#with constant threats of mutiny

[ghostshipglamour]

What if they were in a Voyager kind of situation what if they were in a Voyager kind of situation what if-

[lottiecrabie]

Pmfs enjoyers if Matty and girlie don't have a happy ending together

Jk, we love you Crabbie🫶🏻

sharpening their knives, knocking at my window. i hold the fort with trembling fingers, typing on my google doc, looking behind my shoulder

[who-dat-homeless]

You know what I miss about tos while watching tng?

A constant threat of reliving someone's of their duty and a thin scent of mutiny

I mean in mcspirk each of them threatens to relive the other of duties because all of them are at fucking suicide risk with the workaholism problem, they're fucking insane and should be watched and cared for by the other two. Also Kirk has a very repressed but nonetheless present paranoia that people are going to rebel and take off his command (witch is understandable considering that the events on tarus iv started after codos seized the power and became a ruler of the colony) so there's always a little fearful thought flying around that any other second there could be a mutiny against him

And then in tng... I mean I guess dr Crusher threatened to relive Picard off duty like once? In four fucking seasons. And most of them have kind of healthy relationship with their work and a good work/life balance. And for the life of me I could not remember a mutiny being even brought up in tng so far. Maybe there was smth like that but then it probably wasn't a big deal or else i'd've remembered it

eh... where's the insanity, man?..

[andorology]

Sanguinity: Chapter 7 a rebelcaptain regency au

“To first understand Cassian’s life,” Lady Mothma began...

______

Jyn hears of Cassian's history with the Krennics from Lady Mothma. Bearing this newfound knowledge, she finds herself facing a difficult decision.

Read Chapter 7 of Sanguinity below the cut, or check it out on ao3! Rating T.

“To first understand Cassian’s life,” Lady Mothma began, “you must first know about his and Kerri’s parents, Cassandra and Kiernan. Cassandra, who was then Cassandra Dashwood, was the fourth child of a well-off family who lived in Liverpool. One day, in an attempt to momentarily escape her parents’ incessant and too enthusiastic attempts at marrying her off, she took to the ports to wander about and keep her mind off things. 

“There, she met Kiernan, who was a clerk and assistant for one of the merchants who had a small office there. His line of work, in particular, was translating on behalf of his patron’s clients who could only speak Spanish; he was incredibly fluent at it.

“He and Cassandra got off quite well, and soon, they fell in love with each other. Cassandra would sneak away from her home everyday to meet him, and eventually Kiernan found the courage to offer his hand in marriage. Cassandra willingly accepted it.

“It came as no surprise to the both of them, however, that when Cassandra told her parents of the engagement, they did not approve—The Dashwoods did not want Kiernan as a husband for their daughter. But this did not faze Cassandra, and was still determined in keeping her engagement with Kiernan.

"To this her parents retaliated still with an obstinacy, and one even greater. They gave her an ultimatum: if she married the man, they would cut off all material support for her for good, and never speak to her again.”

“But still, she chose him," Jyn guessed.

“She did, yes,” confirmed Lady Mothma. “But despite the threat of financial loss, you see, in actuality, the union did not mean any ruin for her. For while Kiernan was not wealthy, he was also not entirely poor. After they got wed, they moved and found a small cottage in a town called Fest farther up north, almost to the border of Scotland.

"They managed on their own, Cassandra and Kiernan, which, just a year later, led to the birth of their first child, Cassian. Five years later followed Kerri.

“But while it overjoyed the Andors to have a second child, this also posed a problem for them now. With two very young children to take care of, keeping the household afloat was now becoming more of a struggle to accomplish. Kiernan’s clerical work, while previously enough, no longer produced the amount of money needed to sustain his growing family.

"With the war against France escalating and the Crown needing more men to fight at sea than ever before, he found himself with no other choice but to enlist in the Navy as a seaman. They deployed him on a ship called HMS Celeste. 

“Fighting at sea was not without its constant danger, but for a while he was finally able to earn enough to send home to his family in Fest. This went on for seven years. By the end of that period, though, things began to change.

"In the wake of the kingdom’s still increasing tensions with France, the conditions suffered by sailors all across the Royal Navy turned even more abysmal than they had already been before. This was when mutinies amongst sailors became more prolific. You’ve heard of the Nore mutiny, haven’t you? That was just one of the many others that occurred at the time. 

“The crew of HMS Celeste eventually partook in one themselves, with the willing participation of Kiernan himself. At that point, their crew were dropping like flies at such a rapid rate; within the last five months alone, seven of them had died—not from fighting the French, no, but from famine, infections, or madness.

"So they decided that they had had enough of it.

“Their determination was strong, but the force with which the Crown responded was too brutal, even for seasoned sailors. Kiernan fought valiantly, but he was killed, the entire crew along with him.

“The conflict irredeemably wrecked HMS Celeste. This infuriated its owner, who had invested a great deal in the vessel.” She then narrowed her eyes at Jyn. “I think you can guess who he is, Jyn. There are only a few names known for investing in the trade during the Napoleonic wars, and you are very close to one of them.”

It instantly dawned on Jyn. Her heart sank. Quietly she said, “The Krennics.” 

Lady Mothma nodded.

Jyn fell into total silence for a few seconds, reveling in the realization. “Sir Orson Krennic owned HMS Celeste.”

“He did, yes. Now widowed, Cassandra, upon discovering this, appealed to the Admiralty for reparation for what her late-husband had suffered. She also demanded due compensation for his service, which, after all, he had rendered for the kingdom for seven years.

"But Sir Krennic, who had taken it upon himself to get involved in the affairs of the ship’s mutineers, convinced its captain (who had fought against his own crew) that no such recovery of damages should be given to her.

“Cassandra did not back down, however. Still she stuck to her demands, but Sir Krennic was equally unflinching; to settle the matter for good, he made a case for Kiernan’s descent, which was when things began to go really south for her.”

“Why, Your Grace?" asked Jyn. "What did Sir Krennic do?”

“He had found out that apparently," answered the duchess, "that Kiernan was not from England; his investigations tied him back to New Spain, where his entire family resided. And it wasn’t just any family, either; his father, it turned out, was a governor who held office in the capital.”

Jyn’s brows furrowed. “And was it true?”

Lady Mothma nodded. “It was. Sir Krennic found this sufficient reason enough to suspect that the mutiny in which he had a large part in leading was motivated by his covert allegiances to Spain—a kingdom which, by then, was still a staunch ally of France. This would make Kiernan Andor, in effect, a much worse traitor to the Crown, and therefore must be treated as one. He had made such a compelling case to the Admiralty that it was too easy for him from that point.”

“But that’s not really the case, was it not?" argued Jyn. "He was not really a spy for Spain?"

“Sir Krennic had presumed the worst intentions behind his actions, on the mere basis of that information about him."

"So if his claim was a falsehood, then what is the truth, Your Grace? Also, come to think of it, if he was the son of a governor, why was he all the way over in Liverpool doing small clerical work?” 

Lady Mothma gave her a small smile. “I believe that is a story for Cassian and Kerri to tell.” 

Jyn suddenly felt flustered. "Oh. Of course."

"Anyway," continued Lady Mothma, "because of it, in the end, Cassandra received nothing. She now had neither husband nor money.

“Kiernan’s death devastated her, that’s without a doubt, but the dread of raising Cassian and Kerri now all by herself took heavier weight upon her. How could she even take care of two children alone without a reliable income?

“It was also not easy for the children themselves, but the loss seem to have affected Kerri much more gravely. She was only seven at the time, and losing a father was a severe tragedy to her heart. To see such a young child grieve to such a sorrowful extent—it was a tough sight for a mother to bear. So Cassandra made her son promise not to tell her about what Sir Krennic had done in response to his death—she did not know how much more her daughter could take. Cassian gave her his word.”

Jyn briefly remembered the imposingly cheerful disposition of the younger Andor sibling, now in awe of the disjoint between the joy she so consistently exuded, and the grief she had experienced. 

“For the next four years,” continued the duchess, “Cassandra tried to make ends meet as a governess, but overworking herself had made her weak. Eventually her body succumbed to a terrible case of tuberculosis in the lungs. She was too tired at that point, so much that Cassian already knew, young as he was, that there was no hope for her recovery. And he was right.

“Cassian and Kerri became orphans since then, and Cassian, in particular, was afraid—as any sixteen-year-old boy would be. He did not have any money to inherit, and he did not know how to take care of his younger sister by himself. There was no one he could reach out to—the Dashwoods remained steadfast in their prejudice against the Andors, and he did not take his chances with anybody from his father’s side. He tried to work, but since none of what he made was even close enough, he had fallen into a state of debt. 

“One day, while he was trying to evade somebody who he owed money to, he snuck into a gentleman’s club to hide. There, he ran into Mr. Draven.” Lady Mothma then paused to ask Jyn, “You remember Mr. Draven from this morning? He was the barrister who briefly stopped for a visit.”

Jyn nodded, and in an instant, already got an inkling of what was about to happen next. Lady Mothma, as she spoke the next parts of the story, confirmed it to be almost accurate:

“You see, Mr. Draven had known all along that Cassian, what with his appearance and dress during that moment, was not a gentleman who frequented that club—anybody would have known, really. But Cassian did not fold under it and impressively kept his air, despite looking like he did not belong there.

"Mr. Draven knew then, as he listened to Cassian’s attempts at conversation, that he wasn’t pretending, not entirely; there existed in the boy a well of knowledge that could only be acquired from studying materials typical for gentlemen. He also found that he possessed the high ability to converse, to reason, and to think with such logic and erudition. It amazed him quite profoundly.

“Later Mr. Draven finally called Cassian’s bluff, and propositioned for him to be his apprentice in law. And Cassian, not one to let such an opportunity pass, immediately accepted. Eventually he began his education at Gray’s Temple. There he studied law for five years, then worked for the next twelve.”

Jyn fell into a state of quietude, reflecting on these events that had fallen upon Cassian’s life. “And now he is a successful solicitor,” she said above a whisper. 

