keter-kan
they/them, ♒️, 22
195 posts
Latest Posts by keter-kan
I think broken Legends has died 😭😭 i think she's going to get completley rewritten. What parts should I keep??
What if I got rid of the entirety of Broken Legends :) said goodbye and did it all over again :)))))
Thank you for the tag @thebluester2020 !!
The picrew is adorable and the quiz gave me a confidence boost lmaooo 😭😭😭
Your turn 😈 @skidotto @grosslittlebunny @imbuity
Consider yourself tagged if you are reading this:
Make this picrew of yourself
Take this uquiz (How Fandom Would See You If You Were A Fictional Character)
Thank you for the tag @machiavellli !
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I hope you are well🌹
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and share my family's story?🙏🏻
Can you Reblog my pinned post from my blog or donate 10$?
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save a family from death and war.🌹
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Not a big blog, but boosting nonetheless
drop this sunflower🌻 into the inboxes of the blogs that make you happy! lets spread a little sunshine ☀️
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Gale worrying about Finnick and Katniss liking eachother- meanwhile the two of them have people on stand by to sedate them and are just aggressively knotting their shared therapy rope while they talk about Peeta and Annie in between naps
This is one of the funniest news titles I have read in a long time.
Love train 🚂💗 Send this to all blogs you love!!! Don't forget to spread the LOVE! 💞🎉🫂🥰
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Love train 🚂💗 Send this to all blogs you love!!! Don't forget to spread the LOVE! 💞🎉🫂🥰
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ALRIGHT!!! Ch. 12 :) i know it's been awhile since the last post, but this is where I've left off since the beginning of the semester! Everything post chapter twelve has yet to be written ajskakksks and may take a while longer... I'm hoping to keep the general motivation going for it though so !!! Wish me luck lmao
May and Oryn have decided it's time to end the siege, when Jonas makes an appearance.
Tags: @skidotto @idonthaveapenname
tw: mentions of death, abuse, murder, war, stabbing, blood, harsh weather
Ch. 12
“Open the doors, Demetrius,” May’s voice was sharp and clear.
“My Lady?”
“Get Alec,” she said, “and open the doors. Send him out in the camps to help gather and shift everyone indoors.” Their steps were in sync as they climb the stairs from the basement.
Demetrius nodded. “Whatever you say, My Lady,” he breathed out a light huff.
May stopped in her tracks on the next step, putting up a hand and turning to face him. “You only ever listen without complaint to my stupid plans when your vehemently against an even worse one I’ve hatched. Out with it.”
He moved past her, continuing up the stairs and gesturing for her to do the same. “It wasn’t smart to leave him down there.”
May’s jaw tightened as she followed, now in his wake. “He needs answers. There’s no one else who can provide them.”
“You don’t think he’ll kill the old sot?” Demetrius laughed, opening the hatch that led from the basement back up to the main manor.
May shook her head, rolling her eyes. “What makes you think I don’t already plan on doing that myself? Besides,” The two of them stepped out of the shadows and back into the torch-lit halls of the manor, “He need answers. I’d like some, too.” She pushed in front of him with a slightly faster pace and headed towards her office.
Demetrius nodded, letting the subject drop. “Tell Alec to start bringing in the men, and then what, my lady?”
“Meet me here,” she called down to him, “the siege needs to end. Tonight.”
-
“You remember me?”
The room was dank, full of moss that had started to overtake the forever damp stone floor and walls, creeping white vines pushing through the cracks to make homes amongst them. Oryn could swear they heard the scuttle of rats in the rooms beyond, but was too busy with the task at had to force themselves to look further.
“I remember,” they said, circling the man as if they were stalking prey. He sat upon a ratty wooden stool, legs bound to the legs and hands tied behind his back. May had requested that Oryn leave him here when they were done with him: she had her own questions to ask.
“Good, then,” he said, sighing as his posture sunk further in on himself. They had cleaned his wounds and dressed him in slightly cleaner robes, providing a meal of whatever bit of food they could had on hand. “I’m sure you have many questions,” he coughed for a moment before catching his breath, “and I hope to provide some semblance of an answer for you.”
