "Whaddaya say after we clear the haul, you n' I find somewhere’s quiet fer a while. We could be t-"

"Crosstrees, captain!" Shouts erupted from the top deck. "Nigh on in range!"

Captain Whetstone tensed, balling her fists. Both her and Marion made for the top deck. Whetstone retrieved her spyglass, extending it to view a ship fast approaching.

"Pirate hunters." She said, laden with disdain. "I know this lot. Spanish privateers." She collapsed the telescope, turning to face the crew. "Full sail! Catch as much wind as she's able! We make fer Nassau!"

The crew got to work with haste. Every member of the crew knew exactly what they were to do, and did it fast.

"More and more of them these days, it seems." Marion said with a sigh, taking up a position near her moomin companion. "Do you think there'll be anyone taking patrol up near Nassau?"

"I'm countin' on it. Maybe a ship 'er two out 'n about. If not, well… it'll be fireworks fer the lot of 'em if they end up close enough to that ship old Hornigold beached."

"They ought to know better than to sail into these waters. They're getting bolder."

"I fear ye might be right." The captain took up the helm, stern and stalwart. The wind was fast and favorable, and The Honeyed Word took to it, sailing fast as she could. Several loud thumps forced their way through the humid air as smoke billowed like rain clouds from the gunports of the hunter ship, sending cannonballs hurtling toward their target.

"Git down!" Whetstone shouted a warning to all that could hear. Everybody laid still on the deck, covering their heads. Within seconds the sea was shattered into fine mist against the shot, narrowly missing the hull.

"No hits captain! Just out of range!" One of the crewmembers came up from the gundeck.

"Prepare to return fire, but hold! We're makin' a run fer it! Man the rear swivels!"

The hunter ship closed in on the port side, narrowing the time left for an escape. They fired another volley. Cannon after cannon fired near in unison, the majority just barely missing their target. Wood splintered violently as the iron round shot disrupted its shape, tearing through railings and walls above the waterline of Whetstone's ship.

"Booble's beard! I think she means t' board us!" The captain shouted as she got back to her feet once more. "Give 'er all we got, lads!" The crew fired on the hunter ship as it came within range, blasting the hull in several places.

"Good hits, Cap'n! But she's still on us!" A young man from the gundeck shouted.

The Spanish ship was gaining on them, and the Honeyed Word's cannons would not be ready for another volley until after the privateers had time to close in for a broadside. Whetstone's crew rushed to load their cannons as fast as they could, while others scrambled to get to their weapons and prepared to be boarded. The two ships were rapidly approaching the waters near Nassau, both focused on one another rather than their course. The hunter ship began firing grappling lines in high arcs in an attempt to catch the railings of their quarry.

Pff! Pff! Pff! BOOM!

The comparatively lesser blasts of the boarding guns were interrupted by the sound of over fifty cannons firing almost simultaneously. Captain Whetstone watched in awe as the ship that was just chasing her was sundered in a matter of seconds. The ship was there one moment, and then in its place lie only flotsam. The grappling lines that hung from the railing went limp, falling into the sea. Everything was for a moment, silent, save for the rolling of waves beneath. They hadn't gotten within range of Hornigold's safety measures, and yet their attackers were dealt with all the same. She looked ahead, utterly confused to see a Man O' War of the king's navy anchored just outside what she had known to be the haven of all pirates.

"Strike the colors, boys!" The captain shouted in disbelief. She looked around and took in the scene. "Hoist the white flag. This ain't a surrender, but I'll be damned if we get blasted t' smithereens like those fellers did."

The crew sailed slow to their destination, and were not fired upon. The Man O' War was too big to slip between the sandbars and would run aground if it sailed any closer. The Honeyed Word anchored a careful distance from shore further in than the hulking giant of a ship that had nearly shot them down. Several of the King's smaller ships were anchored nearby and otherwise sailing the area, but none of his men were seen immediately ashore save for a party of three now discussing something with a pirate down on the beach.

"Marion, I think it likely fer the best if you and the crew stay aboard fer the moment. We might be in an awful hurry t' get outta here afore ye be knowin' it." Whetstone eyed the conversation through her spyglass. The tension was high and visible in all those involved, but had yet to boil over.

"What are you planning on doing?" Marion asked.

The captain checked one of the pistols in her brace before tucking it right back in. "Just gon' ask a few questions is all. I'll be back before supper, worry ye no'."

"Just be careful. Ruth won't be here to save you like in Marseille."

"There ye'd be right, but there ought t' be at least a few dozen what sail a black flag still ashore. Can't 'ave all been shot down on the way in." She shrugged.

A short while later, the captain had arrived on shore as the tender her crew had brought her in on made its way back to the ship. The conversation she witnessed had come to its conclusion seemingly without a fight. She wandered into Nassau proper, aiming to avoid the eyes of the King's men. The veritable shanty town that encapsulated and surrounded the proper buildings of Nassau were usually alive with scores of merchants and merry-makers, instead they were filled with a tentative silence. Great change was coming, and its harbinger was anchored just on the horizon.

Canvas covered tents and makeshift shacks led onward into the heart of town, and it remained just as quiet. Captain Whetstone trod what once felt a familiar path in caution, an uneasy feeling in her gut as she took in the emptiness.

"If yer here fer nonsense, you'll assuredly find it this day." A voice like tumbling stone called out from a hammock tethered between a post on a house's porch and a palm tree.

"Calico Jack." Whetstone sighed in response. "I'd have thought you busy with yer own brand o' nonsense as usual. What in blazes is goin' on here? Where's everyone gone? Why's there a behemoth of a ship skulking outside Nassau?"

"Like I said. Nonsense. The King's come a'callin' fer a pardon. Any pirate that's wanting fer an out can get back into the good graces of his majesty, loot untouched. Everyone's holed up or arguing amongst themselves about where to go from here. Seems too good t' be true, but old Benji boy seems quite taken with the idea." Said Rackham. He gave himself a push off the ground with his foot, swinging his hammock a bit. "And them that don't sign their name?" He dragged his thumb across his throat.

"Hornigold? Ain't he practically the founder o' this place? Why give it up? We've got real freedom here."

"Founder and mayor, or so he thought himself. Among others I s'pose. The King's seen t' that, too. You be knowin' a man by the name Woodes Rogers? Failed privateer or some such. He seems to know you."

"Aye, I know of him." She thought of the moomin in the powdered wig at Cartier Manor. She chose not to bring it up.

"That'll be yer new mayor. Appointed by the crown and everything." Jack seemed as carefree as ever despite the news, his arms thrown behind his head. "Hornigold seems to think the place he built up on stolen gold could grow into something proper. I think he's gone dotty in his age an' just wants fer a statue of himself." He coughed out a coarse laugh, wheezing a moment as he wound back down.

The Captain's mind began to wander. If it was true, she could get the quiet life she wanted with Marion, away from the rigors of life at sea. She'd be free, but would Marion consider it freedom? She'd been too nervous to ask her, after all, it was Marion's dream to sail and do as she pleased. A pirate's life suited Marion better than it ever had herself, and her stint as a pirate had only just begun. Retirement had been Whetstone's goal until she met the fillyjonk she loved, but could she do so without the guilt of clipping her wings? Could she give her the freedom she'd always wanted without the risks of swashbuckling and seafaring? Each of her thoughts peppered her mind, the circular nature of it causing her to lose focus.

"You should go see Hornigold. Make of all this what y' will with yer own peepers. I'm going to take a very long nap… to clear my head." He placed his hat over his face.

"Where's he supposed t' be?" She asked. In response, Jack loudly pretended to snore. The captain tapped the underside of the hammock with her foot. "Rackham. Where's Hornigold at right now?"

"I'm sleeping!" He shouted as he turned over. The scent of booze surrounded him as he shifted. Whetstone kicked him again, harder this time. "I'm sleeeeeeping!" He sat up and sang loudly. A pewter mug flew out the top floor window of the building he was anchored to and struck him squarely on the head. He yelped, covering his head as he lay back down in his hammock.

"Damn it, Rackham, you lout! I know you ain't do much of it, but some of us is tryin' to think!" A woman with dark hair in a green waistcoat leaned out the window. "If yer looking fer Hornigold, he's up at the old fort overlooking the shore. Seems to spend an awful lot of time there these days. Nice seein' ye by the way, Whetstone. Wish it were under brighter circumstances."

"Thanks, Mary. Glad t' see some folks still got their wits about them." Whetstone said, happy to see a familiar face with some thoughts behind it.

"Careful up there. He's like to have Rogers with him. Don't let him force ye to sign something you ain't thought about."

Captain Whetstone had never really been to the old fort save for wandering by, but she had always seen it on her way in. Last she'd seen it, the fort was mostly dilapidated and deserted. It hadn't seen use since before Nassau was Nassau, and the defenses that had been put up focused primarily on the inlets rather than the surrounding sea. It seemed as though it had been worked on recently, with new bricks having been laid in some areas and a few spare cannons brought over. Supplies, crates, and tools were strewn about the fort, and new doors had been placed on a few of the scant interiors. Men of the King's navy armed with rifles lined the walls, closely and silently watching the captain as she searched around. She tucked her paws into her pockets as she walked, uneasy in the open space surrounded by unfriendly eyes.

"Hornigold?" She knocked on the new door, pressing her ear against it to listen.

"Enter." A voice said from within.

Whetstone pushed open the door, revealing that the interior had been decorated, although sparsely, with furniture and the trappings of an office. A stone spiral staircase led down on one side of the room, and a closet mirrored it on the other. Daylight poured in through the gaps in the window's impromptu cabinet doors, highlighting the peeling paint on and splintered wood within.

An older snork man sat in a chair behind a desk. He had short brown hair combed neatly to the side, fitting just between his ears, atop pristine white fur. His frock coat was gray and well maintained, beneath it was a clean and spotless white shirt. He removed his reading glasses and set them aside, before clearing his throat and folding his paws on the desk.

"Captain Whetstone I presume. A pleasure to meet you, I'm Governor Woodes Rogers."

"I knew that bastard hired a phony Rogers…" Whetstone thought aloud, just below speaking volume.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothin'! Nothin' important anyway. Ain't I supposed t' be the one beggin' fer a pardon?"

