Open Prompt Sent By @starfrckled( Edward Teach) I Just Want Myself Back .

🪐 —open prompt  sent by  @starfrckled​​  ( edward teach )                    ❛   i  just  want  myself  back .  ❜

          A SOUL IN TURMOIL  bringing themselves to tia dalma’s door searching for help or healing was no rare sight. the humans never changed; always distraught over some slight, always concerned only with easing their own pain. self-centered to a fault. but then, she could understand the need to do seek any means necessary to ease ache of a broken heart.  &  no matter how he tried to hide his wound, the truth was obvious to one familiar with the signs. especially when he asked her of davy jones,  &  the part of the legend where he had plunged a knife into his own chest to stop the pain.                        ❝ well then, you will have to know who it is that you are. ❞  her eyes catch him in their gaze  &  holds him there. &  the goddess leans forward in her seat, elbows on the table  &  hands clasped together tightly. the candles around her hut all flicker at once, sending shadows dancing ominously across her face. there is no trace of a warmth or humor in her tone when she speaks. ❝ so, are you the kind of man who would rather be without a heart at all, edward teach ? ❞  the syllables of his name are drawn out, exaggerated, ending in a flash of dirty teeth that is closer to bared fangs than anything resembling a smile.

“Flowers were her natural allies, like trees, fruit and animals—everything that grows, sways in the wind, bites and hides. She was one of them, on their side.”

— Violet Trefusis, from Broderie Anglaise

🪐 — james barnes​ ;

her touch comes as if he is delicate, contains a delicate nature that he has learnt not to expect, a difference to every other touch he remembers. there’s a soft, bashful nature to the way he smiles, gaze wandering down to watch where her fingertips lie, gentle and unblemished when he can only see his own in shades of red. a better man might draw away, might not let her be tinged with the darkness he knows still resides within his chest, but he’s developed a need to hear her laughter, to let it wash away the remnants of sins that still live in his bones.       ❛  it’s not quite that simple. a nice thought though.  ❜

       FROWNS DO NOT COME EASILY  to her face,  the muscles moving slowly to take on the unfamiliar position of her brow furrowed  &  her lips downturned. james often had an air of melancholy about him that even her sunlight disposition could not always shake him from.  &  suddenly birdie feels that it would be selfish to even try. perhaps she is asking too much of him. perhaps she is only making it harder.  &  the last thing she wants is to cause him any more pain  — james has been through quite enough already. ❝ well, i’ll tell you what is simple; ❞  she says, one hand carefully interlacing her grip with his while her other extends a bit higher. her fingertips are soft when they touch his jaw, softly lifting  &  turning his face until she can look at him directly, her eyes alight  &  hopeful when they link with his.  ❝ when you come back, ❞ birdie refuses to say the word if aloud.  ❝ just know that i’ll be here waiting for you. ❞

VENOM: LET THERE BE CARNAGE (2021) dir. Andy Serkis ››› Naomie Harris as Frances Barrison / Shriek

🪐 — jon snow​ ;

once  upon  a  time,  he  believed  fate  was  his  to  seize  and  to  steer.  just  like  daeron  the  young  dragon,  who  conquered  dorne  at  fourteen,  so  too  would  jon  conquer  his  fears  and  lead  men.  but  now,  he  starts  to  wonder  if  the  red  woman  isn’t  right.  had  it  always  been  his  fate  to  wind  up  at  the  wall,  just  as  it  had  it  been  robb’s  fate  to  die  ?  could  a  man  truly  steer  his  own  course,  or  was  he  simply  a  pawn  in  the  gods’  games  ?    he  inhales  deeply,  eyes  falling  closed.  such  questions  are  beyond  him;  despite  his  glimpse  beyond  this  world.   ❝  my  lady,    ❞    he  begins  carefully,  index  finger  tapping  on  the  wood  of  the  table.      ❝  if  .  .  .  it  was  the  will  of  your  lord  that  i  return,  surely  you  can  tell  me  what  need  he  has  of  me.    ❞    grey  eyes  bore  into  her.    from  this  distance  he  can  smell  her  heat,  as  red-hot  as  the  iron  from  mikken’s  forge.    part  of  him  suspects  that  r’hllor’s  will  shall  line  up  with  melisandre’s  in  a  .  .  .  suspiciously  convenient  way    (  as  often  kings  and  lords  and  priests  appeal  to  the  power  of  their  gods,  when  it  is,  in  fact,  their  own  own  human  power  they  wish  to  wield  ).     ❝  i  should  hope  it  involves  war,  because  i  still  mean  to  ride.  ❞

         SHE KNOWS WHAT HE WILL ASK  before he speaks, though this particular prediction required no blessed vision from the flames. they all wanted to know the path ahead. melisandre herself was no exception; it was that longing to see the way forward that kept her awake night after night staring into her hearth for a glimpse of her god’s will.                                                             but it is the determination in his voice that does surprise her, red lips curling into a smile as he speaks his intentions. it pleases her to hear. jon snow is r’hllor’s chosen; that much cannot be in question any longer.  &  her god required a warrior’s heart of his champion.

