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godmadeaterribleerror · 13 hours ago

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Chapter 4 - The Ascent

Main Masterlist - Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, soulmates, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.

Summary/Warnings: You wait, and Bucky makes a choice.. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: I love writing these fics cause it gives me an amazing excuse to just. Watch CATWS. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5.5k

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Read on A03!

You can feel him. Every single night when you get home, you feel the same song. The one you’ve always had, only when Bucky was close.

Home. Home is near, and you just have to go to it. Have it. Keep it. Let it keep you.

You’re not sure if home wants to keep you.

Because you can always feel Bucky. Somewhere above or around you, every single fucking night. And it’s not just his constant, dormant and strong presence in your mind and body. He’s on the air and in the sky, but never at your side.

And you don’t know what they told him, about what happened to you. If they showed him the pictures. If Steve’s explained to him that they set you up with a job, and an apartment, and that Hydra wasn’t going to touch you again if they tried. You’re not even sure if Bucky was really even there, the day they rescued you.

You’d felt him. But you hadn’t seen him.

Haven’t seen him.

He hasn’t come to see you. Bucky’s on the TV—his arms folded over his chest and his expression not in the harsh I can’t do anything but stand and follow way, but rather the I don’t want to talk, and I’ve got nothing to say anyways way—but he’s never on your front door. He’s in the wind, but that’s the only feeling of him you get. No hands skimming over your hips, or deep voice saying your name like it’s the only thing that’s ever been real, or fingers playing with your hair as your head rests on his knee.

He got a haircut. You don’t hate it. It never would’ve happened on your watch, but Bucky wasn’t on your watch, and you’ll have him however you can get him. If that means shorter hair and a new, black arm, you’ll take it without a single fucking thought.

You still love him. You’ll always love him. Even if you never see Bucky again, you don’t know how to stop loving him.

He’d been the first thing you asked about, when they’d cleared you after your rescue.

“Bucky?” It had been all you could say. All you needed to say. Steve and Tony—it was really weird to be on a first-name basis so fast, but this whole thing was weird, so you’d gotten over it quick—had exchanged a look that you didn’t understand, and your arms had started to curve around your stomach.

You hadn’t seen him at all, but he was okay. He’d had to be okay. You would’ve known if he wasn’t, and you’d felt him in the Hydra base, and Steve and Tony were still having a silent conversation, but you just wanted Bucky-

“He’s your old pal, Cap.” Tony had finally muttered, jerking his head towards you. “I can make Nat do it, but it’ll be better coming from you.”

Something had formed a noose around your throat. “What will be better?”

Steve had sighed, shooting you an unreadable look. “Tony, I still think-“

“There’s nothing we can do about it right now. Talk to her before she goes crazy and we need to turn on the chill pill gas.”

“Do not use the chill pill gas-“

“I won’t if you handle this like a big boy.” Tony had shrugged, and given you a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, kid. I looked at your file earlier, by the way. Impressive stuff. Won’t be hard to set you up after this is over. We’ll talk.”

“I…” You’d swallowed, shaking off the impressive stuff compliment from Tony Stark. “I don’t- Where’s Bucky?”

Steve had sighed. Again. Someone needed to help him work on that.

All you’d gotten was a grimacing smile and shake of his head from Tony, and then he was gone.

“Steve?” You’d whispered, and he’d been rigid in front of you. “Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s safe.” Steve had said, his tone impossibly even. Words almost rehearsed. “But it’s been… decided, that given the nature of your disappearance and his mental state, it might be best to keep you apart. Indefinitely.”

Indefinitely.

That meant forever, but Steve hadn’t known how to tell you.

You’d understood that. You hadn’t known how to react. You’d just felt numb. Hollow. Stuck in a loop where your brain simply had been unable to comprehend what apart meant. There would be Bucky. There had to be Bucky. That was just how the world worked. He came back. He always came back.

Bucky was supposed to come back.

“Oh.” You’d whispered, your head still spinning around the words. “Okay.”

“You’re going to be fine.” Steve had muttered, still watching you like he was afraid you’d shatter at any second. “We’ll set you up so you can keep, you know. Having a life. Tony’s already expressed interest in all your research, so I don’t think he was joking when he said he’s hire you, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. And we’ve all volunteered to make sure you’re settled. Get you set up in an apartment, make sure it’s got the proper security. We’ve got some contacts working on overturning your legal death.”

And Steve had kept talking about logistics, and you’d barely been listening.

The thing in your head had been the word apart. Over and over and over.

So maybe home didn’t want you.

But that’s not possible. Every time the heavy, mind crushing thought crosses your head, you can cling to reality and know it’s not true. You can grab all the evidence you’ve spent so long gathering, and know that Bucky has to want you. You’ve dedicated your life to proving that Bucky has to want you. You’ve received awards and gotten paid more than you reasonably should, just because Bucky has to want you, and you need to prove it.

He was still home. Your heart felt like it had been splintered, but you also knew Bucky. He wouldn’t have done that to you on purpose. He’d gotten worried when you’d been a little sad about a dog dying in a movie. And it wasn’t lovesick denial, like how the shitty therapist you got set up with said it was.

“Have you considered,” she’d hummed, sitting across from you on an ugly, boring fucking chair. “That maybe you romanticized this relationship-“

“No.”

She’s sighed. “I wasn’t finished with the question, you know. And it’s not a good sign that your response was that certain, without any evidence at all-“

“I have evidence.” You’d snapped, folding your arms over your chest. “And Steve told me that he was looking for me. That he turned himself in for help to find me.”

“What if Steve was lying? To preserve your feelings?”

You’d swallowed. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Maybe. I don’t know him. I do know,” the therapist had given you a mockingly pointed look, and you’d wanted to punch her in the face. “That you claim that Bucky loves you, but he’s made no attempt to contact or see you. In your time of need, he wasn’t there. Is that how you treat someone you love?”

“Yes.”

The therapist had sighed your name, but you weren’t going to let Her keep going. You’d simply left, and texted Sam that you wanted that link to his survivors group therapy thing.

And the therapist hadn’t gotten it. No one really got it. They couldn’t. The symptoms, as it were, appeared stupid and irrational to everyone else, but you had proof. You weren’t an idiot. You’d picked up the blood-covered man on the side of the road not to be a Samaritan or out of naivety, but because you had to.

And Bucky had been there. He’s been here.

But you know him. And you know that he’s hiding from you on purpose, but he’s still there, because he always comes back.

You know he’s blaming himself. That he’d refused to even tell you about Hydra, because it would put you in just a little more danger. And you know about all the things they made him do, and that—when he’d been himself the most, before he’d leave and come back in the shell—he’d have nightmares about blood on his hands and choking down his throat.

And he’d let you hold him. But that was before. When some of that blood hadn’t been yours.

Perceived as yours. As far as you’re concerned, none of this was even close to his fault. And if he’d show himself, you’d grab his face between your hands and tell him that, over and over and over, until he got it.

But for now, indefinitely meant until you found where he was hiding, or he showed himself.

You’d wait for him.

That’s how this works. You wait for him, and Bucky comes back.

And you’re still living, even without him. You’ve made friends. You got a cat, small and white and kind of a dramatic little bitch, and you named her Alpine. You don’t really go out, but you didn’t do that before, either. When someone asks you out, you polity turn them down and explain that you do have someone, they’re just solider. And you’re waiting for them to come home from war.

It’s not a lie.

It’s just a different kind of war than they assume.

Time continues to pass. Sometimes you’ll let your gaze linger on the sky for a little longer, just so Bucky knows you’re looking for him. You like your job—especially the money, you’ve never had money before, and most of it ends up donated but it’s good to know it’s there—and you like your apartment, and nothing really changes but that’s okay. You don’t need it to change.

You’ve had enough change for a while. You still have to do the group therapy thing, and you get nightmares about Rumlow fisting a hand in your hair and forcing your jaw open, and you don’t wear swimsuits or tank tops, because you don’t have any desire the explain the Hydra brand on your shoulder.

Tony had offered to fix it. He’d said that, if you wanted, he could make it disappear.

You’d turned him down. You won’t erase it. Won’t pretend it never happened, because it did, and you’re still standing despite of it.