“And has accumulated enough money for his and his sister’s more than comfortable living,” supplied Lady Mothma further. “But, despite things already being better for him and Kerri, I believe he’s still keeping his promise to his mother; it seems to me that he continues to carry that knowledge alone, after hearing what you two had argued about.” 

Jyn had reason to believe the same. Nothing in the explanations that Kerri had provided in her letter signified that she knew at all about what Sir Krennic had done. And recalling the events of Mr. Rook’s ball now, Jyn surmised that she had not even known of the Krennics until they’d met that evening.

A sense of dread immediately fell upon her, sinking her spirit to the deepest of depths. She could hardly look at the duchess now; she buried her face in her hands. 

“Jyn?” asked Lady Mothma, concern clear in her voice. “What’s wrong?” 

The things Jyn had said to Cassian during their argument in Vallt Park all came crawling back to her mind. She felt her face redden in shame. 

“Jyn?”

Jyn sighed. “I said some terrible things to him, Your Grace. I had always perceived his anger towards it, but I never truly understood the extent of it, or the reason for it, until now.” 

Lady Mothma did not speak, only offered her a look of sympathy.

Jyn finally managed to meet the duchess’s eyes. Letting out a shaky breath, she said, “I see now why he feels that way about the Krennics, and by extension, about me—I, who now intend to join the family. But I knew nothing of this, Your Grace. I had absolutely no idea.” 

Lady Mothma put a hand on Jyn’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t, Jyn.”

Jyn sighed again. “But now that I do,” she said, “I assume you are now to dissuade me from marrying Mr. Krennic.”

She held her breath, preparing herself for the duchess’s answer, and now trying to imagine her new future from this point hence. But what Lady Mothma said next surprised her:

“No, Jyn. I’m not going to do that.”

Jyn gave her a look of disbelief. “You’re not?” she asked. “But—but I thought that you disapproved of my match with him.”

Lady Mothma observed her carefully. Then she shook her head. “I think you have misconstrued me, Jyn. But I can see why you would think that way.”

Jyn just stared at her, anticipating an explanation.

“Look,” the duchess said, “I admit that I had harbored some doubt particularly in the beginning when I saw you and Philip, but I soon realized that that feeling had less to do with Mr. Krennic himself, and more to do with the surprise that I felt from your decision to marry at all—for I know very clearly how you feel about it.” 

When Jyn didn’t speak, she continued, “Jyn, I am not judging you for it. You must do what you must—I know what it feels like to be burdened with the necessity.” 

Jyn frowned. “But I still do not understand, Your Grace. Why won’t you talk me out of it now, after all this?”

Lady Mothma offered her a kind smile. “I cannot tell you what you should or should not do about Philip.” Then, when she sensed Jyn’s confusion, she said, “What I’m trying to say, Jyn, is that whether or not you still want to pursue a union with him is something you have to decide for yourself. I do not know him, not in the way you do. And yes, Sir Krennic had pulled a decisive influence surrounding the matter of Cassian’s father, but you must realize, those were his actions, not his son’s.”

Jyn stared, spending a few moments to take all the duchess’s words in. “Your Grace, are you saying that Philip is blameless in all this?”

Lady Mothma shrugged. “Perhaps he is, perhaps he is not. It’s possible he knows not of it even—he was only but ten when it happened. Here is what I know: people are complicated; they don’t always turn out to be their parents. Sometimes they do, yes, but a lot of the time, they also just don’t. We cannot quickly condemn Philip for something his father had done—the same way Cassian cannot condemn you for it.” 

When Jyn still didn’t speak, Lady Mothma finally posed, “So what do you think, Jyn? Do you think that you cannot trust Philip anymore because of what his father had done, or do you think that you still can, because you know for certain that he had no part to play in it, and that he cannot do such a thing himself? Only you can tell this.”

Jyn started to feel lightheaded. “My, Your Grace,” she breathed, “that is an impossibly difficult question.” As she even attempted to think about it, so many complications already tangled themselves up with each other in her head.

She felt as though suddenly all of life, which hung over her like a cloud, had begun to descend into heavy rain.

Lady Mothma gave her a sympathetic smile. “Most questions posed by life usually are, Jyn.” 

Just then, the curtains on the stage below began to part, and a painted and costumed ensemble began to move about to the rhythm of a melodramatic, orchestral overture. 

Just as the first singer sang her first note, Philip finally emerged from behind Jyn. She jumped in surprise. 

He leaned down within her earshot. “Forgive me for being a bit late, Miss Erso,” he said, before sitting down on the chair beside her. “It was the first time I saw my mates in months.”

Jyn did not speak, only stared at the gentleman, her breaths quick in her anxiety. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, smiling. He proceeded to lift a hand to feel his cheeks in jest. 

As she looked at him in silence, Jyn suppressed any reaction that would betray her current confusions. In his countenance she saw the face of Sir Krennic, and yet, all the same, she found it difficult to reconcile him as being the same person entirely. 

It was impossible to imagine that Philip would ever do the sort of thing that Sir Krennic had. 

She was utterly torn, so much that she could feel her mind practically splitting itself in half.

In the instant Philip sensed her mood, he quickly dropped his gaiety. With audible concern he asked, “Miss Erso, are you quite all right?”

The singer on stage began to sing a shrill note, the sound ululating in the air, against the walls, and straight into Jyn’s ears.

Still, she did not speak. 

Jyn had since then racked her brain, thinking of the right way to deal with her current predicament. Unfortunately for her, she had not been able to find the time to do it—for after the opera, Lady Mothma ushered them both immediately to Sir Organa’s dinner party, where Jyn’s attentions had all but been solicited by the host’s daughter, Miss Leia. 

On the one hand, Jyn was glad for the distraction, for discussions of various matters that interested her meant postponing what she wildly hoped not to discover about Philip’s complicity in the whole deluge (and she liked the lady’s company very much), yet on the other hand, she also felt as though she was only but sustaining the anxieties that did not seem to quiet down, even in passing time. 

By the end of the evening, Jyn was already too tired yet again, and Philip too it seemed, for he had already gone straight for his lodging. 

She only found the time for reflection, really, when the conclusion of their trip to Bath finally arrived. 

The goodbyes that Jyn and Lady Mothma had exchanged during the moment were bittersweet, and Jyn, overcome by a deep gratitude, had expressed her thanks for the guidance which the duchess had shared to her, and should now inform her next actions henceforth.

As the carriage rolled away, she suddenly felt alone, despite the companionship of the gentleman who sat across from her.

Philip looked at her with a curious expression. “Miss Erso,” he said cautiously, “I sense that something has been bothering you since the opera.” He leaned forward. “I wish you would tell me what it is.” 

There was no going around it anymore; it was time for Jyn to settle the matter. 

At first she hesitated, but soon managed to begin. “I suppose I’ve been thinking about a question, Mr. Krennic—a rather difficult one at that.”

“Yes?”

“I wonder if one’s sentiments and affections for a person can overpower their sensibility for what is good and what is not.” 

“What do you mean, Miss Erso?”

“Do you…do you ever think about what you would be willing or not willing to excuse, ignore, or look past for the people you really liked and respected?” 

Philip paused in thought. “That is a rather deep musing, I would say. I hope you are not torn about it, Miss Erso. It seems like a difficult question.” 

Jyn let out a quiet, dry laugh. “It is, isn’t it. Well, I’m afraid I must now rope you into thinking about it as well.”

Philip looked uncertain, but he tried for a smile. “Try me, then.” 

“All right.” Jyn cleared her throat. “What if, say, you discovered that—that your father had done something deplorable? What if—what if he had deprived a person of something they truly needed because he thinks they do not deserve it?”

Philip frowned. “Why would my father think they do not deserve it?”

“Because—” Jyn tried not to show her indignation upon the remembrance of the fact “—he just believes they do not.”

Philip hummed in thought. “But they do?”

Jyn nodded. “Yes, very much so. And in consequence, that deprivation ruins their life for the worst—forever.” 

“Upon my word, that is rather a conundrum.”

Jyn narrowed her sight. “Is it?”

Philip tilted his head. “You seem surprised, Miss Erso. Why would it not be one?” 

“You do not think that your immediate disapproval is due the act?”

When Philip saw the growing mortification on Jyn’s face, he quickly shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no, Miss Erso. That is not what I’m saying at all.” He took a quick pause. “What I only mean is that it is difficult. Say it’s your father—would you not feel the same way?”

Jyn beheld him in a way that made it seem as if the answer was obvious. “I understand the difficulty of it quite clearly. However, the presence or lack of that feeling should not signify what I should do about it. Honestly, Mr. Krennic, I think it should be quite simple. Why must we condone a truly terrible thing being done just because someone we loved did it? What does that say about us? Our principles and sensibilities? Ruining a life out of spite, Mr. Krennic—I do not think it should be that hard.”

Philip quietly sank into thought. 

“So to answer your question,” proceeded Jyn, “if my father had done it, he would not be exempt from the same disfavor I would give to somebody I neither knew nor have deep affections for.”

Philip looked ahead and out the window beside him, his mind running at full speed.

After a long pause he finally said, “You’re right, Miss Erso.”

Jyn watched him carefully. “I am?”

The gentleman nodded, surer this time. “You are. You definitely are. I would do what you would in an instant; if my father had done something of the sort, I would deplore him for it, too.”

Jyn fell silent, which encouraged Philip to say, “But the thing is, Miss Erso, I do not believe it would come to that point; the reason I’ve always respected and looked up to my father is because I know that he had not and will not do anything of the sort.”

Jyn grimaced. Quietly she said, “But what if I told you, Mr. Krennic, that he had?”

Philip’s expression fell. “What do you mean?”

Jyn stammered. She did not realize how difficult it would be to impart dreadful knowledge about one’s father to his son.

“Miss Erso,” urged Philip, “what did you mean?”

Jyn took in a deep breath, and with a heavy heart, began to tell the story of HMS Celeste and the Andors—leaving out, with due diligence, any detail surrounding the family’s life which was not necessary to Philip’s awareness. 

