O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

[mitchellwrites]

deathless ♚ sentence meme

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.

You are going to break your promise. I understand.

You’re lonely too.

It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be.

I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable.

I am your servant.

I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased.

For you alone I will be weak.

I belong here, and you will not deny me.

I say these things, and the world listens.

I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried.

In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.

I will not let her speak because I love her, and when you love someone, you do not make them tell war stories.

I moved the earth and the water for you.

You will always run away with her.

You will always lose her.

You will always be a fool.

You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear.

You have already done all of this and will do it again.

No one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.

We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying.

What we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.

There need never be any rules between us.

Let us be greedy together; let us hoard.

Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me.

I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I.

Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.

I can’t abide a poor liar.

You look like a winter’s night. I could sleep inside the cold of you.

Oh, quit that. Blushing is for virgins and Christians.

Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me.

Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing.

In his own country, Death can be kind.

What is the world but a boxing ring where fools and devils put up their fists?

Men die. It’s practically what they’re for.

I am no one; I am nothing.

Nothing in me was not made by you.

A revelation is always the end of something. It might even be cause for grief.

Just tell yourself a story that’ll satisfy you and pretend he told it.

Forever isn’t bright; it isn’t like that. Forever is cold and hard and final.

I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived.

If you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife.

What did I do wrong? Was I boring? Did I ignore you?

Don’t you dare speak to me like that.

I have worn nothing but blood and death for years.

I have fought all your battles for you, just as you asked me.

I have learned not to cry when I strangle a man.

I have learned to watch everything die.

I am not a little girl anymore, dazzled by your magic. It is my magic, now, too.

Are we not devils?

No one is now what they were before the war.

I have not seen you without your skin on.

Close up your head; your brain is getting loose.

We obsess. It’s in our nature.

I’ve a devil of a habit for being right.

In war you must always choose sides.

If you try to be a bridge laid down between them, they will tear you in half.

We are all dead. All equal. Broken and aimless and believing we are alive.

My old bones will follow yours soon enough.

It is better to be strong and cruel than to be fair.

I will see him with his skin off before I agree to fall in love.

After love, no one is what they were before.

I have survived, but I have not been spared.

In the space of one heartbeat to another I loved you and I was lost to you.

Frighten me, make me cry, only come back.

It’s not so bad, my darling. Being dead. It’s like being alive, only colder.

You’ll think it’s love, while he dines on your heart.

You will be so beautiful when you are old.

I cannot keep you and I cannot let you go.

You will live as you live in any world…with difficulty, and grief.

I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.

She said you’d come and I swore to eat your heart.

I still want to kiss you.

My heart is being cut in two. I cannot bear it.

What happens to anything beautiful?

I have to know, I have to or else you will just rule me until the end of everything because you know and I do not.

[captainspcrrow-blog]

i’m back, i’m better than ever, i have no idea what’s hip with the tumblr rp kids. (partial lie. i have terminal cancer but it’s chill pls do not mention it but pls do feel sorry and thread with me lololol)

[captainspcrrow-blog]

slinks back onto the dash

who up clik like. who care clik like :))

[captainspcrrow-blog]

@bloodyfoam

jack loves paris. the only place he loves more might be the caribbean, his island homes all lit with the sun’s warmth and a rum soaked glow. but paris, with its winding cobbled streets and coffee houses, holds a special place in his heart. he just wishes he could afford his own apartment. he’s lucky really. tia dalma has organised for him an apartment he only has to share with another american, and he doesn’t dare complain to her face. and now he’s going to his new home for the first time, warmed with sweet black coffee and a small dose of apprehension as he fingers the address, scribble don a piece of paper and hidden in his pocket.

he finds the place easily, stands outside under the windows for a moment finishing his cigarette and considering whether he ought to use the key tia gave him, or knock. strange for a man to knock for entrance to his own place - he’s set his suitcase down on the bed already, early this morning before he set out. but tia had told him that the young doctor, some daniel trewhella, would be moving in come afternoon. jack doesn’t want to disturb him unnecessarily. for the sake of peace, he decides upon rapping on the door, and heads up to the apartment humming a cole porter song.

