#lookin at you calico jack

[unfinishedbusincss]

Jesus Haytch Christ, but he's a big fucker. Something flips inside of Anne's belly and she feels queasy for it, watching the lingering waves of patrons split before him so he doesn't even have to push past them. He takes the seat opposite and Anne recoils from him reflexively--then tries to bury the reflex by making the recoil into a lean instead, slouching back in her seat and crossing her arms. She cocks her head and eyes him, feeling faint and flush and...well, excited...by his proximity. This is fucking BLACKBEARD. The devil of the deep. The same captain who demands men kill their competition to join his crew. The one they say appears in smoke and flame during battle and always sinks his opponents' ships. To sit face-to-face with him is to stare down death itself. Exciting and fearsome at the time.

Anne does her best to let neither show.

Hey eyes snap up sharpish when he dances around mentioning Jack, though. Better half. Her left hand itches for the pretty porcelain-handled blade tucked away in her trousers as she begins to seethe. Blackbeard speaks of dogs and strength and Anne hears other words running like a current behind his--feral bitch, stupid bitch, just a warm cunt and not even good for that--as she clenches jaw and fist alike, waiting for the blowhard to finish his speech. She doesn't fight the snarl that lifts her lip any more than she does the rising tide of wrath within her.

Only get one chance with ones like this, big and dumb and liable to break your ribs wide open. Without looking at either she weighs the pros and cons of going for his eye versus his throat when she makes to vault over the table and stab him in a moment

--Except he says something that throws an anchor through her planning and so abruptly does it all go crashing down that Anne doesn't have time to hide the naked shock flashing across her face when he calls her an asset. Coming from anyone else she'd have already leapt across the table and been elbows-deep ripping out their guts for that...but anyone else would've meant a different sort of asset. The Captain's woman. Lower than a cabin boy and more contemptible than the English. She knew the stories that had been spread 'bout Calico Jack's redheaded beauty at first, and knew them mostly 'cause it'd been her fists beating the story into a better truth about his wildfire wife, one handful of lying teeth at a time.

But what would fucking BLACKBEARD care for tales of a winsome whore on the waves? There were brothels in ports for that, and none who'd dare charge a pirate of his magnitude. If he'd heard stories, if he thought Anne an asset at all, it wasn't for that at all. And just what in the FUCK is she meant to do with all that? What is there to say to...any of that?

He's seeking something about her and Jack. Aye. She's fucking seeking something about Jack, too. Collecting herself, Anne fights to keep her voice steady--from adrenaline, shock, latent fear, surprise, a whole myriad of things she isn't ready to explore yet--and speaks up. "Could ask the same of you." Anne isn't known as a chatty woman at the best of times. "Blackbeard his-fucking-self out lookin' for 'dogs.'"

@oceanbreathessaltyx

unfinishedbusincss​:

Anne’s leg bounces underneath the table. She leans forward on one fist, glowering at the world from below the brim of her signature hat. Rumors hit like a wave when her boots hit the boards of the dock. Blackbeard is here. He’s got a room at the Admiral’s Inn. He’s looking for Rackham. Until she’d rescued the stupid fuck, no one looking for Jack were gonna find him without her. So she’d come. And more importantly, she’d let them know so they could talk: Anne Bonny is here. She’s got a room at the Admiral’s Inn. She’s looking for Blackbeard. Doubtful there’d been time for that rumor to reach him even if he was here. And even so....

Sitting out here was the only way Anne knew to get the job done. Holed up were never her style. If the rumors were true, either Jack or, worse, Blackbeard was here, and by morning Anne’s name would be added to that list. If the rumors were false–well, she’d know firsthand, and whichever asshole started them would end up on the other end of her sword –and she absolutely did not hide from facing Blackbeard head-on. And if Anne happened to get into a fight before finding out if the rumors about Blackbeard were true, well…that’s Anne Bonny for you. There’s a reason nobody fucks with her anymore.

Which, while usually a blessing, is something of a curse right now. Because unless the large man stepping into the tavern-slash-inn right now were someone else coming to fight her, the wrong rumors were true. Fear bolted in her place, the same as it would any sane, rational being faced by perhaps the closest thing the world knew to Lucifer him-fucking-self incarnate. But fear had never before been a reason not to act bravely.

Or, perhaps, stupidly. “Oi, cunt. Over here.” Fuck.

@oceanbreathessaltyx

Well. He doesn’t recall the last time anyone other than Charles dared to speak to him in such a manner. Since he was a boy, anyway. Intrigued he strides deeper into the tavern at a casual pace, the people around him parting to clear his path.

“I do keep hearing you’re the fearless one of the duo,” Edward remarks, not without a note of amusement in his tone. Rackham’s absence is noted. It’s unsurprising but preferred.

“Perhaps you can enlighten me,” he takes it upon himself to sit across the table from who must be Anne Bonny. That hat and that scowl is unmistakable even upon a first encounter, “on what measure of capacity you’re perceiving in this ‘better half’ of yours.”