Oryn stopped pacing to look Jonas up and down. With his face washed, feet bandaged, and beard properly braided, they could tell now that he must have been a man of status at one point. Alec had done well in teaching them the ways of local society and religion and they could recognize the symbols they saw floating amongst the books and scrolls; the large eight-point star representing the Siblings of Chaos was embroidered on his tattered undershirt, the same symbol with a circle enclosing it tattooed on the man’s chest. They hadn’t recognized that before, the one time they’d met that Oryn could remember.
“They branded you for making Chaos?” they said, motioning towards the tattoo.
He nodded. “But wouldn’t strip me of my status.” He shrugged his shoulder forward, once again showing off the pin. He’d carefully taken it off of the tattered robes he previously bore and attached it to the new ones provided him.
\ “You wear the High Councilor’s pin of the Sanctum,” they all but verbatim repeated from some thick tome or another.
“The Lady of Ilucia has been teaching you, I assume?” Despite the circumstances, the man laughed once again.
“The witches never told me,” Oryn muttered, eyes becoming slits as their jaw twitched. They didn’t want to defend those who had sheltered them from the world, and yet…
“They never told you much of anything, child,” Jonas said, looking up at Oryn from where he sat. “And yet, here you are. Making your way nonetheless.”
Oryn shook their head. “I’m not going with you.”
Jonas sighed. The look in his eyes suddenly became something dark and heavy, a deep pit holding all the answers anyone could ever seek and the horrors that come with them.
“You can’t change my mind,” Oryn’s voice was calm. They counted their breaths, steadying their heartbeat as it started to rage in their ears.
Jonas’s mouth hung open for a moment, his rotting teeth browning at the gums. “Your mother,” he whispered, his old and quivering skeletal body becoming still as his gaze bore into Oryn’s soul.
They felt the blood draining from their face as they contested his gaze with their own, taking another step further towards the precipice. “I want to know of her.”
He sucked in a fresh breath of air with force. “The Forgotten Princess, to be married to the Forgotten Prince. The stories they tell…”
The text they’d read said nothing about any of that.
Jonas could read the confusion clearly on Oryn’s face. “Not up to recent years in your lessons?” He choked on another short laugh, but his features remined hard and serious, his eyes lacking their jovial grandfatherly nature they’d carried before he’d mentioned…
Oryn shook their head. “Speak plainly.”
He sighed. “I find it a great shame,” he mumbled as he caught his breath once again, “that three women of such intelligence would keep such knowledge from you.” He hummed a bit to himself, scanning the small room he found himself in.
“My… Tutor,” Oryn started, “told me that knowledge is how average men hold power. How they cope with never being allowed to Mend the sewn Chaos.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Not completely,” they said, their gaze hard. “It’s powerful, yes. I am strong in knowing,” they started slowly stalking around Jonas yet again, one slow step being taken after another. “But men are strong in other ways. With swords, axes, bows… they are all so weak when they’re leaking blood.”
“The church,” Jonas mumbled, “the Sanctum. Do you think that’s power? Or the King?”
“It is so easy to die, so easy to kill,” Oryn mumbled, “that it’s hard to look at an old man in a chair far too large for him and decide that’s the image of power.” They shook their head, stopped their pacing.
“Men work in ways only the Gods may understand,” Jonas said, the legs on his stool creaking as he shifted his weight.
Oryn let out a sly laugh under their hot breath. “I am angry with the witches for never teaching me,” she laid a gentle hand on Jonas’s frail and bony shoulder, “And yet grateful to never have known. I can look upon the societies that man has built and see how uncouth it all is; how seemingly barbaric and unestablished.” She shook her head as she lifted her hand from the man’s shoulder and walked to be in front of him, crouching down to meet his gaze with her own. “And your Gods…” they scoffed.
Jonas looked upon Oryn with more than mere anger; the disgust was laid upon them with his unrelenting gaze. “You do not know of what you speak, child.”
Oryn eyes narrowed as they looked deeper into Jonas’s soul, into what he’s done and who he was and where he’s been. They swallowed hard and took a deep breath as the drone started humming at the back of their head.