[ohdono]

[captainspcrrow-blog]

@bloodyfoam

october in new orleans finds jack stalking the streets, long black coat flapping behind him, a cloud of smoke following him. he knows these roads, he knows all these paths, but they’re not his. this particular quarter isn’t one he often finds himself in, but tia dalma has sent him to collect items from a friend of her’s. she told him to mind his manners, to play friendly. he had rolled his eyes, but he’ll keep his word, even if it has him wondering who exactly he’s being sent to meet. he rings the doorbell and squares his shoulders - he might mind his manners like his mama taught him, but he won’t pretend to be some lady come for tea.

[captainspcrrow-blog]

No one is now what they were before the war.

“can you call it a war? really?”

it doesn’t feel like a war. it feels like a tsunami, an endless tide of the dead taking over the world. the living rot in the sewers and pray that they’ll rot peacefully in the ground when their time comes, that they won’t shuffle and starve in the streets like the majority of the human race. how can they call it a war with odds stacked like this? 

but she’s not wrong. he leans against her softly, hums low in his throat. “you’re right.” how can they be the same, when they know things now they never ought to have had to learn? they’re different people, they’re surviving but they are not unscathed by it. his fingers lace with her’s; at least they have each other, changed as they may be. 

[captainspcrrow-blog]

I say these things, and the world listens.

they’re sitting on the balcony of some hotel room. jack and coco have been kept locked away up here by their press teams, working on how to spin stories for the feverish media. he hates it, but he understands the necessity. he’s smoking, tapping ash out into a gaudy little ashtray every so often. even though they’re stuck here, hiding from photographers, he’s glad he’s with her. there’s no one else he’d rather be spending time with like this, talking late into the night. 

“the world will always listen to you, luv. you’re beautiful, talented. wealthy. you matter to the world.” he sucks on his cigarette for a moment, eyes darkening with thoughts. “you matter to me, too, if it makes any difference.”

[consultingsister-arc]

For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we barely endure, and we worship it for the graceful sublimity with which it disdains to destroy us.

[captainspcrrow-blog]

You’re lonely too.

billie holiday croons in the background, her voice lifting and sinking with imperfect notes. the record fuzzes at the edge of his hearing, but jack understands coco’s words with perfect clarity. at first, the look he gives her is almost contemptuous, like a cat caught out and feigning something like insulted indifference. but the expression melts. (he finds he cannot keep these masks up around her as well as he can other people.) 

“maybe i am. maybe we all are. money cannot buy happiness or friends, but we can cry into our diamond fountains and pretend otherwise, hm?”

[captainspcrrow-blog]

You are going to break your promise. I understand.

jack inclines his head. his movements are always birdlike; this particular gesture is just so. a frown dances across his brow but does not settle. it rarely does, when he’s looking at his lady wife. how could he frown when looking at her? she’s beautiful, and wondrous, and terrifying. his heart is entirely hers. she could cut it from his chest, could keep it in a cage in her apartments, and he would thank her for it and kiss her feet. 

“you may understand, little love, but i do not. my promises are yours, and you may kill me where i stand if i broke my word to you. is it not so between us now? you must know that. surely.”

[captainspcrrow-blog]

What did I do wrong? Was I boring? Did I ignore you?

hardly. coco bears the distinction of being one of few women who have so squarely caught jack’s attention. dissolute rockstar that he is, or pretends to be, or allows the papers to continuously write about in harsh tones, jack has a small attention span. he must always be inspired, he must always find something new. but no one can live like that forever; the price is exhaustion after weeks awake. and so jack disappears from his life, disappears into a hotel room with a crate of wine bottles, and disappears into the bottom of a black hole. when he comes to, the glinting white of the hospital walls scare him into dreaming he is in hell. and then her voice comes through; bitter, smokey, reproachful. he shakes his head lightly, feels the pillows against his skull. he has the grace to look shamed, at least. “i think this time it might be my fault, luv.”

