#kenneld

[blesscdbliss]

‘if it looks like it’s going south, get the hell out of there.’ 

The devil in me // Accepting

The woman once called Faith paused, the pencil she'd been scribbling with hovering above paper.

Part of her wanted desperately to insist that she could handle it, she could manage whatever got thrown her way.

The other part of her knew this was not the time for ego or hubris. Too many had been taken from them to allow herself to make sloppy mistakes. What was left of their family needed the two of them to continue ensuring their safety. She was determined to do just that.

"If I come down from this northern drop," she says, pointing to the map she'd been adding to, "I should have a clear overlook of the valley below it. If conditions aren't ideal, I'll come back. If they are- well, I'll bring a friend home."

[mslangermann-a]

❝ what have you got to lose that you haven’t already lost? ❞  

the boys (season 1) starters / accepting

@kenneld​

    The words pierce like a knife, grinding between ribs. Her husband was gone. Her life belonged to the Father and his deranged mission. What else could she possibly have left? The shred of hope that had once warmed her chest was fading too. Fading, but not forgotten. In the darkness it flickered, a light against the impending shadow and refusing to be snuffed out.

    Hope kept her going, pushed her forward through each grueling day. Hope of escape, hope for a life beyond these barracks. While it remained a dream for now, Lynn clung to it and refused to let go. It was the only piece of her former self she still recognized. 

   “Nothing,” she answered, her voice distant in an attempt to cover the bitter tone. “I pledged myself to the Father.” 

[hnting]

@kenneld​ //spotify wrapped #12—Love Is a Bitch by Two Feet

"I'm flyin' high like a bird." The words leave her with a breathy, disbelieving chuckle that she presses into Ber's shoulder. They're lying on the rooftop side by side, and Jess could swear that one of the holo fish swimming in the air nearby winked at her. She feels a pleasant warmth that spreads from her spine down to the tips of her fingers and toes, and she thinks that if she were to close her eyes and focus, she could transform into pure energy— just another buzzing flash of light dissipating into the night.

They shouldn't have bought this shit from Maelstromers, Jess tells herself, laughing again and seeking Ber's hand to hold onto.

[austerulous]

◈   what’s peculiar about your soul?

—  anri

IT IS… STAINED

You have born witness to something unspeakable… As a direct result, your soul has been forever altered. It is still of you, true, but something about it will never be the same… It is off colour - off-kilter, as well. It tilts and spins at an odd, incorrect angle. It tenses at sudden noises. You wish you could forget… Everything is so fuzzy and vague, being dead… But the memories persist. Just barely. Just enough for them to hurt.

tagged by:  @kenneld – thanks Lani! ♡ tagging:  @thesaint, @bladedwoe, @usurpcr, @arrowablaze, @foreverascout, @oceansvanidicus, @a-bottomless-curse, @burdensofblood, @yellowfingcr , @derjaegermond. @of-forossa​, @arbredevies​, @ofwitchery​.

[wrathfl]

HOW DO YOU NEED TO BE TOUCHED?  

Cautiously 

 Your  teeth  are  bared,  as  they  have  been,  your  jaw  aching  for  so  long  as  growls  slip  free.  you  always  have  to  defend  yourself.  you  lash  out  in  fear.  you  need  someone  who  does  not  shrink  back...  a  hand  falling  slowly  to  your  shoulder,  however  briefly,  in  a  reminder  that  you  do  not  have  to  lunge.  there  is  no  danger  here,  now.

