Crossed by Firesignwriter (NC-17)

[fairestcat]

Fandom: PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN
Pairing: none. Anamaria-centric
Author on LJ: firesignwriter
Author Website: Bare Bones Fic Archive
Why this must be read:

Everything firesignwriter writes is phenomenal and this piece is no exception. Set shortly after the end of the movie, Crossed is told from Anamaria's point of view. The only three familiar characters featured are Anamaria, Jack Sparrow and Gibbs, and all three of them are spot on. In particular firesignwriter does a terrific job of getting right inside Anamaria's head and bringing her to life; taking the foundation laid by the movie and filling it out into a complicated flesh and blood woman.

This is not a particularly light story. But it doesn't dwell in the darkness either. It has a feel of very matter of fact everyday brutality to it, of what its like to be a woman making your own terms in the roughest and toughest corners of a man's world. Anamaria looks at the world without any blinders and deals with it on its own terms and that's how the story is written as well. firesignwriter has a stunning way with words, sketching out a scene or character with a bare minimum of words and perfectly capturing the feel of a time a place and the people in it.

On my way back from the bar, bearing drinks in each hand and with a third squeezed between arm and breast, I really wasn't in the best position to defend myself when one of the rowdies milling around on the floor decided to have himself a grope.

Not in the best position, mind. That doesn't mean I lacked for a response.

I knew him. Boar (though 'Bore' would suit equally well) -- grizzled and red-faced and more soused when sober than most men are when drunk -- so when I felt him come in behind me, trying to work himself up against my ass as bold as you please, I only slammed a heel down on his instep hard enough to make him scream. Had he been a stranger or a chap I had an issue with, figure he'd've been on the ground with his manhood a bruised and bloody wreck.

It's the first thing we learn to go for, making our way in a man's world. They wave that rod around proud enough most times, wielding the thing like some god-given weapon, but they're brandishing their vulnerability, too. They howl when you crush it. They plead when you suck it. A well-placed kick or a well-timed lick can make the strongest of them quiver, spitting out divine names, calling you angel or devil like there's no difference 'tween the two. And maybe there's not, for pirates.

Boar wheeled away from me, staggering into the crowd, and hardly anyone gave him any notice 'cept to get out of his way or shove him outta theirs. Me, I just kept winding through sweaty men and over-perfumed women 'til I reached the table in the corner and thunked the drinks down on it. Someone had put out the lamp in the center. Guess we weren't in a conspicuous mood tonight.

"Next time get your own bloody drinks,"

Crossed