[tadmean-a]

and who would want to drink the sun, she thinks, resisting the urge to firm her lips. cordelia imagines that if she were a poet, she could make some metaphor of that, hang it like a necklace around her betrothed’s pretty neck. but she has never been a lover of the arts, and anyhow, the discussion is petty. not to mention, cordelia has the creeping suspicion that it, too, has become metaphor. as good to me as your highgarden wine. her jaw tightens, and the silence stretches on, choking her. perhaps she has been too comfortable. perhaps her betrothed is not all he says he is. perhaps he will hurt her after all—

jack steps forward, and cordelia forgets it all, her heart not in her throat but certainly not in her chest, either. she is suddenly grateful for the customary highgarden rouge, the way it hides the blood rushing through her face. she hadn’t actually expected him to do it. for gods’ sake, mayhap he is a savage. a sweet savage, but a savage all the same. the idea of being in dorne, having to marry one—the idea might have pleased her, once, as a fantasy, or a passing dream, but the real thing puts no such thrill in her veins. only ice water and homesickness.

‘i know,’ she responds, lifting her chin. back home, everyone would laugh to see someone informing cordelia adel about clothes. cordelia remembers the way the sweat had dripped down her back, and her offense dissipates quickly, shifting to curiosity. ‘but i am surprised you do. what do you know about keeping fur, dornishman?’

she laughs, the noise short and ungraceful, more of surprise than of mirth. ‘someone has to do it,’ cordelia says, for lack of anything better. she estimates that, right now, her tongue must have the same texture as the fur draped across the bed. she tries not to show it in her face, even as she watches him handle the fur; the image is a strange one. he is so careful with it. the compassion strikes her, and she just cannot decide how to judge him. sweet-tempered idiot? clever man hiding his intentions? she peers at him. who are you, truly, she thinks, not unkindly. 

another long moment passes, and she sighs, the tension easing once more. ‘but i cannot do it myself,’ she reminds, lifting her hands to gesture around the chamber, ‘we are alone, there are no ladies here to undress me, and i am quite hot.’ she turns, bares her laced back and pretends to be half as nervous as she really is. ‘’tis nothing you shall not eventually see, anyway. we had ought to get used to each other.’

she pauses, glancing over her shoulder. ‘i’m not asking you to bend me over a table, for gods’ sake. i want to change clothes. or are all dornishmen so prudish?’

[captainspcrrow-blog]

sun filters through the open windows of cordelia’s new apartments. to jack, it is the comforting warmth of his home, but he knows for foreigners it is more smother than caress. the air is still here, and full of spices. he inhales it all, notices how the scent has changed and mingled with the perfumes from the reach that cling to cordelia and her affects. for a moment, he dares imagine rolling green hills, gardens of roses and vineyards, grapes and blooms and sweet things. her lands are bountiful in a way that is foreign to him, beyond the riches he knows his father has eyed. the bride price, the weight of gold that taints this scene of young people meeting. there is no sweetness between them for an artist to try to confer in sketches, only the cold glint of gold and the heavy weight of expectation.

“i know that it does not bear well in the sun.” he shrugs. there have been cold winters in dorne, as in the rest of the world. he has the skins of lions tucked in chests in his own apartments, waiting to be hung out and laid down when the temperature cools. but no one prays for winter, not here. the starks could bide their time with warning words; the teagues were content to wait it all out to the ends of the earth, minding their own concerns. his eyebrows knit together. dornishman. is jack so hard a name to pronounce - or is it the consequence of such a thing? perhaps she cannot bear to mouth his name and admit to herself what hangs between them.

he snorts. “of all the crimes put to my countrymen, prudish is not one of them. i would hate to disappoint - and yet i would i hate to feed vile fantasies of dornishmen with all the decorum of a rutting stag.” he shakes his head, bites his tongue. the comparison is not favourable to the fat arses of the baratheons, waging war for a throne that bore its owners no visible pleasure. “in any case, you’re right. i will help you.” he moves to her side with the rustle of his silks, the clicking of beads braided into his hair, worn loose down his back like a maiden’s. 