He started to struggle against his restraints. “You don’t know what made you!”
“Then tell me, old man,” they spat, “for my patience is growing thin.”
His face contorted as the thrumming in his own skull started hammering harder and harder, begging to break free. “Demon!” He screamed, his hoarse voice echoing against the cold stone walls surrounding them while he strained against his restraints.
“What am I, Councilor?” Their skin crawled with the potential of another kill, more blood spilled atop old stones that would forget the death as it was washed away. And yet they continued to hesitate nonetheless. Although this man would never get the pleasure of taking them alive, he was possibly the only person left alive who knew what they were.
“Demon,” he repeated, his eyes still burning hot and wild as he coughed and caught his breath, trying to contain his fear.
Oryn shook their head yet again, standing and resuming their pacing. "I may not have a very deep understanding of your Gods, but I can tell you that if they’re real, they’ve either left your sorry lot or have died.” She scoffed. “I find it horrid how you all can believe in something so… untouchable.”
The man’s features changed, suddenly showing a deep and sudden pity for what must have been someone but a child in his own eyes.
“I hope, dearest Oryn, for your lovely mother’s sake, that the God’s choose to have mercy on your dying soul.”
He stoked the fire burning inside of them even more.
They stood behind the chair he was strapped to, gripping the back of the chair as they watched the wood crack beneath their knuckles. They leaned down, their neck creaking with the strain of their spine shifting inside of them, their skin pulling itself taught as the muscle shifted.
“Tell me of her,” they whispered against the skin of his ear, sending a shiver through his body as he mumbled a prayer, trembling in his seat.
The creak of bone on bone rang through the small room, mixing with the squeaking of dusting rodents and the soft drip of condensation running down the walls. Their breaths created a harmony, Oryn’s staunch snout spouting steam into the air as Jonas’s fear sucked it deep into his lungs.
He whimpered as the ropes dug deep into his wrists while he tried to break free and run from the beast lurking behind him, seeking answers only he could give. His eyes were shut tight as he felt the foul drool drip thick and heavy onto his shoulder.
“Leandra,” he whispered.
Silence.
The crack of a shot from a bow rang out, an arrow piercing Jonas through the heart.
Oryn’s face lifted quickly, standing on two hind legs and stretching themselves to reach against the stone ceiling, flexing against the restraint of their own skin.
May stood in the darkened doorframe, crossbow positioned at her chest, pointing towards the dead man’s body.
“Oryn,” she said, panting and wiping her brow. “We need you.”
mosquitsune miku
This is the best idea in the history of film.
What is your Hogwarts house?
Trans Rights
Me, unfortunately 🥲
most unstable girl you know: i need to get a masters degree
How the gentle wind,
Beckons through the trees,
As autumn colours fall.
Chapter 11!!! I'm getting close to having posted everything I've worked on up to this point. I NEED to get back to writing lol whoops.
This chapter explains a bit more of how Oryn came to be in the forest with the Witches in the first place.
tags: @skidotto @idonthaveapenname
tw: mentions of death, war, abuse
Ch. 11
The man was rugged; not the image of holy ambition and sanctity by any means. May didn’t know what to expect—gilded robes, braided hair, hard posture—but he was none of it.
Flanked by both Demetrius and Oryn, he sat beside the hearth as if his very bones craved the warmth it gave. His bony fingers shook as he held his hands before the flames, his cloudy eyes glowing in the soft light. They were heavy, thinking and turning and never quite still.
He swallowed another sip from the flagon Demetrius provided, coughing as he choked it down. His legs sat at odd angles in front of him, his bloodied and bruised feet emanating a smell that could only be a festering rot. He’d trudged through the mud on foot for far too long to make it there.
The tension was thick, flitted gazes passing between Demetrius and May as a deep and boiling heat was stoked in Oryn’s core. They all but vibrated with the anticipation of knowing what was to come; the iron smell creeping its way through their nose and to their brain feeling like a coil being wound tighter and tighter with each breath they took.
May’s jaw tightened as she shifted where she stood, the weight of her armor clinking as she settled. She turned the pin over in her hand: heavy, weighted with a dark blue stone at its bottom, the rest of it a soft gold.