Hydra won’t hurt you again. If, somehow, all of Tony and Steve’s measures—along with Bucky’s nightly vigils he thinks you don’t know about—fail, you won’t let Hydra take you. You can shoot a gun now, and Nat taught you how to do the thigh move thing, and you can build a bomb.

You’d gone to the compound, to learn all those things. And you’d felt Bucky there the whole time, even if you’d never seen him.

It was more than enough. To know he was safe, and somewhere that he could exist without pain.

And time just keeps moving. And you just keep waiting.

There’s a habit you’ve developed, and you know it’s not healthy, and you don’t really fucking care.

You go to DC a fair amount, for work. And the Smithsonian exhibit about Captain America has been there forever, and it’s been altered since the everything that comes with the passage of time, but never anything you don’t know. There are things that are wrong, parts that Bucky had told you that hadn’t made it into the updated Fall of Hydra and freedom of the Winter Solider bit of the exhibit. Bits about his childhood with Steve the public didn’t get to know about, but you did.

It’s one of the reasons visiting the exhibit helps. You get to see his face, but you can just google that. It’s mostly just reading over all the information, and being able to fill in a lot of the gaps. It’s even further proof that he existed with you, and you hadn’t just gone fucking insane. You knew about Bucky’s sisters, even though they were never mentioned. You know that this exhibit painted Steve to be a perfect little patriotic angel, but brave and good of heart meant reckless and good of heart. That it wasn’t an ironic twist of fate that Bucky was rescued by Steve.

Steve had gone looking for Bucky. He’d gotten that mission together to save Bucky, because Bucky was worth saving.

“Ma’am?”

You glance to the side, and find a wide-eyed teenage boy bouncing on his toes.

“Are you alright?” He asks, watching you carefully. “You been standing here for like, a really long time. And I’ve just been doing my report,” he holds up a notebook and pen, as if to prove their existence. “But you looked a little sad. I just wanted to check.”

You just stare at him, and he swallows, extending a hand.

“I’m Peter by the way.”

He’s bouncy. A little puppy like. And when you give him a soft smile and your name he relaxes, even as you can see that concern starting to spread across his face.

You have been here for a while. You’re always here for a while. But nobody’s ever asked you about it. And now you have to come up with a really good reason.

“I’m just waiting for someone.” You shrug, and the Peter’s eyes widen.

“At a museum? Is he supposed to meet you here?” He pauses. “Or she? Or, is it multiple people? Maybe two people? There’s no reason for me to think it’s a he-“

“It’s a he.” You hum, and Peter relaxes. “And I doubt he’s coming. I just like to wait here.”

“Why?”

This kid is nosy. He’s lucky he looks so earnest, or you’d walk away. “It reminds me of him.”

“Oh. Did you guys… Go to a lot of museums together?” Peter glances at the Bucky exhibit. “Was he a fan of Mr. Barnes?”

You snort at that. “No, I don’t think he was.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.” You answer without a thought. Bucky’s the whole world. “Still am.”

Peter’s silent for a long moment. “How long have you been waiting for him? Your guy?”

“A while.” You shrug, glancing down at his notebook. “Don’t you have a report to be doing?”

“I- Uh, yeah. Are you sure you’re okay? I can wait with you-“

“No.” You let out a long breath, looking back to the exhibit. To Bucky’s face, a little younger than you’ve ever gotten to see it.

But he’d still look youthful, when he helped you plant your flowers, and frowned at the TV, and laughed like nothing had ever been wrong in the world.

“He probably won’t show up today.” You say, trying not to let your own words break your head. “I’m just here. In case.”

“Oh.” Peter frowns at you. “When do you stop waiting?”

“I don’t.”

Peter’s just a kid, but you also don’t feel like trying to dance around it today. Bucky’s yours. He’s home.

He comes back, and you wait.

He just has to come back.

“If it helps,” Peter mumbles. “Maybe he wants to come back, but can’t. That could’ve happened, right?”

You shake your head. “He can. And I know he wants to. He just has to be ready.”

“And you’re just gonna… wait?”

You nod, and you can almost feel Peter’s gaze shift from you to the picture of Bucky. He really is handsome. And you’d waited a whole lifetime for him before.

What’s a little while longer.

“Good luck with your report.” You give Peter a small smile, and he smiles back at you, his expression still nervous.

“Thank you. I’m, uh- I’m sorry for bothering you-“

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” He nods to himself, then starts to back away. “I hope your guy shows up for you!”

Peter smiles at you one last before he bounces away, and you give him a small wave in return.

You don’t move. That’s part of the waiting.

And Bucky won’t show up today.

But you hope he does, too.

——————

“Barnes!”

Stark’s shout was coming from behind him, but Bucky didn’t break pace. He didn’t want to talk to Tony right now. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He needed to get on his bike, so he could make it down to the city and continue his creepy ritual.

If he missed Her, he’d have no way of knowing if She was safe. And Steve had promised She’d be fine, but there was always a fucking chance. A small but real chance that, the one night Bucky didn’t check on Her, Hydra would find her and she wouldn’t come home. And they wouldn’t know She was gone until it was too late. Hydra wasn’t supposed to take prisoners, but they’d take Her. And they’d still know what She meant to Bucky, and this time, he’d lose Her.

His soulmate.

Peter’s word had been rattling around in Bucky’s head for weeks. Soulmate. Bucky’s soulmate. That was why She was an instinct. Why She was safe. The safest place. They vibrated together—whatever the hell that meant—so She was for Bucky, the same way part of him always wanted to crawl back and be for Her. Be wanted, and cared for, and safe.

Bucky didn’t deserve to be safe. He barely deserved the government’s forgiveness, let alone Her’s. The only star that had been left in the sky, guiding him home whenever he got lost. The wind that turned to blow him where he needed to go, and the sunlight that sometime filtered through his windows in the compound, reminding him that things did get better. She’d made everything better.

He’d have to live with this, though. Just seeing Her, like the work of art She was. Watching, but never, ever touching.

“I know you can hear me, terminator!” Stark shouted, and Bucky sped up.

He was faster. If he just got away-

“Friday! Lock the hallway doors!”

“Right away, sir.”

The door locked, seconds before Bucky got to freedom.

“What the fuck, Stark-“

“Don’t throw a tantrum.” Stark waved him off, panting slightly as he caught up. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you like an adult, Barnes, you’re the one who- Never mind. Not important. Why have you been sending my prodigal child to spy on your girlfriend?”

Bucky blinked. “You’ve got kids?”

“I’ve got the kid. Peter.”

“The spider-boy?”

“He prefers man.” Stark shrugged. “But yes. He’s been stalking your girl, Barnes, and I want to know why.”

Bucky stared at Stark for a long moment, the word processing through his head. His girl. Her. Peter was followed Her. Stalking Her. Maybe keeping tabs on Her for Bucky, but Peter knew Bucky had been watching Her, and maybe this was a trap, and Peter had snitched, and now Bucky was supposed to admit he’d been following Her, but if Stark had something to say about that he better damn say it and move on, because Bucky wasn’t going to be stopping until one of them was dead. Preferably him, as if She died first, he’d plant all those flowers on Her grave then crawl into the coffin at Her side, holding Her until she remembered who She was and came back home, home to Bucky-

“Hey!” Stark snapped his fingers in Bucky’s face. “Answer my question, tin man. Why’s the kid following her around?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky grunted, and Stark sighed.

“Here’s the deal, okay? I know about your little trips. I’ve known about them, because, as I attempted to explain before, I am keeping her safe. But apparently I should stop trying to tell super-soldiers from the 40s to trust technology, cause Cap keeps throwing out his very expensive Starkwatch, and you feel the need to act as a personal body guard to a woman who you refuse to even speak to.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it-“

“No.” Stark pointed a stern finger at him, eyes narrowing. “I will not watch it, because I’m find with the stalking, but I will not let you loop the kid into your crimes. You know, besides the one he’s doing on purpose.”

“I didn’t loop the kid into anything.”

“Then why was he trying to talk to me about-“

“He followed me.” Bucky snapped, taking a firm step forward. “And I told him to drop it. That’s all that fucking happened, Stark, so unlock the doors or I will break them open.”

If Stark was fazed, he didn’t show it. Of course he didn’t. Asshole. “That wasn’t all that happened.”

