#theodora's writings

[ibrithir-was-here]

Old short story I wrote a couple of years ago and then forgot about. Remembered it the other day, gave it a bit of a brush up, and figured I'd share it. My own take on the old "Dark Snow White" retelling

Sunlight and Snowdrops

Father is sending us away tomorrow, sent for schooling at a monastery far off in the south. His new wife--The Usurper, who I will not grace with the title of queen-- tells us of the walled gardens, where pomegranates and figs grow almost year round on trees with leaves as large and tall as a man, a place where the sea still rushes up freely to meet the shore, long stretches of golden sand, forever warm to the touch.

She has talked of little else for months now, as if she and Father hope that such constant chatter will somehow soften us to the idea of our exile, make us forget the kingdom she has stolen from us, just as she has stolen his heart. And perhaps with my sisters she has somewhat succeeded . They always did take after Father, with their butter-yellow hair, and skin flushed like ripe peaches. Perhaps they were always more suited for such places. But I am my mother’s daughter, as any who look upon me can tell, and I will not be made to forget.

For how could such a flat, lurid place ever hope to compare with the beauty of my mother’s kingdom? What is a stretch of damping sea-shore to the beauty of a deep lake, forever crystallized into the finest mirror? What are walled gardens with their mad jumble of gaudy fruits to the dark towering pines, whispering to each other as the wind moves through them? What monastery could ever hope to reach heaven in the way that the mountains of the valley swell up in dark waves, to crack the egg-shell gray of the sky?

It is the blue sky of that far off place I fear most of all. What want have I for a sky of unchanging blue, suffocating in it’s immensity, with its one great burning eye beating down to peel and crack my skin in the day, and it’s thousand eyes to stare down at night? My mother’s pale sky has never once burned me, never once stared into my dreams, not with her veils of snow to protect me. Her sky is forever changing, shifting from stillness to storm on her whim. Blasting and breaking, soothing and softening, blanketing all with her beautiful covering of pure, protective white.

But my father’s new queen has poisoned its beauty for him, turning his head with her talk of salted water and coarse sand. If she wishes to retreat to such places, then I say let us be well rid of her. If my father and sisters are fools enough to follow her, to believe the lies she and her counselors and sages have spread about my mother, the rightful queen, then let them be off as well. I know the truth, I have not forgotten, I of all her daughters, have remained faithful.

There are so few of us now. So many have turned away from their true queen. But though loyalty is fragile, memory remains as firm as the ice upon the Great Lake. Despite their seeming love for the Usurper, The common people still tell my mother’s story. The Usurper thinks that because she was once one of them, a drudge plucked from obscurity by the weakness of my father’s will, that their hearts have turned to her in full.

But they can never forget my mother completely, she does not let them.

When the winds howl thick, like wolves at the door, the tale, long and wondrous and wild, is whispered between huddled crones and wide-eyed children.

A tale that takes hold of the mind and heart, as surely as the cold takes to the bones.

It begins in Winter, for indeed, how could it not?

A winter long and dark, when my grandmother, a woman wise in the old ways of the world, sat sewing at her window, looking out into the forest that spreads like an ink stain all round the castle, the snow falling heavy all around her, silencing the world as she made her request to the magic of the woods.

Three drops of her own blood she spilt to gain her heart's desire, a child for her childless king. And a child she received, a beauty such as never been seen. Hair black as the trees of the forest, lips as red as the blood she had given, and skin as white as the purest snow. A child of the winter woods, born on winter’s darkest night.

A life had been granted, and so was a life taken away. My grandmother lived long enough to bless my mother with her name, and the king, who once had so longed for a child, was now too grieved to bear the sight of his new daughter. And so my mother was given over to the wife of the castle’s woodsman, recently blessed with a child of her own, and who, most importantly, lived in a cottage on the edge of the woods, far, far away from the castle grounds, and her mourning father’s eye.

For seven years my mother grew up in the care of the woodsman’s family, as loved as if she were their own blood daughter, and the girls loved each other as sisters. They spent many days beneath the shadows of the trees, and learned much from the woods. They say even then, before she had come into her power, that the creatures and spirits of that place knew my mother as part of their blood, knew that something of her had come from something within them, and protected her for it.