he is aware of the heat of his breath as his hands reach for her laces, deft fingers plucking at the ribbons as though he were pulling a melody from his lute. “you’re very beautiful.” he says quietly. a pause. “you know.” he knows that she knows. but there is no harm in confirming it, in allowing her to know that he finds her pleasing. better by far they have some kind of attraction between them. he wonders what she could possibly think of him, as his fingers lick through the material of her lacings. this is intimacy unimagined so early on, and he swallows hard, wondering exactly what kind of woman cordelia will prove to be.

[mitchellwrites]

deathless ♚ sentence meme

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.

You are going to break your promise. I understand.

You’re lonely too.

It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be.

I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable.

I am your servant.

I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased.

For you alone I will be weak.

I belong here, and you will not deny me.

I say these things, and the world listens.

I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried.

In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.

I will not let her speak because I love her, and when you love someone, you do not make them tell war stories.

I moved the earth and the water for you.

You will always run away with her.

You will always lose her.

You will always be a fool.

You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear.

You have already done all of this and will do it again.

No one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.

We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying.

What we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.

There need never be any rules between us.

Let us be greedy together; let us hoard.

Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me.

I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I.

Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.

I can’t abide a poor liar.

You look like a winter’s night. I could sleep inside the cold of you.

Oh, quit that. Blushing is for virgins and Christians.

Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me.

Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing.

In his own country, Death can be kind.

What is the world but a boxing ring where fools and devils put up their fists?

Men die. It’s practically what they’re for.

I am no one; I am nothing.

Nothing in me was not made by you.

A revelation is always the end of something. It might even be cause for grief.

Just tell yourself a story that’ll satisfy you and pretend he told it.

Forever isn’t bright; it isn’t like that. Forever is cold and hard and final.

I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived.

If you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife.

What did I do wrong? Was I boring? Did I ignore you?

Don’t you dare speak to me like that.

I have worn nothing but blood and death for years.

I have fought all your battles for you, just as you asked me.

I have learned not to cry when I strangle a man.

I have learned to watch everything die.

I am not a little girl anymore, dazzled by your magic. It is my magic, now, too.

Are we not devils?

No one is now what they were before the war.

I have not seen you without your skin on.

Close up your head; your brain is getting loose.

We obsess. It’s in our nature.

I’ve a devil of a habit for being right.

In war you must always choose sides.

If you try to be a bridge laid down between them, they will tear you in half.

We are all dead. All equal. Broken and aimless and believing we are alive.

My old bones will follow yours soon enough.

It is better to be strong and cruel than to be fair.

I will see him with his skin off before I agree to fall in love.

After love, no one is what they were before.

I have survived, but I have not been spared.

In the space of one heartbeat to another I loved you and I was lost to you.

Frighten me, make me cry, only come back.

It’s not so bad, my darling. Being dead. It’s like being alive, only colder.

You’ll think it’s love, while he dines on your heart.

You will be so beautiful when you are old.

I cannot keep you and I cannot let you go.

You will live as you live in any world…with difficulty, and grief.

I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.

She said you’d come and I swore to eat your heart.

I still want to kiss you.

My heart is being cut in two. I cannot bear it.

What happens to anything beautiful?

I have to know, I have to or else you will just rule me until the end of everything because you know and I do not.

[tadmean-a]

coco grins at jack, still riding the high that comes with the presence of people (particularly ones who adore her). it’s logical. here, where everyone around her loves or is at least somewhat fond of her, coco adel rules her social kingdom with a gucci fist.

she studies jack’s face, unable to tell if he’s mocking her or not. the fact that she’s walking the thin ledge of sobriety doesn’t help matters. fuck it all, though. it’s her party, for god’s sake, and even if she passes out, there are at least six cute boys lined up to catch her like a modern marilyn monroe. god knows they’d slit their throats if she requested it. coco delicately presses her lipstick lips to the rim, pretending to drink, making sure to leave a mark on the pristine glass. when he’s not looking, she’ll stick her fingernail in it and see if the color turns.

not that she doesn’t trust him, but. she doesn’t trust him. or any man that hands her a drink and calls her luv, for that matter. she smiles with all her teeth.