“Yes it-“

“Peter told me about your conversation.” Stark snapped, holding Bucky’s gaze. “About the soulmate shit. And that you thought it was bullshit.”

“He fucking what-“

“I just wanted to help!” Peter squeaked, seeming to fucking materialize from the ceiling before dropping down at Stark’s side. “And Mr. Barnes didn’t make me talk to her, Mr. Stark, I did that myself-“

“You talked to her.” Bucky was trying to keep his voice from being a shout, but it was just coming out poisonous. “I told you that was it.”

“But it’s not it-“

“Peter.” Stark stepped forward, and Peter’s mouth snapped shut. “How did you get into this hallway?”

Peter bowed his head, his voice only a mumble. “Clint showed me the vents.”

“And why the fuck did you go after-“

“Barnes.” Stark snapped, his eyes narrowed. “Deep breaths. We’re handling this. Peter, why did you go talk to our lovely, angry ex-assassins soulmate-“

“She’s not-“

“She is.” Stark shrugged. Like the words were fucking nothing, instead of a grenade straight to Bucky’s heart every time they were said, because the universe couldn’t do that to Her. “I’d bet most everything I own that she is. I am more worried about why you,” he glared at Peter. “Felt the need to participate in their sad little pining situation.”

“I just wanted to talk to her,” Peter mumbled, staring at the floor. “I didn’t mean to run into her, I promise, but I was on a field trip, and she was there. Looking at your exhibit!” Peter gave Bucky a wide, almost hopeful smile. “And she said she was waiting for someone! And that she was still a fan of you-“

Stark’s nose wrinkled. “A fan? She collecting little Barnes stickers?”

Peter shook his head. “No, it- It made more sense in context. But she’d said she’d wait for you forever, Mr. Barnes! So that’s what she wants, right? You?”

Bucky couldn’t move. Him. She wanted him.

The kid could be lying, but he didn’t seem like the type.

But there was no reason for Her to want Bucky. He’d never done anything for Her. He’d only gotten Her hurt, and failed Her.

Yet She was still waiting for him.

She’d always been waiting for him. Every time he’d left, Bucky could remember Her waiting for him. And She was beautiful and kind and smart, and could’ve had anyone, but She’d chosen to wait for Bucky. There had been times where he’d be gone for months on end, but still.

She’d be waiting for him.

“Stark.” He grunted. “Let me out. Now.”

“But-“

Stark placed a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder, and the kid shut his mouth. “Friday, open the doors.”

It wasn’t a trap. Stark didn’t do traps like that. He only held Bucky’s gaze, and nodded to the exit.

“Make good choices.”

Bucky grunted, and walked away.

Choices.

That hadn’t been something he’d had, for so long. And they were fucking hard.

Nobody talks about how fucking hard choices are.

You have to make all the right ones. For yourself. For everyone else. And there are so many options, and they’re all complicate and simple all at once, and you’re always supposed to just make the right ones. Maybe it was an instinct he’d had before, then lost, but Bucky doesn’t have a goddamn clue which ones are the right ones. He doesn’t have a clue about anything.

He had a clue about Her. No matter how many times he’d been wiped, Bucky had always had a clue about Her. At first it would just be a breach in the programming, telling him to go. Go to Her. Then it was the flowerbed that some part of his brain had understood to mean if he stood there, he’d be somewhere better. And he’d always be flooded with more and more knowledge of everything when She was lying in his arms, and he was at peace.

He hadn’t done peace in a while, either. Here—at the compound—Bucky had the choices, but he didn’t have peace.

He missed it.

Missed Her.

All the fucking time, Bucky missed Her.

And he could spend another night on the roof, but She was already home. Bucky could feel it, running right along that instinct, that She was here but out of his sight.

He didn’t want Her to be out of his sight. He just wanted Her. And Peter said She was waiting for him. Looking at his exhibit and waiting for him. Just like how, every night, he returned to watch Her.

And Bucky hated not being in control. He hated not having a choice.

But he’d never had a choice with Her. It had always just been find Her. Go to Her. Go, go, go, you have to go to Her. First disguised as the program, but deeper. Part of Bucky, instead on just a voice in his head and strings on his body.

She was deeper.

She was his.

And before Bucky knew it, he was in the building. At Her doorstep.

Knocking on the door.

It was a horrible, terrible, god fucking awful idea. His fist had barely left the wood, and Bucky knew it had been a terrible idea.

And it was far too late to turn back. The door swung open, and there She was.

Even more beautiful up close. Still clear. Colorful and made of sharp lines, and a soft, gentle smile. Like She’d been expecting him. And every bit of Her could split the heaviest of fogs, and guide Bucky home.

To Her.

“You’re here.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

“Do you want to come inside?” Her voice was soft too. Every bit of Her had always been soft. Not movable, not weak, but soft.

Like a ton of feathers. Just as heavy as iron. Just as strong.

But crushing Bucky down softly, easily.

He’d been fighting for so long. Every time he’d found Her, he’d been fighting something. His body, a target, Hydra, himself.

And She’d been waiting.

Bucky might be done fighting. And this—strong, suffocating, clear softness—was maybe the best place to rest. The safest place.

So he nodded, and Her smile grew as she stepped aside.

“I didn’t know when you’d be… back.” She mumbled, scanning over Her apartment as she led him inside. “It’s a little bit of a mess, but-“

Bucky cut Her off with a grunt. “It’s good.” You’re good. Perfect. I’m home, and I don’t know where to go from here-

“Do you want to sit down?”

She’d always done that a lot. Understood what he needed. Taken care of him, even when he’d really been nothing more than a burden.

“You- You don’t have to-“

Bucky sat down before She could finish, and her lips twitched slightly.

There was a soft, rolling squeak, and suddenly something was jumping onto Bucky. He barely had time to brace his body back, before he realized that it wasn’t an attacker, or bomb, or any sort of threat to Her.

It was a cat. A pure white cat, purring on his lap and examining Bucky with big, curious eyes.

“That’s Alpine.” She mumbled, and Bucky glanced up at Her, clearing his throat.

“I, uh. I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“I didn’t.” She shrugged. “Let her smell you.” Bucky nodded, offering his hand, and Alpine had barely smelled it for a second before She was head-butting him, settling further into his lap.

A soft smile grew on Her face. “She likes you.”

“Gesso so.”

“Do you want-“

“I want you.” Bucky muttered, trying not to think too much. Thinking had always been his enemy. And She needed to stop asking what he wanted, because this wasn’t supposed to be about him. He was the one who failed, then left, then stayed away.

“I-“

“I want to talk, doll.” He looked up at Her, not caring how much of his voice sounded like pleading. “Please, sit.”

She swallowed, and nodded. Dropping right at Bucky’s side, where he could feel the warmth of Her body. He reached out a slow, careful hand, keeping Alpine in his lap and giving Her plenty of time to swat it away.

But She didn’t. She let Bucky trace his thumb over Her cheekbones, then tuck some hair behind Her ears. Let him linger.

“Hi.” She whispered, Her eyes locked on his. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” He murmured, giving Her a tiny and weak, but real, smile.

She returned it. Like it wasn’t even a thought. “How long are you staying?”

“As long as you’ll have me.” His voice was a rasp, and what if She didn’t want to have him. What if She didn’t want him, and the spider-kid had been gone-

“Bucky?”

He nodded, something starting to sting at his eyes and strangle him, and She took a long breath.

“Why now?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Why- Why now?” She whispered. “I know you’ve been watching me, I just- I need to know why you were gone. And what made you came back. So I- I want you to stay, this time.” She swallowed, and Bucky could feel it in his own throat. “Please stay this time.”

Bucky couldn’t think about how She’d known he was watching Her. He only thought about the tears starting to roll down Her cheeks, and how She’d been waiting. Alpine was strolling away from Bucky to comfort Her, and that should’ve been his problem. Not the damn cat’s.

He never should’ve made Her cry. Ever.

He’d made the wrong choice. So many wrong choices. There was blood on his hands, over his heart, and beaten and painted over his skull.

He wanted to start making the right choices.

He wanted to be clean.