It was in the winter of her fifth year that she met my father, a lad of nine, trapped within an enchanted bearskin. She and her foster sister brought him into the warmth of their cabin, saving his life, and each winter for three years after, he returned. She told me once that those winters were some of the happiest memories of her life, surrounded by those she loved in the shelter of the snows.

It was in summer that her sorrows came.

It was in summer that my mother discovered the gnome that had cursed her bear, and by his death my father was freed from his enchantment, only to then return to his own far off kingdom. It was in summer that my mother was parted from her foster family, recalled to court at last--only to find her own usurper on her father’s arm.

The people of the land adored the lady who had come to them out of the sun-drenched south, calling her their Summer Queen, praising her for the abundance that had blessed the lands since she had wed the king. And surely there was never a woman so beautiful. They say that her hair flowed like sunlight itself down her shoulders until it touched the floor, braided all over with flowers of every hew, and her eyes were as blue and bright as an August morning.

My mother said she could feel those eyes trying to melt her the moment she was brought before them.

My mother was not at court long. One day, the Summer Queen surprised her with a visit from her foster-father, and though he smiled at her, his eyes seemed grim and troubled. They traveled together down to the edge of the woods, far from the eyes of any in the castle--and there he took out the knife, carved all over with flowers, to cut out her heart.

(He claimed later, when the coup was over, and my mother restored to the throne, that he had only done so to protect his family, his own little daughter. My mother granted him the same pity he had shown her, and sent him into the woods, alone and unarmed. I do not know to this day if he fell to the animals or the cold that finally came, but by all accounts, he was never seen again.)

My mother, for her part, wandered for months alone beneath the boughs of the woods. The animals did not harm her, the woods knew its own, but she dared not venture near the edges where human souls still delt, fearful now that any might betray her to the Summer Queen. And as remarkable as she was, she was still only a child, and had never had to care for herself before, and she longed for the cheer and company of creatures like herself.

More than that, the heat of a seemingly endless summer wore at her. August passed into September and September to October and on, with nary a change to be seen. The leaves on the trees remained green, and did not fall. The rivers ran along as full and fat as ever, though there was no snow left to feed them. The sun felt like a great eye, searching for her beneath the sheltering shadows of the forest. Only at night did she find respite, and she longed for the relief of a winter that never came.

Farther and farther she wandered, seeking someplace where she might find some sign of chance, some shelter from the daylight that stretched longer and longer. At last, she found herself upon the slopes of the farthest mountain. Her feet were worn ragged from wandering, and her tongue was cracked from the heat, but with the last of her strength, she managed to stagger to the summit, and there, in a hollow tucked into the dark shadows of the peaks, so dark that even the hottest of summers could not fully touch them, she found snow.

And there her strength finally deserted her. She lay down upon the snow as contentedly as if it had been a feather bed, and might have slipped into the endless sleep beneath that cold coverlet, had it not been for the little men.

The frozen-beards, the valley people call them. Dwarfs that live in the fields of ice upon the mountains, having little to do with the valley people. They delight in the cold, they are said to be able to call up snow storms to hide their homes,and in winter they might be seen galloping along in the wake of an avalanche as happy as a child at play. But for all the ice of their beards, they are warm of heart, and they took the half-frozen child into their home as readily as if she had been one of their own.

For seven years, my mother at last knew peace. In the caves of the mountains she learned much of the songs and stories and skill of her new family. She learned the shaping of swords and the setting of gems,and the summoning of wind and fog, and was happy.

But nothing lasts forever, and at last, summer found her patch of hidden winter.

The king of a far-off land had proclaimed his intention to visit our valley kingdom, which had grown in renown-- and profit-- thanks to the summer that seemed trapped within the crown of our mountain valley. The rivers and Great Lake were never clear of vessels shipping goods out and bringing gold in. Both people and purses grew fat from the bounty, and basked in the seemingly endless sunshine.

There was one stain however, upon the glorious reign of the Summer Queen, though it was only spoken of in whispers, for it would not do to complain of such small misfortune within the wake of so many blessings.

The Draining Sickness.

It came on quickly, overnight in some cases. Those afflicted withered away, drained, pale and almost bloodless, like unwatered plants beneath the noon-day sun. No one knew how it spread, it seemed to only strike one village at a time; and oddly the most healthy and comely succumbed first, as if offended by their vitality and beauty.

