#crewman jones

[commoninfected]

TO INFINITY!

[yogurtyogitup]

ALSO WATCH KIM’S TO INFINITY SERIES ALSO NO REGRETS NOT EVEN ONE!

To Infinity was really fun!

[un-local]

Still not sure how far I want to go with this for my little fic. Reblog if you vote please!

[scottishoctopus]

Who's the hottest crewman of the flying dutchman

"Hottest- uh?" Jones repeats, highly confused and raising a brow.

"We are all relatively cold people, but Ah suppose the Caribbean sun can get uncomfortably warm durin' the summah. When that season arrives, we spend our weeks undah the sea. Ah tend tah dry out when Ah'm in the intense heat so Ah avoid it as much as Ah can- uh."

[whovianwatchingstartrek]

A Whovian Watches Star Trek for the First Time: Part 071 - Trip's Grief

Star Trek: Enterprise - Season 3 Episode 20 - The Forgotten

As we open into this episode, Enterprise has mostly recovered from it's heavy damage. We finally have a number of casualties from the battle. Some work is still a lot of work to be done, but the ship is in functioning order.

I love that uniforms in this one are not in pristine order, their grimy, covered in soot and charring, and just I love that look. It's a quick and effective way of communicating that they haven't had time to rest yet. Trip hasn't even had time to shave, he's growing some stubble (and it suits him). I've been loving that such a heavy attack has had lasting damage on the ship

T'Pol has been finding her emotions harder to suppress, but is getting off the Trellium D well enough.

The main plot of the episode quickly takes hold, Archer boards Degra's ship to make discussions with the Xindi council, and decides that they have to prove what he has to say about the Reptilians. Unfortunetly the Council's representative is not convinced by all the evidence, but Degra is being pulled closer towards Enterprise's viewpoint.

Trip's arc throughout this episode was absolutely great. I'm a sucker for characters who overwork themselves beyond any and all reason. Between repairs after the battle and what happened to his sister, the poor dude refuses to give himself the nap he deserves. His dream conversation with Crewman Taylor, the deceased member of the crew Archer asked him to write a letter to the family of was beautiful. His guilt over not being able to write the letter during that scene and his grief over both Crewman Taylor and his Sister was heart-breaking. This breakdown has been coming since the start of the season, and I loved seeing him finally let it out.

The main plot of this one was weak, but that's been par for the course for this arc, however I really loved the character interactions here. Especially Trip, who was absolutely the highlight for me. His final letter to Crewman Taylor's family was beautiful.

Comparing my Enjoyment of this Episode with a Doctor Who Universe Story of the Same Title

Doctor Who - The Forgotten

It's been while since I've got to do one of these! The Forgotten was 6 issue comic run by IDW in 2009. I haven't really got to touch on Comic-Who yet on this blog. Speaking truthfully, most of Doctor Who comic love is directed towards DWM comics and Titan Comic's lines. IDW's run at Doctor Who comics as whole isn't spectacular to say the least, especially their 10th Doctor run.

The Forgotten Specifically, involves The Tenth Doctor and Martha Jones waking up in a strange museum dedicated to his life, where he's set to become the next exhibit. A good premise, and one Doctor Who has done both before and since. Trouble is, he also can't remember before his current regeneration. The majority of the comic is dedicated to the Doctor going through the museum and regaining his memories from his previous incarnations, and we are treated to a few flashback stories with the first nine Doctors. I won't focus on those, but one small detail I liked is that the first and second Doctor flashbacks are in Black and White.

Throughout the main story, the comic keeps baiting you into thinking The Master is behind all of this, but actually it's "Ten-two" from Stolen Earth/Journey's end, and it's not even actually really Ten-Two because It's actually all just a dream caused by an Alien parasite that latched onto the Doctor, who's actually dying on the TARDIS floor.

The Forgotten is kinda the Epitome of everything I don't like about IDW's run of Doctor Who comics. It tries to throw the entire breadth of Doctor Who canon at you, but with very little of the Depth to it. This comic brings in Autons, the Kaldor Robots, the SS Marie Antoinette Clockwork Robots, but none of them stick around for more than a few pages, and it doesn't do any of the work into even differentiating them beyond their designs. They're just all robots that shoot in this comic. There's nothing about what made these individual villains unique or scary here. The Fake Ten-Two says one line about speculating to be The Valeyard, but nothing is done with that because two panels later he fully admits to being an image created by cranial parasite. It's just a random Valeyard name drop, and it feels really out of place.

I know IDW also had the Star Trek licences at one point, so I am kinda curious if they had similar issues with that. In terms of this episode vs this comic though, this one definitely has to go to enterprise. While I'm not particularly invested in the whole Xindi plotline, the character writing on this episode was enough to keep me engaged for Enterprise's "The Forgotten". Sadly, another instance of "I swear I actually like Doctor Who, Star Trek is just sharing titles with the bad stories"

[trickstercaptain]

CANON VERSES.

young protége

Living in the shadow of the Keeper of the Code isn’t easy for the young Jack Sparrow, particularly when he’s left to fend for himself in the pirate haven of Shipwreck Cove and dismissed for his ambitions to one day command a ship of his own. He wants more than anything to leave the island, and his life, behind, conflicted as to whether piracy is really his true calling, but it is the arrival of a charming French captain that eventually forces Jack into a decision that will unintentionally change his life.

This verse covers Jack's upbringing on Shipwreck Cove, up until the age of twenty, and the Shipwreck flashbacks in The Price of Freedom. I primarily draw upon canon established in this novel, however I also take inspiration from Sins of the Father, one of the Young Jack series. I do not consider any of the other Young Jack books as part of my canon. As far as the flashback scene in DMTNT goes, I do incorporate it, but altered under certain conditions detailed in my DMTNT verse.

five sodding years of work

Press-ganged into the crew of La Vipère after being betrayed by friend and rogue pirate Christophe de Rapièr, Jack knows he cannot return to Shipwreck Cove without facing death for breaking the Pirate's Code. After escaping from the rogue ship, he and fellow crewman Robby Greene sign on to the East India Trading Company, working their way up the ranks as merchant sailors until Jack is offered captaincy of the Wicked Wench by the EITC Director for West Africa, Cutler Beckett.