"No, I mean, I don't know what you just said."

"So there isn't a royal pardon?" It was almost never clear if she was joking or not.

"There…There is, yes. Sit down, please, and we can discuss matters further." He was clearly already very tired of dealing with pirates. The captain sat down, not wishing for any misunderstanding with several armed men just outside.

"His majesty has decided to extend his grace to any who have committed acts of piracy, they need only sign their name, give up their ways, and they are free to go. Any who do not accept this offer are to be brought in as criminals and or hanged given the severity of their crimes. No tricks, no games. We've enough trouble with the war as is, and needn't have the constant fear of pirates alongside enemies of the crown."

"So it's be pardoned or get blasted to bits by that Man O' War on the way out, is it?"

"No. Everyone's free to leave. They've all got till the fifth of September to turn themselves in, and after that they'll all be hunted down." Rogers spoke sternly and plainly, but not unkindly. "You, on the other hand…"

Just as Rogers finished speaking, Benjamin Hornigold rose from the stairwell, a flintlock pistol in his paw. His round hemulic silhouette was cut short by the sharp angles of his coat, and the broad shoulder pads within it. He pointed his gun right at Captain Whetstone, who immediately stood and reached for hers.

"Still as a sandbar, Whetstone! Don't get grabby with anything shooty 'er sharp." Hornigold pulled back the hammer on his pistol. He entered the room fully, but just beyond the range of being tackled to the ground. He'd seen much and done much in his day, and moved with purpose.

"What in blazes are ye doin' Hornigold?!" Whetstone raised her paws in the air. She eyed her surroundings as best she could, not taking her focus off her supposed ally. Rogers remained completely unfazed, sitting calmly at his desk.

Hornigold whistled loudly. "Right, boys! Kindly relieve Miss Whetstone of her belongings. She won't be needin' em much longer."

Two of the navy men from outside answered the call, entering and slowly approaching the captive captain. They flanked her on either side, while Hornigold kept his aim on her.

"Why are ye doin' this? There's a pardon, Hornigold! We can be free again!" Whetstone said. While not committed to the idea yet, her renewed hopes were being dashed before they had a chance to grow.

"Because we cannot have you roaming free anywhere in a civilized world. Most of these men became pirates out of a loyalty to country or kin, and can be reformed. You fight for nothing. You work for nothing. You do nothing but take for the thrill of taking!" Woodes Rogers slammed his fists on the desk as he stood. "I was a privateer… I traveled for five long years around the globe. My own brother was killed at the hands of scum like you. Do you know what happened to me upon my return? I was sued by my own crew for lost wages." He paced the room, the tension was palpable as he did so. The men that had arrived to disarm the captain had not yet made an attempt, instead listening to Rogers' story.

"I was badly wounded the day they took my brother. I had barely recovered by the time I arrived home. I had praise for my accomplishments, to be certain… but I was destitute and alone. Some time later I hear of some… would-be folk hero pirate– who showed up in France and stole away with some pompous fool's daughter." His composure was beginning to break as the volume of his voice began to rise. "My exploits are many, and yet no songs are sung of me. No plays written after me. My legacy exists only in a book I penned myself! I've fought to be remembered. And you… some lazy, layabout nobody… you've captivated the hearts and minds of countless men, women, and children. Tales are told about you and your purported skills and the things you've allegedly done. Doubtless riddled with lies. And to top it all off, you've roped me into your shenanigans by placing me at your duel in Marseille. You billed me as a coward and a buffoon." He turned his back to her as he paced, paws folded behind him. "You are a pox! Upon this world! A blight on the name of sailors everywhere!"

The man to the captain's right reached for one of the pistols in her brace, slowly removing it. Just then, she struck the man to her left with her elbow square in the nose, knocking him unconscious. He grunted hard as he fell to the ground. She took the other man's neck in her raised right arm, spinning him to her front as she drew her other pistol.

tst-BOOM!

Hornigold fired at the captain, instead wounding the man she captured in his shoulder. She tossed him aside and went to rush Benjamin as the navy man stumbled to regain his footing. Hornigold threw his spent gun at her, deftly backstepping as he readied a second pistol from the small of his back. Whetstone fired back, missing by a hair as she batted the thrown gun aside and sprinted toward him. He managed to bring his second gun to bear before she reached him, stopping her in her tracks.

"Enough!" He shouted. "Don't make me shoot you, Whetstone." His voice betrayed a hint of regret.

Several more navy men poured in from the door after hearing the shots. They pointed their rifles at her in practiced formation from the rear.

"Nassau's future depends on this! We can't win a war with the crown. I won't be givin' up what I've built here after so long!" Hornigold tightened his grip. "Just give it up. Please. I want a part in Nassau's continued growth. Rogers won't let that happen if yer still knockin' about."

The captain balled her fists as she growled. She was surrounded thoroughly, with no chance of escape.

"You are to be taken to England and hanged as an example. An omen to those who'd fly a black flag rather than accept the pardon and live as honest sailors. If the legend of Captain Whetstone is to be told with me in it, it will be told with a definitive end." Woodes said, sitting back down in his chair. "Your crew has already been captured, overpowered by mine and Benjamin's men. They'll be tried, and likely hanged as well. Take her away."

–

Puukko took a moment from her story, and along with it a sip from her glass. She'd hardly touched her stew, despite its enticing aroma. She found it hard to speak about those days beyond the stories worth telling. The rest of it ate at her all these years, her piled regrets folded neatly like so much laundry. She scanned her hosts’ faces. She hadn't reached the grim parts of her tale, and yet already she'd felt she'd cursed the valley with recountings of such hot blood. Neither Moominpapa nor Moominmama seemed to be put off by the story so far, each listening attentively as they ate.

“Spent weeks aboard Benji's ship. I were tied down below deck with nothin’ but me fur and a scarce bit o’ food n’ water here and there. Spent the whole time dreamin’ up revenge plans while I rotted away, but by the time I'd been brought into a private cell somewheres, I'd given up hope. M’ crew’d all been held someplace else, somewhere they usually hold pirates afore their trial I s'pose. I was put in some guarded camp with a myriad of small outbuildings, probably cells in each of ‘em. Pirate after pirate took pardons, and it were as close to the end of the golden age as you could put a point on. Word got out of my capture and soon-t’-be execution ‘round England. Sounded like the bells were tollin’. Spent maybe a day ‘er two in that cell starin’ at the moon through the bars too high fer me t’ reach. Just sat there hating myself for what I'd done to Marion. The sentence I'd sold me crew and t’ her most of all. Head was full o’ hate. Hate and fear and sorrow and all sorts of other things…”

Puukko set her spoon delicately atop the thick stew in her bowl, the surface tension holding it a moment. She watched it sink. Her eyes were distant, heavy with the fog of memory. She continued once again.

“Rackham and Read had taken the pardon. First thing they did with their new found freedom was t’ pinch a crate o’ hand grenades. Weren't sure if that part were part o’ the next bit, or if they were just feelin’ like celebrating with a bang.” She chuckled a little, though in a somber, almost mournful manner. “Anyhow, they tracked me down an’ blew the cell wall out. Quite the jailbreak. Mary took a bullet to the calf fer me then, on the run out. Not sure how we pulled it off, but after we'd made it out she'd spilled her beans about how she were fixin’ t’ save me crew, too. Whole lot, Marion included. Trouble was, she were part o’ that plan, but now she'd been shot she weren't able to do nothin’ and the execution was just a few days out. She gave me all she knew about Rogers and comp'ny an’ who what where an’ why, but it would be up t’ me to pull it off. Plan was half-baked at best, but then again I never was good at followin’ a plan.”

–

“I have had enough of fancy manors an’ fancy folk.” Whetstone said, crouched behind a hedge alongside Calico Jack. The evening air was taught and cold, but thick with the sound of a dinner party from within a mansion across the way. Similar large houses dotted the area, sprawling out from the city.

“Least you won't have to do any running tonight, missy. If ye can stay quiet, that is. You look like a bear, and smell like one, so I'm hopin’ ye can climb like one. Anyway, dear captain, I fear I've work to do! See you on the other side of all this mess.”

“Thank you, Rackham. Give Mary m’ best. In case I don't be seein’ ye.” Despite the tense atmosphere, she couldn't help but wonder just how Jack of all people would know what a bear smells like. She shook the thought out of her head.

The original plan Mary had laid out involved fine clothes and playing at being high status to get into the manor, but without Mary's wit and relatively unrecognizable face, they'd have to make due. Jack wandered off into the street, feigning a drunken stupor. He approached a duo of guards stationed at the gate, bottle in hand. Each were stout looking hemulens with constable attire and billy clubs to match.

“Oh, don't ya just hear the old man say? Goodbye fare ye well! Goodbye fare ye well!” Jack sung slurredly, now stumbling directly in front of the guard on the left side of the gate. The captain watched in quiet anticipation from her hiding place.

“Make tracks, piss-pot! This ‘ere ain't another pub for you to crawl into!” The guard shouted as he shoved Jack back into the street, nearly toppling him.

“What’s is he sayin’? That he don't… that he dun’t like my song?” Jack pouted looking over at the other guard, who was clearly bored with his duties. Rackham began singing again, practically shouting. He wandered straight into the open gate, scanning the area as he sang. “Oh don't you hear the old man say! Hurrah! Me boys! We're homeward bound!”

“Invite only! Back to the bars with you!” The constable dragged Jack out from his shirt collar, tossing him into the street.

“Meet ya there, mate!” Jack rose up from the ground, and wound up his arm comically far before slapping the guard that shoved him right across the snout, then cackled as he began to run.

“Oy!” The guard clasped his paws over his nose, recoiling from the sting of the slap. “Get ‘im in irons!”

Both guards began chasing him, clubs raised high and shouting. About halfway down the street, Rackham threw his bottle toward the guards, intentionally missing them. It landed hard, shattering and scattering glass throughout the street and an echo through the air, signaling the waiting Captain Whetstone that both guards were after him, and the courtyard empty.