TAGGED  BY  :  @hebled​  ♥♥♥

TAGGING  :  @ezerkenegdc​  @traitorousone​  @kenneld​  @palehunt​

[espritdecorpo]

starter for @kenneld​ 

Ah, shit - here that one comes again. Her eyes, coated in the blue overlay of a holo-call’s user interface, peered over her interlocked hands which rested firmly beneath her nose – screening any view of the lower half of her countenance. The white sleeves of a, presumably, Jinguji Oxford were rolled up; leaving visible a litany of tattoos on her left forearm. Objects and artifacts of days passed that ranged from the obvious crosses and flowers to the more arcane geometric shapes and unknown numerical references. Piecing it all together would have been like trying to solve a mathematical equation without a formula. Perhaps, just as nonsensical and confounding as to why a person like her had taken such a liking to Rancho Coronado. Which begs the question, what does “ a person like her ” even mean ? Very few even had an understanding of Cross on a personal level beyond the well-dressed figure at the local watering hole who moved product, dealt out jobs, and nearly smoked the general store on 8th Street out of house and home.

‘ I’m hanging up now. ’ The closest thing in her lexicon to ‘ goodbye, talk to you later – drive safe ! ’  With that her posture relaxed, a sigh of relief ( or exasperation ? ) followed soon after.

‘ Well, well, well – ’ Her tone lightened as she noticed Beraiah on approach, not surprising as this was far from the first time he’d approached her makeshift office-corner of the bar. There were a handful of them, local-ish ‘ mercs ’ ( and she’d use that term sparingly, mentally they were more like ganger-adjacent to her ) who often dropped by to pester Cross for a job. After talking her ear off about how they were special or on the come up or some such pre-rehearsed pitch she’d relent and send them off to go do some menial task. In truth it wasn’t a bad racket, she could outsource the small shit and take a cut without them even knowing. Some might call her a fixer but honest to god she felt more like a babysitter sometimes with how green these solos turned out to be.

However, this one was a little different. She could trust him for something a little more advanced, nothing crazy -- yet , but a cut above the usually crowd; who were more in the league of the mercenary equivalent of watching paint dry. Nevertheless, she felt for Ber. I mean what the fuck else was there to do in Rancho ?

Besides, he did have some pretty solid local connections. And he wasn’t tied up in the usual shit mercs are, what with past gang affiliations or ex-corporate backgrounds. Huh, now that she was thinking, he might be an adequate piece in a little puzzle she’d found herself in. But nah, he was probably looking for something quick and easy. Couldn’t blame him, everyone’s got bills to pay !

‘ You know, normally most people call ahead but no, go ahead, take a seat. ’ Her sarcastic tone was a sign of sort of esprit de corps, an honor among thieves' type of thing. ‘ Now, to what do I owe this unannounced pleasure ? ’

[feralseed]

leaves crunched under tiny boots as the child rushed to keep pace with her ‘ big brother. ’ though ber was of no true biological relation, lark saw the way her father treated him. the favor given to the chosen. . . though no one had tried to tell her different, there was no convincing lark that the man who she was frantically trying to keep up with was anything other than family. “ see anything? ” her tiny voice piped up, a little over a whisper in the silent woods. it was her first time on patrol with a chosen -- and she was not about to let ber down. the six year-old, despite being out here as a part of her training, took her duties as seriously as any solider, “ ‘s quiet. . . ”

@kenneld​ / sc !!

[prvtocol]

@kenneld ( Beraiah ) | continued from x

It is not her job to manage employee behavior. Their work’s adherence to corp protocol, yes, but patrolling the halls as if she’s some secondary school superintendent, no. This is not the first time Beraiah caused incident, or in this case, almost. The young security guard garnered attention in evaluations; those demerits are pending. This could have ended similar if not for a matter of timing where the least Brianne could do was intervene. 

High heel strut hastens its pace, perhaps to help the towering giant manage his long stride beside her. Not until the point blank question does she halt, turning his way and folding her hands at her front; pin straight posture unfailing The dim lit hallway is empty; better if no one can listen in on the advice she intends to give. 

With lifted chin, kind eyes keep on his heavily chromed face. So young for so much chrome, she thinks, but then everyone has their reasons. Security does hold certain expectations. Aesthetic, however, follows more so in Arasaka Security dress code. No doubt his sleek suit still feels stiff. 