This verse covers the roughly five year period of Jack's employment in the East India Trading Company. He is hiding his piratical past and playing a very convincing role of a law-abiding merchant sailor, so unless plotted otherwise, your muse should not recognise him as a former pirate.

freedom isn’t free. it comes with the highest of costs

Now branded a pirate and having lost his soul in order to raise the newly rechristened Black Pearl from the depths, Captain Jack Sparrow finally has everything he ever wanted. He’s a pirate, a captain and finally able to forge a legend that will be immortalised for centuries to come. However, that all changes when he begins searching for a way to find the long lost Aztec treasure of Cortez with his first mate, Hector Barbossa. This verse covers the two years of Jack's initial captaincy of the Black Pearl, up until Barbossa's mutiny.

a hard learned lesson it was

Betrayed and marooned on a deserted island after giving up the bearings to the fabled Isla de Muerta, with naught but a pistol with a single shot, Jack's spirit is hardened by revenge. After three days, he barters with rumrunners for passage out of his misery, but the path to regaining his ship is a long one, and he is still intent on living his life in the interim. This verse covers the ten year period prior to Curse of the Black Pearl. Jack does not have his beloved ship in his possession at this time, however that does not necessarily mean that he is ship-less.

the opportune moment

Arriving in Port Royal on the sinking Jolly Mon, fates align and, thanks to a blacksmith and a governor's daughter, Jack finds himself with the perfect leverage to secure his stolen Pearl from the hands of his mutinous and now-cursed first mate. His only issue, it turns out, are said blacksmith and governor's daughter and the small matter of the curse that needs to be lifted. This verse covers the entirety of Curse of the Black Pearl.

what bodes ill

Now reunited with his beloved Black Pearl, Jack knows all will be for naught unless he can find a way out of the soul debt he struck with Davy Jones thirteen years prior. Vexed and bearing a compass that no longer seems to work, Jack begins a desperate search for the dead man’s chest to use as leverage, or else be damned to the depths of the Locker for eternity should his time run out. This verse covers the period from the end of Curse of the Black Pearl through to Jack's death at the end of Dead Man's Chest.

close your eyes and pretend it’s all a bad dream

Returned from the land of the dead and determined not to end up there again, Jack resolves that the only way he can survive is to stab the heart of Davy Jones, thus becoming immortal and sailing the seas forever. However, while he's been gone, the Brethren Court has called all nine Pirate Lords to a convene in a meeting at Shipwreck Cove, while Cutler Beckett and Davy Jones have joined forces to take over the seas and rid them of piracy forever. This verse covers the majority of At World's End, following Jack's rescue from the Locker.

a pirate’s life for me

Following the destruction of the Endeavour, Cutler Beckett’s death and victory of the pirates over the Armada, Captain Jack Sparrow returns to his pirating ways, still seeking immortality after sacrificing his chance at stabbing the heart of Davy Jones so that Will Turner could live. When interacting with Jack, this functions as my DEFAULT VERSE: any unspecified canon threads will default to this point in his timeline.

Unless specified for a particular thread, I will ignore the very end of At World's End and Jack will STILL have the Black Pearl in his possession.

home is wherever you are

Canonically sticking to the end of At World’s End, with Elizabeth going on to bear Will a son, Henry, after he sails away on the Flying Dutchman to carry out his duty for ten years at a time. With the absence of a father in the young Henry Turner’s life, Jack slowly and unconsciously begins to fill that gap through his visits to Shipwreck Cove, which in turn become more and more frequent as he develops a bond with a boy he comes to think of as a son in all but name.

This verse leads directly into my DMTNT-era verse, set nineteen years later, and assumes a familiarity with Henry that is not present in the movie itself.

our sands be all but run

After hearing word that his first mate, Joshamee Gibbs, is being tried for his own crimes in London, Jack mounts a daring rescue attempt -- and ends up embroiled in a venture by none other than Edward Teach to locate and covet the spoils of the Fountain of Youth. In the process, he is reunited with not only an old flame, but his beloved ship, magically trapped into a bottle.

This verse encompasses the entirety of On Stranger Tides and the years afterwards, prior to Dead Men Tell No Tales, as well as any AUs where Jack is seeking the Fountain of Youth.

bad luck dogs you day and night

After a series of near-disasters culminate in the release of Captain Salazar from the Devil’s Triangle ( a once famed pirate hunter now cursed and out for Jack’s blood for trapping him in the first place ), Jack must team up with his stepson, Henry Turner, and the female astronomer Carina Smyth if he hopes to find the Trident of Poseidon – an object with the power to break all curses in the sea. Due to the issues I have with the continuity and characterisation of Jack in this movie, there are a number of alterations to canon detailed HERE.

beyond my beloved horizon

With both his ship and luck finally restored, and a family reunited on land, Captain Jack Sparrow has everything he needs to repair his shattered reputation once and for all. The only thing left is for him to figure out what to do with his simian namesake, now in need of a new master.

Just as a note, this is NOT my default verse.

[justplainsalty]

Tedbecca, Battlestar Galactica AU 💀

Just so everyone has context, this one is a rubber band back to me. It is my fault. And now I'm having to eat crow.