“I didn’t want to leave you, babydoll.” He kept his voice low and slow, and She made a weak, choked sound. “I- I’m so fucking sorry. I was comin’ to get you, but Hydra got you first. Then I couldn’t find you, and I had to get mixed up in a lot of stuff to find you and- You’ve always deserved better than me, sweet girl. Better than an old man covered in blood, and I was tryin’ to be- I needed to be selfless. Needed to give you a shot at something better, and that meant me staying away. And I’m so fuckin’ sorry for not being there, and makin’ you wait, and- I’m-“ Bucky slid to his knees before Her, wrapping his arms around Her stomach. “I’m sorry. I never shoulda ever left, and I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence, as Bucky stayed on his knees, and She scanned over his face. She could break him. Cast him out, and he’d deserve it, make him repent a little more than just tear and apologies, make him earn it-

“I forgive you.”

Bucky blinked. “But-“

“I do. I forgive you. But it’s not selfless to leave me, Bucky. And I don’t care who I deserve. And I don’t want better. I want you.” She swallowed, Her eyes going glossy on his. “And I need you to believe me when I say that.”

Believe Her.

That was easy.

She’d always helped him remember, always cared for him, always trusted Bucky not to hurt Her, even when She really shouldn’t have.

If all Bucky had to do for Her to forgive him was believe Her, that was going to be the easiest thing in the world.

“I believe you.” He muttered, and Her smile is going to make him move mountains. “Thank you.”

“Can we start over?” She whispered, Her eyes so bright on Bucky’s, and no choice had ever been easier.

“I’d… Like that. Please.”

“Good.” She gave him a small smile, extending out one hand. “Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

Bucky swallowed, taking Her hand slowly. It didn’t vanish.

This was real.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” His voice was a little hoarse. She didn’t seem to mind. “But you can call me Bucky, doll. What’s, uh- You got a name?”

Her smile grew, She said Her name and Bucky had never heard her last name before. It suited Her well.

Barnes would suit Her better.

But he’d deal with that later. Right now, they were starting over. Bucky was starting over.

With Her.

And there was no solider programming to breathe through, but there was still the sheer power of Her. And there it was. The calmness and clarity through his whole body. Bucky could feel it.

He was home.

End Note: Are y'all ready for some toothrotting fluff and a-grade smut. They're about to be so happy you have no idea.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist (If you'd like to be added, please fill out this form!)

@globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @Youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco

@ambiguous-avery @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka

@megara0224 @funkenniffler @disappearintofanfiction @foolinthera1n @sheneedsjesus

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@deerandbunnies @lori19 @wvffles

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sturniolo04 · 3 days ago

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Can you do one where everyone is hanging out at Tara’s house and Chris girlfriend picks up a guitar and starts playing evergreen on it, not thinking anything of it but when she looks up everyone is staring at her with there jaw dropped not knowing she could play that good

A/n: ofc!! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre-added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

For as long as you and Chris had been dating you tended to not share all of the hidden talents you possess. It's not like you keep secrets from him about who you are you were always open and honest about what things you like and dont like but when it came to those secret hidden talents that honestly you forgot you had you just felt like you never needed to share it because it wasn't as important as the other stuff was.

You, Chris and his brothers were currently hanging out at Tara's house you guys just so happen to be on the topic of talking about all the items she had in her house that were literally only decorations pieces and never actually uses them.

"Tara you need to just get rid of the stuff you dont use like a guitar seriously"

nick chuckles out at her as she just bursts into a fit of giggles at the factual call out.

"okay yeah you might be right but like the guitar I fully thought I was going to use it but ended up using it once"

she giggles out. Your eyes wander over to the guitar set perfectly on the dresser table in the living room. You could tell it hadn't been touched due to the little to no scratch marks on the black painted wood of the guitar.

"can i touch it Tara"

you asks geuninely already begining to make your way over there as she nodded her.

" sure knock yourself out"

Tara chuckles sitting on the couch next to matt. You slowly picked up the guitar holding it in your grasp feeling it. You sat down on a black stool that was nearby thinking that everyone had started another conversation but unbeknownst to you they were watching you. Watching how you were feeling out the piece of equipment.

"Does she even play guitar chris"

matt whispers out to him as chris simply shrugs his shoulders genuinely not knowing. You begin to strum the melody of the only song you could think of Evergreen allowing the notes you strummed softly on the guitar to shift you into a state of not being aware of whats going on around you.

"holy shit I gues she can"

Tara quietly giggles nudging matt's shoulder playfully. You finally growing bored of playing with the guitar look up from your fingers to see everyone's eyes on you. You immediately grow pink in the face realizing they were watching and listening to everything.

"baby i didnt know you could play guitar what the heck"

chris exclaims as everyone claps at your impromptu performance.

"yeah i play just a little"

you shrug out as you set the guitar back where ylou picked it up from.

"a little girl youre a pro at it"

nick chuckles

"i mean if say so"

you shrug out once again sitting back down next to chris as he leaves a quick kiss to your temple, everyone laughs in agreement.

Taglist🗂️

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @dirtylittleheart333

@stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss @sturniolo-szn2 @lezleeferguson-120 @courta13 @chrepsi @lyingonchris

@tezzzzzzzz @babytomatoes21 @sturniolosymphony @zenithsturniolo @bernardsbendystraws

#sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #girlypopsquad🩵#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #chris x reader #charli'scorner🩵#charli'scornerrequests🩵#charli’scornerspeaks🩵#charlischickees🩵#charli'sinbox🩵

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damnfandomproblems · 3 days ago

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Fandom Problem #8508:

A 'criticism' that really annoys me is when people broadly claim that an entire medium or genre is mostly bad or that they all do the same thing. Stuff like "most of X is bad and you have to dig deep to find the hidden gems". Like you're telling me the thousands of writers for this genre all can't write. I have genres I'm not into and I would never claim this. I also don''t think anyone who says this has read/watched enough of that genre to have an accurate opinion on it. Even in the most trope-y of genres, I've found amazing works that use the tropes in an effective and even fresh manner and works that don't really use many tropes that tell wholely unique stories.This claim is even more absurd when it's applied to a medium. That isn't even a type of story, just a vehicle the story is told through.

The 'hidden gems' they talk about are all usually the most popular things ever. In my experience, this usually happens when it's something foreign or something that has a large fanbase of women. My theory is that their pre-existing bisases can't make themself admit that they like something they deem inferior so they try to make it seem like that the thing that they did like was an exception.

#email submission #fandom problem 8508

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mercutiothedestroyer · 3 days ago

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I know you've said you aren't a fic writer, but what about a fic reader?

If so, do you have any fic recommendations? 👀

@mlelmsworld, I am incredibly grateful for this ask and your assistance in my current predicament. As to the question of “do I read fic” well I answer that by saying I might be singing my own praises by saying I consider myself something of a connoisseur of fics. As to what types and personal recommendations. These days it's mostly AOT stuff and a lot of it involves Aruani in some form of another. As to my personal recommendations. There are some many its hard to choose.

Firstly id say “The Differences Between Us” by the wonderfully talented @breakingsanity-aruani. This fic has a unique premise with wonderful worldbuilding and has a good mixture of seriousness and fun to satisfy any taste.

Secondly anything of the works of @moonspirit and their magnificent “Village by the End of the World”series of fics. This 5 part series is utterly engrossing and beautifully told. An absolute treat to read

I also greatly enjoy the works of @annawayne such as “My yellow light in your soft whispers” Anna who's writing like their exquisite art work are astonishing to read and leaves one finding new details every single read-through.