Whetstone ran as quietly as she could past the gate, heading off to the side before anyone could come out to investigate the ruckus. The manor house was tall and elegant, a symbol of status gifted to Nassau’s new mayor, the man poised to put an end to the golden age of piracy. The occasional shrill shriek or boisterous laugh could be heard from inside on the main floor, the dinner party was as raucous as could be for the wealthy and the powerful. Whetstone looked around for a way up and in. Mary had scouted the place well enough, but her plan had them entering as guests.

Sparks glittered against the night sky following shortly behind a cigar tossed from the rear balcony. It tumbled into the cool grass, smoldering into darkness. The Captain couldn't help her eyes being drawn to it, she traced its path up and to the balcony railing. It stretched out and round hovering above the rear garden, pillared over the patio. The pillars themselves cornered about the perimeter, and stopped nearest to the ornate blackened metal archways supporting numerous decorative flowers which bordered the courtyard itself. She made sure the dagger Mary and Rackham could spare for her was tucked firmly within her belt, over her coarse linen shirt and borrowed slops. She tested her footing on the ironwork, climbing up and over toward the balcony's edge. She pulled herself up as far as she could muster, peeking in to ensure none saw her climbing over the railing. Despite her size, she was quite agile.

The doors were unlocked, allowing guests to enter and exit as they pleased. She snuck in and began checking rooms, hunting for Rogers’ office. She listened carefully, pressing her ear to each door as she passed them. Her heart beat loud in her ears, contested by the creak of each floorboard and the rattling of each doorknob. Her normally steady paws shook just so. The upper floor consisted of several rooms arranged along a boxed hall, each ending in stairs leading down to the main foyer. She'd checked every door alongside the balcony, and had only the riskier side halls to go. She peaked around the corner down the hall, waiting a moment to listen. When she felt it was clear, she slinked around the bend, heading straight for the first door she could see. Just then, a slender young fillyjonk abruptly exited the room nearest the stairs. He wore a hat obscuring the top half of his face, and a white dress shirt with suspenders. He held a cut cigar in his paw, and was heading straight at Captain Whetstone. She tucked herself against the wall around the corner, her heart pounding in her chest as she listened to hear if he'd noticed her.

She heard his footsteps continue at pace. Whether he saw her or not, he was still approaching, and fast. Whetstone's mind raced, she thought of heading back to the last room she checked, but her feet wouldn't move. She froze in place. She felt a pang of guilt run through her, and struggled to figure out why. The thought finally hit her, in seconds that felt like hours. The man approaching looked just like Marion did the night she met her. It was too late to turn back now, he was almost on her. She fumbled a moment for the dagger beneath her sash. The sound of its sharp edges running against the soft leather of the sheathe made her stomach churn. She was all too familiar with the violence it would wreak, but never on someone so unsuspecting, unarmed. Never in such cold blood. Never on a man who simply turned the wrong corner at a party. She'd taken lives before, but never callously. It was not something she did easy, but tonight, it would have to be.

The fillyjonk's arms appeared first, clutching a borrowed table lighter in one paw and his cigar in the other. Then his nose, whiskers drooping just slightly off his face. The captain raised her arm, dagger pointed down from on high. She felt wrong in every inch of her body. Every follicle of each individual hair in her fur felt like a thousand needles. His foot stepped into the hall just past the corner, and in an instant she began swinging down in a forceful arc.

“Henri!” A voice came from just atop the stairs. “Henri, where are you going? We're going to smoke in the parlor, not on the balcony! It is far too cold for a young damsel like me!” A drunken woman with a heavy French accent shouted in an almost flirty tone.

Whetstone's arm stopped hard just after building momentum, her muscles nearly collapsing from the sudden stop. Her arm felt like a ship breaking up on the rocks. Her eyes went wide, and she pressed her empty paw to her mouth to hide the sound of her pain and the sudden wave of guilt and relief that washed over her. Her eyes began to well up with tears.

“Coming, dear! I told you to bring a coat. You don't listen to me as often as you should, you know.” The man said smugly as he turned about face, back down the hall, completely unaware that his life was nearly cut short.

The captain's gut wrenched, she began breathing heavily as she slumped against the wall, tucking the dagger back into its sheathe. A few moments passed before she regained her composure, pushing the thought out of her mind as the reality of her task set back in.

The second door she tried after her encounter opened into a wide, unlit office space. It was Rogers’ study, she was sure of it. Decorated neatly with his accomplishments, and with a massive painting of himself hung center behind the desk. The room was fit for a lounge, with chairs, a table, a globe that was open revealing within a small bar, and taxidermy animal heads lining the walls. She opened a small door beside a display case and found a closet with several coats and hats hung within. She tucked herself inside, and began to wait.

She sat alone with her thoughts. She grieved the man she'd almost killed as though she'd done so, and grieved her crew as though they'd already hung. She grieved the pirate named Whetstone, the legend she'd created and become. Mostly, she grieved the life of freedom she'd stolen from the woman she loved. She pressed her claws into her palm one by one, the urge to pace pulling at her legs. It reminded her of the times when she would hide from her parents when she'd felt she'd done something wrong. It reminded her of the agonizing silence when she tried to speak to them as a child, her voice too quiet to escape her body. She remained trapped in her mind, the past few weeks a near uninterrupted onslaught of memories and regrets.

The door to the study creaked open, and heavy footsteps rolled in. A snork gentleman sighed contentedly as he lit the sconces about the room and the lantern at his desk. Woodes Rogers pulled his chair back from his desk and sat down. Puukko had not even noticed that the party had ended, but the silence from below confirmed it. She steadied herself, ready once again to play the part of fearsome pirate captain.

“Woodes Rogers.” Whetstone stepped out from her hiding place, dagger in her paw. She flipped it idly as she walked to the center of the room, turning to face him at the end of her stride. Woodes scrambled to open the top drawer of his desk.

“Ah! I wouldn't do that.” She said, laughing low and gravelly just after. Woodes pulled a flintlock pistol from the drawer, pulling back the hammer and leveling it at Whetstone. “How much you had to drink tonight at yer little soiree, Woodes? Think ye can kill me in one shot? Even if ye do, a whole lot more folk than jus’ you or I are gonna die if I don't make it outta here ship-shape.” She smiled a wide, toothy grin and held her arms out.

“If it isn't the famous Captain Whetstone.” Woodes sneered bitterly and sarcastically. “Shouldn't you be rotting in a cell before your execution?”

“Yup. Nothin’ left to lose, saw to that one yerself. Been real lonely since ya captured me, y'know. I'm just itchin’ fer a conversation. And I don't know about you, but I find it much easier t’ talk without a gun pointin’ at me.”

“What is it you want?” Woodes set the pistol down on his desk, within reach. “Not one step closer.”

“Just what I'm owed, Woodes. Not more'an that. I come a'callin’ fer an act of grace.”

“Ah! Hahaha!” Woodes doubled over in laughter. “It's a bit late for that now, your execution is already scheduled! Not to mention the crimes of escaping custody and breaking into my home. You've gone completely mad!”

“I'm assuming you can write those last two in there, too. Get yer pen out. Ye got one of them pardons stashed away in yer desk?”

“It's not one per pirate, it's one large document all involved parties sign. Even if I had it here, you'd need to sign it in court, buffoon.”

“Figures. Well let's talk about what we can do here ‘n now, th–”

“I could shoot you. Or you could rot in a different cell from your last one. Or both. I hardly care for the details.”

“Yer fergettin’ abou–” Before the captain could continue, Rogers reached for his gun once again. She flipped the dagger in her paw, gripping the blade before sending it sailing through the air. Just as Rogers readied the gun, the dagger embedded itself into its wooden frame, knocking it out of his paw. She closed the distance, lunging over the desk to tackle him. She gripped his throat, and with her other paw, rested her claws just against his neck. He stopped struggling as soon as she'd had the upper hand.

“Those things are awful noisy, Woodes. I'd prefer if ye could hear what I'm about t’ tell ye.” She pulled up, forcing him to upright himself, then she held him against the wall. “Say, do ye remember the Man O’ War Hornigold beached in front of Nassau?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, mouth closed.

“You were a privateer. How much powder d'ye reckon it takes fer a full broadside from her? All the guns shifted t’ the one side as it were. And how many times do ye figure she were fit to fire before taking on more powder? Bein’ a warship an’ all.” She tightened her grip. “and how much more powder ye think were… donated… to Nassau and her many pirates?”

“You're bluffing!” Rogers' eyes went wide as he put the pieces together. He slackened, and Whetstone let him free to sit atop his desk.

“I wish I were, Woodes!” She bluffed. “You could either be the man who captured and executed the legendary captain Whetstone, or you could be the man who's failures brought the newly civilized Nassau to ruin. And I'll do it again, too. Panama. Curaçao. Anywhere. And it'll be in your name. There‘re folks with torches lit jus’ waitin’ t’ hear that I didn't make it out of here. Or that I did, and that you couldn't work it out. The choice is yers.” She retrieved her dagger and the pistol.

Rogers sat and thought for a while before speaking up. “Wait, captured and executed?”

“Still a few days afore the execution. Plenty o’ time to come up with somethin’. Ye get t’ be a hero, so long as I get to walk. Ye can announce at me crew's trial that the King has shown ‘unprecedented grace’ towards his people and decided to spare them the grisly gibbet, and send them mean ol’ pirates off somewheres else. Sentenced to transportation.”

“And you? I fake your death? And then what, you skulk about England free as a bird to hop back on a ship?”

“Poof! Gone. Forever. A puff of smoke from yer pipe soakin’ into the curtains.” She gestured dramatically.

Rogers began putting pieces together in his head once more, the details fitting together neatly in his mind. “I'll charter you a ship. You're to be taken somewhere else, NOT along with your crew, mind you. No… You'll be sent a world apart from them. And if the ship's captain reports you did not show, there'll be no trial for your men. If I ever see your name or hear of someone that looks like you on a ship ever again, I'll know where to find your people. And I'll have their pardons revoked. They'll be summarily executed.”