As she progressed through the tale, so did Philip’s look of terror and incredulity.

By the time she finished, silence fell upon them in the carriage. Philip did not utter a single word. 

After a while, Jyn could not bear the quiet any longer. “Mr. Krennic?”

Philip, whose gaze seemed distant, finally looked at Jyn. He shook his head. “Forgive me, Miss Erso. I am just...shocked. I did not know about this at all—this is news to me.”

“So you really did not know?” asked Jyn.

Philip shook his head with a forlorn, but earnest conviction. "I did not, Miss Erso." Then, with desperation he looked into her eyes. “My father really did that to the Andors?”

Jyn leaned forward. “You believe it, then?”

Philip hesitated for a moment, then answered, “I do not find any good reason to doubt your accounts, Miss Erso, nor Lady Mothma’s, for that matter.” 

Jyn dipped her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be.” Philip gave off a weak, wistful laugh. “It would seem that the fruits of our discussion will now be put to the test.” He looked at Jyn with a sad smile. “I understand now why you have been thinking about it, Miss Erso. It is clear that you disapprove of what my father had done, as anyone ought to, and you would now like to see where I stand.”  

Jyn felt her cheeks grow warm. “I do not mean to test you, Mr. Krennic. I know this must be a lot to deal with all at once, and you don’t have to say anything at the moment—”

“No, no,” gently interrupted Philip. “You are wise, Miss Erso, and you have served me well. You are right. My father had done something terrible, and I cannot just turn a blind eye to it merely because of my affections for him.”

Jyn gazed down to her lap.

“Be ill at ease no longer,” assured Philip. “I shall confront him about it when he returns from the East Indies, and then I shall make sure that he pays back what he has taken away from the Andors.” 

Jyn quickly looked up to face him. “How will you do that?” she asked.

Philip took a moment to reflect, then shook his head. “I…I admit that is something I do not yet know.”

They fell into more painful silence, and maintained it for a while. Philip, upon registering the uncertainty in Jyn’s expression, felt himself obliged to say, “I know it may sound vague, but you have my word that I will get it done, Miss Erso. I promise. If I am going to follow in his footsteps, I shall do it right by correcting his wrongs.” 

The proclamation stunned Jyn into more silence. It was something she did not expect to hear, but not something she didn't not want to, either.

Philip then leaned forward, and directly looking into her eyes, he asked, “Do you believe me?”

Jyn heard her own blood rush against her head. She exhaled air just as quickly as she inhaled them. She stared back at the Krennic son, and for a while did not—could not—answer. 

You must decide this for yourself, Lady Mothma had told her.

In all her life, whenever Jyn found herself at a crossroads, she had always relied on what she knew to decide which path to take forth.

She thought back on what she had always known of Philip. 

She decided to believe that. 

“Miss Erso?” the gentleman asked again. He watched and waited in near-agony for her reply. 

Jyn, meeting his eyes, took a deep breath. 

And then she finally spoke her answer. 

[just-avocado]

THINGS I NOTICED YAY

Okay so there are two very interesting things I noticed while relistening to the Thunder Saga that I have to get out before I go to bed

1)Epic’s danger motif was not in the song Scylla, not even when she was mentioned by the siren

In Suffering despite being surrounded by sirens Odysseus knew he was not speaking to Penelope from the start and thus was never in danger

In Different Beast Ody and his crew have the upper hand, it’s the sirens in danger so no motif

In Mutiny the danger motif plays as Odysseus battles Eurylochus, his life is being threatened, it also plays after Eurylochus slits the cattle’s throat and they have to run from Zeus

At first I was thinking maybe Jorge just couldn’t fit the theme in because it would distract from Scyllas actual theme but if that was the case he would’ve just added it when her name was brought up like how the theme plays when we know Zeus is coming but I couldn’t hear it in the actual Thunder Bringer song

All this to say from the moment Odysseus knew they would have to pass through Scyllas territory he made peace with his choice to sacrifice 6 men knowing full well that as long as he drew attention to certain crew members (via torches) he would be completely safe, at the end of the song Odysseus and Scylla even share a verse about how alike they are like?? She was never a threat to him despite the absolute carnage she rained on his ship and I find that brilliantly fucked up

2)Second thing I noticed is that Eurylochus calls Odysseus “Ody” while he was trying to convince him not to kill the cattle “Ody, we’re never gonna get to make it home, you know it’s true.” were his words, I’m pretty sure this is the only time in the musical someone actually calls him Ody, that’s more of a fan things so to me it goes to show just how tired and vulnerable he was feeling

This is also slightly unrelated to the second point but I really think there was a part of Eurylochus that knew he was dooming himself by killing that cow but that he was so tired from the constant tragedies and despair from probably never getting home again that he killed the cow anyway, the hunger really just embodied those feelings 

But yeah that’s my two cents at least I didn’t cry this time yippee

[canonizzyhours]

Re: 116 - I think it might help to differentiate between the vernacular "abuse," which is people mistreating each other, and the narrower "abusive relationship" or "domestic abuse" when we're talking about who's an "abuser." In vernacular terms, sure, Ed's Revenge was an abusive workplace because he ran the crew ragged and scared them all the time, even before things escalated after the wedding crashing. Intra-crew verbal and physical abuse abounds on the show as well, from insults to murder attempts. But if we're talking about DV/abusive relationships in a more formal sense, that's chronic behavior centered on control.

As he'd be the first to say, Ed has done lots of shitty things! He violated Lucius's trust and traumatized him by pushing him overboard. He's maimed people. And like nearly everyone on the show, his occupation is pretty much mugging people who are no doubt traumatized afterwards as well. In the vernacular sense, most of the cast has verbally and/or physically abused someone else on screen. But when you call a character "an abuser," what comes to mind is the second definition, which Ed doesn't fit, and Izzy does.

The big difference is one of control. Izzy isolates Ed by lying to him and the crew so it's Izzy who serves as the sole go-between that communications depend on and he controls the narrative. He constantly seeks to reinforce hierarchy in order to maintain his (self-perceived) superiority to the crew. This dovetails with the way he constantly seeks to maintain (self-perceived) masculinity by keeping himself and others to a narrowly prescribed set of acceptable manly/piratical behaviors. A lot of things conspire to knock this all down, but in summary:

1. He gets his big shot at being a captain and lives out all his authoritarian dreams...only to be nearly drowned in a mutiny within days and saved by the mere *presence* of Ed on the ship. So the lesson learned is that he can only have that superior position he craves by means of Ed, which is why he escalates to veiled death threats to make sure Ed stays where he needs him to be.

2. Ed implies that Izzy can easily be replaced, and Izzy is too exhausted by the constant raiding schedule to rationalize it away or try to threaten Ed again. Izzy's position depends on Ed. He needs Ed to need him - that's why he isolates him, to ensure that he won't have anyone else to lean on. But even now, in the moment of his greatest success, no Stede in sight...Ed *doesn't need him.*

3. At this precise moment of vulnerability, the crew steps in with kindness.

This is already long, so I'll stop there, but those are the cracks that let Izzy break down both his rigid masculinity (with the drag performance) and his need to be superior to the crew (his declaration to Ricky that piracy is about being part of something). But before that? Control all the way.

And none of that describes the Ed captaining the Revenge. It just doesn't. He doesn't try to make the crew dependent on him, he doesn't isolate or try to control anyone in order to maintain his position. His reaction to Frenchie disobeying orders and lying about it is pretty much a sarcastic "tsk tsk." Ed's behavior obviously traumatized the crew - there's a whole episode about it!- but no, he's not "an abuser."

#128.

related posts: #122 (i think you meant 122 instead of 116 based on your post but lmk if i'm wrong)

[befuddled-calico-whump]

If your whumpers and whumpee's switched places (for example Mel tortures Mercury and Sahota grooms Vic) What would change?

(assuming they swap roles and take on a more villainous stance but keep the same basic personality)

Melchior would have to be a more extreme "well-intentioned extremist", knowing he can do what the Riot Kings can't and usurp the Fleet's control if he stops holding back. In this case, he'd take Mercury prisoner to get her out of the way as the RK's leader, but wouldn't actively torment her. Just kinda... keep her locked up. At worst, he'd look the other way while his men hurt her.

Lex as a CEO would take a more intimidating and cutthroat approach to staying on top. Uriah as an assassin (how would he even survive 😭) would probably be a lot more sneaky and relying on false pretenses. Instead of constant threats and emotional manipulation, Lex would be pretty physical. Expect lots of manhandling and immediate punches/backhands in response to defiance.

James and Peter are already a reversal but James would make Peter a prisoner for attempted mutiny. Keep him shut up in the brig and have him flogged in front of the crew to dissuade any future mutineers and maintain order.

If Vic agreed to be Sahota's apprentice (as in canon with his mentor), he'd be pretty good about following orders, only needing occasional correction. (Sahota would probably favor stress positions or sleep deprivation. Mostly hands-off stuff.) If, like Sahota, Vic was there unwillingly, it would take a lot more work to get him to obey.

[preblesboys]

David Porter’s Cruise into the Pacific was a straight up side quest.

*goes to Marquesas Island to resupply*, *gets caught in the middle of a war between the natives*, *had a whole convoy full of horny men who have been getting laid by the native women so the threat of mutiny was constant*, *(half sure that was a tactic by the “friendly tribe” to seduce Porter’s men into aiding them) (there was a translator aka some English speaking dude who accidentally got left behind by whalers years before so he’s been on the island since learning their culture and translating for future travelers)(it was implied by the Chief’s wife via translator that David Porter “adopted” the tribe when they first began trading goods so he was obliged to help the tribe win the war against the neighboring tribes)*

Porter was reluctant to get himself involved in these affairs. This is a broad and oversimplified summary of his time on Marquesas Island. Decided the US needed a friendly port in the Pacific so he claimed Marquesas Island as “Madison Island” and the natives of this island were “citizens” (that’s what the authors of a memoir and journal called it. Nice way to say “conquered”….) of the US (The thing was, some War was going on at the time so Congress never bothered with this.)

