Mobile And Hanging Out With My Nephews, Etc. Hit The Heart And Ill Send Anne To Invade Your Inbox? Meme

Mobile and hanging out with my nephews, etc. Hit the heart and I’ll send Anne to invade your inbox? Meme tags/links appreciated but not necessary.

Anne Bonny, Black Sails (S1, Ep1)

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Anne doesn’t cross her arms until Ed comes in and she doesn’t move much after except her eyes. She watches Ed as he blows in, giving orders: she watches like an osprey, head tilted, eyes bright and alert. Not a damned thing to suggest anything, least of all that he was in pain. It’s more below the eyes than behind them, but Anne can spot pain like that a nautical mile off. She doesn’t bother looking away from him, not when Hands opens his mouth and not when Ed shuts it for him. She doesn’t do more than scoff when Ed takes a meaningless jab at her. Some nerve.

“It’s a little farther north than I like—but this is the same sea I came up on,” Anne replies cagily, glaring steadily up at him from under the brim of her hat. In the bed that’s easily accomplished; her posture’s been poor since her mam died, meaning she takes no issue with slumping down until she looks much shorter than she is, like a snake coiled and waiting to bite back. “I need no more reason t’be here than ye do.

“My turn, what the fuck do you mean, Jack’s dead?” He’d been in port recently. He’d heard the gossip, the rumor before it was fact. He’d met up with some old acquaintance and fucked off to somewhere and…truthfully, it felt like it had all just happened yesterday. (Probably because she had only just learned of it last night, just before stowing aboard.) And now he’s…gone. Stuck in the past tense. Just like that. Just like…the rest. Anne’s arms shift so they cover her belly, top ankle uncrossing to sit flat-footed on the bed instead. Unconsciously shielding what isn’t there.

She might feel bad for the damage inflicted on Ed's leg if not for the nature of the thing. She hadn't gone for an innocent man: she'd gone for a pirate (as one herself, she knows they're never innocent), and one that knew her reputation besides. It was as fair a fight as Anne had ever engaged in, and they'd both be bearing bruises after. Just so happens he's a great fucking metal sign pointing to his weak spot, and that he's missing a different weak spot altogether.

Anne grunts her way into a sitting position and checks her ribs with a quick touch. Nothing broken, just hurts like a bitch from the extra sensitivity. Ed doesn't offer her a hand and she wouldn't have taken one even if he had: theatrics or otherwise, she's decided to make her loss in this fight his problem, until her head stops spinning and she can forge yet another new plan.

--Hands, though (loud, stupid arse that he is), Anne just might need to take arms against if he's going to hover everywhere Ed goes. Ed knows knew (odd sounding, that) Jack: that means there are things she can trust to his eyes and ears that she'd have to kill Hands for overhearing on principle. Hands and his raspy shout could well fuck off into the depths.

Ed goes half-stumping off and no one but her sees it aboard the captured ship. No one but her dares to see it, with an order from Blackbeard himself in place. Then one of the stupid twats reaches down and hooks a hand under her arm.

Whether or not Ed turns back at the sound of the man's cry when Anne's fist flies into his dick isn't something she's prepared to say. He hits the deck with a thud and the wall of men draw back for a moment, uncertain: they'd been prepared for stabbings, not dick-punches. There's a ripple of relief when Anne stands up, nobody steps forward to try fetching her again until one of the great louts tries a new tactic:

"Please."

Anne stares at him for a moment of dead silence: his braids fall over his eyes and he keeps his hands fisted at his side as if in preparation for a fight. He steps to one side and gestures in the direction of the cabin with his head. Anne's eyes narrow but she moves: not towards the cabin, but to grab her things, only to be met by the hulking frame of the tall, half-bald fucker with a wrap of studs around his head, her coat and hat on one arm and her brace of weapons under the other.

Ed runs a tight ship. After a moment more of silent staring--and a half-thought to jumping overboard, but they aren't near enough land for that yet--Anne turns back, ready to shoulder through the wall of men that part for instead. The air sighs as their tension releases and the two men, exchanging bewildered faces behind Anne's back, escort her to the captain's cabin. She's in the room before the second passes her weapons off to another man to take below, though he offers her an apologetic grimace when he sees she saw. And after that, it's Anne alone in the cabin with her hat and coat and a hissing pair of babysitters whispering together about I don't want to stay here / well I can't be here alone with her, she scares me!