–

"Soon after that, Marion an' me crew got sent off to Australia or thereabouts. Sent me o'er t' North America. Figured I'd just cause trouble if I went wherever else they send criminals, so I got shipped out t' the wild west. Did some gunslingin' and highwayman shenanigans. Were a gun fer hire fer a bit. Not at first, though. After I'd lost everything I figured I'd hit the straight n' narrow, work as an honest blacksmith again like I did afore I were a pirate. Didn't get very far, figured I was only good at bein' an outlaw. I were a legend brought low and vanished, a ghost of a person… Hardly anyone recognized me out that way, despite it all. Thing about it is, weren't too much use fer swordsmanship nor sailing in the mainland, and the guns o' the time were a bit harder t' manage fer an old salt like me. Bein' a highwayman an' bandit meant stealin' from folks what ain't deserve it most days, an' bein' a gun fer hire meant gettin' in fights I ain't got a stake in fer a coin. I weren't much good at it neither. At sea, there's miles an' miles o' water 'tween you and thems that know yer face and can do somethin' about it. When ye make too friendly with some feller's wife, er rob the wrong folks, well… small towns. Lots of wide open, sure, but the folk all know yer name and who done what. Us moomins cut a pretty recognizable silhouette I reckon, so I got chased out of near every town I found myself. 'Stead of pushin' further west like most folk o' the day, I kept heading east. Kept runnin' an' runnin' and eventually I realized I weren't bein' chased no more. I spent a lot o' time thinkin'... got real down on m' self. Felt I weren't good fer nothin' and felt I ought t' cut out alone somewheres. I'd been bad, and I'd done lots of wrong. Did a whole lot I ought t' regret. Heard tell of a place called Moominvalley. Set out and hunkered down alone in the mountains. Took a long time 'fore I ever came down into the valley itself… And the rest is history." She sighed and took a moment to collect her thoughts.

"When I met Marion, my only fear was losing her. As soon as I lost her, my only fear was seein' her again... Fer all I've done and fer who I've been, I'm scared. Scared I won't be able t' face her again. I thought of apologizin' an' all kinds of other things. It's the one thing I'm not sure I'm strong enough fer. I spend most of my days living a new life, and it's a life I love. But there are days I think about it all, and think about her. And what she's like now. And what became of her." She idly tore bits of bread apart, setting them in her bowl of stew and watching them swell and sink around her spoon. She hadn't raised her head to look at her hosts since around halfway through her tale.

For a moment, the room was silent. No one ate, no one said anything. The cool breeze halted and the wood of the house dared not settle nor creak. They simply sat, enduring the reality of her story. By now, most of the valley knew she'd been a pirate, but few thought more of it than the romantic stories they've heard over and over. The truth of who Puukko once was and who she became were laid bare. It was hard for the Moominparents to believe that the friend they'd come to know, the eccentric and often grandmotherly blacksmith living in the mountains had once led such a life. She was an outlaw, and a killer, and there wasn't any taking that back.

"I'm too old now to believe that only the good die young. But I sure seem t' have lived an awful long time…" The silence became too much for her to bear. She stood up, pushing in her chair. "I think it's time I got on."

Moominmama stood and grabbed Puukko by the paw with both of her own.

"I'm not sure what brought you to Moominvalley. But I'm glad you ended up here." She smiled, in a reassuring way that only Moominmama could manage. “Whatever you did back then, all we can do is make up for it by living here and now, the best we can.”

"You know…" Moominpapa scratched at his chin. "We visited the wild west once. The whole family, in fact. It's quite the story, if you've got the time! Sit back down, I'll tell you all about it! They used to call me Two-gun Moomin!”

“Dear, I believe only you called yourself that.” Moominmama chuckled softly.

Puukko smiled, returning to her seat. The Moomins had a warmth about them that she couldn't shake, and always seemed to know exactly what their guests needed. They were strange, but they were kind. It'd been an age since she felt that someone truly knew her. She felt a lump in her throat, and a sense of acceptance she'd not felt in a long, long time.

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

Ranking the Moomin merch that shows up in my instagram dash

Snufkin night light - Yes!! So cozy! Love Snufkin! 10/10

Moomin easter egg - Uuuuuuuuuhhhhh had been cuter if it wasn’t the computer animated version tbh 4/10

I want all of y’all snufmin shippers to know the official name for this

10/10 also I laughed extra much at Little My just sitting on his hat

Sniff plushie - I think Sniff is annoying :( And this does not look that huggable. I want a plushie that is soft and cozy and this just feels like you can just stroke it at most. 2/10

The Groke and Hattifattner earrings - I don’t have my ears pierced! I actually never did that! Also what kind of vibe do I want to give out wearing earrings of THE GROKE or a HATTIFATTNER? 3/10

Fudge tin - But what if the fudge gets old before it gets to my house (as you order this online)? Also not much a fan of fudge, it gets stuck in my teeth… even if it can be delicious sometimes. 5/10

Moomin night light - Everything it has to be <3 10/10

This T-shirt - YES, will and want to wear it. It is purple too which is my favorite color. Only that it’s slightly hard to see. 9/10

Moomin and Snorkmaiden night light - Cute, although why is Moomin looking at her like that? 7/10

Snorkmaiden ring - I vibe with it! 8/10

Hattifattner night light - Looks kinda like a real hattifattner, and while it’s cool, little me would have shat my pants thinking it was real (I was a bit… anxious seeing the hattifattners as a kid) 6/10

Little my slippers - Already got Snufkin ones! I do love slippers but you also get sweaty in them. 7/10

Dollhouse - Tbh, if I had a Moomin dollhouse I’d like dolls of higher quality. They look like in that PC game from 1996. 5/10

Greeting card - I wouldn’t have known this was a greeting card unless it was said. It feels like a generic profile picture. 1/10

Little My socks - Yes?? 10/10

Kitchen towel - you know what, it feels really kitchen towel vibed. 8/10

Biodegradable iPhone case - I means sure but it doesn’t give me much of a spark. 5/10

Coffee - I only use coffee when baking chocolate balls. Would be interesting tasting chocolate balls with this coffee tho. 6/10

Greeting card (again) - Nah 2/10

Laptop sticker - Maybe? But idk. 6/10

[moominpapasfanficblog]

Tayberry Moves Out

On overreaction

Moomin spent the week after Tayberry’s departure trying to lose themself in housework. They prepared all the meals for the family, did all the cleaning and laundry and tended Moominmama’s garden. They refused help and comforting. Most of all, they refused to mention Tayberry or discuss her leaving Moominvalley. As Moomin was getting organized to prepare lunch in the kitchen on that Sunday, Little My accosted them.

“You know that this isn’t going to work. You’re too smart to think that it will. What do you think that you’re going to accomplish?”, Little My asked with her familiar cynical sneer on her face.

“I don’t know what you mean! Someone has to prepare to care for Moominhouse when everyone is…..gone.”, said Moomin, their tone suddenly becoming very sad, “Moominmama and Moominpapa won’t be around forever…..Mom, Dad, and Snufkinpapa could go off on their own at any time, just like her. You don’t care, either. You’ve only stayed in Moominhouse all this time because it was convenient for you. I won’t let Moominhouse be neglected, abandoned, and forgotten!” Finally, Moomin let all the tears that had been building up inside them for a week out, collapsing into one of the chairs around the kitchen table and burying their face in their arms as they cried.

“Well, so that’s all it took! If I had known that it would be so easy to get you to let it all out, I wouldn’t have spent a week thinking out this little discussion! Life is so much better when you’re honest with everyone, especially yourself, isn’t it!”, said Little My triumphantly, “Should I get Snork Maiden or Moominmama? They’re much better at dealing with all this weepy stuff than me.” Moomin just kept crying.

“Alright, I’ll get both of them just to be sure.”, said Little My as she left the kitchen and headed upstairs. A few minutes later, Moomin’s mother and grandmother came into the kitchen and sat down next to them, gently putting their paws on their shoulders.

“Little My told us everything. You know that Tayberry hasn’t abandoned us any more than Snufkin did when he used to leave every Winter. Moominhouse isn’t just this house that Papa built, it’s this family and all the good things that we’ve learned and done together. If all that depended on a house, it could be easily destroyed. You know better than that. Nothing that could change in our lives would ever bring all that to an end, even if this house were to burn down tomorrow.”, said Moominmama tenderly.

“Don’t say things like that! I’ll never let anything happen to Moominhouse! You’ll see, I’ll make up for Tayberry leaving us! Just leave watching over everything to me!”, Moomin said, getting up and stomping determinedly out of the back door.

“Nice work!”, said Little My with sarcasm as she poked her head through the kitchen door, “Do you want me to work on them again?”

“No thank you, Little My. I’m grateful that you got Moomin to let out their anger and sorrow, but I’ll take over now. They’ve been trying to isolate themself so that they didn’t have to face how they feel about the change Tayberry’s gone through. They’re going to be more open to accepting help now. If I were to guess, I’d say that Moomin has gone to the garden to work out their feelings. Moominmama, shall we join them?”, said Snork Maiden.

“Yes, dear.”, said Moominmama proudly.

To Be Continued

[fizzingwizard]

are you ready xD for some self-indulgent screenshots of the house Moomin builds in my snufmin ficlet from some months ago, A Promise of Snow, which I tried my best to reproduce in the Sims

Some game-related limitations: I just couldn't make the house as small as it should be. It really should be more square than rectangular. The light wood is Snufkin's "alcove" (which is an addition, not an alcove xP) and it should be half that size. And the upper floor should be just a dormer, not a whole floor, but my sims needed space upstairs.

The porch was meant to stretch all the way across, but I didn't like how it looked. In sims if your house is too boxy it ends up looking stupid. Same reason why it's more cluttered. Overall I like how th build came out though. I was so patient, waiting for my game to hit autumn before I took pics hahah.

Interior and extras under the cut.

The inside of the alcove. I love, love love love the window. Just imagine sleepy Snufkin curled up in this bare, cold room under the window...

Entry to the main house. Little rustic dining table. Homemade, hand-painted furniture. Moominmamma's influence in the kitchen. Mouse hole caused some theatrics in game lol

Through the archway into the living room. This is pretty much just how I imagined. The piano, though, is a game-only touch. Gotta give your sims things to do or they play video games on their phones aaaall day, even if you gave them the "hates video-gaming" trait. Lovely fireplace, although it's too grand, but none of the smaller ones really had the right vibe.

And a delicious looking autumnal spread - party food? :3

The ending scene when it starts to snow ^^- I just love the lighting and wish my computer could handle Sims at higher graphics settings...