****

Rebecca Welton is the relatively new commander of the Battlestar Richmond, an old and creaky ship that hadn't won any battles in almost as long as she'd been alive, possibly longer. She was the ship's XO for years, under her longtime-ex-husband Rupert, until he was caught sleeping with an NCO on the flight deck and court martialed back to Caprica. Now she's faced with taking over command of a ship where every crewman was highly loyal to Commander Mannion, and she must prove herself out of his shadow. The negative press attention on her since Rupert's arrest has not helped boost her crew's opinion of her. Her new XO, Higgins, suggests accepting President Adar's request to send a PR team up to the ship to film an on-ship pyramid match between command staff and NCOs and boost morale. President Adar has been pushing a multi-pronged initiative to "sanitize" (or in Fleeters' opinions, sterilize and castrate) the Fleet forces for years; Rebecca is the unlucky commander who is forced to accept it this PR move, but it doesn't mean she has to be happy about it.

Ted Lasso is the current Secretary for Culture and Sport within the New Caprican government; he is currently 45th in line for the presidency. Ted is never without his shadow, Coach Beard, the Under-Secretary for Sport. There are questions about how Ted and Beard rose to their positions, debates whether it was a good ol' boy backroom deal, or something more scandalous. After all, Ted has no real government experience on his resumé: prior to his role on President Adar's campaign staff, and then his role as Secretary, Ted was best known for coaching university-level pyramid. Everyone who has worked with Ted understands why he is a good leader and policy-maker; to everyone outside the room where it happened, the choice could not be more opaque. Adar asks Ted to attend the pyramid match with the PR team in order to ensure its smooth execution and diffuse any conflicts that arise.

Nathan Shelley is an intern with the Department of Defense, in the department responsible for the maintenance of the planetary defense mainframe. His girlfriend, Bex, works for a defense contractor. Nathan wasn't supposed to, but he let Bex have some access to the mainframe, so she could scope out some specs and look good for her bosses when they put a bid in for the latest contract. And then she asked if he could get her access to the software the Colonial Fleet was writing to update all the newest ships, and Nate wanted to impress her, so he did. Nate didn't want to ask too many questions -- he was too grateful that someone like Bex was with someone like him in the first place.

And then the cylons attack.

Suddenly, these disparate paths converge, as Rebecca is faced with a fight for her life from the outside, a fight for control of her ship from within, and a fight for the future of humanity from the teeth-grindingly jovial sports coach-turned-president who doesn't seem to understand just how dire their situation is. And what kind of a person says, "We have to get out there and start making babies!" with a straight face, anyway?

Featuring:

Keeley Jones, Tactics Officer

Dr. Sharon Fieldstone, Chief Medical Officer

Trent Crimm, independent journalist-turned-quorum representative and general thorn in Ted’s side (although with plenty of mutual respect)

Pilots: Roy Kent, Jamie Tartt, Sam Obisanya, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes, Dani Rojas, Richard Montlaur, Thierry Zoreaux, Jan Maas, Moe Bumbercatch

Bex, cylon number 6

Leave an AU and a pairing in my ask and I’ll give you the plot of the fic I won’t write for it.

[potcscripts]

Jack grabs the pistol from the Crewman as he head-butts him off the line. Jack comes swinging back around behind Jones, FIRES the pistol --

[v-thinks-on]

“Surrender now, unless you’d like to see the inside of Davy Jones’s locker!” She held her blade to the sailor lass’s throat to make her point, holding fast to the sailor’s hands to keep her from causing any trouble.

“I don’t mean to put up a fight,” the sailor stammered. “This here is just my little supply ship, to bring food and drink from port to port - and for the weary travelers out at sea.”

“Search the decks!” the pirate captain ordered and her men stampeded across the deck of the little ship. Only then did she lower her blade, though she kept her grip on the sailor’s hands. “I hope you have enough supplies to share with me and my crew.”

“Certainly, if it’s to your liking I could prepare a feast for you and your crew tonight in my own kitchens.”

“And you ask nothing in return? Not gold, nor jewels, nor sights unseen?” The pirate captain grinned.

“I would not dare test a pirate’s generosity.”

“You are a clever lass.” She let the sailor’s hands go. “I accept your boon. Where are these kitchens of yours?”

The sailor led the pirate captain past her enterprising buccaneers, down into the hold of the small ship, into the dark, smoky kitchens, lined with tin and hung with dried goods, where one of her crew was already enjoying some cured meats left out to dry.

The captain stepped aside and motioned for the sailor to begin as she had promised. “Tonight, we shall have a feast.”

“There are some supplies I shall need,” the sailor said. “Eggs from the chickens, and a barrel of meat from below.”

“Do as she says,” the pirate captain said to her crewman.

He eagerly ran off to fetch the supplies and alert the rest of the crew of their good fortune.

Soon half the room was ablaze and the air rich with the smell of meat and spice and baking bread. The sailor worked at what must have been a frantic pace, but seemed only natural, chopping here, kneading there, stirring, tasting.

“You are a craftswoman,” the pirate captain declared. “And you could have no more appreciative an audience.”

“You are too kind,” she said but did not look up from her work.

The captain stepped nearer, so the sailor nearly bumped into her as she turned from one task to another.

“If you are going to stand in the way, you may as well help,” the sailor said, though she immediately faltered.

However, the pirate captain acquiesced. “What would you like me to do?”

And so she joined in kneading and chopping and stirring. They danced across the galley, passing each other one way then the other, one step nearer, one step back, reaching and twisting just out of each other’s way.

And then she stopped directly in front of the sailor, catching her flour dusted hands, her sweat and soot streaked hair in wild disarray, and stole a kiss from spiced lips.

“You could have a place on my ship if you liked. The best ship’s cook in the fleet.”

“And what if I refused?”

The pirate captain released her hands. “If that is your will.”

The sailor smiled. “I will consider it.”

Day 14 of Under the Summer Sun

@writersmonth word: wild | setting: on a ship

@augustwritingchallenge Food Truck

@flufftober Slow Dancing and Cooking Lessons

[squids-comics]

Expedition Log Three: The Knowing (Part Four)

Expedition log three, Chief Officer Gray speaking.