‘thanks.’ coco smiles again, dips her head like english royalty. her expression drops suddenly, and she leans in with furrowed eyebrows, as if confiding a dire secret. she’s definitely more than a little drunk: she’s wobbling on her feet, and when she speaks, she doesn’t bother to hide the natural way she’s been trained to speak—that is, proper, educated. not that it matters. what would be embarrassing in another situation is nothing under the influence of alcohol. 

‘be honest, darling.’ she touches his arm, genuinely concerned. ‘do you think the diamond fountain was too much?’

[captainspcrrow-blog]

jack’s head dips with hers, his gaze going to her hand on his arm. he likes to be thought of as complex, sure he has his own idiosyncrasies, but he’s also a boy in his prime enjoying every rush that life has to offer. and those rushes include pretty girls laying their hands on his skin, no matter the cause. he looks back into her face with big eyes, doe brown iris almost obliterated by his wide pupils. despite the uppers racing through his system, the expression on his face is almost entirely innocent. 

he shakes his head, leaning close to make sure she hears him over the thrum of people and music, bodies weaving around them. he can almost imagine a small circle cleared around them, though. maybe it’s just the coke. but this is a moment, he’s sure of it. he’ll remember it in the morning. 

“too much? never. no. just perfect. love a diamond fountain. what would a party be without one, hm? barely owner of the name. a gathering, not a party.” his distaste for several people here mingles with his attraction to the main attraction - he’s never really been able to resist it when his blood starts rushing. he’s gained a reputation as a womaniser, but he never really means to break hearts. he gets caught up too easily, he supposes. there’s always another girl with interesting eyes who touches his tattoos just so, or asks him about poetry, or listens to him play guitar when he can’t sleep. he loves them all, in his own way.

“bloody good party you’re having though, innit?” he offers her a roguish smile, his arm slipping across her shoulders so he can press a sly kiss to her temple. “congratulations and that. birthday kisses. tradition.” he shrugs but removes his arm as quickly as he dared place it. with jack, it’s all like a dance. he makes a move and waits to see if it’s reciprocated. maybe it will be - maybe it won’t. the play is in the tension and the wait, and he’s found something now to capture his attention that’s worthwhile.

Reblog if you are looking for new ships right now!

[captainspcrrow-blog]

“You do this, and you’ll regret it, now and forever.”

“You’d be surprised how often I’ve heard those words.”Did he come to regret some things? Perhaps. But what use was regret? The choice had been made, the damage done. Too late for tears, as his mother used to say. Regret was a useless thing. What mattered was a man’s ability to adapt, to move between situations as though he had orchestrated the universe to his own choosing, and that took no short degree of charm, will, and intellect. There was no room amongst that set for the phantom of regret. And yet her words give him pause. Forever is an awfully long time, and to have the burden of an action bear as inescapable on him as a millstone… Jack didn’t take the moniker Sparrow for nothing. He’s not a man to be tied down. “Do you plan on stopping me?” It’s an academic question, really. Whatever her plans, Jack has his own. He’s still making his mind up as to whether he’ll bear her advice in mind - he recognises something in this Morrigan, something more than the spark of magic. Something selfish and truthful about that, the unrepenting hunger of want. And he respects that, if nothing else in this strange world he finds himself in. He steps back from the book, his fingers leaving the page. Arcane symbols he barely understands, but he knows there’s something important to it. Summoning what you don’t understand isn’t the smartest move he’s ever made, but Skyhold is a pretty gilded prison for a man born to chase the horizon. He’s itching for something new, irritable and caged by stone walls on every side. He takes another step away, his eyes finding her in the gloom as he leans back in to shadow.