Some extras!

Bedroom - in my idea for the fic, the bed is a pull-out couch and upstairs is just a small attic with not much in it. But in game things take more space and I definitely didn't want the murphy bed. So I made a bedroom upstairs and based it on how I decorated Moomintroll's room in my Moominhouse build.

Piano nook because it may have nothing to do with the story but it is so pretty.

Picnic! Idea that I stole after salivating over plantsimsgirl builds

Of course the house is by the sea. It's meant to be kind of high up on a hill, with a bit of a winding walk down to the shore and some trees in the way. But I love this lot in Windenburg and it's really too small to do a lot of terrain editing, so we just imagine.

And a sweet November evening moment of snufmin <3

I had a lot of fun building this instead of you know doing other more important things xP But you can't imagine the difficulty I had shooing neighbors away. (Because this is a generic lot, not residential/rental, so the public can just come in.) I didn't want a fence because snufmin!!! so I had to keep putting dressers in front of the doors when I took photos to keep people out hahaha

[hand-made-sweater]

Saturday, August 19th

I'd like to have 4 children

August (Augie), River, Eden, Birdie

I consider all of them gender neutral names but Eden is more feminine I think, traditionally at least

Then again Cassidy is a more feminine gender neutral name and I do plan on being their father

Dad

Dada

I don't see myself as daddy

I want to fall asleep with all 4 of them in my arms and I want them to feel loved

I want to show them music

And I want to show them art

And read Moomin and Winnie the Pooh

And go to the beach and the forest

Ill make them banana pancakes

And chocolate pudding

Italian ice in the summer time when we sit in the inflatable pool together

Ill hose off our big dumb dog I'm sure we'll have and I'll grill corn for dinner

Ill be in a 3 bedroom, two kids per room

I'll go thrift sturdy old furniture and remodel beautiful dollhouses for them

Little chairs by big sprawling books shelves

In the dining area I'll have all their art framed in real frames from the thrift store

And their heights marked in the living room

A sun room full of books and a CD player and board games and dolls

Car tracks running from the top of the steps to the bottom

My bedroom will have a big bed covered in pillows and blankets so my babies can join me and the dogs will always sleep at the end of my bed

We'll have a big dog and maybe a little one

Maybe a little parakeet who can fly freely around the parlor

Bench with muddy boots and teeny little sandals spilling out the bottom

Ill have a pair of Mary Jane's for sunday's

On Sundays we'll do something special

Howl at the moon or talk to trees

When they have passions I'll take them out to explore them

Museums and obstacle courses and little diners where we can pool over their thoughts

Ill give them 5 dollars to get an iced tea and a bag of chips at the corner store in the summer

And always give them a Clementine before they leave the house

We could do little experiments in the kitchen

Growing strawberries out of the cans that once held our peach slices

Get one iced coffee and 4 slushies

Get 5 hot cocoas and 3 giant coffee rolls

They'll spend a weekend with their nana so I can visit the ocean with my friends

An week in the summer with their auntie on her farm

So i can visit the mountains and write

They'll have two uncles and three aunts, how amazing

And sometimes we'll wake up and just watch cartoons and eat cereal

And draw chalk and make slime

And paint all of our nails every color because someone is going through a phase

I'll write them little books and illustrate them

And I'll sew them costumes on Halloween

[ember-owlet]

since i've had firelights asking, these are the fandoms i'm in that i will write for/make content of! (italicized is content tailored towards bigger headspaces so be cautious! bolded are current favorites, but i still love them all and will be updated frequently) don't see the fandom you're in? just ask! even if i'm not 100% aware of it i can still make edits and boards of the character you're looking for! all i ask is that you please take a look at the rules before interacting!!

movies

five nights at freddy's (2023)

guardians of the galaxy trilogy

harley quinn (birds of prey)

howl's moving castle

kung fu panda trilogy

legend of the guardians owls of gahoole

mitchells vs the machines

nimona (2023)

nope (2022)

one piece red

pearl + x (2022)

princess mononoke

puss in boots: the last wish

spiderverse

spirited away

star wars

tmnt: mutant mayhem (2023)

trolls trilogy

wolfwalkers

zootopia

anime/manga

beastars

chainsaw man

demon slayer

dungeon meshi/delicious in dungeon

hell's paradise / jigokuraku

jujutsu kaisen

kimetsu no yaiba

madoka magica

monotone blue

nana (currently reading the manga too!)

spy x family

the ancient magus' bride

the promised neverland

witch hat atelier / witch hat atelier kitchen

tv shows

a court of fey and flowers (dimension 20)

adventure time

ahsoka

arcane

avatar the last airbender

adventure time

bee and puppycat

bojack horseman

bluey

blue eye samurai

bly manor

burrow's end (dimension 20)

centaurworld

don't hug me i'm scared

good omens

heartstopper

harley quinn the animated series (2019)

hazbin hotel

helluva boss

killing eve

the legend of vox machina

moomin

moral orel

my little pony

our flag means death

steven universe

the last of us (2023)

the mandalorian

the owl house

over the garden wall

wednesday

what we do in the shadows

wynona earp

musicals

cats

epic the musical

heathers

hadestown

nerdy prudes must die

phantom of the opera

the guy who didn't like musicals

the prom

video games

baldur's gate 3

detroit become human

doki doki literature club

five nights at freddy's

genshin impact

god of war (2018-2022)

hades (2020)

hades ii (currently plaything through)

life is strange (all games)

little nightmares (all games)

night in the woods

poppy playtime

resident evil village

the last of us

the walking dead (all seasons)

the wolf among us

undertale

books

carmilla

gideon the ninth

how to excavate a heart

watership down

comics:

harley quinn (2021)

harley quinn: the animated series (2021)

poison ivy (2022)

punchline (2020)

wings of fire (graphic novels)

other media

angel hare

don't hug me i'm scared

the amazing digital circus

welcome home

[spheresr4cubes]

So, I got into the Moomins

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

Moomin Valley -- Long Time Gone

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

CHAPTER TWO (2/4)

            It was a beautiful, clear day, and it did not take long to set sail. The local children of Dunsinane came and ran alongside the Sea Symphony as she floated down-river, building speed, and waved her excitedly off. The marsh slid lazily by, birds and turtles watching from their seats on half-sunken logs as the steam engine finally kicked on, and the ship began to chug. Fredriksson waved Muddler into the pilot house where he’d set himself steering and pointed to a rope hanging from the ceiling. Muddler pulled it, and a perfect A-flat major toot-tooted from the off-vent pipes above them. Juksu leaned contentedly over the bow, breathing the fresh air and feeling the deep rumble of the engine through the wood. He wondered if Nuuska would’ve liked it.

            After an hour, the ocean came into view, and by lunch, they were well out of the muddy river and into the deep, blue open water.

            “Not just oatmeal, this time,” Fredriksson said and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Muddler, bring up the sandwiches, will you?”

            Muddler opened up the hatch in the floor of the pilothouse and climbed the ladder down, and Juksu poked his head in after him.

            “There’s a kitchen down here, did you know?”

            “We’re grown-ups now,” said Fredriksson, “and no grown-up should be living off of black coffee and oatmeal alone.”

            “I rather like coffee,” said the Muddler, holding up the plate of sandwiches for Juksu to take. “But even I’ll admit last time was a bit much. Hold on, I’ll grab the juice.”

            He did, and it took some doing to bring the three glasses up. Fredriksson set their course and locked the steering wheel, and the three of them raised their glasses.

            “Right then!” said Fredriksson excitedly. “To science and magic and one last adventure!”

            And the echo went up out of the pilothouse and into the bright, blue sky: “One last adventure!”

*

            “One ‘last’ adventure?” asked Nuuska as he passed the bottle. “Why so final?”

            Juksu took a sip and rubbed the bottle mouth with his thumb: “Well, it was meant to be final. Muddler had a wife and two children, I had you, Fredriksson had a contract with some big city somewhere, and of course Muminpeikko had just had his own boy and couldn’t come, and… that was it. After just one more, just one more, we’d ‘settle down.’ As if I ever could.”

            Nuuska picked at the grass: “We never would have, more than likely. I know I haven’t.”

            Juksu watched in the periphery as Nuuska touched something hanging under his shirt but said nothing. Instead, he took another sip.

            “For about a week, it was smooth sailing,” he continued. “The Sea Symphony was a good little ship, and we barely had to alter course at all. It wasn’t until that last night that our luck started to turn.”

*

            The Muddler turned over two cards on the ship deck and groaned at the result: “Oh, I’m no good at stuff like this!”

            “C’mon now, it’s really not that hard,” Juksu encouraged, his pipe out the side of his mouth. “You have one la sirena there. Where was the other one?”

            “How should I know? What’s a lassy renna anyway?”

            “The mermaid, the mermaid card.” He pointed to the fish-tailed woman on one of the turned cards. “You saw the other one earlier, so where was it?”

            Muddler scratched his fuzzy head under his soup pot hat and turned over another card in the grid. The second mermaid smiled up at him.

            “See, there you are!” said Juksu, leaning back against the wall of the pilothouse. “Have a little faith in yourself, my friend. Go on, try another one!”

            Muddler did, taking the mermaids away to the side, as Fredriksson came up from below deck, dusting off his hands.

            “Hmm,” he grumbled, “maybe I should have put in stairs instead of a ladder.”

            “Lah man-oh,” Muddler read to himself.

            “Knees bothering you?” Juksu asked, and Fredriksson grunted as he came to sit beside him. “You’re not that old.”

            “I’m quite literally old enough to be your father.”

            “That’s not much older at all, in my experience.”

            “Ell core o’ zone,” said Muddler, then disappointedly turned the card back down.

            Fredriksson looked up into the dark night sky: “Looks like rain.”

            “We’re getting close, aren’t we?” asked Juksu, puffing a ring of smoke.

            “We should be there in the morning, weather permitting. So far, the wind is in our favor.”

            “Does that really matter on a ship without sails?”

            “The least resistance we have, the better. At least until we get that gemstone—then it’ll be smooth sailing anywhere and everywhere we want!”

            “Lah es-call-era,” read the Muddler.