It has been almost four hours since Lieutenant Volkov took Dr. Weston into the cave in search of life. I have not had contact with either one since they entered. Dr. Magna was able to find a sizeable water table beneath the surface, showing that a settlement will be possible if Weston comes back with positive results. 

"Start the shuttle!"

Was that Volkov? It came from the cave... Magna! Get on the shuttle. Tell Mr. Winters to prepare for takeoff. 

"Right away Sir!"

If that was Volkov's voice, he's signaling an emergency extraction. They must have found some sort of hazard. Looks like this planet isn't habitable after all...

"We need to get back to the ship!"

(Volkov appears to be distressed. I still can't see him, but I can hear approaching footsteps. One set. Running.) We will Lieutenant! Mr. Winters is starting the shuttle engine now!

(Volkov has exited the cave. He is holding Dr. Weston in his arms. The Doctor is unresponsive.) What's wrong with Dr. Weston? What happened?

"We need to get him to sick bay! The sooner the better!"

What happened in there?

"We found life. He tried to investigate it and got attacked."

You let him investigate it before assessing risks? 

"I tried to stop him, but he ran off."

He ran off? He just... Ran off? And you couldn't stop him?

"Eugene's faster than he looks. He's hard to catch, like a deer in the woods."

This isn't a deer Lieutenant! This is a man! So help me, if another crewman died under your watch...

"Don't you dare bring Dr. Jones into this!"

Why not? You had a simple job to do, and you failed. What good is a security officer if they can't keep anyone safe? 

"We don't have time for this! The creature is inside him!"

What? 

"Some sort of worm jumped out of the flora. Burrowed it's way through his forehead."

Jesus... He doesn't have any wound on his forehead.

"No. It sealed itself shut while I was carrying him out."

It sealed itself shut? How does that happen?

"I don't know."

Of course you don't! And we can't ask our biologist because he's full of worms!

"You need to drop the attitude Sir. I may not have adequately performed my duties in your eyes today, but I am the most qualified security officer on the ship. I earned the rank of Lieutenant. I served-"

I don't care about your combat record Volkov. That's from Earth. The Earth is dead. And we'll all join it if you keep screwing up like this!

End of log.

[commoninfected]

I watched To Infinity with @mothboy-the-moth.

[glowyjellyfish]

I finished setting up an 18th century downloads folder, and proceeded to play a vaguely BaCC Pirate Shipwreck game I had some loose ideas for. Did not get very far. Probably should have rolled the lads some skill points to begin with. An since I was just having fun, I didn’t thoroughly record all their traits and LTWs and what have you, I just want to show off what I did manage.

1. Captain James Teague. He wouldn’t stop sunbathing on the beach and became quite sunburned.

2. Quartermaster Henry Flintheart, a slightly nerdy fellow, but don’t let that fool you; the scar on his face betrays his badassery.

3. Ship’s cook Billy Butcher (...I didn’t realize where I got the name from until after, and now it has stuck!), conversing with Cabin Boy Jack Threepwood. Billy was responsible for cooking meals and keeping an eye on the only goat that survived the wreck; the goat nearly died of dehydration but is doing fine now.

4. The other Cabin Boy Silver Sparrow, clearly an assumed name, but pirates don’t care about that. A skinny, private lad, Silver found himself in charge of maintaining the carrots they had to plant in order to have foo for the winter.

5. Carpenter Underwood Bones, on a trip to the nearby forest to gather food and supplies, trying his luck with a beehive. He didn’t succeed, but did manage to fell a tree before the round was through. That’s awfully important, as my loose rules want walls to be purchased with wood, and the ship needs 200 wood before it’s seaworthy again. (...but I will need to figure out exactly how to do anything with that concept!)

6. A view of the wrecked ship, and the beach where the crew has set up camp.

7. A freshwater pond in the woods not far from the beach; I worked very hard to try and make it look properly wild.

8. Quartermaster Henry Flintheart getting a tad inappropriate with Cabin Boy Silver Sparrow. Not that Silver seems to mind.

9. First Cabin Boy Jack Threepwood practicing his navigation skills on the wrecked ship, supervised by the Quartermaster.

10. Overview of the wilderness, as Crewman Hitchcock Jones and the two cabin boys arrive to see what they can find.

11. First Mate Edward Moray (if I remember correctly), a hotheaded, rough, scoundrel of a man, but a loyal first mate, dedicated to ensuring the crew’s survival under the captain’s direction.

I always forget to update the in-game camera resolution, but it all managed to look pretty nice anyway! The main ideas here are to have the crew slowly scavenge crops and livestock from the forest, meet the natives of the island, and gradually split off to their own households with actual houses. I’m also planning to use some ship mechanics I made up a long time ago, if I can make them work--once somebody owns a functional ship lot, they can hire a crew and sail the seas again with this island as their base. They’ll work on skills, and I’ll do a couple of shipboard ROSs--one for small daily events, another for if they attack a ship. I’m hoping to have as much sailing and piracy as honest labor. Either way, it will take a long time and appropriate community lots to unlock careers and schools and things. Oh, and I’m not tying new sims to community lots; the crew can encounter the native population with an ROS, and once sailing starts happening, ships can find refugees and new ships can come in with new sims looking to live on the island.

I’m just excited I actually finished the setup and got to play with it! The medieval setup took WAY too long and still isn’t done!

[meret118]

Vigil is so good! If you liked The Hunt for Red October you'll love this! A crewman is found dead on a British nuclear submarine. Foul play is suspected.

The sub can't return to port for military reasons so DCI Amy Silva, (Suranne Jones on the right), is flown to the submarine to investigate. DS Kirsten Longacre, (Rose Leslie on the left), is in charge of the investigation on land.

Lots of action and twists and turns!

And Amy and Kirsten are exes. :)

I'm on the last episode now, and have thoroughly enjoyed it! It's six episodes, and has already been confirmed for a second season. If you like thrillers, action movies or mysteries I highly recommend it.