Ignoring them, Anne dresses and takes Ed's bed--one starts to argue but the other stops him with a fervent shake of the head and wide eyes--making a point of crossing her legs at the ankles so Ed can be greeted by her muddy bootprints when he goes to bed later. If he didn't want Anne and a smear of petty revenge, he should've killed her or knocked her clean out. She isn't known for being a good loser, after all.

Edward. Fucking. Teach.

How it is everything keeps coming around back to him, Anne might never know. Jack’s in town? It’s Teach. Jack’s left town? It’s Teach. There’s been a raid ashore already? Teach. It’s exhausting in its own way. She’d heard he was looking for her and so had hung back to hear him out, strictly on the grounds that Jack was hot and cold about him—and anyone Jack runs cold on, Anne tends to like.

He looks like hell. His beard be damned; there are bags under his eyes, which are dead-looking besides, and a gauntness to his face that speaks of tragedy. Anne ought to know. She’s hiding the same traits behind sullenness and the low-sitting brim of her hat.

The pint slides a bit past Anne; she doesn’t move to stop it, though she does return it when he takes a seat.

“Don’t drink,” she informs him, but there’s no bite in her voice. It’s a fact she says like a fact. She hunches over the table, elbows resting on it, and examines him for a moment more. Whatever it is he’s for, it has nothing to do with the things she’s hiding. Satisfied by this she nods once and looks away, pale eyes scanning the tavern restlessly.

“En’t gonna stab ye ‘less ye pull first.” A punch, a bite, a knee to the dick, sure. But stabbing’s more permanent and people are less inclined to move past it. “Speak yer piece, Teach. I’m dyin from the anticipation of it.”

The sarcasm in her voice is thicker even than her accent. Sea glass green eyes cut back to Teach and away again, one finger picking at the leather ring on her thumb: anyone who knows her can see the anxiety behind the movements, but few know her so well. (Even fewer now, though she hasn’t heard the news of Jack’s passing to know that for herself.)

Closed starter for @neverhangd:

Ed's of course familiar with Anne...

thanks to her history with Jack. He's honestly afraid of gettin' punch in the fuckin mouth...last she would've known, he and Jack were best mates for life. He's not even sure if she knows of Jack's "unfortunate" passing, and she definitely doesn't know that Ed now agrees with her assessment that he was a spineless sack of shit.

Fuck, he's about to get his arse handed to him.

He'd never known the details of their relationship but he knew Jack was a bit of an arse during those times. "Bit" is an understatement, actually. But things have been rough these past months since...he left...the ocean has been merciless. He needs all the help he can get as the Spanish have been on their tails and Anne Bonny happens to be the most skilled pirates in the area.

Ed had been told she'd be at this particular tavern, and he approaches with caution. He looks like...hell, really. Beard has grown back somewhat but nowhere near its former glory. He looks like a man that has no will to live but is still trying. He sets a pint down on the table and scoots it towards her, hoping it'll soften the blow a bit. She's gonna kill him, might as well get it over with.

"I know you must wonder what the fuck I'm doin' here, but at least hear me out before ya stab me, yea?"

“Don’ let Jack know,” she slurs automatically, fear-trained in this. She can’t even keep her eyes open and she knows this, anchored while she drifts deliriously between past, present, and sleep by it: if Jack finds out, there’ll be trouble.

She nestles her cheek into his tit, breath tickling the inked bits of his skin as well as the scarred. Even adrift, it’s nice here. Comfortable. If she’s not careful she’ll say some really pathetic shit, like mentioning any of this out loud. Instead, she mumbles, “Don’ wanna be no trouble. Get back too it soon ‘s can.”

“You’re cold. Come here.” (from Teach)

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ♡

She’d normally complain. Normally bitch and grouse and moan, find any way other than following the order to see it through, but Edward has Anne at one very large disadvantage: he is well. And recognizing that is all the sign Anne needs to show her she is not. She’s quiet when he fusses her into the bed, mumbles a thank you when he wraps her in a blanket. She supposes, distantly, that she really must have been cold to be wrapped and held against him, human furnace that he is, and not overheat immediately.

Her eyes start to droop and she leans her head on Edward’s shoulder—misses it a bit for his chest but lays her cheek there all the same. Surely she just needs a rest. Right? Would he mind her napping on him like some overgrown infant? She ought to ask. She ought to open her mouth and ask. But Anne’s mouth stays mysteriously closed as her blinking starts to get slower and slower.

the bdsm test

tagged by: no one, i just remembered it exists tagging: steal it, coward