“They do because no one can stop them. Not even you.” Firm tone is unwavering, but it is not without care. Brianne does not want to see anyone fail, especially someone so young. “You know the rules. Security does not intervene unless it is to protect those under their charge. To protect the corp. Your reticence is expected until you are bid to speak.” Aggressive bravado fairs well in the field, not so much in these halls. Besides, a guard is to be unobtrusively seen and not heard. “That means you need to grow thicker skin. You’re a tough lad, I think it’s possible for you to let words slide.”

[ezerkenegdc]

@kenneld​   +     sc

     “     have you seen my brother today , beraiah ?     ”

[mslangermann-a]

@kenneld​

                                                           “Stop - Stop it!”

    Her protest is quickly swallowed by a fit of giggles as her husband continues to bury his face in the crook of her neck, kissing playfully along sensitive skin. Lynn is all smiles, blissfully unaware of anything outside of this moment. She grips the back of Blake’s shirt, giving a weak and noncommittal pull to the fabric. 

    Against her neck, she feels him grin and he whispers something there, distant and fuzzy. Far away. 

    The laughter dies away. Silence hums in the space between them. His hands are around her throat. Squeezing. Lynn’s joy is quickly replaced by terror, her skin paling against his grip. This isn’t right, she thinks as milky eyes stare down at her. This isn’t Blake. His grip tightens and her fingers curl around his wrists in protest, attempting to pry him off. Lynn gasps for what little air she has, her vision darkening and head pounding. Legs kick out from under Blake, but her fighting does not phase him. 

                                               Those eyes. Gone. This isn’t right.

                                                                  Blake.

    Lynn awoke with a start, a gasp caught in the back of her throat. No one stirred, the dark barracks unbothered by her sudden panic. Shifting bodies in their sleep is the only sound that pierced through the ringing in her ears. She sat up in the cot, head held in her hands. A nightmare. No, a memory. Memories sewn together in horrific patchwork. A hand dropped and she brushed two fingers against her neck. His hands had been there, wrapped so firmly around her throat, set on killing her. That wasn’t Blake. It couldn’t be. This place, these people broke him, stripped him away until nothing but a senseless shell remained.

                                     And they were intent on doing the same to her.

   Survive or die, a lesson ground into her every time she entered a trial, every time she was forced through unspeakable horror and bloodshed. At first, Lynn was content to meet her fate and become nothing more than a memory, but the moment she saw the gun’s barrel pointed at her, something else came over her. It burned in her chest, hollowed her vision. She was an animal backed into a corner, knowing only to survive - whatever the cost. And by the skin of her teeth, she did. She pulled herself out of each and every trial, her body heavy and beaten, but alive.

    An alarm sounded over the PA and Lynn jumped, its bell harsh enough to make her sick. It signaled for the camp to awaken, to begin their daily training. On command, she rose and began readying herself. Shirt tucked in, boots secure, hair tied back - like a good soldier.

[hnting]

What's Peculiar About Your Soul? // Your soul is… Volatile

There is a deep, painful energy harbored within this soul… At its very core festers malice, and a deeply rooted pain that craves nothing more but to inflict itself onto everything around it. Special care has been given to it- to stop examiners from coming into any harm should they draw too near to it. You coil like a serpent, awaiting a moment to strike. To claim your revenge. It never comes.

tagged by @kenneld <3 tagging @spczom @bcwblade @mslangermann + you!

[spentfaith]

“ 𝐢𝐟… 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮❟ 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰… 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝❟ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠❟ 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐞 ?   𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭. 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ”  @kenneld

She heard the words, took them into her mind and soul and spirit. Her bones and blood. Quinn’s mouth grew dry as the weight of his words fully started to process throughout all of those parts of her body. How those damn words seemed to have lulled her into a false sense of security at the mention of that word. Of love. That he loved her. Always loved her. Always will. Her chest expanded and then contracted, something hitting her heart like a damn dagger as the words failed to bloom, as they dug in their claws and threatened to rip her heart from her chest. He was leaving. This was goodbye. This was bullshit. 