“I’m sorry for the lack of hospitality, Councilor, but with the ongoing siege I’d hope you’ll understand my hesitancy.” She studied his face.
His bones all but creaked as he pulled his legs underneath himself, settling into a slouch within his tattered robes as he scooted himself closer to the fire.
He wasn’t deaf; she saw the way the weight in his eyes rattled as she spoke. No beggar would calculate himself so.
May took a deep breath, looking towards Demetrius’s hard gaze before continuing, “I had sent word to our good King in hopes of… Well, support of a different manner.”
That elicited what could only have been a laugh from the High Councilor, his ragged wheezing behind a smile quickly descending into a coughing fit. It took a moment for him to catch his breath, but his smile never left his lips.
Oryn watched closely as he pulled a muddy and deep brown-stained sleeve away from his mouth, a small trickle of blood and pungent saliva running down his chin.
He wouldn’t look towards May when he spoke. “The good King Terrance did not send me,” he sputtered, struggling to put the flagon back to his lips.
Demetrius rolled his eyes, his hands laying on the hilt of his sword.
“Then you’ve traveled all this way on foot with no supplies but the robes on your back for…?” May shook her head softly.
The man sighed. “I heard of the death of some people very dear to me,” he said, sitting up a bit as he reached into his robes and procured a tattered piece of parchment. “They thought I’d perished, too, but were right in their suspicions of my… continued existence on this mortal plain, with the God’s mercy,” a small, sad excuse of a chuckle left his cracked lips.
Demetrius sighed, tired of the Grandfather’s games right as they had started. “You still have not said why you’ve come, sir,” he clipped, ignoring any honorific if not those of who he directly served.
With a blink his body had snapped towards May, his long and dwindling arm extended towards her, his skeletal hand holding the all but unreadable letter that he’d carried all this way. As Demetrius jumped where he stood, the old man shook the wet parchment.
“They left something to me,” he huffed towards May, his breath the smell of death and decay. “And I had to come and claim it.”
Demetrius let his sword slide heavily out of its sheath, the grating noise of steel on steel a warning to the man to step back.
May took a moment to study the man behind the tattered page before gently taking it from his hands and standing a bit closer to the hearth to get some better light.
Jonas,
We know not where this piece of parchment will find you, but know deep within our souls that it will.
It’s time to make pace, High Councilor. The boy has taken the last we have to give; we’re joining our sister and suggest you come to proceed to the next steps in this wretched plan of yours.
Do not mourn us. We wouldn’t have mourned you.
Maureen, Starla, Elisa
~
She clutched the babe close to her chest with all the might she had left in her small frame. Her legs shook exposed to the chill air, her feet numb on the frozen earth, her arms burning and tingling as she struggled to maintain to her grip on the bundle she carried.
The cabin was close—she could feel the forest closing in around her as she pushed forward, her blood boiling with the fear it instilled in all those who entered. She knew she could make it, if she could just keep putting one foot in front of the other, taking one more breath after that exhale…
You have to promise me, he’d said to her, you have to promise me with every part of your soul. Swear it on the Waters and Winds, swear it on the church, swear it on the love we share. Please, Grenia.
His pleading rang through her head like the bells upon the church towers, bouncing from one side of her head to the other over and over again, reminding her what her purpose here would be.
This is the beginning of it all, he whispered to her, pulling her hands into his own and leaning down to look into her eyes, into her soul.
I love you, Genia, he’d said, his voice but a murmur against the soft skin of her ear. He’d never said it to her before this, never once. Not when she’d saved his life at the Sanctum, not when as she cried in his arms, not when he’d finally told her about where he came from and his purpose was here at the palace’s chapel. Not even when he finally bed her, their first moment alone in the months since they had met, in a dark and cramped alleyway between a scribe’s office and the sanctum’s entrance.
She thought of it all now. Thought of it while she ran, while her feet bruised with each step she took and the blood trickled from the scratches and cuts across her arms and legs.