[transyourjester]

Random NPC: I’m shipless and I need a few credits

Crewman Jones:

[wkemeup]

The Captain’s Warning (SFoS Bonus Chapter)

chapter summary: Months after your heritage was exposed, Bucky leads the crew to find rest on shore and you stumble upon an old enemy.

pairings: pirate!bucky x pirate/siren!reader

chapter word count: 4.5k

warnings: canon level violence, descriptions of blood, the return of a particularly loathed character, bucky isn’t messing around when it comes to protecting his girl

a/n: this is a bonus chapter for my series Sky Full of Song so please make sure to read the main part of the series first :)

🏴‍☠️ series masterlist // series playlist

Captain Barnes was in danger of compromising his reputation. 

Every brush of his lips to the exposed skin on your neck threatened the ruthless, vicious depiction of the captain of legend. Even under the scorching heat of the summer sun, in the open of the deck of his ship, Bucky did not shy from affection toward you as he swept a strand of hair from your shoulder and slowly, teasingly, kissed your collar. Standing at your back, Bucky’s fingertips expertly danced along your spine, shifting you in his arms as his lips met your warned skin. 

The crew had learned better than to let their eyes linger upon the captain and his second. Some smirked as they conveniently turned their backs to the wheel of the ship and attended to their tasks. Others barely noticed at all; it had become so common place. 

Bucky had become unafraid of what his affections for you meant – to be witnessed by others, to be a source of rumor to be spread over the currents.  

He wanted the crew to know exactly who you were to him. He wanted it of the world. Not as a means of possession or control, but a warning. To set a target upon your back was to do the same to the legendary Captain Barnes tenfold. No one dared to speak a word against you knowing the retaliation they’d face in return.  

But it wasn’t fear that silenced the taunts from the Commandos’ crew. Morita and Jones snickered amongst themselves upon witnessing the unbridled affections of their captain, teasing him relentlessly for his inability to keep his hands from you. Dugan merely stood silent in his pleasant shadows, beaming with pride as if he’d earned his weight in gold.  

Of the crew who had fought for you and Bucky the day of the uprising, half of them requested to stay. They asked their questions, nodding curiously as you explained what you knew about your lineage and what it meant for you as a half-blood siren. Some even showed genuine interest that outweighed that of their original fear. One even inquired whether you might be a sort of canary for the crew, should they attempt to travel through siren infested waters again.  

It surprised you – the possibility of these men seeing value in your unwanted gifts. It was a relief when many decided they were all but indifferent to the siren in you, just as they were to your gender. It turned out much of the torment you endured had been the result of a small number of the crew who had merely wormed their way through the mailable minds of others. Those who chose to remain cared little for their petty drama. They merely wished to sail and line their pockets. And that was something you could agree upon.  

Bucky had feared that allowing the men of his crew who knew your secret to depart on shore would only fuel rumors across the ports of a prize far greater than gold or glory: to hunt and capture a siren. Perhaps they had been too frightened of their former captain to dare speak of what they witnessed, because no ship approached over the horizon in search of you. 

And still, Bucky did not accept relief easily. You often wondered if he held you so closely at night because he feared you might be torn from him as painfully as his own limbs.  

But no crewman hid daggers in their sleeves when they approached. No canons barreled into the side of the ship. No bounty was placed upon your head.  

It was as if it hadn’t happened at all. You hadn’t followed Bucky off the edge of the ship and exposed the song that nearly condemned you. You hadn’t spent a night in the same brig where your captain absolved you of your fears. You hadn’t been chained and thrown off the plank to a slow, painful death under the currents.  

But you had.  

And while you had learned to let go of the past, to ease into the present, and find new ways to move forward, Bucky could not let go of his guilt. He’d promised you that he would keep you safe, keep you unharmed. He promised it again and again and still – you had endured worse than he ever imagined. 

You never blamed him and you were certain to tell him as often as he’d hear it, but Bucky took it on anyway. And it made him hold you a little tighter in the dark of his quarters, made him unashamed in his affection under watchful eyes. Because you were his. And he was yours. And he would be damned if he let anything try to separate you now.  

“There’s an inn I have in mind when we come to port,” Bucky murmured against your temple, his lips moving gently along your skin. “It’s off the beaten path, away from the town center. Quiet. I’d like to take you there.” 

You smirked, leaning back into him as you looked out to the unending waves stretching out to the horizon. “Is that a request, Captain?” 

He chuckled at that and you felt the warm vibration of it against you. “A request... an order... whatever you’d like it to be, love. Just promise you will join me.” 

That sliver of tenderness in his voice would always be your undoing. The slight glimpse of a teasing grin at the edges of his mouth, the heavy weight in his eyes as he took you in. There was little he could ask of you that you would willingly decline.  

“You know that I will,” you told him, brushing your hand along his flushed cheek – warm under the heat of the sun.  

“Good.” He kissed the inside of your palm and slowly, reluctantly, stepped back from you. “I believe it’s time to get this crew ready to bring our vessel to shore. Take over the wheel for me?” 

You nodded eagerly and slid your hand over the smooth tread of the wood. It was steady under your palm – comforting, reliable. No member of the crew looked to you behind the wheel in surprise, nor slander, nor distaste. Few looked at you at all. Because Bucky did not shy away from calling you his second as much as he did his love. And the crew did not question the will of their captain.

*** 

The port at Mayvelle’s Cove was crowded with ships in search of the few things every pirate sought after on a night on land: rum, pleasure, and rest.  

There was a levity to its shores. In the brightly colored flowers lining the trail by the shops and taverns and the laughter echoing down the street from open windows, you felt a welcome relief sink the tension in your shoulders. It resembled little of Carnage and for that, you were grateful.  