“No.” Quinn forced the words out as though they would be her saving grace. A choked, desperate sound. “No. You don’t get to fucking do this to me, Beraiah.” Anger welled inside of her, threatening to bubble over and exit her body in some way or another. Perhaps through the tears she could feel threatening to well in the corner of her eyes, or perhaps through the fists that hard started to curl and clench at her sides. Nothing but pure hurt and anger swirled within her eyes, her mouth drawn tight as she rooted her feet in place and refused to move. Both out of the way and move on from this topic. 

“Someone — ” Cut short at the lump in her throat, the barrier between what she’d always known but refused to say from fear of losing him finally starting to slip and break. “Someone who loves someone would never put them through the hell you’ve put me through.” Her jaw set tight, she wished the words had come out with more venom, wished that she could have tackled this like she did every fight she’d ever been in. But no. That would have been too easy. Instead they dribbled out like water along the top of a flooding lake. Quinn was the lake. 

“You don’t fucking love me, you love the convenience of me.” There came the venom, just a hint of it, a little bite to the end of her sentence. Quinn was tiptoeing along the breakwall. One side would have her fall into a heap, crumple into herself and let loose years of tears she’d refused to let fall. The other? Quinn feared what she’d find there. “You always have.” 

[austerulous]

◈   which dnd class suits your personality?

—  mary / james

CLASS:  DRUID

You’re a thoughtful and reflective person who cares a lot about the natural world. You’re generally open-minded and non-judgemental, though there are some beliefs or opinions that you won’t be swayed from. You’re in-tune with your intuition and you know yourself pretty well. You may spend a lot of time in your head, observing the world and thinking about what you’ve observed. You seek peace, balance, and try to avoid confrontation unless absolutely necessary.

SUBCLASS / OATH:  CIRCLE OF WILDFIRE

Druids within the Circle of Wildfire understand that destruction is sometimes the precursor of creation, such as when a forest fire promotes later growth. These druids bond with a primal spirit that harbours both destructive and creative power, allowing the druids to create controlled flames that burn away one thing but give life to another. You’re a big-picture thinker who knows that nothing is truly permanent, but also that hope and life can spring from the most unexpected places. You’re not afraid of change and you’ve likely had to make a few fresh starts for yourself in your life. Sometimes you might be a bit too hasty to give up and try something new. You’re aware that you are constantly changing and growing and you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re no longer the same person you used to be. You’d rather look to the future than dwell on the past.

tagged by:  @ofspvrta – thank you, I enjoyed this! ♡ tagging:  @of-forossa, @lustmord, @righteouskills​, @kenneld​, @burdensofblood, @bcwblade, @hnting​, @yellowfingcr​, @derjaegermond​.

[mtnsedge]

(   PROMPT.   )   @kenneld​​​ said,  ❝ I did what was necessary, ❞

“Mm.”

The wind cuts between the trees, spindled limbs stiff and dry from the Autumn chill. It muffles the acknowledgement that drifts from his ruined lungs; the bellows of his chest heave silently against the crisp gale that skirts the eastern face of the mountain, and he is content to let its shrill howl swallow the rumble of his voice. 

The grunt is a perfunctory gesture, a rasp against his throat — he’s being too generous with it, perhaps. Recognition is not the goal. Praise begets vanity, and vanity lends itself to pride. There are moments where it still stings, the needle of John’s tattoo gun against his shoulder; his little brother had ensured that he would never again forget his arrogance, that greatest of pitfalls. 

“ Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. “ 

Joseph’s voice rings in his ears like the bells in the stepple of the chapel on their humble island. Hollow and made of tarnished brass, but echoing out the most beautiful melody each morning. We can hear it from across the river — d’you know that, Joe? It carries through the mist and some mornings I think I could swim across the Henbane just to hear it better. Just to hear you better.