What finally pushed him into helping the tribe was when the friendly tribe got tired of Porter trying to decide whether to help or not. So they half heartedly followed the agreements of supplying his ships.

He sent some men and a few guns but his adopted tribe wanted more firepower and the opposing tribes were taunting both their enemy and the Americans suggesting “they weren’t warriors”. After losing a few men to a couple of skirmishes and attempting mutiny, David Porter said enough was enough.

Left a ship under Lieutenant Gamble at Marquesas Island and hit the seas again. And I didn’t even touch what happened in Chile.

[nerdherd4]

IBO fanfiction Idea dump

OK, so I've been formulating this for a while the basic premise being like Tekkadan a group of human debris mutiny against their pirate masters who through trickery and sheer luck were in a relatively good position. Having inherited their master's assets they then like tekkadan go on fighting not quite knowing what else to do with themselves and hoping that they can acquire enough to start over and to the fragile hope of some in the crew of not being completely sucked into the darkness of the underworld. So if you can already tell, unlike the main show, I was thinking of going deeper into what at least appeared to me to be the darker side of the post-disaster timeline 'cause we see constant mentions of human trafficking and other crimes, that being said this might just also come out the back of me watching edgy anime like black lagoon and cyberpunk edge runners, and while we see the abuse that the CGS was heaping on orga and company I can't help think that human debris under actual criminals would have had a lot worse like Aston and Derma who felt they had to bury themselves in order not to break, the main show does do a somewhat good job at showing the cost in humanity that some characters have had to pay. the thought I settled on is how the trauma they endured would shape their actions and outlook of the solar system, for example, the protagonists constantly being told and having beaten into them that they're nothing and no one will see them as more than that and to that end them trying to stick to the shadows as much as possible and be careful with who they interact with and trust. On the topic of people that they can trust in the main series, I found that there were a few notable individuals who attempted to keep Tekkadan grounded and in some ways preserve what humanity they had left like Atra Mixta and Merribit Stapleton my initial idea is that among the protagonists there would be doctors and technical engineers that the afore mention pirates kidnapped and or tricked into working for them and despite the harsh working conditions and threats the pirates they're the only ones who ever treated the boys with care, of course, that sense of care and worry would only grow as they watch them descend back into the underworld but can't fully bring themselves to stop them because of a mixture of guilt and fear since despite being kidnapped and or tricked they were still being paid by the pirates and therefore fear they would still be charged if they were caught as well as guilt for profiting off the boys suffering. Another element of the story I was thinking of adding was the addition of a group of girls born of gallarhorn officers who tried to expose slash point out the flaws and corruption of Gallarhorn but of course, got squashed for it, and in a desperate bid to keep their daughter safe unknowingly flung them into the harsh reaches of space where they are then saved from slavery themselves by the protagonists and join the crew and of course romantic hijinks will ensue as well as them joining the doctors and engineers in worrying about a loss in humanity. One sticking point of this story is whether I wanted it to occur before or during the main series since before would show that child soldiers rising up and people trying to get gallarhorn to change has happened before, or starting sometime just before the main series and I guess would show how everything was bound to come crashing down, that being said I am unsure whether through their actions the protagonists should unintentionally or accidentally change the course of the main series because yes I didn't completely like the ending but I didn't completely hate it either.

You can thank Words and/or Robots (aka The_Librarian on Ao3)  for this giant idea dump since his iron-blooded orphans post-Canon series wishing on space hardware really got my creative juices going.

[chloesunit4]

Slave Trade:

Slave trade, the capture, sale, and purchase of enslaved people. Slavery has existed across the world since antiquity, and slave trade has been similarly widespread. Slavs and Iranians were enslaved from antiquity until the 19th century, Sub-Saharan Africans from the 1st century CE to the mid-20th century, and Germanic, Celtic, and Romance peoples throughout the Viking age. In the 9th and 10th centuries, Vikings may sell East Slavic slaves to Arab and Jewish traffickers, who would take them to Verdun and Leon, from whence they might be sold across Moorish Spain and North Africa.

The transatlantic slave trade is perhaps the best known. In Africa, women and children but not men were wanted as slaves for labour and for lineage incorporation; from circa 1500, captive men were taken to the coast and sold to Europeans. They were then transported to the Caribbean or Brazil, where they were sold at auction and taken throughout the New World. In the 17th and 18th centuries, enslaved African persons were traded in the Caribbean for molasses, which was made into rum in the American colonies and traded back to Africa for more slaves. The practice of slavery continued in many countries (illegally) into the 21st century. Indeed, the not-for-profit abolitionist organization American Anti-Slavery Group claims that more than 40 million people are enslaved around the world. Sex slavery, in which women and children are forced into prostitution—sometimes by their own family members—is a growing practice throughout the world.

Middle passage:

The forced passage of enslaved Africans across the Atlantic Ocean to the New World is known as the Middle Passage. It was one leg of a triangular trade route that brought goods from Europe to Africa (such as knives, guns, ammunition, cotton cloth, tools, and brass dishes), Africans to work as slaves in the Americas and West Indies, and items, mostly raw materials, produced on the plantations (sugar, rice, tobacco, indigo, rum, and cotton) back to Europe. Millions of African men, women, and children undertook the 21-to-90-day trip on dangerously overcrowded sailing ships staffed mostly by sailors from the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, Portugal, and France from around 1518 until the mid-nineteenth century. Slaver captains docked mostly off the Guinea shore (also known as the Slave Coast) for a month to a year to trade for their cargoes of 150 to 600 people, the majority of whom had been abducted and forced to march to the shore in appalling conditions. Those on board were subject to virtually constant threats while at anchor and after leaving Africa, including raids at port by hostile tribes, diseases, pirate or enemy ship attacks, and terrible weather. Although these events affected both the crews of the ships and the slaves, the latter group suffered the most, as they were subjected to physical, sexual, and psychological torture at the hands of their captors.

Despite the ship's surroundings, some Africans who survived the early horrors of captivity revolted; male slaves were continually tied to one other or to the deck to avoid mutiny, of which 55 detailed instances were documented between 1699 and 1845. To carry the most goods feasible, the prisoners were crammed belowdecks, shackled to low-lying platforms piled in layers, with an average individual space allotment of 6 feet long and 16 inches broad. Many slaves perished in this posture because they were unable to stand upright or roll over. If the voyage was delayed due to bad weather or equatorial calms, the twice-daily supply of water plus either boiled rice, millet, cornmeal, or stewed yams was severely decreased, resulting in near-starvation and accompanying ailments. Slaves were hauled on deck during the day, weather permitting, for exercise or "dancing" (forced leaping up and down). At the period, some captains insisted on the crew scraping and swabbing the sleeping rooms. The intense heat and toxic gases in the unventilated and unclean confines caused fevers and dysentery, with a high fatality rate, in inclement weather. Deaths during the Middle Passage were believed to be 13% due to illnesses, suicide, "fixed melancholy," or rebellion. Sharks routinely trailed slave ships on their westward trek because so many bodies of dead or dying Africans were dumped into the sea.

References:

Editors of Britannica. (2023). Slave Trade. [Online]. Britannica. Last Updated: 25 August 2023. Available at: https://www.britannica.com/money/topic/absolute-advantage [Accessed 2 September 2023].

[qudachuk]

Vladimir Putin has leant on military contractors to claim victories in Ukraine but the Wagner leader’s attempted mutiny and constant threats against the country’s military leadership have exposed cracks in in the Russian presidewnt’s leadership

[gemalawasliveblogs]

[S] Jack: Ascend.

Finally we're here! And I'm back, after an unplanned absence that had a lot to do with not having much time to watch a Flash without being interrupted. What a fucking Flash, amiright? It marks the point where Jack became more 'threat' than 'obstacle' or 'amusement', all because of a silly hat. Also, some commentary! Below the cut because it's loooong.

I think this one marks the start of Homestuck's trend thereafter of dropping exceptionally violent, high-octane, game-changing animations out of nowhere. There are so many like this from here on, right up to the end of Act 5. Only then does the number sort of taper off. But from this point on I just sorta started shoveling more and more red meat into the story's maw. This stretch is where I was starting to get a feel for this type of sensationalistic storytelling content as something I'd later code (mostly for my own internal purposes) as "meat," in the meat/candy binary of storycraft theory. 

Oh no. Not already. I'm not getting into the issue here. But yeah, there were a LOT of Flashes that were crazy sensational at this point.

Jack is so pissed at his queen. These two getting testy with each other is built into their relationship across all sessions. No matter what the specific situation, she's probably always finding ways to needle him. Dress code, paperwork, it doesn't matter. This is programmed into them as game constructs to guarantee that there will always be friction between them, which allows for more interesting variations in how any given game of Sburb can play out. There's always a powder keg of mutiny waiting to go off, and depending on the actions of the heroes, there are many, many ways this can play out over a session. We see one way right here, in this animation, and another in the troll session, with totally different results. But what remains constant is Jack's inclination to betray his queen.

This is also interesting - Jack is a game mechanic to make the session more interesting, which he certainly does in all versions of him we see.

Even though it lasts only about a second or two, this dress-up montage is kind of incredible when you think about what it implies. They're actually spending...hours, maybe?...trying out different clothes that Jack might like better. Think of what this means, and of all the actual conversations that have to take place between them to facilitate this. It shows the queen is actually willing to exercise some lenience and let Jack's taste determine the garb so long as it's sufficiently clown-princess themed. Jack also displays a surprising degree of patience in trying on so many variations. It also suggests that somewhere the queen has an entire wardrobe of this stuff ready to go.

As funny as all this is, my favorite details are the spades behind her (great foreshadowing at work once more) and the laughter in the song timed to her being shown. She's having entirely too much fun with all this and we all know it.