At first, the babe was silent. They lay in her arms all swaddled in blankets that must have been made with love by one wet nurse or another. Their breath was soft and steady, heat steaming from their tiny lips as they drifted into a deep sleep.
Now, though, they screamed. She couldn’t understand how something so small and fragile would wail with such strength for so long. The blood-curdling screams pierced her ears as she ran, mixing with the dark and malicious feel bubbling up inside of her as her thoughts bounced around in her skull.
Then, for a while, everything went black.
When the warmth started returning to her it was the soft linens and skins laid beneath her that told her she’d made it where she needed to go.
She shifted in the warm bed, her entire body beginning to throb and ache as it started to fully feel alive again.
“Easy! Easy,” Maureen shot up from the chair beside her, gently laying her hands against her shoulders to push her back onto the mattress. “Don’t move too much, it’ll hurt. And you get nothing for the pain until I know where you’ve been, what happened.”
The conversation didn’t start for another hour after she woke, needing to reorient herself before breaking into tears at the face of the sister she thought she’d never see again. But their reunion was short lived.
“The child, Grenia. Is… is he yours?”
She shook her head. Jonas’s voice rang in her ears. They must not know.
But how could she keep this from them all when she was asking so much?
She looked throughout the cabin from where she lay, the walls keeping all of the warmth and life of the forest inside of the dwelling for the four of them to feed their practice. It was a small space full of trinkets and bobbles of all sizes and shapes that could do any number of different things. Books and charts and maps were scattered across every surface, littered with sketches of the local flora and fauna, but also symbols and glyphs she knew weren’t holy.
That’s how the three of them found themselves out here, after all.
She swallowed the lump in her throat before looking down at her hands.
Swollen. Bony. The joints all red and enflamed, her fingers bend in odd shapes and the skin of her palms scratchy and rough. Those fingers, that just a few weeks ago were spinning threat and crafting needlepoint and practicing piano. Now so changed, so stained…
“You will not be happy with me, sister,” she said, her voice hoarse and full of sorrow.
Maureen nodded, standing to move the chair closer to Grenia, laying a hand on top of her own. “That’s alright,” she nodded, her eyes serious but soft, “What matters is you made it back home to us. To me. As long as we’re together, we can handle the messes you’ve made.”
Grenia’s eyes filled with hot tears as she looked up her older sister. She was both gentle and firm, loving and strict. She hated herself for knowing what she had brought here.
“The babe,” Grenia muttered, her breath hitched. “Is not what you think.”
And so, she told her.
someone: hey I noticed this thing you did in your writing!
me, kicking my feet up flirtatiously: oh??? do you want to hear my thoughts on why I did that? do you want a play-by-play of the language choices in every related sentence? do you want an exhaustive breakdown of The Themes???
Unhinged text posts: Gale Edition
"it's been a year, why are you still posting about him" because larian put the line "one night he tells you that these six months of happy memories are the counterweight to 200 years of misery" in their fucking game
I don't even care, I'm making a post about retro game con 😌 I had SUCH an amazing time and can't wait to go to another ♡ also, Neil Newbon?!?!
Yes, roommate and I cosplayed peach and daisy. Yes, there were a million Astarion cosplayers and yet I only got pictures with two. Pictures under the cut!
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Coffee: Does your character hold a lot of grudges? What is something they are bitter about?
Oh, May? Holding grudges? Yeeeaaaah.... she has a lot of rage inside 😌 From one thing to the next, she's been left making choices that were not of her design. Nothing that has befallen her was an opportunity, but rather a curse she needed to learn how to bear. And she had no say in that. Her anger comes from the facade of free will that comes with the responsibility she carries, knowing she will never truly make a choice solely for herself.
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who up blairing they witch
LOSING MY MIND !!!!!!! @skidotto just keeps making absolutley INSANE character art for my lovely oc's. This is May!! EVERYONE TELL HIM HOW COOL HIS ART IS R A H
pirates of the caribbean really introduced an eldritch octopus man who kills indiscriminately and torments the dead as their poster villain and then you watch the movies and it's like, "oh no, actually the worst villain in this series is a small white british man who functions as the herald of capitalism" and that was very very brave of them