            “What’re you playing there?” Fredriksson asked curiously, leaning forward, and his nephew held up the card he’d turned over.

            “Oh, it’s a matching game! I’m getting good at it, I think, but it’s all in a different language, so I have to look at the pictures.”

            Fredriksson took up the pile of matching cards and thumbed through them: “Oh, I recognize these! My great-aunt had something similar, though she used them to tell the future, not play games.”

            “The future, eh?” asked Juksu, sitting up. “How?”

            “Well, let’s see. Muddler, hand me the rest of the cards, please.”

            Muddler gathered up the rest of the grid and handed them over, and Fredriksson shuffled them thoroughly before laying out one, two, three cards on the ship deck.

            “It goes like this—the first card is the situation.”

            He turned the card on the left side, and a red fish in blue water stared hungrily up at them.

            “The second card is the action you take.”

            He turned the center card, and an open hand extended out to them.

            “And the third card is the outcome.”

            He turned the card on the right side, and a plump woman stared at them with bright, expectant eyes. Juksu and Muddler looked down at the cards, then at each other.

            “So, you’ll catch a fish,” laughed Juksu, “shake the fish’s hand, and it’ll turn into a beautiful woman? That’s a nice future, I’d say.”

            Fredriksson chuckled: “That’d be nice. But really, it’s what the card symbolizes. Maybe I’ll have a fish and have to give it to a woman. Who’s to say?”

            “I want to try!” chirped the Muddler and took the cards to shuffle them again. He laid them out between the three of them, one-two-three, and turned them over one-by-one.

            “A shrimp… a hand again… and, uh… I don’t like this game anymore.”

            They stared down at the card, la muerte—Death, complete with a skeleton and scythe.

            “Don’t worry,” said Juksu comfortingly. “It’s just for fun anyway.”

            “It’s not fun! I like Uncle’s fortune better!”

            Juksu took the cards and shuffled, then laid them out, one-two-three. He turned the first.

            “El diablito, a devil—”

            The second.

            “La manzana, an apple—”

            The third.

            “El corazón, a heart. Well, that’s promising, isn’t it.”

            “How biblical,” joked Fredriksson. “I wonder who the devil is in this situation.”

            Juksu laughed and sat back: “Oh, you know it has to be me! What fun! I wonder who Eve will be.”

            “There’s no Eve in the deck,” said Muddler grumpily, thumbing through the cards.

            “Well, there’s a woman card, isn’t there?”

            “Yeah, but you didn’t get her. Uncle did.”

            “The plot thickens! Too bad there’s no gemstone card, or else we might see if we’ll be successful.”

            Fredriksson laughed and leaned back against the pilothouse as well, looking up to the sky. The stars were blinking out now, almost entirely hidden.

            “I’m sure we will be,” he said, folding his hands over his belly. “What’s the very worst that could happen?”

            The water was calm as the Sea Symphony chugged along, the inky sky lit only vaguely by the hint of a moon. Fredriksson manned the wheel, a handheld radio murmuring from where it sat on the windscreen ledge, and Juksu tapped his pipe against the deck railing.

            “How far are we now?” he asked as he came to stand in the pilothouse.

            “About forty nautical miles, as of that last cliff.” Fredriksson’s ears wiggled excitedly. “I’ll drop anchor and sleep, too, as soon as we get there.”

            Juksu patted him fondly on the shoulder: “Well, don’t stay up too late, old man.”

            “Mphm,” replied Fredriksson with humorous annoyance.

            Juksu opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder, shutting the door behind him. The ship creaked contentedly all around, and the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling glowed with a low flame. Muddler gave a whine from within the single hammock, kicking a little. Juksu sighed and shook him gently: “Wake up, Muddler. C’mon, wake up. You’re dreaming again.”

            Muddler gave a gasp and sat up, rubbing his eyes: “Excuse me, sorry… I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

            “No, I was just headed to bed. Really though, how on earth does your wife sleep with you kicking like that?”

            “Oh,” said Muddler, embarrassed, “I-I don’t move around so much with her, I guess. Maybe I’m just more comfortable at home?”

            “Sleeping on buttons and screws and window latches?”

            “No, no, we have a much softer nest, these days! Hosuli and little Sniff aren’t very fond of hard things.”

            “Had another one, did you?” Juksu asked idly, pulling off his green overcoat and hanging it on a hook.

            “Yes. He’s very small and even more of a scaredy-cat than me, which is nice… is that mean of me?”

            “I shouldn’t say so. I think it’s alright to feel good about being better at something than someone else, even if that someone else is a baby.”

            “Oh, that’s alright then, I suppose.”

            Juksu yawned and leaned down into the lower bunk of the actual beds. He settled in, folding his arms behind his head and looking out the starboard porthole at the moon. It was bright for a waxing crescent. Was Nuuska looking at it, too? Was Mymble?

            “Are you okay?” asked the Muddler, his concerned head looking over the edge of the hammock.

            “Yes, of course. Why?”

            “That was a very heavy sigh.”

            “Oh, did I sigh?”

            “No question about it.”

            Juksu resisted the urge to do so again: “It’s just a beautiful night.”

            Muddler must have picked up on the slight waver of uneasiness: “Is that really all?”

            “What else would there be?”

            Muddler said nothing. Perhaps he didn’t want to embarrass him—whatever the case, he eventually said, “I don’t know. Sorry.”

            “Don’t be,” said Juksu. “It was kind of you to ask.”

            At that, he turned away from Muddler and curled up.

            “Night.”

            “Good night.”

*

            It was late when there was a break in the comfortable, even rippling of the sea against the ship. Juksu grumbled and turned over without opening his eyes.

            Something in the air had shifted—he frowned, sniffing—not a chill per se, but the crispness of change, like the first breath of winter or the snapping of a twig in the woods. His whiskers tingled, his nose itched, his ears rang a bit. Slowly, Juksu lifted his head to listen. There was the Muddler’s soft breathing, the creak of the ship, the turning of the waterwheels, the hum of the engine below. If he strained, he could hear the radio in the pilothouse above them. Nothing seemed the matter, yet the Foreboding remained.

            Quietly, he sat up and slipped on his boots. It was as he stood that something heavy thump!ed against the port side with a splash, rocking the ship. Juksu caught himself on the wall, and Muddler awoke with a fright: “It wasn’t me!”

            “It wasn’t you,” Juksu assured him, looking out the port-side porthole. There was nothing out there, no rocks, no other ship. Just waves, dim moonlight, and a thin strip of black land on the horizon.

            “What do you see?” Muddler asked. “What is it?”

            Juksu turned to him, confused: “There’s nothing!”

            Immediately, an even stronger thump! hit the starboard side, sending both of them tumbling. They managed to find their footing and hurried to the ladder upward.

            “What’s happened?” Juksu asked as he threw the hatch door open. “What’d we hit?”

            “We didn’t,” Fredriksson said suspiciously, ears perked as he peered out the windscreen. “Listen.”

            He had turned off the radio. Juksu and Muddler crept carefully up, quietly. Something splashed astern and slammed into the back end of the ship so hard that she leapt forward and askew. Juksu hung out of the pilothouse doorway and peered out into the deep darkness… and a massive shape rose up from the sea. The dim moonlight shone through it as it dove on to the deck of the ship. Sea water rushed against the pilothouse with such force that the wood cracked and splintered, the bow dipped down under the waves. Juksu and Muddler fell forward and caught themselves on the dashboard.

            “It’s a fish!” Juksu shouted, and Fredriksson struggled with the wheel to right the ship.

            “What?!”

            “It’s a fish made of water!”

“I didn’t see anything on sea monsters here!”

“Well, your books were wrong, then!”

            “Alright, if we can just get to the harbor—”

            The shape rose from the port side and crashed against the waterwheel, snapping it and flooding the pilothouse as the ship leaned starboard. The ship wobbled back to port, and all three of them slipped out and across the deck, catching on the shattered railing.

            “What do we do?!” Muddler cried, scrambling to hold on.

            Fredriksson pulled himself up from where he’d nearly slipped through the bars: “Just hold on! There’s no way we can swim all the way to land!”

            “We might have to!” Juksu yelled, though squinting out at the distant mass of land, he wasn’t so sure.

            Suddenly, the ship lurched, and they were thrown over the railing and into the frothing sea. Fredriksson managed to grab Muddler’s collar and pull him up as he surfaced, the ship teetering beside them. He pushed him toward the hull ladder, and Muddler climbed up, reaching down to help him up, too. Juksu’s head popped up from the water, and he reached out. Muddler grabbed his hand.

            Something pulled.

            A cold, strong current ran under Juksu’s feet, and his head disappeared back under the water. Muddler clutched his hand as tightly as he could, his paws slippery. The ship leaned over them with the force of the pull, and Fredriksson grabbed on to Muddler’s other arm as his nephew fell away from the ladder, now half in the water and half out.

            Bones popped, lungs burned, but they would not let go.

            To Muddler, all there was was dark, but Juksu could see him above him, holding on, gritting his teeth, unyielding. It would not last. It could not last. Their grip weakened, just for a moment, and Juksu’s hand ripped away. Muddler was pulled back out of the water and out of sight.

Juksu kicked and tried to swim, the pressure mounting behind his eyes, the burning in his throat unbearable. The creature, whatever it was, whatever it wanted, paid no mind and dragged him down into the deep.

[ozpins-halfway-house]

indeed, some for both groups! Let’s set up everything (helps set up the kitchen and gets ingredients) Could the miniature props from the doll house be used for our moomin friends to bake with? -🐈‍⬛

M!Oz: Oh, that's a smart idea. I believe our "kitchen" was fully stocked.

M!Oscar: I'll go get them!

Oscar: I'll take you. It would take you a month to get up the stairs.

M!Oscar: Rude...