This brief interlude in the animation shows that Rose's dream self has finally woken up, due to her future doomed self going to sleep and "ceasing to exist." She has inherited some hazy memories from that version of her self, or if not all her memories per se, at least some of her perceptual faculty. Now she can see the graffiti she wrote on her walls, which previously was invisible to her due to some psychological block. This is the secret Jaspers once whispered to her, which was simply, "Meow." This word didn't really tell Rose's younger self anything informative so much as it unlocked information already in her brain, which was an important genetic sequence. She uses the letters of MEOW in place of the usual letters for genetic codes, GCAT.

This is definitely one of the wilder timeloop bullshit orchestrations, of which there are a good few. The engineering of Bec was a fantastic mystery to slowly figure out as the story went on. Also, we get to see the Guardians being cool, which is certainly neat.

Jack's mutiny, along with his ridiculous transformation, is complete. What a devil's bargain he just struck. In order to claim supreme power, he must agree to have the absurd attire he so vehemently resisted actually become physically inseparable from himself. Yet the choice he has made is clear. Power prevails over dignity. That said, being forced to look like a clown in exchange for this boon isn't exactly going to keep him in a good mood.

Also, this is funny. To rise up against the tyranny of being made to wear silly clothes...he has to wear the silly clothes and make them part of himself.

[sins-of-the-sea]

The thing is, the sin of Pride really is the most common reason people come to the Master to sell their souls. And because of the nature of Pride, it is also the reason they tend to not last very long.

As much as Ruixiong drives him up the wall, Frascona does a good job keeping Rui's Pride in check--not just to temper his ego, but to keep him from meeting a premature doom. Rui does stupid things. Rui does stupid things a fucking lot. If it weren't for the constant threats of comical but painful punishment like hooking him by the tongue to the rudder of the ship for Anglicizing his birth name, Ruixiong would definitely have been no different from the other prideful dumbfucks who test their luck one too often with God and the Devil Himself.

As much as Ruixiong is Pride, is very assertive, and could rise up to the position of a leader if he wanted to.... not against Captain Frascona. They do butt heads a lot, with Ruixiong often being the most vocal of any form of dissent (which, I must remind you, could be viewed in the VERY wrong in Chinese tradition). But given how fair Frascona is with Ruixiong and his Crew, Rui never develops that desire to mutiny. If anything, Frascona has given Ruixiong one thing he always desired for the longest time:

A father figure. Someone to have filial piety for. Rashid may have been the first older man to show kindness to Ruixiong, but Frascona is the first persont to pretty much raise him. So while they argue plenty, the desire to mutiny just about never comes across Rui's mind because he sees no reason to with Frascona as a mentor and father figure.

Fun fact: In my Miitopia file, I often team up the Seven to some kind of "herd". So Giovanni-Guy-Ruixiong-Phoebus would be the Himbo Squad, Frascona-Abena-Rashid-Phobus are the Elders, Rashid-Abena-Ruixiong-Ulan are Team Brown (Black?), etc etc. So what is Frascona-Abena-Giovanni-Ruixiong? Team Frascona Family. Yes, Ruixiong is considered part of Frascona's actual family. Rui is Giovanni's Sworn Brother, which is a Chinese thing, but Frascona decided to be all 'fuckit, you're his new brother, you're my cousin now, that means you're my family, that means I'm going to raise you and you're going to fucking LIKE IT.”

[franklyshipping]

Punishment For Mutiny ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

HEEEERE WE GO WITH ANOTHER WONDERFUL, AWESOME ANON PROMPT WITH OUR FAVE EGOTISTIC WRITER AND OUR FAVOURITE THICC PIRATE CAPTAIN! LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @the-authler  

The Author was absolutely hysterical, and honestly if I was seeing what he was seeing, I probably would be too, even though the consequences of laughing in the face of Captain Magnum would turn out to be quite detrimental indeed. Although in fairness, the captain did look rather hilarious. He was soaked from head to foot, his hair sticking up every which way, and his face had gone pink from his annoyance as he glared at the cackling Author, who was practically bent double with mirth. You see, the Author had done something rather mischievous, and was very pleased with the outcome. He may have potentially narrated for Magnum’s ship to steer itself into a storm, thus resulting in the Captain getting soaked and tangled in seaweed and barnacles, simply because the Author was bored and thought it would be the most amusing prank.

Of course, the Author was very careful to make sure neither the Captain, his crew or ship sustained any harm from the stormy conditions, since the prank was all out of fun and playfulness. Well, from the Author’s perspective. From Magnum’s, it was more a source of extreme irritation.

‘YE DARE LAUGH AT ME AFTER WHAT YE JUST DID?! THERE AIN’T ONE PLACE ON ME SHIP OR ON ME THAT SEAWEED HASN’T GOTTEN TANGLED IN!’

The Author just kept on laughing, grinning brightly with arrogant satisfaction as he replied cheekily.

‘Ohoho dear, has it gotten into all your nooks and crannies Captain?’

He winked at Magnum, and the Captain growled under his breath, clenching his fists.

‘Yer not even sorry are ye?!’

The Author grinned wider as he snorted through his laughter, eyes twinkling happily as he replied.

‘No my dear Captain, frankly this is the highlight of my week!’

The Author barked out yet another laugh….and it made Magnum snap. He surged forwards and lifted the Author up by the collar of his shirt as he snarled.

‘I’LL GIVE YE SOMETHIN’ TO LAUGH ABOUT!’

The Author’s eyes went wide as he struggled, feeling rather embarrassed at being picked up like a damn doll! He frantically tried batting at Magnum’s arms, exclaiming indignantly.

‘Hey! You put me down or I’ll make you put me dow-AGH!’

Magnum snickered, interrupting the Author’s demand by dropping him on the couch, before crawling and lying on him, pinning him with his body as he sneered amusedly.

‘Ye were sayin’?’

The Author glared up at Magnum, squirming as he spluttered, feeling water soaking into his clothes.

‘You are getting me soaking wet!’

‘And whose fault is it that I’m wet?!’

‘Magnum I am warning you! Let me up! Don’t make me narrate you!’

Mangum snorted at the threat, and replied in a low, sinister voice.

‘Ohhh you’ll narrate me will ye? And how will ye do that when yer too busy laughin’ yer head off?’

For a moment the Author was confused….until he felt ten strong fingers dig mercilessly and determinedly into his stomach. Then he understood. He let out a howl before descending into laughter, already desperate as he hit out at Magnum’s broad shoulders.

‘FUHUCK-STAHAHAP YOHOU BAHASTARD STAHAHAP!’

Magnum snickered at how fast the Author was falling apart at the tickling, and kept up the digging onslaught at his belly as he growled.

‘Ohoho we’re juuust getting’ started! Ye may be powerful an’ magical, but none o’ that matters when yer bein’ tickled does it? Ticklin’ just makes ye aaaall weak doesn’t it?’

The Author flushed red as he thrashed, getting more embarrassed and humiliated by the second because of how every word of Magnum’s was oh so true. The Author couldn’t stand the teasing.

‘NAHAHA SHUHUHUT IHIHIT!’

Magnum chuckled in amusement, before deciding to dig into the sides of the Author’s toned stomach. The previously arrogant prankster was a mess of cackles as he threw his head back amidst his mirth, and the smug Captain just kept on taunting.

‘Awww what? Can’t ye handle the flustery truth? Makes sense, it’s always the arrogant ones who’re the most sensitive.’

The Author was bright red in the face and had his eyes squeezed shut, his hands now flapping about haphazardly because now he knew there was no way he could get the eight foot tall Captain off of him. He tried to retort in a way that was strong, but in reality it was rather adorable.

‘YOHOHOU WOHON’T GEHEHET AHAWAY WITH THIHIHIS!’

Magnum let out a booming laugh.

‘Ihi’m pretty sure I already have, given that yer at me mercy and all.’

Magnum smirked, and decided to move his hands down to playfully give the Author’s thighs a little squeeze, making the man yelp and yip through a flustered giggle fit.

‘I-Ihihihi aham nahahat! Ihihi cahahan naharrate mysehelf ohout ohof anythihing!’

The Author retorted, trying once again to sound tough….but once again, Magnum only found his ticklish victim all the more adorable for his attempts to sound strong. At the Author’s statement, Magnum raise an amused eyebrow…..and gleefully decided to challenge his victim.

‘Can ye indeed? Well go on then, narrate yourself away!’

The Author spluttered, in a state of constant giggling from Magnum’s constant pokey assault on his thighs….which distracted him so much that he couldn’t focus enough to channel his powers for even a second. He pushed at Magnum’s chest as he wailed.

‘S-Stohohohop wihith the d-dahahamn pohoking!’

‘Why should I? Ye always are on about how powerful ye are, surely a couple pokes won’t defeat ye?’

Magnum retorted matter-of-factly, which served to make the Author whine through his giggles. And to think he’d felt humiliated before.

‘I-Ihihihit’s nahahat fahair! Ihihi c-cahan’t fohohocus!’

Magnum snickered in amusement, before deciding to squeeze and squish the Author’s thighs as he replied nonchalantly.

‘Welp, that sounds like yer problem not mine.’

The Author squealed and hid his face in his hands, his laughter reaching a rare higher pitch as he cried out in his ticklish desperation.

‘YOHOHOHOU’RE AHAHA BAHAHASTAHARD!!’

Magnum chuckled, still squeezing the Author’s thighs with his gargantuan hands as he shook his head with amusement.

‘Yer really not helpin’ yerself, the ruder ye are the more ticklin’ yer gonna get y’know.’

Of course, all the Author could focus on was the intensity of the tickling, meaning that he could hardly think about having good manners when his nervous system was being attacked so evilly.

‘SCREHEHEHEW YOHOHOU!!’

Author threw his head back with laughter amidst his exclamation, and Magnum narrowed his eyes down at him. And when he saw the Author’s exposed neck…he saw an opportunity to create absolute torment. He dove in like an animal, raspberrying furiously amidst his teasy growl of a voice.

‘Ye wanna say that again?!’