‘Better half’ is said with sarcasm if not outright contempt. Edward has always regarded Rackham as an irritating underfoot sort of character. “Cleaving one’s self to one stronger is how a dog survives,” yes, it’s clear to him exactly what Rackham gets out of the partnership. However he remains baffled on why anyone of Bonny’s capability would waste her time on the imbecile.

“Yourself on the other hand, if the tales tell it true, would be an asset to any crew. It does lead one to wonder.”

@unfinishedbusincss​

[magniloquent-raven]

so like. ed never actually intended to kill stede right. im not the only one who thinks this? like, he 100% pulled that plan out of his ass on the spot to placate izzy. you can see his face fall the second izzy can't see him, he was totally putting up a front about the whole thing. and it's as he's walking away that the what the fuck did i just get myself into starts to sink in

and i just...kinda. think that's really interesting. because izzy was leaving. he could have just let izzy go and hung out with stede and everything would've been fine, except. he seems to, on some level, genuinely care about izzy. it's not just some one-sided fanatical devotion on izzy's part, they have a rapport. he couldn't just let him leave, because he actually likes this little fucker. or values his loyalty at the very least

idk it just makes the end of the season regression that much more depressing to me, because it's not like....ed getting bullied back into blackbeard mode by some asshole coworker or whatever, it's someone he's close with being openly hostile about his personal growth, and that shit hurts.

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

Just once I’d like Jack/Ed content that isn’t Izzy related.

[octoagentmiles]

i would very much enjoy learning your thoughts on Natquik

I have so very many thoughts on Natquik.

I have a firmly held belief that Natquik and Barnacles' relationship is supposed to be a parallel of Calico Jack and Kwazii's.

Barnacles and Kwazii are very different people on the surface, but are really the exact same at their cores:

Look scary but are kind-hearted and protective of their loved ones

Brave and reckless; not afraid of getting hurt (and do get hurt often-)

Tend to hide their emotions

Value their friends to a fault

Just wanna help

In love with the ocean

Stubborn as heck

I could go on forever, honestly.

Calico Jack and Natquik's introductions were VERY similar to each other:

Were confirmed MIA (missing) for years, ever since Barnacles and Kwazii were kids ("When I was a young Polar Scout..." vs. "Ye were just a wee kitten when I first went lookin' for the hidden city...")

Presumed dead until discovered ("Nobody's been at that station for years..." "Nobody knew you were still here!" vs. "He was never heard from again. It be the one treasure... he never did find.")

Discovered living in isolation and off-grid in the middle of nowhere (Okay CJ had Pete, but you get my drift.)

Beloved mentor/role model figures

"I still can't believe it!" – Kwazii, The Amazon River.

"I don't believe it!" – Barnacles, Operation Deep Freeze.

I really REALLY want Barnacles and Natquik to interact more in AnB, and I also want Natquik and Calico Jack to interact..... just to see what happens 👀👀 either way if either one of those things happen we'll probably get some Barnacles backstory info out of it, so win/win. (maybe even some Kwazii but that's less likely.)

other misc Natquik headcanons bc why not:

autism and ADHD 😌

old man. at least 40, at most 60.

ace probably

forgetful and easily distracted

is always either completely zoned out or super hypervigilant, no inbetween.

I can see him being protective of Barnacles. just a little bit.

He has no idea what Barnacles has been through since he left for Antarctica. Once he learns he's gonna be like "oh damn u good?" and Barnacles will be like "lmao no" and then they'll hug.

other than that though he's very proud of how far Barnacles has come (being a Captain and all), he just doesn't know how to say it.

[unconventional-hero]

Chapter 2-- He.

Written by “The Countess”

(In which we meet Jack Morningstar, Betty, and Mrs. Tucker, and learn of Jim Paxton’s deceit.)

* * * * *

“Jim’s gone for good, I guess. ‘Taint much loss to the community but I do hate to see Jack left in the lurch that way. I never could see how he could take up with Jim so easy and git him to come here and room with him. I never liked his looks, but some folks do git ridic’lous ideas!” Mrs. Tucker rambled on, while Betty, her pretty daughter, was making active preparations for supper.

“He was tellin’ me last night, ma, that Jim took that purty little girl’s picter, that he set such store by-- little Clyde-- remember? He’s awful worried ‘bout it ‘cause he told Jim once all about her-- how rich they was an’ how she must be growed now. He says, knowin’ Jim to be so smart he shouldn’t wonder but what he’d trump up some way o’ foolin’ the girl if he finds her. And havin’ stolen Jack’s bank-book, he kin lay on in style for awhile.”

“My goodness! Mis’ Barcalow must hear that! The wretch! Clyde What’s-her-name’s pictur! I allus did think Jack was kinder silly to keep it--”

“He saved her life, you know.”

“Yes, but that ain’t no reason he should fall in love with a little child and continually carry her pictur and the gold eagle her pa gave him for stoppin’ the horse! And purty, likely girls right here in Gallatin county could be had for the asking!” She gave a side-long glance at the little figure in blue calico. Betty, however, let the words slip by unheeded.