[strawbfairyy]

💌 my turn <3

truly everything reminds me of you these days

-media: DEBS and troll 2 and jennifer’s body and moomin and mamma mia and new girl and atla and arcana and naddpod and every college humor thing ever and stardew valley and junji ito and waitress and fun home and house md and and and

-indigo girls and brandi carlile and joni mitchell and janelle monae and mcr and sarah bareilles

-mixing your groceries up in the shopping cart, making you slow dance with me in the kitchen m, skinny-dipping under the full moon, the dairy queen drive-thru 👀

-strawberries obviously

-all our inside jokes: stew disease, two disease, the cyclops (my worst joke), looking at each other like birds, all ur quotes, saying i love you baby like ally beardsley, being soft like a wat, our sappy/sleepy/sexy/silly axes, etc

-collars and hickies and crop tops and tattoos and other slut behavior

-dnd, medicine, fashion, pink, rats, baking, being in love with ur teacher, crochet, long conversations about transness & queerness, horror movies (esp body horror/sex & horror), the pnw, guitars & pianos, knee socks, niche indie games, poetry, correct grammar, tarot, tea

-little love letters, being butchfemme but like our version of it, giving each other a million little kisses, reaching for you always, one hand on the back of your neck while I’m driving, you waking up and turning over to lay on top of me in the morning, tracing each other’s freckles in bed, saving episodes of shows so we can watch them together, crocheting gifts for each other at every opportunity, competitions about who’s cuter, the way we live to make each other laugh, remembering little things about me like how i do my hair after the shower and the way i like my waffles so that you can help me with them, being curious together, tenderness that makes me ache, getting the same thing on uquizzes,“oh it’s okay i’ll do that for you”

-DOGS

[boltedgarlic]

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updated: 09/13/2024

[smokeys-house]

Puukko's Pirate Tales 5

Painters, Authors, and Purses

(Art by @mumrikpaws ❤️, alternate version below the cut!)

" 'ave I e'er told ye I'm in books?" The old moomin woman notices you eyeing the shelves with curiosity. "Mind ye, I'm not in all those. I don't just keep the ones with me in 'em." She sets down the hoop she was idly embroidering on and meanders over to the shelf nearest you.

"O'course there's plenty of truth and legend alike, and varying qualities 'tween the lot. One's I'm most fond of is the dime novels an' penny dreadfuls! Way I see it, only I can tell my stories with the right amount of oomph." She struck her chest with her paw, before noticing the familiar look in your eye. 

"Don't be givin' me that face, just on account of ye know I'm fixin' t' tell ye another tale. Have a seat, it'll be a quick'un." She motions dismissively to the nearby seating, and sets a few small, quite old books down on the low coffee table. 

"My reason for liking the cheaper shorter ones ain't fer the fact I'm a slow reader. It's mostly fer the art on the cover. I'm either painted as the fearsome scourge of the seas or I'm the housewife's romantic fancy. Nothin' like ye see on any wanted poster." She rummaged through some cupboards and began to set up for some coffee. She had a tendency to task while storytelling. It was as if she could never sit and look you in the eye while aggrandizing herself, true or not. 

"I reckon a lot of them's the reason fer most folks thinkin' I met my end by now. Usually they don't start romanticizing criminals til… well til after they're not around to read 'em. I suppose my rapid slip into obscurity helps support that rumor." She set two mugs upon the table, the one in front of you is a rich blue and gold. More of a nice tea cup than a mug, and it's much finer than the one she'd chosen for herself. 

"Iffin' I have met me end, a cozy house in the mountains seems pretty enough an idea fer eternity. Anyway the writers were a pretty mixed bag. 'Avin a stranger at yer heels while at sea is a bit of a nuisance. They don't help out much with the ship and they watch yer every move and ask ye all kinds of funny questions. Me crew and I almost ate one once! Boiled shoes and pouches and chewed the leather first. Lucky for 'im, on account o' we made landfall afore appetites got too… unseemly." The kettle began to whistle from the kitchen, her ears stood full and flicked themselves in its direction. She prepped a cloth over an empty glass jar, and filled it with ground coffee. 

"Sometimes they was rather fun. Adventure seekers and story tellers, not unlike myself." She eyed you, noting your surprise at the casual delivery of a brutal story. 

"We uh. We weren't really gonna eat him. Just made like we were fer some mean-spirited fun... But I did eat two coinpurses and at least some of a shoe." She cleared her throat awkwardly before returning to her task.

"Anyway, the painters was where the real fun were. Aside from the actual painting part o' course. Sittin' in the same pose fer hours is a real pain in the tail. I'm supposin' it weren't so much the artists that I liked as much as the art, and the publicity what came after. Though there was one I loved dear, she used to paint on account of her well-to-do parents. She were workin' on a painting of the two of us. Not sure what happened to it, though. It weren't never finished I should think." 

For a moment she stared off into nothing, her paws hanging idly in front of her. You ask what she's doing and she shakes her head a bit, seemingly having been lost in thought. The fireplace's gentle crackling fills the air. The lack of words for the moment, while comfortable, fills you with an understanding as to why she's so eager to tell stories. 

"Coffee's almost ready." You can hear an air of nostalgia in her voice, it's laced with a somber note. It's not as though she's hiding something, but you can tell she's choosing not to elaborate. Puukko's cabin home is lovely and spacious, but you can't help but wonder what secrets she does have, if any. 

"Folks always think about the pirate days as always bein' aboard and abroad. Though that were most of it, I spent a lot of time ashore as well, spendin' me haul. Blunderin' me plunderin' as it were. Drink and comp'ny are the bane of a full coffer, as any sailor'd tell ye. Some time after I'd been handed mine by a royal pardon, I had a lot of coin to spend and nothin' but time." She let out a frustrated sigh.

 "I'd been a tale throughout many a place fer some time and some folks wanted in on that tale. Trouble were gettin' art fer a cover fer their books so it'd sell, and the wanted posters were very intentionally unflattering." She pours coffee into both of the mugs at the table, spilling a bit here and there before wiping it up with a handkerchief. 

"Strangest bounty I ever had put on me. An accomplished author was offering quite a price t' anyone what could capture my likeness in a way that best suited their work." She fanned through one of the books that was sitting on the table, and nudged the other one toward you. 

"Weren't but a few days after that I was suddenly meetin' all manner of 'friendly' strangers. After word got out I wasn't posing fer free, well, that's when things got odd. I'd be at the market doin' some shopping and some clever fellow tells me to hold a lemon up a certain way, says it's the only way to tell the good'uns from the bad. Then he says to me 'Great! Now turn yer head that-a-way!' an' that's when I realize he's got a pencil behind his ear and a sketchbook under his arm. Lots o' folks after that asking me fer strange things trying t' get me in a silly pose, look heroic or flattering." She's suddenly very animated, gesturing along with her story and making faces at no one in particular. 

She pauses a moment, and lifts her mug to her snout with both paws wrapped around it. She savors the aroma, then takes a long, and very slow sip. Her features seem to soften a bit as she sinks back into her chair, eyes closed. 

"Where was I, again? Oh, yes!" She sits upright once more. It's difficult to tell whether she genuinely lost her train of thought or if she was simply messing with you. 

"There were this one gal. Real tall critter. She broke into where I were stayin' and posed me while I was asleep! In me pajamas fer Booble's sake! That's about where the nonsense stopped. One way or another she ended up out the window an' I got me a nice new sketchbook." She guffaws loudly, slapping her knee. 

"Met a feller in a bar that night, seein' as I couldn't sleep right. After that intrusion y'know. Anyway, i thought he were another loon, but he turned to be the sensible type. A real no nonsense kind of hemulen. Strong, too. Challenged me to a fight, and iffin I won I were to be left alone, but if he won, he got to draw me fer the book and he'd give me a cut o' that author's bounty." 

Perhaps it's the warm coffee, or maybe the gentle fire and soft blankets, but somehow you feel as though even stories like these with all their unpleasantness have a way of building a comfortable atmosphere. You wonder if they make her feel that way, too. 

"Anyhow I was feeling a mite skittish about crossing the law now that I was on the other side of it. Explained as much to him. I'm no stranger when it comes to paw-to-paw combat, but Marion an' me crew were still out there. They only got their freedom so long as I stayed off ships and kept me snout clean, so to speak. Told him I love a good scrap, but what I really want is fer all these bold artists to stop chasin' me tail!"

As if mentioning it reminded her of it, she lifted her tail and pulled it into her lap, idly fidgeting with it. 

"I thought it a bit strange that he were a painter and a pugilist, but he just went on saying 'a Hemulen should be well versed in all things'. He also said there were art in fighting and fighting in art, and I'm inclined to agree given both the way he fought, and the uh… personal grievances? Of the other artists he challenged. Had no idea there were so much drama among painters." 

She drew the fur in the tuft of her tail straight and to a point before mimicking painting with it. She looked up from it and to you, realizing you were still looking at her. 

"Must've been oh, seven or so fights I watched? Didn't see all of 'em. By the time it were over we'd been all over town and had a drink or two. The way I figure it, he earned that painting. Went back to his studio the next day. Oh, and we had lunch!" She smiled cheerfully.

"Now, you might be asking yerself; 'Miss Puukko, which one of these fine volumes did the pugilist painter hemulen pen fer you?'." She looked on at the books lying in the table and scratched the end of her snout. 

"Well I don't rightly know! I don't recall his name. Do they even put the cover artists name in the book? I don't think I e'er looked! Ah, well." She stacked the books and set them aside on the shelf. 

"Every so often I wonder what folks from back then are up to, if anything." She sunk back into her chair once more. "But only every now and then… think I'm gonna take m'self a nap now…" She yawned deeply and held onto her tail, setting her paws comfortably in her lap. 

You briefly consider reading through each of the books she set aside, but they're too near her to reach without disturbing her. You decide it's best let sleeping moomins lie. 

Clean version of the art!