The Author gasped, and Magnum was both taken aback and heavily amused when the Author let out a shrill scream and started babbling more wildly than Magnum had ever heard from him before. The Author was truly hysterical, and it was a satisfying sight to behold indeed.

‘AAAAHHHHHH-I’MSAHAHAHAHARRY!!! NOTTHERENOTTHEHEHEEERE!!!’

Though Magnum was very pleased at having reduced the Author to this sweet, extreme mirthful state, his kind heart spurred him to have mercy at the sound of the man’s screams. Though he did chuckle fondly down at the man as he reared up, watching the Author gasp for air as he hurriedly covered his neck with his hands.

‘Wehell, ye got yerself a real tickle spot there haven’t ye?’

The poor Author couldn’t meet the Captain’s gaze out of embarrassment, and ended up merely nodding as he rubbed his neck and mumbled.

‘M-Mhm….’

Magnum was amazed at how speechless and flustered the Author was, and found it so endearing that he almost didn’t know how to react! Who’d have thought it, the most arrogant man of the manor was also one of the cutest. Magnum sat up, bringing the Author with him and un-creasing his shirt as he replied jovially, as all pirate captains do.

‘Well, since ye apologised I think I can find it in me heart to forgive ye. Besides, it’s not like anybody was hurt now was it?’

The Author blinked in surprise at the swift forgiveness as he looked up at Magnum, before grinning bashfully and clearing his throat.

‘…..th-thank you….’

Magnum grinned, before standing up and offering the Author his hand.

‘I’ll even consider us bein’ friends if ye make me a hot cocoa.’

The Author smirked and snorted, before accepting Magnum’s hand as he replied.

‘I think I could stretch to that.’

And the Author indeed happily obliged the Captain’s request. In fact, he even went so far as to put a little narration on Magnum’s mug so that the cocoa within would both stay warm, and refill itself upon Magnum’s request. Indeed….that is what friends do.

WOOOO HOPE YOU ALL LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOOO LUV YOUS XX

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 7

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Previous chapter | Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

THE NEXT DAY

AURORA BASIN

Hauling the last of their supplies onto the back of the wagon, Arthur lifted up the rear guard and secured them in place, making sure that the few things they had left wouldn’t get lost during the long trek ahead of them.

For the time being, their plan was to head south to Manzanita Post and replace any of the resources that were destroyed, as well as trade for some new weapons with the people there. Afterwards, they’d travel north to Strawberry and search for any tips that could lead them to their next big score.

Arthur didn’t know what could possibly be worth stealing in that small, little settlement, but it wasn’t as if their gang had much of a choice in the matter. Whoever attacked their camp left them with next to nothing, and now, the only money they had left was from the bank job. 

If they didn’t find something or someone to rob soon, they’d be at the end of their rope. 

And there was no telling what Dutch would do then.

“Arthur!” Someone exclaimed, causing the man to look over his shoulder. It was Joe, coming up to see him.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, moving onto the horses. 

Joe stepped next to the mounts, resting a hand on one of the hitching posts.

“I wanted to thank you.” He said.

“Thank me?” Arthur straightened his mount’s saddle, giving it a firm tug. “For what?”

“For savin’ my ass yesterday. Dutch nearly blew my brains out after what happened with Cleet. If you hadn’t intervened, I’d be dead in the ground by now. I owe you one.”

Despite the friendly sentiment, Arthur didn’t return Joe’s appreciative tone.

“Yeah, well... if it turns out you were the traitor after all,” he backed up from the horses, looking Joe in the eye, “...you’ll wish I let Dutch shoot you back there.”

Joe concealed his fear with a subtle gulp. “Of course. I understand. But, I was wondering something else...”

Arthur raised a brow. “...What?”

“Well... was anyone missing from the bank robbery?”

“Missing?” He thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. Everyone we planned to bring showed up. Why?”

“Because if everyone was accounted for, then it makes no sense to say that one of our own people sabotaged the supplies.”

Arthur gave him a firm reminder. “...Assuming you weren’t the rat, of course.”

Joe nodded. “Of course. But Cleet obviously didn’t do anything, and if everyone was present at the robbery, then how the hell is it possible that one of us poisoned the food? We’re a tough gang, but even we can’t be in two places at once.”

Arthur shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe they poisoned it before we left.”

“I’m pretty sure someone would’ve seen that,” the other man argued. “And besides, I think everyone ate in the morning. If the food was already poisoned, y’all would’ve died long before the Pinkertons cornered you.”

The older man sighed, unable to dispute Joe’s point.

“I’ll admit...” he said reluctantly, “it don’t make much sense when you put it that way. Fine. What d’you think then, Joe? If it weren’t one of us that did it, then who?”

Joe checked their surroundings for a second, making sure nobody else was eavesdropping.

“Well, just based on the timing of Cleet’s death, I’d say the food was poisoned while y’all was at the bank. This means that whoever destroyed the supplies knew our schedule. They knew when we’d be the most vulnerable. And most importantly, they knew the layout of the land. Otherwise, there ain’t no way they’d be able to sneak in so easily.”

Arthur placed a hand on his hip. “So, what’re you saying, exactly?”

“I don’t think it was one of us that poisoned the food,” Joe stated. “However, I do think it’s one of us that’s helpin’ them.” 

The older man took on a more serious tone. “...And who d’you think that is?”

Joe shook his head in uncertainty. “Whoever has the most to gain.”

Arthur fell silent for a moment, taking in everything Joe just said. 

Despite his wariness about the whole situation, he couldn’t deny that the man raised a few good points. 

As far as Arthur could recall, nobody was absent from the bank robbery, and there were no disappearances along the way either. So it didn’t make sense to say that the culprit was one of them. 

And on top of all that, Arthur highly doubted that whoever poisoned the food would’ve stuck around afterwards. It was more likely that they bolted once the job was done, and hoped that the gang would take it out on somebody else.

Arthur had no idea if it was bounty hunters, or Skinner Brothers, or even the goddamned Pinkertons who were responsible for this, but now that he really thought about it... he was inclined to agree with Joe.

There was no way it could’ve been one of their own men that caused the damage, but it was definitely a Van der Linde that talked.

“Well...” Arthur said lowly, not wanting to reveal too many of his thoughts, “I still dunno what the hell is goin’ on here, but... you might be right. I just don’t understand why anyone would do this. Especially now, of all times.”

Joe shared Arthur’s confusion. “It doesn’t make sense to me either, but if we wanna survive this year, we better find the rat soon. I don’t like the idea of wanderin’ into all that civilization with a traitor among us.”

“Agreed. Lemme know if you see anything strange. Dutch is paranoid enough as it is. We don’t need him worryin’ about mutiny too.”

Joe nodded, taking his leave. “Will do.”

Returning to his business, Arthur finished up preparing the horses as they whinnied in anticipation and swayed their heads excitedly, clearly eager to get out of these treacherous woods. 

It wouldn’t be long now before the Pinkertons finally closed in on their location, and if Arthur’s instincts were correct, then Dutch’s plan to get out of Tall Trees wouldn’t go nearly as well as he expected.

There were just too many unknowns. Too many threats lurking in the shadows. For all they knew, the same person who poisoned their food could’ve been watching them as they spoke. 

Arthur just hoped that the limitations of civilization would slow them down a bit. Whoever was attacking them didn’t seem to be working with the law -- Pinkertons usually captured their targets alive -- and he doubted that the Skinner Brothers would be so covert with their tactics either.

No... he had a feeling that this was something different. Something more personal. The saboteur clearly had some sort of history with the Van der Linde gang that was motivating these attacks, and in Arthur’s eyes, it almost felt like they were trying to take them out before anyone else could.

He just didn’t know why.

“Arthur!” Dutch suddenly called from a distance, sauntering up to the wagons. “You ready to go?”

Arthur patted his horse on the neck, giving Dutch a firm nod. “Ready when you are. But what about the route we’re plannin’ to take? Everything look okay so far?”

Dutch coughed a few times, not even bothering to hide the weary look on his face. “You’re not gonna believe it. I sent Bill to scout the path ahead earlier, and he tells me one of the bridges we was gonna cross has been destroyed.”

The other man paused. "The hell? But everything was fine yesterday. How did it get destroyed overnight?”

Dutch was at a loss for words. “I have no idea. But this means we’re gonna have to take a detour. We’ll go along the central road to Manzanita Post instead, then head up north once we got the supplies we need.”

Arthur didn’t like the sound of that at all. “North? That’s where most of the Skinner Brother camps are, Dutch.”

“I know, son. But the only alternative route would take us so far south that the Pinkertons would most likely surround us before we even got near the state border. You know how big the Montana River is. They’d be able to pick us off there no problem. I’d rather deal with a few crazies than get captured by the law.”

Arthur let out a deep sigh, unable to think of any other solutions. “...Alright. If that’s the only choice we’ve got.”

Dutch put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with a sincere gaze. “Thank you for trustin’ me, Arthur. We’ll get through this. Now, c’mon. Strawberry awaits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

TALL TREES

Traversing the uneven terrain of the forest as the local wildlife scurried around them, the Van der Linde gang pushed through the silent woods as they kept their eye on the seemingly unreachable horizon, doing their best to remain hopeful.

Thanks to the collapsed bridge Bill reported earlier, they had been forced into the area of Tall Trees that was most notorious for disappearances, as well as having an alarming amount of Skinner Brother activity.

There wasn’t a single inch of this forest that felt safe to them, and with the constant threat of being attacked clawing at their minds, it was needless to say that the gang felt somewhat on edge.

It was only a matter of time until they snapped.

“How’s it lookin’ back there?” Dutch called out to the wagons behind him. “Everything seem to be in order?”

Shay gestured to the path beneath them. “Yeah, but I’ve noticed a lotta tracks on these roads, Dutch. Looks like someone’s been ridin’ around all over this place.”

Dutch didn’t seem too bothered by the observation. “Probably just Pinkertons searching for us. You see any sign of the bastards yet?”

