bartholomewkncx

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D’Artagnan’s career as a pincushion is prevented by Constance’s interruption.

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the seven deadly sins | wrath

uncontrolled feelings of anger, rage, and even hatred.

requested by @x-i-a-t

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I’ve seen a liquor bottle broken open on A man’s head & him continue walking & then saw a man break down weeping At the scent of peaches.

Sam Sax, ‘Dialectic’ (via jessicapoetry)

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     “ you truly think me capable of this? I assure you, I had nothing to do with these men…” sweet face belying the bold lies her lips parted for, judith kept her gaze soft and concerned, the perfect mirror of innocence. around her bodies were strewn about and if one might have the thought to search them they would find their pockets mysteriously e m p t y. “ they were overcome with sickness. ” 

when it comes to talking, he let’s his little SISTER take the ship’s wheel. her hands are better suited for DIPLOMACY than his will ever be, and her sweet words drive sailors into insanity. he knows it. he’s SEEN it. it makes him stand proud beside her; judith knoth is a siren of DEADLY proportions and should be feared across all seas, all lands. meanwhile, he stands by her side and watches her work her characteristic MAGIC on the guard. a chuckle RUMBLES in the pit of his stomach as the fool eyes his sister, only half suspicious. bartram understands that look; comprehends that the soldier is falling into her trap. if the man fails to be charmed by judith, however, he’ll bring the force. one puny guard? bartram’s tempted to simply end him NOW, but he’s not about to interrupt his sister as she plays with her FOOD. “ what about the stab wounds? “ the soldier questions her. 

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“Aye, you’re speaking to the captain of the lady nightshade.” An amused smirk curled her lips as she turned to share a look with one of the rowdier members of her crew, taking a deep sip of drink from the mug in her hand. “It’s cute, love, that you were expecting someone a touch larger, perhaps?” The smile fell slowly from her face. “I have plenty of large men and their loyalty, should I have any need for it. What is it I can do for you that is so important it’s worth interrupting our celebration.” It wasn’t unusual for strangers to approach the captain for jobs, however, the crew had succeeded in a hearty bounty after their last raid and were enjoying a well-deserved and rowdy drink or ten to mark their success.

he is no STRANGER to the small captain -- he is even less unfamiliar with her ACCOMPLISHMENTS. the lady nightshade carries stories of her own; conquests in the high sea. even the name drives fear into the hearts of men. peg DEADLY on to anything and it’ll make any common fool shiver. but bartram knoth it no COMMON FOOL with shaking boots. he commands a ship all his own and lays waste to any who cross it ( in fact, the petite pirate before him has, more than once, sailed against him ). and while the blue nixie barely causes any man to squirm by name alone -- what could a WATER SPRITE do? --, the story of how said name was earned DOES. for who would not fear a man who hung the bluing corpses of his enemies along the mast -- the same one who contorted their bodies into beautiful dancing sprites while life still remained? RUTHLESS man. horrible creature. he stands tall and offers her a smirk; the CRUEL man smiles like a saint with a secret. “ it’s good to finally see your face, CAPTAIN, “ he commented, taking a seat beside her, ale in hand, without much question. “ i was beginning to wonder if i’d ever meet the woman who keeps intercepting my ship. “ 

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— Kalf in 4.05

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requested by amandasoares-things

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The sun hung lazily within that too blue sky, a sky which did nothing to touch the true beauty of the desert sunlight—the way of life from before, and Ike scowled up at it. A poor imitation of so much more, a reminder of what had been to a woman who cared far too much for someone who ‘couldn’t care less’. FUCK. Yes, that was her flaw, that one thing which seemed to cling to her chest, the way she yearned for home—the way she missed the desert heat, a flower seeking out that spectacular sun—or the brightness of that unalterable moon.

The moon—yes the night, that was perhaps the part she missed the most. Those evening stretching out within her memory—explosions of stars and boisterous laughter. Music and gun fire. Of cries for mercy. Theirs had been an existence so akin to the wild—survival of the fittest, and they had been as such. A family of strength, truth—yes, they worked for what they had, and took what they wanted. That life of power—of continual seeking—a life worth shaping until one bite had carved it down. But had it? No there was still so much more to be had—found—taken. 