[uneasylisteningradio]

House Parts January 27, 2024

Image: Moomin House! listen to the show

Bay City Rollers - Saturday Night Irma Thomas - These Four Walls

DJ speaks over Brad Linde, Patrick Booth, Aaron Quinn and Jonathan Taylor - Housetop

Paul Whiteman and His Orchestra - I'll Build a Stairway to Paradise Public Enemy - Raise the Roof K.U.K.L. - Open the Window and Let the Spirit Fly Free Emitt Rhodes - With My Face on the Floor Dislocation Dance - Roof Is Leaking

DJ speaks over Delia Derbyshire - Door to Door

Men Without Hats - Ideas for Walls The Shangri-Las - Footsteps On the Roof Crass - Walls (Fun in the Oven) Milton Nascimento and Lô Borges - Paisagem de Janela Viagra Boys - Down in the Basement The Toms - The Door Dropdead - Foundation BEIRUT SLUMP - Staircase Come On - Don't Walk On the Kitchen Floor

DJ speaks over The Sensational Guitars of Dan and Dale - Batman and Robin Over the Roofs

Fugazi - Shut the Door Cleoma Breaux - Leve Tes Fenetres Haut Sprung aus den Wolken - Auf dem Boden Stampfen Lithics - A Highly Textured Ceiling Rat Cage - Spitting on the Ceiling Plastic People Of The Universe - Okolo Okno Eighth Route Army - Outside My Window

DJ speaks over Blue Oil - Free Fleas on the Roof

Tactics - Standing by My Window Hassisen Kone - Seinat Litige - Sur les toits Eddie & Ernie - Who's That Knocking at My Door Sophie Pascal - Je ne Frapperai a Ta Porte Stranger Cole - Stranger At the Door

DJ speaks over Lithics - Cricket Song Through Open Window

Dianah - Kelderbeat Überspannung - Boden Beakers - I'm Crawling (on the Floor)

DJ speaks over The Living Strings - When Loves Comes Knocking at Your Door

Gogol Bordello - Through the Roof 'n' Underground

[moominpapasfanficblog]

The Growth Spurt

On rediscovering your supportive community

William Harris Snork had followed a strict schedule for most of his life that started at a ridiculously early hour of the morning. Becoming a part of his brother and Sniff’s family had almost immediately made it clear how absurd this lifestyle was. For the better part of the first year he lived in The Snork’s household, he had to occupy himself with cleaning the house as quietly as he could while he waited for everyone else to wake up so that he could make them all breakfast. Snerf had helped him fit in with the much more relaxed lifestyle of Moominvalley and he helped Snerf with overcoming his fears. William treasured his adoptive nephew and he was constantly surprised that Snerf felt the same way about him.

The morning of Snerf’s sudden growth spurt William had been awakened in his bedroom by Snerf’s crying coming from The Snork and Sniff’s bedroom and realized that the young monster had had another crisis. He went out into the hallway to discover that the second floor was completely deserted and the other bedroom doors had been left open. He went to the bathroom and did a quick cleaning of himself and composed himself so that he could be of the most help and comfort to Snerf.

William went downstairs to the kitchen to find that the rest of his family were about to eat breakfast. Snerf’s much larger size was the self-evident cause of the earlier commotion upstairs. William was, of course, taken by surprise, but he knew immediately what the plan would be to help Snerf overcome his initial fearful reaction to the change that he had undergone. He was determined to join in as well.

“Congratulations, Snerf! You look even handsomer than you did before! You all must let me join in showing you off to everyone in Moominvalley!”, William said as he set out a place setting for himself in front of the chair next to Snerf’s and Sniff served him some pancakes, fruit and juice. “You should be so proud and pleased with yourself! I’m sure that all of your friends in Moominvalley will feel the same!”, he continued as he sat down next to Snerf.

Snerf’s eyes teared up a little and he gave William a light, loving hug in gratitude. After breakfast, the four of them set out for Moominhouse. As they walked, they crossed paths with The Inspector and Sir George on patrol. Their eyes widened as they saw that Snerf was now a full head taller than anyone else in his family. Sir George in particular looked overjoyed and rushed over to Snerf.

“I say, my dear Squire, well done! Thou hast clearly been eating well and keeping up thy exercises every day, just as I recommended! We are going to have to redesign the obstacle course for thee! It’s going to be too easy for thee as it is!”, said Sir George, shaking Snerf’s right paw vigorously.

The Inspector politely saluted the group as he and Sir George went on their way. Snerf blushed at this reception and a new look of confidence and hope came over his face. He and his family soon reached the footbridge that crossed the stream near Moominhouse. There they were greeted enthusiastically by Moomintroll, Snufkin, Snork Maiden, Snusmumrikken, Moomin, Tayberry, and Little My, who had been playing Mymbleball in the front yard. Little My took Snerf by the paw and dragged him across the bridge to Moominhouse’s verandah, where Moominpapa and Moominmama were enjoying the morning sun and fresh air from the verandah table. Everyone else in the Moomin family gathered around Snerf to celebrate his growth. They congratulated him and pelted him with questions all at once. Snerf couldn’t begin to respond properly, mostly because he was overwhelmed by their warm, affectionate, and happy welcome.

“Now, now everyone! You’re crowding Snerf and not giving him a chance to understand let alone answer any of you!”, said Moominmama as she made her way to Snerf’s side. They all obeyed and stepped back enough to give Snerf a proper amount of space. Moominmama took Snerf by the paw and pulled gently at it, causing him to lean forward. She planted a tender kiss on his cheek and asked him kindly, “Who are you planning on visiting next?”

“I…I need to see Gerard…show him what’s happened. He…”, said Snerf, his voice trailing off.

“Be sure to pass through the village as you go! Everyone in Moominvalley should have a chance to congratulate you! Everyone here is on your side. Moominvalley needs you and cares about you. You mean a lot to everyone, Gerard in particular. I hope you know that.”, said Moominmama.

Snerf smiled broadly and blushed brightly as he returned Moominmama’s kiss. Then he and his family bid everyone farewell warmly and crossed the footbridge and began to make the long walk to Count Fuzzy’s mansion on the other side of the valley filled with new reassurance, confidence, and hope.

To Be Continued

[epsilontauri]

dealing with grief is so fucking wild.

one moment i‘m ok and packing my things into neat little moving boxes, and one second later i‘ll remember how she always greeted me in a sing-songy voice and immediately offered me food, tea or coffee when i walked in.

and then i weep because she’ll never do that again.

i when i‘m somewhat ok again, i‘m telling people around me who never got to meet her who she was, how she was, hoping to make her immortal by planting little parts of her in the knowledge and memory of other people.

like, the way she planted mint in the garden and instead of taking over, it barley grew— she was always so frustrated about it! how does the mint not grow at all?! she just wanted to make fresh mint tea. or the way she managed to keep a huge pot of sage alive without doing anything. how she was concerned every winter for the fern that she planted outside of her kitchen window. how she scribbled into all of her cooking books, especially when she liked a recipe. how she collected and build her own library, but kept mixing classics with fantasy and children’s books.

she wrote poems and short stories. i hope she wrote them all down somewhere and we‘ll manage to find them. she wanted to color her hair in a hot pink once the white hairs were more prominent. she asked her youngest son in the morning how many books she should take with her to read in the hospital after the surgery. she asked her second oldest son what kind of cake he wanted next week for his 33rd birthday. she always let her husband trim her long hair. she wasn’t crafty at all and couldn’t sew to safe her life (it was her husband who would fix everything with the sewing machine) but after she spent one summer looking after her grandmother as a teen, she learned how to knit socks and kept doing that.

she believed that magic is found in nature, and she showed me where to look for it. she was always making sure that everyone is treated fair. she accepted immediately that i‘m non-binary’s without any fuss and called me ain from then on. she even understood how i felt about womanhood and related to it, and she told me she’s probably nonbinary too, and i was almost crying in relief, bc my own mother was just crushed and weeping as if i just died in front of her. one time she was more excited to see me that her 3rd son (my ex), despite haven’t seen him in a long time too, bc i wasn’t around as often after i broke up with him after my outing. she loved harry potter but no longer wanted to read it after i told her about jkr’s transphobia.

and she loved halloween so much! she decorated the house in fake spider webs and was always a bit disappointed that no kids came over for candy, mostly due to the fact that her house is on the very end of a steep road up the hill. she loved moomin. i hesitated taking the mug with moomin-papa bc it was her favourite, but i took it bc she also knew that i liked it a lot. the coffee tasted less bitter in it.

i once tried to embroider her medieval dress and only managed to finish one side, but she was excited nonetheless about my work and proudly announced that it’s my work whenever someone pointed it out. i still have the rings that she gave me as a gift, and she wanted me to inherit a beautiful hand-painted wardrobe from 17-something, just because it was a wedding gift of the girl who happened to share my deadname and she still thought i was meant to have it, even if my name is a different one now.

gods, i miss her so much. she was less like a second mother and more of a friend to me. this shouldn’t have happened. she should be around and complain about the heat and how she gets tired more quickly while reading. she would tell me how this time, she would refuse to do the math exercises during recovery, even if it‘s important to monitor her brain function, and eventually admit that she would do them, but still has the right to complain about it bc of her dyscalculia, and i would send her pictures and videos of my cats to cheer her up.

i wanted to tell her that i found my person and that i‘m engaged and we’re planning to get married. i wanted her to meet my fiancé and see them both talk about movies and art and board games. i looked forward to see her excited smile and feel her crushing hug and her breathless „…but oh ain, that is so wonderful!“ i wanted to share my special interest in danmei with her and give her one of the books to read.

i just want her back. i want her to be around happy and healthy and enjoying retirement with her husband.

but she won’t. she’s gone.

[fressaessa]

Buy and build mode cc from GoS that I like

Buy mode

kokeshi dolls

framed constellation zodiac signs

paintings and rugs

mice

marble bathroom

witchy stuff

bakery set 1

bakery set 2

dog food for toddlers!!

floral bed

cheap radio

piano

victorian inspired

kitchen, bathroom

GIANT freezer bunny

crochet bunny

robot alarm clock

moomin posters

dragon

cherry blossom deco set

pastel goth rugs

prize corner

space themed wall writings

adorable posters

gummy bears and milkshakes

bat planter

mushroom house

icecream stuff

tablecloth 1

tablecloth 2

beary vampire

ultimate easel collection!!!

circular rug

circular rug 2

happy plants

cribs, beds, rugs Halloween

plushie

swimming fishes

totoro miniset

functional market

functional market 2

functional market 3

chair+table for children

garden set

owl clock + bowl

toys!

bambi bench

beanbag + shark

paintings

doll house

doll house 2

adorable halloween posters

bunny lamp

plants 1

plants 2

plants 3

plants 4

sailor moon mangas

fairy dollhouse

pet bed

chair and tables

Build mode

wallpaper for kids

wallpaper for kids 2

vintage wallpaper

arcade rug

flowers :D

stuff for both