Along with these three amazing authors, I also recommend “on the path that led me to you” by @the-last-thread-of-my-sanity

“A leaf in the wind is all I want” by @distortedclouds

All these and so many others are among those I would recommend to anyone looking for a good fic to read, they are all exquisite and written by some of the most talented writers I've encountered.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #answered #fic recommendation #all these people are incredible

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clfixationstation · 12 hours ago

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#qpr eremin is so based but no one will ever understand#bc tbh I see eren as aro or at least arospec#in my mind he ofc cared about mikasa but did not reciprocate the same way and was clearly focused on other things

yessss I'm so glad other people see the vision! I keep meaning to write about aro and/or ace spec Eren, it just feels so correct to me. They way he just. didn't seem to comprehend her feelings towards him at all, even when she made them obvious, reminds me a lot of my own perspective growing up. I was totally blind to the reality of romantic feelings existing irl, especially in relation to me. I remember one of my friends going on about how much she wanted a boyfriend and being shocked that was something people actually felt. Eren seemed to have blinders on to such things in similar way. His disbelief towards Mikasa's feelings could be explained by his insecurities, but I prefer my queer reading :)

#in my mind mikasa is just simply;;;;; she’s too good for him idk what to say ajdjaksksk#she’s so amazing and wonderful and I have been on her defense squad since day one#it generalizes a lot when people think ea HATES mikasa and thinks she’s TERRIBLE GRRRR#when in fact. a lot of us personally love her#and the reason I don’t ship them is bc I love her sm

this too! I hate that people don't believe us when we say this. I know people will sometimes act like this to "get the girl out of the way" for their mlm ship, but it really has to be assessed on an individual basis. Same energy as when people say "you only ship mikasasha/mikannie/mikahisu so you can ship eremin." like no?? I love each of those ships in their own right, you have no idea how many mikahisu fics I've read lol. People legitimately ship these pairings, stop trying to undermine wlw ships in your effort to read misogyny into a situation where there is none. It's equal parts funny and frustrating to see people keep accidentally swerving right into homophobia (and misogyny!) in these conversations

#sorry you’re getting some really agro people;; I guess it comes with territory over there ;-;#I hope you don’t take it to heart too much; they don’t know you and are kinda being super aggressive for no reason ahsjsjaj#normalize blocking. we’re all in this mess together; why not make life easier by curating your space#ur clearly not delusional and ur just stating facts. and its ok to disagree about interpretations; its the point of media analysis#and fandom engagement#we’re all just consuming a shared work and we can have our own tastes#idk this fandom can be;;; yikes. but i quite like this specific space and would love to read your mikasa stuff bc you consistently have#amazing takes>:)#yeah. hope they don’t get ya too mad. they’re being kinda ridiculous 😭#txt

thank you, this is very sweet :) Luckily I don't take this sort of interaction personally because I'm very secure in my opinions and analysis. A stranger can't know my heart, so why allow them to dictate how I feel?

that being said, I need to go back in and block a bunch of people

sorry guys, I'm just gonna rant to myself for a bit about the AoT twt fandom. So, there's a post EMs are sharing around of an Eremin shipper saying Eren hugged Armin tighter than he did Mikasa, multiple times. They're angry, saying it's a misrepresentation of Eremika and that it's "clearly shitting on Mikasa." (Apparently this was the impetus for the "half of Eremin's content is talking about Mikasa and fighting" post I responded to earlier)

And I must ask, how is it a misrepresentation of the story (and Eremika) to say Eren hugged Armin tighter? That's just what happened. It's canon, plain for anyone to see, and it's not derogatory towards Mikasa to say so. Eren and Mikasa's moments are more subtle and tender, and more rare. Eremin has a fierceness to it; Eremika has a steady comfort. It is certainly a slight slight (lol) to EM, to use the tightness and number of hugs as a comparative metric for romance - so, their argument should focus on breaking down that premise, if they care to make it.

It's a fairly simple takedown: different people find different things romantically compelling. So, if Eren and Mikasa's tender hug appeals more to you, that's wonderful! If Eren and Armin's fierce hugs appeal more to you, cool! If both appeal to you, even better! Best of both worlds :D Accept your differences and move on.

My personal view of what is romantically compelling is shaped by being queer, a lesbian on the aro/ace spectrum. Ships between friends, with high levels of understanding, honesty, support, intensity, shared goals, casual physical affection - those are what appeal to me most (a ship being queer is also enticing). But I understand it's different for every person and I don't expect everyone to adhere to my standards.

Someone responded to me, saying: "The tweet is obviously shitting on Mikasa, but you're too much of a fake-ass hypocrite to ever judge anything fairly. Btw blocking me like a coward, proves how insecure you are. Hope this help"

I have no idea who this person is. I did not block them - they blocked me. Someone's alt account, maybe? I just blocked a bunch of people who were denigrating Eren and Armin's bond under a different post, so perhaps I blocked their main. Maybe this was a poor move on my part, but I've responded to their (unblocked) main: "who are you? I just blocked a bunch of people being cruel/misrepresenting canon on another post, so perhaps I caught you there. It's called curating your timeline so you can coexist in peace. If you think that post is shitting on Mikasa, take it up with Isayama for writing it so"

It's more combative than I like to portray myself, and I don't have hope for having a civil discussion anymore, so why did I say anything at all? I don't know. I wish character limits were longer so I could add my piece acknowledging the slight to EM and fully elaborate the flaw in the premise...but they wouldn't take it in good faith regardless, seeing as they ignored my previous (neutered) attempt: "...Eren & Armin were very physically affectionate throughout the series. it's not delusional, it's canon & it isn't derogatory to Mikasa to say so. Eren & Mikasa have tender moments too, just differently"

What if I told them I don't even primarily ship them romantically, but as queerplatonic soulmates? Think it would break their brains lol

Wish I could simply block every (obnoxious) EM on that forsaken app, but that doesn't stop people from seeing you now, and I do want an audience for my Mikasa posts, lol. Legitimately, I've had my post about Mikasa's growth and perception of Eren - a fairly straightforward reading, emphasizing Eremika's bond - in my twt drafts for months. I'm nervous to post it, lest I be harassed for acknowledging the darkness in their relationship. Then I feel bad for saying so, because I've also encountered many lovely, normal Eremika enjoyers :/

With all of this said, I'm very thankful to the people of Tumblr who've interacted with my thoughts in good faith. I truly appreciate every person who takes the time out of their day to add their thoughts, ask questions, send an encouraging like. Y'all are the best :)

take me back to the days of twt EMs largely leaving us alone because they were too busy fighting EH and JK shippers I'm so serious (this is a joke, I don't wish anyone to be harassed). the price of EA becoming slightly more popular on twt </3

#is it harmful to headcanon the genocidal freak as aromantic? eh probably #whatevs #aromantic #asexual #eren jaeger #cl thoughts #qpr eremin

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collophora · 11 months ago

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Do yourself a favor and go read the entire fanfic work of @fanfoolishness

(In order: Under sun and shade, Blind Side, and Breathless (patching up is one of my fav too, I just had no cool sketch idea for it)

#star wars #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanart #tbb fanart #tbb fanfiction #dumping my “fanfic_doodles.clip” file here literally #sorry the style is messy #now I see them all Im like “ok it's all over the place zero/100 aesthetically pleasuring post”#hhhh its the thought that counts?#And tbh the point is just to convince you to read theses #because I'm like OBSSEEESSED with theses since you appeared in my notes #Every fic is gold #Me baiting my followers with pretty enough pictures to read fanfics #this being said I should really take the time to color properly my stuff #but I don't liiiiiiiiike it #there is tons of more talented artists if people want colored beautiful amazing art #me I can't really make my “”“spontaneous”“” “”“doodles”“” pretty without trying hard and at the end it's meh #They're so flat too #yesterday I was like “oh my scenes are becoming less flat I improved maybe”#Then I scrolled on my storyboard insta and was like #yeah sure no #I'm still faaaaaar away from the industry standards #I studied like at three arts school and I'm still bad at drawing TAT #why is my brain not working v_v #look brain I'm showing you nice pictures learn from them #brain: no Im gonna overfixate on this left hand here and only this #anyway

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ricky-mortis · 10 months ago

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Hatchetfield @femslashfortnight Day 1: Make It Sapphic AU

#once again we are ignoring the fact that it is not technically still day 1 where I live #look i am only like 30 minutes off so it's fine.#it's still day 1 in 3/4 of the US so we're fine #anyways here's sapphic Holloween because we all deserve a little bit of that in our lives #Inspired by the incredibly talented Snarky-wallflower #if you are reading this you simply must go check her out #she's an amazing author and a rad person so there are no downsides in lookin her up #but yeah that's crazy i finished two drawings in one day whoa #like i said i've got events back to back to back to back right now #so i've got another drawing to work on for tomorrow #but i'm not doing every day for this one #i've got art fight to prepare for as well #and work stuff to work on #fun fact: the most abundant mineral in the earth's mantle is Olivine #which is this beautiful green color #and even though it is so common #i do not have it in my collection smh #gotta get me some of that #did you know that i love rocks and minerals #i think i will start doing more rock facts because i've got plenty of those #hatchetfield femslash fortnight #holloweane #holloduke #miss holloway #duke keane #butch!duke keane #hatchetfield #nightmare time #nightmare time 2 #kim whalen