Such thoughts sat primed within her head as those dark hues darted about that deserted parking lot, finding the cracks within the pavement—those metal tombs of individuals unlucky enough to find themselves trapped within their cars. That store which reared up its ugly head from the center of all that asphalt—empty perhaps, but maybe—Such thoughts stopped in their progress as her steps slowed, turned silent at the outline of the man. Shadowed by the overhang of that small shopping center. It was too late to hide, she knew that—not mention the fact that there was no where within that barren place, and so she simply took another step. Bravado bolstered by memory and a heart long since steeled. Hands itching to reach for her pistols—her knife—

PERSONAL SPACE and bartholomew knox were two entities that never mashed well together. the large, muscular man had little regard for other people’s MARGINS, for what their boundaries were. the nature of contact often changed; from sheer adoration, to THREATS, to breaking someone’s nose or twisting arms. in essence, the result remained the same: barry had no respect for limits; for those carefully set fences people placed around their homes, their hearts. he’d smash it all down and do as he liked. he was PASSIONATE, and men as fervent as he was showcased the entirety of their sentiments in tidal waves -- in TSUNAMIS. 

anger? oh, that one was easy to tap into. one wrong look at the bar, one FOOLISH comment and already barry’s fists would connect with a face. warnings? whispers against ears, threats hidden behind soft words -- ‘ touch my sister again and i’ll break both your arms ‘--; his ultimatums were NEVER in vain. never a GAME. he meant every syllable. VEHEMENT man; always quick to react in whatever way his tainted heart pleased. AH, but that tainted heart was showered with affection where it counted, where it mattered. family was everything to him, and he gave a rat’s ass if they were having a bad day or hated his large arms around them; they’d get an embrace regardless. no -- personal space was not a concept bartholomew understood.

an approaching figure distracting him from the disgusting blue liquor in his grip, on his tongue. he PREPARED himself for a quarrel ( the excitement he felt at that should’ve made him feel ASHAMED, but shame was another concept that slipped his comprehension ). the ELATION he felt was short-lived; replaced by something far less sinister. replaced with TENDERNESS. as the figure, cat-like and ready to pounce -- oh, he expected nothing less of dear ike --, approached, that warmth in his belly only grew. the drink slipped from his grip, and even the shattering glass and blue liquid that splattered onto his clothes couldn’t make the man lose FOCUS. ike -- IKE. a grin spread across his face. “ leave it to YOU to make me spill my drink, “ he muttered, closing the distance between them. “ hope you don’t plan on murdering your BROTHER before he gets to hug you first. “ no waiting for a response -- barry wrapped his arms around irene in a heartbeat.  

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{ @judithknox } 

the ache in his body was EXTRAORDINARILY present; bruises coloring his skin and making a fancy canvas out of flesh. a blank page for any violent artist to paint their ridiculous splatters on. he’d be ANGRY if he hadn’t won the damn fight -- he’d be angrier still if the opposing man hadn’t been a challenge. silly as it may have sounded, a good squabble now and then kept him SANE. when fists collided with skin, when the crack of bones tickled his ears, bartholomew felt whole. like life made SENSE. the man was brutality made FLESH, could anyone blame him for feeling at home with agony? 

despite having defeated his opponent, his body was sore. sore and tired and JUST RIGHT, just as it should be. barry was not made of glass, and getting a few punches in -- enough to throw him off his game -- was RESPECTABLE. of course he gave his rival a DIGNIFIED ending; bloody and SPECTACULAR. it was only fair that he reward such talent with a proper BANG. ( he still felt the man’s teeth against his knuckle form when his jaw gave way and snapped. ) barry observed his hands -- bruised and wrecked -- and traced the places where the teeth had cut through skin. it’d SCAB soon enough. the peace he’d found after such a brawl was INTERRUPTED when the sound of steps rang through the hall. with a grunt, he lifted his body off of his resting place on the cushioned sofa. “ you got some BALLS depriving a man of his beauty sleep. “ 

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I love you wildly, insanely, infinitely.

Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago (via wordsnquotes)

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Scientists, somewhere, are still looking for stillness. They don’t know the silence of your ghosts. This is the love they were trying to tell us about. At night I listen to my dead heart and name it after a dead country. The birds in my blood stop mid-flight. When I think of you, a war ends. You tell me about the time your world went quiet. How you howled at love like a moon. You warn me of your dark, and I stay. I stay, and I swallow your shadows whole.

Y.Z, the perfect shade of morning (via brit-rps)

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