“No, but we should be careful. These tracks look recent. I reckon whoever left ‘em is still roaming around here somewhere. They might not be friendly.”

Arthur sighed, lightly whipping the reins as Dutch sat beside him.

“Great. Another thing to worry about. You think it could be Skinner Brothers?”

The older man shrugged. “Who knows. There are plenty o’ things that could kill you in Tall Trees. If we’re lucky, it’ll just be a group of bandits targeting these roads.”

“Let’s hope so. I’d take a good, honest holdup over dealin’ with the law any day.”

Dutch chuckled. “Oh, absolutely. I didn’t think we’d ever see Agent Ross again -- not after everything that happened with Milton -- and yet, here he is. More despicable than ever.”

Arthur thought back to the robbery. “Did you see who his new partner was?”

He shook his head. “No, but he looked like a young man to me. Not as weathered as Milton or Ross. He seemed like the type of feller who would lack experience, but make up for it in brawn.” Dutch smirked humorously. “Kinda reminds me of you, all them years ago.”

Arthur laughed softly at that. “Not anymore, though?”

Dutch let out a tired breath. “Oh, I’m afraid not, son. We’re still strong, mind you... but even we ain’t as spry as we used to be. Time will do that to you.”

The younger man’s tone sunk a little. “...And, erm... how’s your health doing? You been feelin’ alright recently?”

Dutch cleared his throat. “About as well as you can expect at my age. I ain’t got long left in this world -- we both know that -- but I don’t want none of you cryin’ over me. I’m not dead yet. Let’s just focus on headin’ east and finding a suitable doctor who can treat me. Then we can start worrying about my health.”

Arthur decided to drop it for now. “Alright. Just... lemme know if you notice anything strange. I don’t wanna wait till it’s too late.”

The other man chuckled. “Worrying about your old man, are we, Mr. Morgan? Well, ain’t that just sweet.”

Bringing their discussion to an end, Dutch’s attention was suddenly diverted from Arthur when Micah shouted at him from behind, pointing out a peculiar obstacle blocking their path.

“Hey, cowpokes! I think I see somethin’ on the road!”

Squinting his eyes, Dutch peered into the distance and tried to make out the large object barricading the road, only to freeze in shock when he realized it was a toppled stagecoach decorated with corpses.

There were no signs of the culprit as far as Dutch could see, but judging by the freshness of the bodies and the smoke rising from the coach, he assumed they were killed not too long ago.

“...Ah, shit.” He murmured to himself, taking in the morbid scene. “This probably just happened. Poor bastards. Who d’you think did this?”

An alarm went off in Arthur’s head. “Well, I dunno who did it, but I sure as hell recognize those bodies. Is it just me, or do they look like Skinner Brothers?”

Dutch examined their mottled skin and diseased faces, unable to deny the resemblance. 

“No, it ain’t just you...” He replied grimly. “But who in their right mind would attack Skinner Brothers? And in broad daylight? Surely, that would bring nothing good.”

Arthur was at a loss. “It’s beyond me. But... somethin’ don’t feel right about this.”

Dutch raised a brow. “What d’you mean?”

“Think about it. Why the hell would you attack someone as crazy as the Skinner Brothers unless you were tryin’ to get attention? And to leave their bodies lying out in the open, right in the middle of the road...” Arthur put a hand on his revolver. “...I think someone wanted us to see this.”

A sense of dread filled the other man’s eyes. “Who?”

“No idea.” Arthur climbed down from the wagon, readying his gun. “But I’m gonna find out. Wait here.”

“Shay!” Dutch called, signaling the man to follow Arthur. “Go with him, will you? Let us know if you find anything.”

Carefully approaching the grotesque scene, Arthur and Shay quickly started to sift through the carnage that was left behind as they searched around for clues, curious to see who on Earth could’ve caused such a mess.

The stagecoach didn’t appear to belong to the Skinner Brothers -- the postal label on the side was enough to confirm that -- but its lockbox was full of cash and food instead of mail.

Right off the bat, Arthur assumed the Skinner Brothers must’ve stolen the coach and been using it to transport any valuables they looted, but he found it odd that whoever attacked them didn’t take any of it for themselves. 

It just made him wonder even more what the motivation behind this killing was, and for some unknown reason, part of him began to suspect that the person responsible for this also poisoned their food. 

He just couldn’t figure out what the correlation was.

“Hey, Shay,” Arthur said, “you see anything--”

Barely giving them any time to react, a lone bullet suddenly zipped past them and soared straight into a stick of dynamite that had been strapped to a nearby tree, causing it to explode with a bang as the impact sent Arthur and Shay flying backwards.

Meanwhile, the tree’s trunk snapped into two as the upper half collapsed onto the road, separating Arthur and Shay from the rest of the gang.

“Holy shit!” Mackintosh exclaimed, stumbling to his feet. “What the hell is this?!”

Arthur took cover behind the stagecoach, holding his revolver close. “No idea!”

“Hey!” Dutch yelled from the other side. “You boys still alive?”

“...For now!” Arthur answered. “But we can’t stay here! Y’all focus on findin’ another way around! We’ll catch up to you later!”

“But--”

Another bullet planted itself into the ground next to Arthur’s feet, prompting him to become even more frantic.

“--Just go!”

Staying behind while the gang fled in search of a detour, Arthur and Shay remained huddled up by the stagecoach as their pursuer continued to shower them with bullets, scraping off splinters of wood from the vehicle with every shot.

They couldn’t see who was attacking them or where they were, but just based on the direction of the trajectory, Arthur guessed they were firing at them from within the woods.

“Can you see them?!” Shay shouted over all the commotion, peeking around the edge.

“No! But I think they’re using the trees as cover! Keep shootin’ at the woods! I’m gonna try to get this stagecoach back on its wheels!”

Shay threw a bewildered look at him. “What? Why?”

“Because if we can get this thing movin’ again, then we can use it as cover while we make our way down the road. Now help me lift it up!”

“I thought you wanted me to shoot at them!”

Arthur stuttered. “I-- oh, for Chrissake, just lift it!”

Giving the coach a firm heave, the two of them worked together to bring it back to a standing position as their attacker carried on with the assault, trying fervently to take them out.

Arthur didn’t know why, but he got the impression that the assailant was mainly after him. All of their bullets seemed to be aimed in his general direction more so than Shay’s, and the fact that they separated him from the rest of the gang only made him wonder if they were a long-lost enemy he had forgotten.

“Jesus Christ...” He muttered through gritted teeth. He certainly hoped it wasn’t anyone who used to run with the Van der Lindes. Arthur already had a hard enough time when it came to fighting rival gangs or enemies that they encountered on the road, but if this was someone he knew from before... he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to kill them.

“Almost got it...!” Shay groaned in a strained voice, his arms now starting to quiver from the coach’s weight.

Finally tilting the sturdy vehicle back onto its wheels, Arthur hurriedly yanked one of the doors open and slammed his body against it, pushing the coach forward while Shay fired back at their attacker.

Judging by the way the foliage twitched with the pursuer’s movements, Arthur assumed they were venturing further down the path in an attempt to stop them and probably setting up some other kind of trap.

He had no idea if they had a second stack of dynamite lying around somewhere, or if they were going after the rest of the gang, but at the moment, Arthur only prayed he’d live long enough to find out.

“Shit!” Shay shouted as a bullet darted through one of the coach’s windows. “This bastard’s got good aim!”

Arthur pressed harder against the door. “Well, make sure yours is better!”

Forcing the stagecoach up a steep hill, Arthur mustered as much strength as he possibly could and flattened his palms on the door’s surface, trying to ignore the ache that was now spreading in his arms.

The vehicle budged a little bit, but even with all his effort, it wasn’t nearly enough to get the damned thing over the hill. He’d need help.

“Shay!” Arthur grunted out. “Lend me a hand here!”

Putting his gun down for a moment, Shay jogged over to Arthur’s position and helped the man push the stagecoach up the sharp incline, both of them now battling against its unforgiving weight.

With their strength put together, the coach finally started ascending the hill’s abrupt angle and continued to slide along the path, giving them some much-needed cover from the never-ending storm of gunshots.

“You got it?” Arthur checked, his boots now digging into the ground.

Shay gave the vehicle another shove, clearly struggling with it. “I... I think so...!”

Before anymore progress could be made however, another bullet suddenly hit the side Shay’s leg and sent him tumbling to the ground, causing him to cry out in pain as the stagecoach began to roll backwards.

“Goddammit...!” Arthur exclaimed once he realized the vehicle was headed straight for him. 

He tried to leap out of the way of the oncoming stagecoach and dove to the side of the road, but was ultimately rammed directly in the ribs before being thrown into the dirt.

He could hardly breathe. It felt like his heart had just been knocked out of his chest, and the whole world around him looked like it was going black.

He desperately gasped for air and crawled through the slick mud, unable to even see where his gun had dropped.

The only thing he could hear at the moment was his own hammering heartbeat and the feeble croaks that escaped from his battered lungs, accompanied by the muffled sounds of gunfire and shouting.

“...Shay...!” He wheezed, sluggishly rising from the ground. “...Shay...! Where... are you...?”

Scanning his surroundings, Arthur gazed further down the road and managed to spot Mackintosh himself at the top of the hill, scrambling around in panic due to the new wound in his leg. What really caught Arthur’s attention, though... was the fact that he was no longer alone.

Yanking out his hunting knife, Shay frantically tried to get away from the stranger and wildly swung the weapon a few times, only to receive a fist to the face when the assailant grabbed his arm.

The sheer force of the attack sent him reeling back and caused a fresh stream of blood to flow from his nostril, staining his lips and teeth red.

It shocked Mackintosh how strong his opponent was, considering their seemingly young age, but it was more than evident to him now that this man was no stranger to these types of affairs.

There was an undeniable ferocity in the nature of his attacks, and just based on the pure sense of hatred that illuminated from the man’s glare, Shay guessed this was an enemy he had made in the past.

He just couldn’t figure out who he was.