By the time you realized Bucky had made his way to your side, you found him watching you with the same pleasant wonder and admiration you had held for the sea of flowers standing guard before the shops. He smiled at you and you might have melted there on the spot if not for his hand snaking its way around your waist.  

You felt his fingertips graze over the scarred lines on your back, gently brushing the raised edges over the thin fabric of your blouse, but you did not turn away from him. Something healed in you under his touch and you leaned into him at every welcomed opportunity.  

“Busy yourself for a few moments?” Bucky requested, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “I will return for you shortly.” 

You narrowed your eyes, hands planting on your hips. “What are you up to?” 

“Up to something? Me?” Bucky pursed his lips, feigning ignorance as he slowly backed into the crowd. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

You watched him until he disappeared among the sea of eager pirates in search of booze or warm, feathered beds. Even then, you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face at the thought of what he could possibly be after.  

Unsure of how long he might be, you decided to do as he suggested and busy yourself with the town. The faint glow of stars hung over the night sky, illuminating a soft path through the busy street. Torches flickered above each shop and tavern attempting to draw in its visitors. Off-key singing could be heard from a particularly vocal tavern down the path. You laughed under your breath as you stopped outside a tailor’s shop to look at the dresses hung in the windows.  

In another life, you might have worn dresses with more fabric than you knew what to do with. You might have been adorned in jewelry worth more than your life and sewn into corsets that made it almost impossible to catch your breath.  

But this dress – covered in shades of a deep maroon, ivory, and a black as deep as the sky overhead – was different. Instead of the wide hooped skirt, it hung freely down the hips of the mannequin in layers, some of which were pulled up in tiers to exposed the ones underneath. The bodice was tight to the body, the neckline dipping low to into the bosom, and you couldn’t help but wonder whether your captain might appreciate a dress like this.  

A soft purring at your ankles quickly drew you from your trance as you looked down to find a small, pearl coated cat rubbing her head along your shin.  

“Oh, hi there,” you grinned, sinking down to rest against your heels. The cat paused, staring at you hesitantly. Cautious little thing, she was. Rightfully so, you imagined, amongst the busy nature of the port.  

You held out an open palm towards the cat, giving her a moment to consider whether she would like to approach or retreat. She blinked at you, twitched her nose, and then slowly, sniffed the edge of your fingers. Once satisfied, she slid her head right into the palm your hand, giving you free rein to pet her coat.  

“Careful or I may keep you,” you laughed, trying to follow the path of the cat as she walked around your kneeling frame in search of more brushes. The purring was so loud you could hear it over the chorus of drunken sea shanties down the road.  

Then, the cat perked her head up and suddenly took off down the path. You frowned, disappointment sinking in your chest, though when you looked up again, you found the cat waiting patiently in the center of the graveled road, almost as if she were looking for you to follow.  

You stole a quick glance down at the row of shops, uncertain where Bucky had gone off to. You’d be back shortly enough, you reasoned. And your captain was resourceful. There was no harm in seeing where the little creature beckoned you toward.  

“Okay, okay,” you told the cat as you jogged to catch up with her. “Let’s hurry now or Captain Barnes may have a word with you for making me late.” 

You were surprised when the cat did not race down the open street and into the open field down the bend, but instead turned down a long, winding alley. It wasn’t far off from the busiest part of the street, but it was considerably quieter in the alley. Darker, too.  

“Is this where you sleep?” you asked her, cringing at the cold breeze that swept through the alley. The cat paused at your feet by a blanket that had been bundled on the gravel. She sat upon it, looking rather pleased with herself. Still, it broke your heart. 

She rubbed at your ankle until you bend down to pet her again.  

“Oh, sweet thing,” you murmured, giving special attention behind her ears. “You need some love, don’t you?” 

She began to lick at your fingertips as if in answer.  

But then a shuffling of rocks – a footstep – at the end of the alley made the cat freeze. She held so still you barely even drew a breath in fear of scaring her off. It only took another unwelcome sound before she sprinted off to the end of the alley where she’d led you down.  

Resignation held heavy in your chest, your brushed off your hands against your thighs as you slowly rose to your feet. Bucky would be looking for you shortly and you couldn’t spend your entire evening on shore chasing after a fickle kitten.  

You glanced down at the opposite end of the alley, curious as to what had frightened the poor cat. Seeing nothing but a long, winding path of shadows, you turned back to the road ahead. But the moment you took a new step, you heard that same shuffling of rocks behind you.  

On instinct, your hand reached for the revolver strapped to your hip. 

“Not so fast,” a voice warned from the shadows.  

You saw the barrel of his gun first as he stepped out into the light. Sunken eyes and starved, translucent skin, you almost didn’t recognize the man standing before you. But you knew the burning disdain in his eyes and contempt he carried as if it were carved into every pore upon his skin. It was unmistakable.  

“Lawrence.” 

 He snarled, adjusting his hold on the gun as if you might be able to wrench it from his grasp. “How convenient I run into you... here... all alone.” 

In an attempt to ease the sudden racing of your heart, you rolled your eyes and feigned boredom. You would not allow him to see your fear. You would not allow him to know how often you woke screaming before dawn with his face burned into the backs of your eyes, desperately clutching at Bucky because you were so certain your lungs were full of salt water. You would not allow him the satisfaction of it.  

“You look like shit,” you said to him instead. Voice even. Calm. “Did you finally grow a conscious? Perhaps you are now capable of feeling shame?” 

“Don’t patronize me, siren,” Lawrence spat. Even through the gaunt hollowness of his features, there was venom in his voice. “After what your precious captain did, no crew will take me. They all question why the infamous Captain Barnes refused me upon his ship. They assume something is wrong with me, that I’m—” 

“Something is wrong with you,” you hissed back, but he paid you no mind in his ranting – not as his finger inched closer to the trigger. You looked back to the open mouth of the alley were several patrons of the nearby stores casually strolled by. As Lawrence continued in his disgruntled rambling, you let yourself consider for a moment whether you might break your promise to yourself – to never use the siren’s song again.  