Jacob has been called to something higher, to keep those under his tutelage on the same path the Father has laid out for them. Soldiers do not give into temptation, nor to impulse. He does not think of himself when he looks down upon the boy, smoke coiling from a rifle nearly as long as he is tall. He thinks of his brothers — of Joseph at his pulpit, and John on his podium. He thinks of the countless faces that Joseph preaches to, thinks of the hope in their eyes. He thinks of the tears that flow freely when John pulls the contrite from the Henbane, hands clasped against their damp faces, congratulating them for bowing down before the will of a higher power.

He does not know if he believes in any sort of god — but Jacob Seed does believe in his brothers.

"That you did.”

It is rare, for him to grant such an open acknowledgement. Approval is a scarcity, a commodity more precious, perhaps, than gold. This is not the point, of course — but even he cannot help but to notice the way steel turns to silver in the boy’s eyes when his good deed is acknowledged.

“Go on.” Jacob rises from the underbrush, a rifle slung over his own shoulder as a fallen doe pitches and bleats further up the ridge, bleeding into the frozen Montana soil. Truth be told, he couldn’t care less about the animal, about the pain it cries against as it kicks its clumsy hooves through briar and scrub. He cares only for what the child beside him does next. 

“Put the thing out of its misery.” 

Don’t make me tell you again.

[poisonpicked]

@kenneld gets a starter (from sebastián)! 

sebastián is surprised when he hears the door of the clinic open. it was late and, aside from a short visit from vera earlier that day, business had been slow. he didn’t mind it so much; the quietness had allowed him to catch up on most of his paperwork. his eyes drift over to the monitor that was linked to the camera in the main room, allowing him to see who had come in without him leaving his little office area. he sees a young man looking around. rising to his feet, he moves out of the office with poppy, his fluffy white dog, on his heels as she always is. 

“what can i help you with?” he asks with a smile, though it would seem that he already quite a bit of experience with cyberware, just from what sebastián could see. 

[nomadical]

@kenneld​ || another extremely specific prompts list || accepting!

2) for receiver to show up at sender’s house to confront them about something only to find sender is recovering from serious injuries.

There’s been whispers building. Echoes of rumors that haven’t missed Paul’s ears. No matter how much he keeps to himself these days. Busy building up his shop and supplying an ever growing populace with as many medicines and herbs that they need while trying to have a little time to himself. Visits to the Eagle have kept him in some company. Enough to hear that the Seed Family are getting the wrong kind of attention. Well. Wrong if it isn’t true. And from the visits he’s had from John? Pleasant and kind and welcoming? He hopes they’re not. 

It takes the police showing up twice, asking questions about some of the herbs he’s been selling from the Seed farms, before Paul starts looking into going there and finding out WHY.

By the time booted feet hit the sloshy mud surrounding Jacob’s compound, there’s a twisting in his gut that won’t stop. It’s worse than what he’s heard. Dry mouthed and clutching the bag that’s gotten him past several guards who he knows--there’s nothing but confusion etched on his sharp features and pale eyes. He doesn’t make it to the door. Barely past a rusted, rotten piece of sheet metal near a barn. A hand grabs his wrist. Some feral looking man who all but drags him past the main house towards a dilapidated house on the property. Paul doesn’t resist. Figures from what he’s seen on his way in? From what he didn’t turn back from? Doing that--would mean he might never leave. At least alive. So, he goes. Steeling himself by clenching his back teeth together. Ready with his hands to defend himself if needed. 

He swears he can smell blood before he sees it. Wrappings around Beraiah’s wounds that catch his attention as soon as he lays eyes on him. His gaze flares wide. A dozen questions he’d had written on his tongue for Jacob fade to nothing as he looks Beraiah over and has to grip the bag tight to keep from dropping it. A rushed whisper. Cracked and raw. Now he knows why they let him in this far. This is why. Isn’t it? “---What happened to you?”