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fisheito · 8 months ago

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eiden inspires me to new heights [working up the courage to negotiate prices at the farmer's market]

#while reading edmond's nuca pink dj i saw the part where eiden's general helpfulness was being pointed out #where eiden negotiated with the sellers at the market to get free stuff and nice deals...#when i saw that #i went #WOW.... eiden!! you're amazing... i wish i could do that #but recently at the farmer's market #i needed a LOT of eggplants #and... i thought of eiden. wait... why can't i be like him? isn't this the perfect opportunity to try?#so during my chitchat with the farmer i put on my brave face and asked if there were any bulk discounts #i am not built for haggling. it is pure nightmare for me #anyway!! i DID get a nice discount!!! wow!!!#a part of me thinks he would have given me one anyway considering it was the end of the day and all that #but!! i worked up the nerve to ask and!! CHEAP PRODUCE!!!#my moussaka loves u eiden. my wallet loves u. i love u #nu carnival eiden

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smokeys-house · 2 years ago

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The Cane King's Daughter

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

⭐️Also available on ao3!⭐️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What'll you have, Whetstone?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Slow." Captain Whetstone teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You must promise not to laugh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

Ms. Whetstone

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

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

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

It was a pleasure meeting you.

-M

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The gentleman from Curaçao, my dear."

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

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

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

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

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

Slap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do ye want?" The captain shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No!" They cheered once more.

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

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

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

"Ahem"

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

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

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

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

"Ahem. It's my name."

"What's yer name?"

"Ahem!"

"What?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Followed you around."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"An' yer annoying!"

"Name your second."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

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

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

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

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

"Begin!" Woodes Rogers shouted without hesitation.

Jules lowered himself, rushing into a full sprint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thwap!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The audience bellowed with shouts of a similar kind.

"The duel is over! Stop!"

"You lost! Give it up!"

"He's lost his mind!"

Many voices cried over one another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tst-BOOM

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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yuseirra · 4 months ago

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Analysis and rant(on what was this piece trying to say and all maybe)

Sorry... I keep talking about this because it really weighs on my mind. From a thematic perspective, this manga touches on some incredibly sensitive topics, and while it doesn’t completely shy away from them, it also doesn’t fully address them. This lack of explanation leaves me constantly unsettled and preoccupied with unresolved aspects of the story.

When it comes to understanding the emotional undercurrents of this manga, I was quite confident.

For example, figuring out who Aqua truly loves, what kind of feelings Ai might have had for her boyfriend, and why they broke up—

I had already deduced these things with accuracy even before the story revealed the full details.

I’m very confident when it comes to this sort of analysis!

well, the rest.. I'll cut and place in the read more.

*has analysis of the plot, thoughts on the work and the subjects it touched, some psychological analysis, etc

As for the extent of Ai’s feelings toward her boyfriend, I had to approach this cautiously and conservatively. After all, throughout the story, the protagonist outright accuses him of being her murderer, and others don’t view him favorably either. The allegations against him were so heinous that I couldn’t confidently claim Ai genuinely loved him until the story confirmed it. At a point where Ai seemed to be the victim, it felt only right to tread carefully and analyze the situation with utmost caution before drawing any conclusions.

Still, I came to the tentative conclusion that Ai probably liked him quite a bit. Given that Ai herself admitted she didn’t fully understand love and had never really experienced it, perhaps what she felt didn’t quite reach the level of “love.” But it must have been an emotion close to it—that was the best I could deduce.

And ultimately, before the story revealed what Ai said in the video, why they broke up, and other details, my predictions turned out to be incredibly accurate.

For example, I wrote something like this before CH 154 was introduced:

++ Early on in the series, there’s a key phrase: “Lies are also a form of love.” Do you think this idea of a 15-year lie could have two meanings?

To her fans, she lied by saying she loved them.

To her boyfriend, she lied by saying she couldn’t love him, even though she did have feelings for him.

In this way, Ai told two lies about love.

I ACTUALLY PREDICTED THE CONTENT OF AI'S VIDEO. I couldn't be more correct about it.

Is this something so obvious that anyone could figure it out? I’m not sure... But that’s why I really thought I had a solid grasp of the emotional dynamics in this manga.

So, despite my anxiety toward the latter half of the story, I felt, This seems right, doesn’t it? I even thought that Ai’s boyfriend might not have tried to scare her at all. What if he only intended to send flowers but things spiraled out of control, leaving him in utter despair? I had already started sketching this idea out around chapters 154–155.

Then, as the manga went on, it had so many breaks! I kept thinking, What if next week the story flips, and he turns out to be an irredeemable villain? But the breaks gave me time to reflect and continue drawing. Even with those worries, I couldn’t stop because the details and the song were so intense.

The accusations were truly horrifying. The situation was dreadful. But the two of them seemed to have cared deeply for each other, and I believed that to be true. So I interpreted their relationship in that direction and expressed it a lot in my work—but can you imagine how nerve-wracking and stressful that was?

Even so, I wasn’t completely uncertain about this interpretation.

Even until the end of the story, Kamiki never acts violently or aggressively, not even once. Threatening or intimidating someone stems from aggression, and he simply doesn’t exhibit that kind of behavior. On the contrary, the way he’s portrayed shows he couldn’t even bring himself to take such an attitude, and it caused him immense suffering. There was no narrative reason to depict him that way if it wasn’t true.

Looking at the story as a whole, you could argue that Kamiki was actually written rather consistently. (really, he COULD be.)

But then, the conclusion becomes this:

That for a significant portion of the story, the events surrounding Kamiki didn’t unfold according to his will. He didn't want things to become like this, but things must have still spiraled into disaster. And if that’s the case, how could that even happen?

This person really seems to be a god. The story HAS another god in human form within the work, the related foreshadowing appears, and they say that there isn't just one of such beings! The actions they take are also so deeply significant...

Why don't they just go on and state this out? LOL;; Seriously.

It feels like the story is about this:

A godly couple protecting the entertainment industry—when the wife is murdered, the husband can’t endure it, abandons his virtues, falls from grace, and deserts his duties. He starts reclaiming the blessings (+ the wife’s love) that they had bestowed on the industry, wandering around, only to eventually face retribution for his actions. That’s what I think it’s about.

The gods loved and cherished humanity, granting them protection and various blessings (like the abilities linked to those star-shaped eyes), and they came down to live as humans for once. But both lost their memories, grew up under abuse, and finally met, barely managing to live happily. However, due to the darkness of the entertainment industry or whatever, they were separated again.

To make it worse, the wife had the husband’s child, and under the twisted logic of “how can an idol have a child,” she was murdered. (At that time, the husband was already in bad shape, so the other gods decided the he needed to be replaced, preparing a surrogate candidate as their proxy-Ruby-.)

Witnessing this drove the husband insane, it seems. He went mad, endlessly searching for a way to bring his wife back. Eventually, a divine decree was issued that he must die since he could no longer fulfill his godly duties, leading to his elimination.

From the moment I heard Fatal, I felt like something was up.

This person doesn’t seem like an ordinary human. It feels like some non-human being, unable to live without their loved one, became so consumed by that purpose that they fell from grace.

I’m pretty sure the story is about that.

This manga... It’s incredibly heavy in terms of its themes, with parts that are very hard to watch, yet the creators didn’t seem entirely thoughtless about how they handle it. For example, Kamiki is a victim of child sexual abuse. If the character had been written as falling into being a serial killer or something like that as a direct consequence, I would have been furious. That would be a disrespectful way to use that subject matter. While it’s not entirely impossible for that to happen, writing it so conveniently would show a lack of deep thought about the people in those situations. It’s a theme that shouldn’t be used as the sole reason for someone’s downfall. There were interpretations of Kamiki’s character like that but I'm so thankful this wasn't the case. I'd have dropped this work if that were to be real.