But there were too many people within range. Without doubt, Lawrence would not be the only one to hear your song and you’d sooner find yourself in the gallows just as easily as you would the end of the barrel of this gun. There was no option for the parting gift of your mother.  

“— you ruined me!” Lawrence continued, as if you’d been listening intently to his every word. He squared his shoulders and slowly, cracked his neck from side to side. The crazed rage quickly slipped into that of a deadly, frightening calm. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.” 

The safety unlatched and then, suddenly, everything came to a stop. 

You felt the sharp hitch of your breath – cold in the inhale against the muggy heat of the island’s shore.  

Your stomach dropped in the heavy realization that you’d been wrong to let him walk all those months ago. You’d tried to be better than he was, to prove you weren’t the monster was convinced you to be. To prove it to yourself.  

And he’d take your life for it.  

For the third time now, Lawrence would seek to put an end to the siren. And this time, he would be successful.  

You’d never see Bucky again.  

That thought of it nearly crippled you. The realization that you would never hold him again or promise to love him until he couldn’t stand it anymore. You’d never watch the excitement light up on his features at the prospect of a new adventure. Never feel his touch wander so delicately down your skin, never feel his lips against the scars on your back that had once haunted you.

It was agony. It was torture. 

You flinched against the suddenly splatter of something wet to your face. A gunshot echoed through the alley. 

You froze, stunned, as you stared into Lawrence’s wide eyes for only a moment before he collapsed to the ground, crimson quickly pooling from bullet entry at the center of his forehead.  

Blood, you realized. It was blood that was dripping down your face. Lawrence’s blood. 

You whipped your head around to the opening of the alley, following the path of the bullet, where you saw a figure standing in the shadows; gun raised, smoke still trailing from the barrel. In his left hand – a package. At his feet – the pearl coated cat rubbed her head against his ankles.  

Bucky.  

You almost collapsed at the sight of him; knees wobbling and you caught yourself against the damp stone of the alley wall. Bucky dropped whatever was in his hand and shoved the revolver to the holster on his hip, sprinting his way to you. Stone crunched under his boots with every step. 

When he was within reach, he crushed you into his arms. Hands shaking as he ran his touch over you, searching for wounds, searching to confirm that you were alive and safe within his grasp.  

“Are you hurt?” he questioned; his breath labored. “Are you harmed, my love? Did he hurt you?” 

You parted your lips against his shoulder, trying to speak though no words came out. Bucky set his hands against the sides of your face, gently – yet franticly – drawing your gaze to meet his. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones; his eyes tracing over you in panic.  

“Y/n, please,” he all but begged. “Are you hurt?” 

You shook your head quickly and Bucky let out a painful sigh. He sank his lips to your forehead, just to feel you, just to kiss you. You couldn’t help but look down at the body of the man in the dirt and grime and watch the slow stream of blood pulse from his open wound. Eyes were left unstaring far beyond what you could see. He was dead. Of that, you were certain.  

“I warned him if I ever saw him again, I’d kill him,” Bucky muttered, his grip on you tightening as his noticed where your gaze had slipped. “That was my compromise in allowing him to walk off my ship with his heart still beating. Because you, my love, are better than all of us and you let him live. You let him live and he dared to pull a gun on you. The bastard should have been dead months ago. He’s lucky you allowed him five more.” 

Judging by Lawrence’s appearance, you wondered whether he might have made it much longer than that if Bucky hadn’t interfered. His fractured ego would be his own death, as you suspected it would have been all those months ago at sea when you decided to let him walk. His arrogance would not allow him to seek help or garner a new trade in the face of his blacklisting.  

Bucky believed you to be gracious and forgiving because you did not choose to end Lawrence’s life that day.  

But you knew – you knew he’d suffer a slow, humiliating death on these streets. To starvation. To his own self destruction.  

And perhaps you were exactly the monster he believed you to be. 

“Whatever you are thinking, I must ask you to stop,” Bucky requested softly, the gentle murmur of his voice against your hairline in striking contrast to the venom laced to his tone just moments earlier. He brushed his hand over your face in attempt to rid the blood from your skin. “I can see the weight in your eyes, my love. You’re taking on a burden that does not belong to you. Do not let it drown you.” 

It was easy to lose yourself in the blue of his eyes – how they reminded you of the warm comfort of ocean currents and the bright reflection of the sun over the crest of waves crashing to the shoreline. Your sanctuary.  

Slowly, you let yourself nod, taking in his words. Bucky exhaled a sigh of relief, his lips quickly returning to your forehead as he held you.  

At your ankles, you felt a soft coat brush over your boots. Sure enough at your feet was the white cat that had brought you to her makeshift bed in the alley, the same cat that appeared at Bucky’s feet at the moment you needed him most. The tips of her paws were no longer grey from dust and dirt, but instead sticky and wet with red.  

“Clever girl, she is,” Bucky chuckled as he noticed your gaze. “Heard her meowing at the edge of the alley. Almost like she was leading me right to you.” 

You smiled against his chest. Carefully, your gaze slipped up to the mouth of the alley, where you could still see patrons idly walking by the shops and taverns, unbothered to what had transpired in the shadows.  

“This isn’t Carnage,” Bucky reminded you. “Folks around here know better than to go running toward gunfire looking for a fight. But it's still a pirates’ town. We should take our leave before too many questions are asked.” 

Bucky took your hand and led you away from the still body at your feet. You did not grant Lawrence the satisfaction, nor the dignity, of turning for a final glance before you left him for good. You wondered with every step away from his body whether the vacant stare of his cold, lifeless eyes might be a comfort to you or if it might spur on new nightmares you had yet to face.  

Bucky squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over yours as if he could sense the thoughts brewing through your mind. You never learned how he so easily became attuned to you, but you were grateful for it. Especially as he brought your clasped hands to his mouth and gingerly kissed your knuckles.  