                       ❝ i cannot tell you how this will end for you. r’hllor only shows me what i need to see in order to to serve him. ❞  melisandre weighs each word cautiously, sensing he will be disappointed with her answer, yet unable to give a better one.  ❝ but please understand, his light is a gift as much as it is a duty. ❞  her body turns away from the table, eyes drawn to a torch alight on the wall. it seems to pulse under her gaze, a fourth heart alive  &  beating in perfect synchronization with the three of flesh  &  blood that were present in the room.

                                    melisandre had been so certain that the wall was the place the darkness would descend, but then, she’d been certain of stannis, too. she may not see the path, but she would never doubt her god’s will again. &  with her resolve steeled, the priestess straightens her spine  &  turns back toward jon in a graceful sweep of crimson silks. ❝ you cannot escape it, but nor will you be held prisoner by it. if it is your will to ride south, then go  —  as soon as your wounds allow  —  &  the light will follow you. ❞

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

it still disorients him a little to have such an unyielding presence at his side.   someone he can trust to watch his back without fear of being thrown to the sharks for a coin or two.  there had never been someone like that in his life before,  and yet he found him while bound and bleeding on a british vessel,  headed for the gallows  —  life is funny like that sometimes,  he supposes.  edward hadn’t hesitated then,  back on his ship,  once the haze of pain released him enough to let him be conscious for more than a few minutes at a time:  izzy was to be made part of the crew from the get go,  and no one had better dare raise a single protest on the matter.  then harris died not long after that and the choice to replace his first mate had been so damn easy,  as easy as breathing.  who else other than the man who had freed him from the english and abandoned his post to follow him?  israel hands,  former british navy officer turned pirate,  now acting as his first mate.  

both the memory and izzy’s words bring a smile to his lips,  but edward is a little distracted  —  fingers tapping idly against his knee,  thoughts racing away from the recent event.   ❛  what?  uh,  yeah.  sure.  ❜   he seems to be miles away.  he agrees that they need to tell the men it had been their captain to kill the fellow,  but distantly,  like his ears are full of water.  an idea,  half formed and so sudden his head nearly spins with it:  they need something to mark their first raid together by.  and they need it now.   ❛  actually,  yes.  i need you to come with me quick.  ❜   grinning widely,  edward springs to his feet and reaches out to wrap a hand around his first mate’s wrist,  feeling half mad with anticipation as he heads towards his cabin.

( … )

❛  stay still for me,  mh?  captain’s orders.  ❜   he is holding a big needle close to his face,  after all,  grin replaced by a rather serious expression as he makes some experimental moves with his wrist,  still well above the skin.  edward straightens his back again,  balancing his weight on the mattress while his knees are positioned on either side of izzy’s hips,  effectively pinning him between himself and the bed.   ❛  this your first tattoo,  mr hands?  ❜

         I NEED YOU  edward says, grin dazzling as strong fingers curl around his wrist,  &  izzy’s world goes hazy. all doubts vanish from his mind as he follows edward into his cabin, a little flip in his stomach. there’s a chaotic energy to his captain that he only gets when his blood is up, adrenaline still buzzing through his body.  &  izzy revels in it, drinks in every moment. he always does as edward tells him without complaint or question, but at the order to get on the bed  &  lie back, his head spins. he almost passes out, but still he scrambles to comply, graceless as he stretches himself out on his back.  &  then a moment later edward is straddling his hips, tools clattering beside them,  &  izzy stops breathing.                                                                   whether he’s in heaven or hell, he can’t say. izzy has survived this long only by keeping a vice-tight control on his both body  &  his mind, but edward’s heat  &  weight pressing him flat back against the bed threatens to shatter his resolve to pieces. but he says stay still  &  izzy complies instantly, his thoughts going foggy  &  his body calming unconsciously under the commanding tone. the needle is large  &  menacing, ink welling darkly at its tip,  &  izzy can see that he means to place his mark just below his eye, just where the tears would fall if he ever were to let them.                               this will hurt, he knows,  &  the pain is a promise. to wear edward’s mark so plainly for all to see was a gift,  &  he would accept it as such. he will not flinch; he will make his captain proud.  izzy steels himself, swallowing around the thick lump in his throat. &  his hands need to take ahold of something, so they fist in the sheets below him, gripping tight enough for his knuckles to go white. ❝ yes, captain, ❞ he breathes, his voice hoarse  &  scarcely above a whisper.  ❝ my first. ❞  &  god is he grateful that edward is the first man who’s gotten beneath his skin; hopes he is the only one who ever does.  ❝ thank you. ❞