However, In my opinion, sometimes this manga constructs its narrative in ways that allow for such interpretations, which can feel careless. For instance, there was a time when someone directly messaged me saying, “Isn’t it fine for a 15-year-old to have a child?” I'm sorry, but that had me really baffled; I don’t actively seek out other people’s opinions about the works I’m reading, especially with this manga. I feel like doing so would leave me feeling stifled.

Stories have the power to draw people in, but this manga, despite using sensitive themes, doesn’t feel definitive in its stance on them. It tends to gloss over things or just brush past them. While it did handle the issue of child sexual abuse somewhat strongly, I wouldn’t say I was fully satisfied with it. That aspect of the manga is not something I find to be its strength and I feel it can do much, much better while it's not the worst it can ever be.

As for Ai’s death and the theme of teenage pregnancy, I felt like it wasn’t thoughtless, and it reached a level where I could accept it.

Honestly, I wouldn’t have supported Ai’s relationship if her boyfriend hadn’t been younger than her. (I’m fine if they’re the same age.) Ai is petite, and it’s even mentioned that she might have needed a C-section. She had children at such a young age (though the president’s wife helped with childcare, and the kids were reincarnators, so they weren’t very high-maintenance) and endured so much hardship.

If her boyfriend were older than Ai? That would make him an incredibly thoughtless person. He’d have had to take on responsibility for raising the kids (though many do run away or shirk responsibility). From what’s presented in the story, Ai’s boyfriend also seems like someone who had a tough life up until the time they were dating. The two were just very vulnerable, and they both did their best under the circumstances.

They were simply too young. I think they both needed to be at least five years older at the bare minimum for it to have worked in a realistic sense.

Ai had a personality and circumstances that made it plausible for her to shoulder everything herself, thinking she had to solve it because she was the older one. That aspect of her character and situation was portrayed convincingly, showing how events could unfold that way for someone like her.

The issue of Ai’s death... I think it has to be framed as Ryosuke’s problem. The excessive expectations placed on idols and entertainers, as well as twisted fandom culture, are undeniable realities. There are real-life cases of entertainers being murdered like this, or at least becoming targets of stalking and various crimes.

However, if the story made her boyfriend the one who orchestrated it, it would dilute the message about these societal issues. While this manga may not aim to deliver a profound social commentary, making the boyfriend the culprit would serve as an entertainment-driven choice to propel the protagonist’s goals. It’s a narrative choice that could work, but the creators seemed to lean toward depicting it differently at the end, and I thought that’s the right approach.

If there’s a message they want to convey, it’s better for the boyfriend not to be the culprit.

Initially, when Aqua assumed so, I thought, “Is that the case?” because there was no evidence to the contrary. Naturally, the story led me in that direction. At the time, the boyfriend seemed involved in something shady, but there was always no clear indication that he harbored animosity toward Ai. In fact, there were hints of lingering affection, to the point where I wondered if there was at least some mixed emotion, if not just outright love.

For example, he still visited Ai’s grave and spoke tenderly. This suggests either he didn’t harm her, or he’s a complete psychopath. After all, visiting the grave of someone you killed and referring to “our child” while looking at their offspring is bizarre behavior.

He also seemed excessively self-blaming. It was clear he wasn’t normal, but his responses towards Yura's death was strangely peculiar. What was he even saying? At that point in the story, his words were incomprehensible, and even by the end, things still remain ambiguous regarding what he actually meant by all that.

To add, when looking at the past, it seems like Ai was like a savior to him, but in reality, they were each other's saviors. They comforted each other and got along quite well, but there were so many things they couldn’t handle due to their circumstances. Both of them really cared about each other, but it seems they ended up parting ways.

And this person was, if anything, naive and excessively gentle, lacking any sense of aggression. Even while being mistreated, he couldn’t speak up, so Ai protected him, and he relied on her. When you break it down, Ai really cared about him. Her actions were those of someone cherishing a deeply loved person. Although she said some very cruel things when they broke up, would that alone make him so ungrateful as to harm Ai? After their breakup, he didn’t do anything for years. If he had intended to get revenge, wouldn’t he have done so back then? And the idea that he would harm her out of anger for being called to see the children? That makes no sense to me. Given his personality, Isn’t that the kind of situation he would like? Like in chapter 160, where he’s smiling while holding a bouquet—that feels like the most likely scenario, doesn’t it?

If you analyze how the authors portray him, it really doesn’t seem like he’s the culprit. Why would they write the character like this if they want to show him as the one responsible for Ai's murder??

The way he describes or remembers Ai is consistently filled with affection.

Once again, it’s hard to depict someone with such a purely positive impression if they’re the person you’ve harmed. Humans tend to rationalize their actions, convincing themselves that they have a reason to do what they did. If he had done something as horrible as that, he’d find fault with Ai in some way, even if there were lingering mixed feelings. It’s nearly impossible to recall her with nothing but beautiful memories. You could say his memory of Ai was firm and cruel when they parted, but from what I see, that was just objectively showing what happened. And the Ai he remembers is always radiant, smiling alongside him. Even the lighting in those scenes is bright. Furthermore, the impression Ai seemed to have of him was also very positive.

How Ai perceived him is critical to understanding their relationship. If a stalker claimed they were in love with the victim, would that hold any weight? This is why I couldn’t say anything until it was made clear. But now that I’ve seen it, the conclusion is that both held very strong affection for each other and thought highly of one another.

Could he have intended to harm Ai? Could he have tried to scare her because she left him? Judging by his personality, I don’t think so. This person—he wasn’t acting. His naturally gentle and kind personality is likely why Ai liked him.

It seems like he has an ingrained tendency to blame himself. If anything, he seems like someone who’d take responsibility for things that weren’t even his fault.

Moreover, he never blames Ai. He says he loved her so much he’d give up his life for her.

And that doesn’t seem like a lie. When you compare it with how he was in his youth, a faint outline of his character starts to emerge. Then, the content of the song comes to mind.

He keeps talking about offering everything, saying he can’t live without her, that he wants to see her. In a previous song, there were lyrics about how he’d give everything, even his life, if her life could return. At first, I thought it was Aqua’s perspective, but it’s not. Looking closely, both songs are about Kamiki.

Given that he feels this way about Ai and has this kind of backstory, could he have harmed Ai? I feel like the probability is just too low. Rather than finding evidence to support that, the more we learn, the less likely it seems. Why? For what reason? And it seems like people around him keep dying. Each time, he appears genuinely tormented.

Looking at the first instance at least, it seems clear that the event was entirely out of his control.

In Japanese mythology, there’s a couple among the gods of entertainment. The husband of the couple, the god of light, has the ability to guide people’s futures, and he's later replaced by Amaterasu. The wife’s name has been directly mentioned by the protagonist in the story, and the shrine where the characters made their wishes is the place where this divine couple was wed. Together, those gods grant wishes.

So, doesn’t this mean Ai and her partner’s essence is those gods?

That’s how my thought process naturally pieced things together, though it wasn’t intentionally organized step by step—it just clicked. (That’s what I mean by intuition.) That’s when I started thinking, "Is this what the story is about?"

And the husband god drowned.

So, if that’s what this is referencing, then it fits perfectly.

But how are people who don’t know the mythology supposed to grasp this?

Even now, people still don’t understand.

The story doesn’t explicitly establish that this is the case, either.

Seriously, how am I even supposed to interpret this manga? It’s exhausting.

I’m not actively trying to piece it together—my mind just connects the dots, and when I wake up, it all comes to me. I wonder if it’s not the case, but...

People call Kamiki a lunatic and an evil criminal. Well, they’re not entirely wrong. He’s clearly committed many crimes, but that’s also what’s so frustrating. He deserves to be punished, but shouldn’t it be done properly? Shouldn’t we figure out who he really is first? Regarding Ai, maybe he doesn’t deserve the criticism. I can’t speak on something I don’t understand, which is why I’ve been carefully analyzing him. To form an opinion, I need to know the details. But he’s such an ambiguous character. We never fully learn what he was doing, what he was thinking, or his true intentions. He doesn’t express them outright, and even Tsukuyomi? She does tell us about what his motives were but... she speaks so vague and I don't think I can buy it so fully.

If the above backstory is true, wouldn’t that significantly change how we evaluate the character? Based on his personality and when you break down the story as a whole, I genuinely think that interpretation fits.

I can’t let go of this. What kind of manga is this, seriously?