At the top of the alley, Bucky bent down and retrieved the package he had dropped; the same package, you imagined, that he had rushed off to find before your encounter with Lawrence.  

You hadn’t noticed the cat had followed until she rubbed her head against Bucky’s hand as he brushed off the paper wrapping of the package. He chuckled and pet her sweetly behind her ears before returning to you.  

“This feels rather trivial now, but I hope you like it all the same.” Bucky placed the package in your hands.  

It was a small, rectangular shape; just slightly bigger than the length of your hand. It had some weight to it, but not nearly enough to burden you. You narrowed your eyes on your captain as your fingertips grazed over the twine securing the paper wrapping. Slowly, you tugged. 

“You got me a novel?” you asked; breath a little lost in your words.  

Bucky’s cheeks twinged pink as he nodded. He dragged a hand through his hair nervously. “You’ve read through the ones in our quarters so many times the pages have begun falling out and I... well... I thought I would give you a new adventure to read about.” 

You grinned at him and the endearing way his eyes shifted awkwardly to the ground. This man who just saved your life moments earlier and he was blushing.  

“Do you not think our lives are full of enough adventure, Captain?” you teased him, nudging his side playfully until the tension quickly eased from his body. He laughed in response.  

“Too much, I think,” Bucky conceded. He took your hand, guiding you off the beaten path of the busy street and towards a quaint inn at the end of a long, winding road. A single torch hung above the doorway; flowerbeds planted in rows under the windows.  

You smiled at him, holding the book tight to your chest. “And yet you gifted me a novel nonetheless.” 

“I would give you the world if you asked it of me.” 

As charming as he was, you narrowed your gaze, waiting for his real answer. He chuckled under his breath.  

“I confess I may have an ulterior motive in mind,” Bucky said, his voice low as he led you away from the crowd. “I thought perhaps you might like to read a few pages aloud. The ones that make you chew at the edge of your lip, right here.” His fingertip brushed against the center of your bottom lip and the scar that never quit learned to fade.  

“Pages that make you cross your legs a little tighter,” he continued, a devious grin upon his lips. He was more observant than you gave him credit for. “I imagine you know the pages of which I speak.” 

You shivered under the weight of his voice. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Captain.” 

“And yet it is danger you adore,” he countered. 

A smirked tugged at your cheeks. “You know me so—”  

You paused, cut off by the loud purring at your heels. You glanced up at Bucky with wide eyes, surprised the white cat from the alley had followed you all the way through town to the inn. 

You didn’t have to ask, barely had the questions formed in your mind, before Bucky let out a heavy sigh and scooped up the cat into his arms. She went to him willingly, purring against his neck as she rubbed her head against the bristles of his beard.

“She’ll ward off bad luck,” Bucky reasoned aloud when you raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t seem to notice the red tinge to her paws from the alley, or perhaps the cat's indifference to the pools of blood under her paws were part of Bucky’s easy agreement.  

“Come now, Bucky,” you grinned, walking a few paces backward as you reached the inn, holding out your hand to him. “I believe you owe me a night in this inn.” 

Bucky quickly set the cat to the ground despite her protests and whispered for her to find them by morning. You laughed as the cat seemed to nod and rushed off into the wooded area by the inn. You did not doubt she would find her way to your ankles again before dawn.  

“I make do on my word. Don’t I, love?” 

You beamed. “Always.” 

[systematic-hyyydromatic]

On Trauma: a ramble about recovery

THIS IS NOT DEBATING THE VALIDITY OF TRAUMA OR ORIGINS. This is a personal exploration of why we don't use the lable Traumagenic.

People often say if you have trauma, you're a traumagenic system. If you don't have trauma, you're endogenic. Simple, right?

And, so if you're somewhere in the middle, how do you know? Whether all or some of the system is formed from trauma, whether all or some of it *isnt*, even if the initial trigger was or wasn't.

Our first existance as plural dates back to our childhood. It wasn't easy, it was extremely hard actually. We used to use 'we' reffering to ourself as young as 6, when we were still going to church. Imaginary friends had to have their own seat in the car, because they took up in our mind as much space as a person. Aliens from Star Control 2 and stuffed animals, a bat from Webkins in particular, both took their turns telling us how we should be doing things. What they wanted.

There were more, I know. Spyro comes to mind.

Are all of these experiences, what we are, only the result of being traumatized?

People get confused when we state very clearly that we're mixed origins or a gateway system, despite having trauma. People call us liars, mistaken. That they know us better than we do that, trauma is in fact the end all be all of systemhood.

But, being a system isn't a problem to us. It's a help, and sometimes its just there. We're just here. We're alive, and I think for us, placing everything on trauma, this invisible other we couldn't control, in charge of us, does us a disservice.

It's not that we went through problems, its that we survived, thrived. Below parental expectations maybe, but a lot better than we thought we would amd far more than we should have against a world trying to kill us.

This is a system of people who don't have to be forever defined by trauma. A system that doesn't have to be forever defined by what was done to us.

Traumagenic. It did play a part in our plurality, I'm sure. I know for a fact, really.

But, as much as pain we faced was what pulled me into this system, it was something more. Jones is a good example. Technically he formed to handle major life stress. What we experienced was him waking up inner world without a ship and without a captain, and him staring up at the stars and at our life and swearing he'd keep going. To play that next video game, to reach the stars inner world.

it does a disservice to Jones to act as if everything he does is dictated by trauma.

We are so much more than has been done to us. For some, traumagenic is a comforting label. For us, being able to pull away shows us how much that doesn't define us. Jones doesn't like space because of some trauma, he likes it because he's Jones, crewman on a starship. Cards are something important to me and that is just something within myself. Nothing caused that, really.

We are more than what might have created us. Is there any harm in then finding better language to describe our current, rather than our start?