“The gold eagle’s gone too,” she said quietly.

“Of course! Do you s’pose Jim Paxton would have a cent? How lucky Jack had most of his fortune in property and stock! Here he comes now! I’ll run over to Miss Barcalow’s a minute, Betty, and you kin call me when supper’s done!”

A magnificently built man came up the walk as Mrs. Tucker hurried out at the side gate. He gave her a weary smile and, throwing himself upon the kitchen door-step, sat looking dejectedly at the ground.

Betty’s tender heart was touched. He seemed so like a brother, having been neighbor and boarder ever since she could remember. Had she not, as a child, comforted him when his father was drowned eight years ago, and when his grandmother died and he came to live with her and her widowed mother? Did he not confide all his secrets to them and could any sister love him better?

“Jack Morningstar,” she said as she set a pan of delicately browned biscuits on the table, “you ain’t worried yet?”

He raised his eyes listlessly. Jack never had been listless before. “Yes. But, Betty, I’ve got a scheme now! You’ll know it, maybe, to-morrow.” -- A pause. -- “Ah, Betty, Betty! The money is nothin’ to lose, but the-- confidence-- in-- the-- one man you loved-- when you lose that--” He stopped abruptly. He was not given to passionate outbursts and he felt awkward.

Betty liked it. It seemed to the untutored western girl like an extract from “Lord Ashbrooke’s Revenge” or one of the other sensation stories she doted on. She liked the romance about little Clyde too.

“Jack,” she said, “what made him take the picture?”

“That’s easy to tell. I told him how rich and pretty she was when she was here and how she won me over by insisting on ridin’ our Bess and how I saved her life when the pony-- wild creatur’-- ran away, with the kid hangin’ on for dear life. When he saw the pictur he said she must be a beauty now. So he’ll pretend it was him that saved her life, and show her the pictur an’ the gold piece, an’-- if she’s as soft as most girls-- win her innocent heart, blast him!”

“Oh, Jack!”

“She was the first true piece of girlhood-- babyhood-- I ever seen, an’ I allus thought I’d like to see what sort of a woman she’d make. I allus thought the women whar she come from must be different, somehow, to ours. Her mother was, I know; she wore a shiny silk dress and di’monds and her husband called her pet names like she was a baby. They was travellin’ for her health. I allus thought I’d treat my wife the same way-- gentle, like he did with her-- and-- then I got to thinkin’ how lovely that life would be, so I thought I’d move to New York some day and be a tenderfoot too. On the back of that pictur was the number of her house,-- 1568 Fifth avenue. The dog will find her and, ‘cause he’s a better scholar than me and better lookin’, though not half so strong, she will love him!”

“Oh, Jack!” Betty’s eyes flashed and she made a deprecatory gesture with the bread-knife, truly tragic in its appearance. “She never, never, could love any one more than you. You’re lots handsomer than Jim! Oh, do go!”

“Betty, girl-- that’s my plan. I sold a piece o’ land to-day to pay for the trip and I’m goin’ to-morrow!”

* * * * *

At precisely the same time in the afternoon-- five o’clock-- a small sensation was being created on Fifth Avenue. A handsome, black-eyed man of about twenty five years of age, dressed a la Buffalo Bill, with an enormous diamond pin flashing in his crimson scarf, came sauntering leisurely down the street. He took little interest in the crowd, looking only at the street numbers on the doors. Nevertheless he was the cynosure of all eyes.

“What divine eyes!” exclaimed a giddy debutante, out for a drive with her chaperone. “Mrs. Landhurst, I could adore such a creature!” She glanced over her shoulder as they passed him. “Why, he is going into the McClure’s!”

“Ethel, it is very bad form to stare back at a man in that way! Going into the McClure’s, eh? Well, I never! I hardly thought him a common and if the McClures receive him he must be au fait. My dear, he must be a Western millionaire! I shall ask Miss Dorothy if he will remain in New York long and if he does, why, my love, you may dance with him to your heart’s content at the Delmonico ball!”

At this the giddy debutante goes into a society “rapture,” threatening to “eat” Mrs. Landhurst and thanking her “lucky stars” that Clyde McClure is too young and Miss Dorothy, her aunt and chaperone, too old to attract the handsome Westerner’s admiration.

Meanwhile the stranger has been admitted to the drawing room in the McClure mansion, has sent up his card-- “Jack Morningstar”-- and is waiting impatiently for Miss Clyde’s arrival. His eye wanders eagerly over the elegant bric-a-brac, the soft, rich hangings and rugs and the sculptury, rose from the lights in the stained glass windows.

A rustle on the stairs, and Miss Dorothy Jennings and a very excited young lady enter the room.

Miss Jennings extends two cold fingertips and holds her glass to her eye.

“Mr. Morningstar, I believe. My niece, Miss McClure. Clyde, Mr. Morningstar.” Clyde blushes a dainty pink. “And now, Mr. Morningstar, I beg to know your reason for calling.”