Regarding Aqua again. Honestly, the ending left such a bitter aftertaste!!!;;; And even Aqua’s actions—well, in that kind of situation, it’s like, “Oh, okay… I guess you really had no other choice, with your dad being a corrupted god and all... What else could you have done?”—are understandable to a degree.

But the authors are just so cruel. It’s hard for me to go back and read the earlier volumes because they leave such a bad taste. This is a product for sale, after all. Yet, all the earlier parts where Aqua is running around, helping people, torn between two girls, and just wandering aimlessly… None of that ends up affecting the conclusion. It’s meaningless!;; The story just follows the mythology, so all that messy, dramatic buildup earlier? It wasn’t necessary at all.

Sure, Aqua helped Kana and Akane to some extent, allowing them to continue their careers in the entertainment industry, but from a realistic perspective? To me, the experience of losing someone dear to you in such a way would be far more traumatic and overwhelming—a wound that would scar your life forever. So when those two are shown smiling happily at Ruby in the later chapters, is that even convincing? I don’t know. Maybe if the story had allocated more time to those related episodes, it might have worked better, but they didn’t include that, did they?

In the end, Ruby shone as the new sun god after eliminating the maddened former sun god. < This narrative makes it seem like Aqua was just intruding on the story, like he didn’t need to be there. That's how the myth goes, except for the fact that Sarutahiko never went mad and just drowned on his own. The writers made him grow mad after the loss of his wife and had Aqua drown him, that's the change they brought to that basic outline. He would have drowned ANYWAY. If that’s the case, couldn’t the story have worked just as well without Aqua? Just Ruby, Akane, and Kana navigating the entertainment industry together? I feel bitter even making such an evaluation of the protagonist, but with this ending, I don't feel happy revisiting the story and rereading anything related to Aqua. After all, he's going to die anyway, right?;; As I mentioned in my analysis earlier, the story’s narrative structure revolves around the mythological elements, and everything is decided based on the myth’s progression. Aqua doesn’t really matter. He wasn’t supposed to have a role in the myth—he was an addition, something forced into the framework.

Ruby, Kamiki, Ai, and Tsukuyomi? Those guys are the core elements. If you understood what they were, you could have predicted the ending far in advance, regardless of what Aqua was doing. That’s probably why Kamiki’s true nature wasn’t revealed earlier. If the truth about Ai’s boyfriend had been made clear, you could have known exactly how that character’s story would end.

It feels like I’ve ended up saying so much…

Maybe it’s because I care about this manga? Hmm...;; I think I just see a lot of things here, like potential answers the story didn’t give us. There are so many unresolved, painful emotions lingering, and none of it feels properly addressed. It’s frustrating and exhausting.

How do people who’ve followed this series from the very beginning—buying merchandise and everything—evaluate the ending? I suppose it varies from person to person?;; It's too much though; It would’ve been better if the message, or whatever they were trying to convey, was more definitive. But it’s not. You can’t even say, “Oh, they left it as a mystery on purpose,” because the supernatural elements make it impossible to definitively confirm anything unless the author outright says, “This is what happened.” This isn’t a realm of logical deduction—it’s all up to the author’s intent.

Still, I feel the only way any of this explanation makes sense is if my interpretation is correct. I'm never so entitled but I really can't think of a better explanation. In that case, the author should’ve clarified things.

At least I think I got the emotional beats right??; Who else thought after chapter 154 that the context of chapter 160 would come back again? I don’t think many people did. But if you consider Kamiki’s characterization, this should be it. It makes sense that this would happen!; But if that’s the case, it immediately invalidates everything Aqua has done so far. I think that's why they had him rebut him swiftly. What's the point of including those if what Kamiki said isn't the truth? Why include those scenes then? I say Kamiki's stated the truth right there, the lie about it would that he now does intend to hurt people to some extent in order to get Ai back. Since he's given up being kind after what's happened.

And Kamiki—he was 19 at the time. Did him showing Ryosuke a toothbrush really provoke him to kill Ai? That’s more about how terrible Ryosuke was. Do you think Kamiki explicitly told him to go kill or harm Ai? He definitely wouldn't have. If he had, Nino would’ve said so—she would’ve told on it. Why wouldn’t she? What probably happened is that Kamiki’s ability to “guide” people (michihiraki) twisted and drove others in evil directions. It didn’t suddenly make them bad people either; it just amplified their darker tendencies.

Honestly, I can’t stop thinking about this character. Based on the accusations against him, it makes it hard to believe he was a good person… but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s been misjudged. It’s like when someone in prison for a heinous crime still seems suspiciously innocent. That bothers me a lot, you know, so I keep bringing it up because it feels unjust.

I never believed he was completely innocent of course, but…

Even until the very end!!!;;; They left things so ambiguous.

Still, one thing is certain: he genuinely loved Ai and couldn’t live without her. Looking at his backstory, it makes sense why he is so, but there seems to be a deeper, external narrative at play here. It feels like he’s on the level of a husband god who can’t live without his wife. Why else would the Aratate Shrine show up? Why did he listen to Ruby’s wish? He’s that god—the god of light! That’s why the white star shone too!

Wasn’t it Ai and Kamiki together who granted Ruby’s wish in 147? That’s why it came true. The white star must be Ai. She became a star! How can a regular person become a star? Ai is Ame-no-Uzume! She returned to the heavens, while Kamiki, being an earthly god, couldn’t follow her. That’s why, like in the Mephisto song, he kept wishing upon the stars and striving to be with her. He was desperate. Collecting Ai’s light? It was all out of desperation.

If only the story had explained this clearly, it would’ve made so much more sense.

And if he’s a god, it’s understandable that he might grow disillusioned after protecting humans all this time. It’s not like he handled it well. But in the life he lived as a human, aside from Ai, he didn’t have a single good relationship; he was probably an incredibly benevolent god who ended up falling into corruption.

It’s such an exhausting manga.

If nothing stood out to me, maybe I could’ve just moved on. But because it’s all so vague, it lingers in my mind.

I once said before I wished I could feel nothing about this because it's painful, and it would’ve been easier. Once I finish what I’m working on, I just want to let go. No matter what comes next—whether there’s a third season—I won’t care. I’m not watching season 3. Why would I, after an ending like this? I don’t want to watch Aqua die. Even if I like Kamiki and Ai a lot, and the movie arc is actually my favorite, watching it would just be painful.

I also don’t trust the authors to handle the characters properly anymore. If this is how the story ends, they’ll likely turn Kamiki into some irredeemably evil villain for the sake of convenience in anime S3 because that's what's easier for the audience to handle and understand. And I’d hate that. They'll never explain this character in depth. They didn't do it in the source material, it's far too late to do that anytime now.

I have no expectations anymore. Do you think there’s any reason to hope for something good? It’ll just be painful.

I don’t usually speak this way about a work, but I guess I'm really disappointed. To have a fan this dedicated to feel this way, haha...

well, the authors can do what they want, I have my feelings too. If only they explain things!!!;;; but now, I don't want to care, I keep preparing for the worst to come, I don't want to be disappointed anymore, so I hope I lose my expectations and even some degree of my love for it so that it doesn't affect me as much. And that's a lot to say.. for me to wish to say I want to lose my feelings for something. I felt terrible reading the ending though and I don't want to feel that way again. That's what I get for having read this manga, huh. Maybe I only want the love to last but you can't have both...that's impossible.

it really hurts to love something sometimes, I don't want to think I loved the wrong thing, and I learned a lot from it, but it's sad I couldn't be as happy about it as I thought it would.

#oshi no ko #oshi no ko spoilers #oshi no theories #hikaai #hikaru kamiki #ai hoshino #it's amazing how I can keep writing a wad of things in regard to this manga #I wish it could have been all positive #anyhow.. I think it trained me on reading things...maybe.#aqua hoshino #they did you so dirty aqua... you were my fav for quite a while before the last arc came along #the last arc did you so dirty #spoilers #I say many negative things about him but that's not because I hate him-I don't like how he was handled and functioned in the end. that's wh #I really want to stop thinking about this work and just draw cute and maybe sometimes angst hikaai stuff #my brain keeps running tho so I have to let it run and empty it out like a trash can so it stops. that's what I'm doing rn

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