Lunging at the young man again, Shay limped towards the attacker and sliced his knife downwards, cutting a gash in the stranger’s coat but not actually reaching his skin.

He lost balance due to the bullet now buried in his leg and plunged to the ground beside the young man, allowing his opponent to turn the tide of the fight.

Taking out his own knife, the stranger grabbed Shay by the collar and hauled him to his feet, making sure he couldn’t escape. Afterwards, he took hold of Shay’s abdomen and thrust the blade forward, jabbing the weapon deep into his gut.

“...Mackintosh...!” Arthur exclaimed upon witnessing the attack. 

He tore himself away from the ground and weakly approached the violent scene, hoping to help Shay even though he knew it was too late.

The man was already bleeding profusely from the stomach and had hardly any color left in his skin, but even then, it was obvious that the young man wasn’t done with him yet.

Ripping the blade out of Shay’s stomach, he slammed the man against a nearby tree and held him in place, looking directly into his tormented eyes.

There was a sense of despair engraved in the young man’s expression, and the longer Shay studied his oddly familiar features, the more he began to recognize him.

“...Shay. Mackintosh.” The stranger growled slowly, his tone sharp with anguish. “I finally have you. After fifteen, goddamned years... I finally have you.

Shay stared at the young man in fear, unsure of whether or not he was identifying him correctly.

“Who... are you?” He breathed out, still exhausted from the fight. “Why are you... tryin’ to kill me...?”

The stranger gave him a firm shake, his grip growing even tighter.

“Look at me,” he urged. “You know me, Shay. Far better than you may think.”

Taking a minute to sift through his memories, Shay practically watched his whole life flash before his eyes as he thought back to where he was fifteen years ago, trying to reshape the world around him.

At first, nothing immediate came to mind, but upon peering deeper into the young man’s sorrowful gaze, a specific memory suddenly jumped out at Shay, and he felt his entire body freeze.

He remembered three other men. Three other outlaws.

Charles Baumann, Thaddeus Blackmore, and Eli Whitley.

They robbed a cabin. Killed the owner too. She was a young woman, hardly into her twenties.

And worst of all, Shay remembered she had a son. A boy of only six years. He witnessed the whole murder, and ended up being taken in by them due to Whitley’s insistence.

But Shay never watched him grow up. He abandoned the small gang not too long after they killed the boy’s mother. The guilt would’ve destroyed him otherwise.

Now, though, everything made sense to him. The Pinkerton ambush, the poisoning of the food, the sabotage of the supplies... it was all linked to him. It was all because of what he did fifteen years ago.

This young man was that same little boy, and he had come for revenge.

“...Isaac Morgan.” Shay said plainly, finally understanding who he was. “It’s you. You’re still alive... after all this time.”

Isaac clenched his jaw, attempting to hide the tears that glossed over his eyes.

“I couldn’t die.” He replied, his voice trembling slightly. “Not without killin’ you first. You and your men... you took everything from me. You took Eliza from me.”

Shay closed his eyes in remorse, not even bothering to bargain with the boy.

“...I know, Isaac.” He said gently. “I know what we did was wrong. That’s why I left. Eli, too.” 

A morbid thought crossed Shay’s mind. “...Where is Eli, anyway? Are you lookin’ for him as well? Or have you found him already?”

Isaac nodded. “He’s dead, Shay. Him and the others. You’re the last one.”

Mackintosh wasn’t surprised. “...I thought so.”

Interrupting their exchange, a soft rustle suddenly emitted from behind Isaac’s back and caused him to whip around in curiosity, leading the young man to find himself face-to-face with a new stranger.

Isaac recognized the man as the same gang member Shay was riding with earlier, but contrary to what he expected, the man didn’t appear to be hostile. Instead, he approached the two of them peacefully, and kept his gun in his holster.

Still, Isaac wasn’t willing to take any chances and immediately pulled Shay into his grasp, holding the knife up to his throat.

“Back off!” He warned. “I will kill him!”

The other man raised his hands in a diplomatic manner, attempting to calm the boy down.

“...Easy, Isaac,” he soothed. “It’s okay. Just take it easy.”

The boy paused abruptly, unsure of how to react. “What? How d’you... how d’you know my name? Who are you?”

The man steadily approached him, keeping his hands in the air. 

“I heard your conversation with Mackintosh,” he explained. “You... you lost your mother when you was a boy? Is that right?”

That only confused Isaac even more. “How the hell do you know Eliza was my mother? Why do you even care? Answer my question! Who are you?” He pressed the knife harder into Shay’s throat.

The man stopped in his tracks, not wanting to provoke the boy any further. Instead, he decided that actions would speak louder than words in this scenario and simply reached upwards to remove his hat, unveiling the familiar face that hid underneath.

He couldn’t believe it. Mere moments ago, Arthur was dragging himself through the mud, doing anything he could to survive. He genuinely thought today would be the day he died, but now... he was talking to someone who he never thought he’d see again.

He didn’t know if the boy would remember him, or if he would even still love him after all those years of being separated, but one thing was for certain -- Isaac was Arthur’s son.

And against all odds, he was still alive.

“...It’s me.” Arthur revealed, doing his best to keep himself together. “I’m your dad.”

[screamingmadvoid]

My eyes fought to stay shut against the bright light as I swiftly woke up with a harsh gasp of air. Wake ups for me tended to be hard and fast, especially the more violent and abrupt the death was. And that last one was a rough one. Getting run over was never fun, no matter how many times I make that joke about getting the license plate. Ralphie always hates when I tell it though, so I’ll never drop it. The only reason I wasn’t making it now was because there was something very, very wrong.

The texture I was lying on was wrong. It wasn’t the rough blacktop of the street, and it definitely wasn’t the leather of the cushions Ursa used in the medbay. It was… softer. With a firmer surface underneath. I slowly crack my eyes open to a familiar periwinkle sky, not a cloud in sight. I realize I’m lying on grass, but not just any grass. This is the clearing Nikki and I spent our summers in. But… this was impossible. Wake ups took a while, but not long enough for us to get from Mistrinda to Ozam. And moreover, this clearing burned with Dashwood Manor.

My creeping sense of unease grew as I took in my surroundings. It was quiet like it had always been, but now it was oppressively silent. It lacked the familiar noise of the pests. We’re loathe to be separated, and we aren’t the quietest bunch. If I can't hear them, something was not right and I was on the verge of panic now.

“Guys-” I called out and immediately slammed a hand to my mouth. That wasn’t the soundbytes I was used to stringing together. That was something I hadn’t heard in millenia, and never thought I’d hear again. Tears threaten to fall as I realized that I just spoke in my own voice for the first time since that fateful day, when everything happened. “I’m dreaming, that’s the only explanation” I said, not wanting to even entertain the alternative.

We knew it was possible, permanently dying, that is. Most of the Mechanisms were gone by this point, fallen for the final time. But we didn’t really think it would happen to us till Leslie. It was supposed to be a routine mutiny, one like any other day. Leslie was yelling about some perceived slight, a moved trinket or a broken mug. It was normal, how we kept track of time. I thought nothing of it beyond ‘oh it must be 10 am’. Everything was as it always was, the yelling, the threats, the gunfire. Nothing out of the ordinary. Leslie fell that time. It wasn’t unheard of, we would just shrug and wait for them to roar back to us in a blaze of fury. But as the hours ticked away, as 10 AM changed to 10 PM, we realized how not routine this mutiny was. Because our captain never made so much as a peep, not a twitch, not a single hint of renewed life. It was then, I think we realized we were on a countdown clock, with an unknown timer on our hearts.

I pinch myself in an attempt to wake up, or ground myself, or… I don’t know. I needed a distraction from the growing panic in my chest. I’d be no good to anyone, least of all myself, if I couldn’t breathe. I get up off the ground and look around, desperate at this point to see any sign of life, to know that I wasn't alone here, wherever this is. As I searched for any evidence of another soul, I thought about the last things I remembered.

It was just a regular rampage. Well, as normal as it could be without Leslie and her inevitable flock of devotees. The whole crew was there, for a change. Ursa finally left her medbay, Eshen crawled out of the vents for once, it was great. I even broke out my favorite rampage dress,all black and roses, and got all dolled up with my pearls. The 11 of us were like a comet, running wild through that city, causing mass mayhem and planet wide panic. It was the most euphoric I had felt since Leslie left us behind.

My mood quickly soured into terror when I saw it though. A truck, headed right for an oblivious Eshen. They didn’t see it. Otherwise I doubt they'd be moving so slow. He was in his Musician form right now, and while I didn't fully understand it and still don’t, I did know that he was squishier in this form. Esh and I may not have always seen eye to eye on everything, but I wouldn't want him to experience what 15,000 kilos felt like going over your water balloon of a body. I guess… i figured if it was anyone else’s time to go, it would be me.

I'm not the most self preservative type, never really was, and being mechanized certainly didn’t help. Why avoid danger when it can’t actually do lasting harm? But now it could. And maybe it was selfish, but i couldn’t stand the thought of losing anyone else. I wouldn’t survive it. The waiting, the constant thought of “this could be the last moment i ever spend with them”. I'm starting to believe it doesn't matter now tho.

Slowly, almost afraid of what I might find, I move my hand to my chest, hoping to hear and feel that strong thump-thump. My senses remain undisturbed however, as the lack of heartbeat seems to drown out everything else. I sink to my knees as the realization hits me: I didn't make it.

‘Oh, bell dragon forgive me,’ I think as the tears begin to flow freely and unrestrained. ‘Let them have lived’ I beg, as though the bell dragon cares, ‘let Eshen have been uninjured, do not make them pay for my mistakes.’ As the sobs and keens foreign to my ears begin increasing in volume, I think of my crew and how they must be taking this. All the gods, please let them forgive me for this, let Nebula keep xemself together and not fall apart, let Ralphie keep us together as long as they can.

As my tears begin to die down for now, I make an oath. I will see them again. Each and everyone. I may have failed this family in this way, but I will be there in whatever way I can.