Fate however, seemed inclined to some mercy. For each village that was stricken with loss soon found itself blessed with an overflowing of crops and commerce, as if Death felt some blood money was owed.

It was not only the young and lovely who were taken though. The old King, my mother’s father, was struck down on Summer’s Eve itself— along with seven young girls from each of the surrounding villages. But the grief over these deaths was short-lived, such was the glory of the days that followed, the golden sunlight drying the tears from the cheeks of the mourners even as they fell. Indeed, it seemed hard to grieve anything beneath the sun of that long, long summer. The Summer Queen, clothed in green and yellow and scarlet and blue, wore only a black ribbon around her neck for mourning, and none falted her.

It was then that the rumors came, rumors that the visiting king was not only there to see the beauty of the valley, but of its women as well. Indeed, those coming before his entourage said that he was seeking out one who was rumored to be the Fairest of them All.

The Summer Queen, shining almost to match the blazing endless sun, was more than happy to aid him in his search. And it was undoubtedly her efforts to ensure her own success in fulfilling the terms of his quest which led her to discover that my mother’s heart--which she thought she had devoured seven years ago, at the start of her endless summer --still beat it’s red,red blood within her snow white breast.

A grand celebration was proclaimed in the king’s honor, a festival of such magnificence as had never been seen outside of the old stories, and travelers came from all the surrounding lands to take part, ply their trades, and sell their wares. Up and over the mountains they came, and several passed by the cave where my mother dwelt.

Was it any wonder that my mother, still so young, having found a measure of peace in that snowy valley which soothed the burns upon her soul, and made her long to return somewhat to the world of men and look once more upon human faces, took in good faith the laces, brought by from far by the cargo boats; the comb, carved and painted so cleverly with a myriad flower; and finally, most beautiful blood-red summer apple, grown in her father’s own orchard?

When my mother woke again-- to the face of my father, returned from afar at last to find the girl who had freed him from his curse, and had now freed her in return-- she was not so naive.

My father had brought many men with him, and the people of the valley had grown slow and complacent in their bounty. When his men came with their swords, and the frozen-beards called up their icy winds, and my mother rode down upon the capitol in a sleigh made from her own glass coffin, they were not prepared to withstand the onslaught. Soon enough all had either fallen to their knees —or fallen where they stood.

The Summer Queen danced at my mother’s wedding, in shoes crafted by my mother herself, in the art taught to her by her foster-fathers. Shoes which returned upon the Summer Queen all the heat of the sun which she had stolen by her sacrifices and bloody rites.

Then my mother took up her rightful throne, and winter came at last to the valley.

My mother and father were wed in the open courtyard, as the snow fell like diamonds all around them, and all agreed they had never seen a more beautiful sight. My mother’s foster sister, who had remained loyal to her true queen, was reunited with her, and wed to my father’s brother. Children followed both of them after, and for many years, the natural order of the seasons came and went.

It was on my seventh birthday that my mother found the mirror, tucked behind a tapestry woven with fruit and flowers, in the abandoned tower of the Summer Queen.

No one knows where the Summer Queen obtained the mirror. Some have claimed it was a wedding gift from her godfather, a fallen priest who had taken supper at the Scholomance. Others that she crafted it herself, from water and moonlight, on a witch’s sabbath. But my mother told me once that the mirror was only a shard of a greater whole, and that the Summer Queen had only happened upon it, and though her own powers were great, her vain and narrow mind only able to discover the basest powers of the mirror.

But my mother-- born of blood and snow and forest, learned in the lore of the mountain folk, the perfect inversion in shape and soul of the Summer Queen-- could feel at once what was before her. She had higher aspirations than to know of mere beauty. After all, why should she trouble herself over such trivial questions?

She was, and is, the Fairest of them All.

No, my mother asked for vision and clarity, and the mirror readily supplied, showing her the darkness that lay in the hearts of men, the twisted, choking desire she had already tasted in an apple grown of blood and summer heat, and she knew what she must do.

That night, on Summer’s Eve itself, the snows began to fall.

The winters lie heavy on our land now, as heavy as summer once did. Our borders have shrunken back to what they were before the days of the Summer Queen. The rivers she once choked with cargo boats and merry-makers now flow freely beneath the protection of their own glass coffins. The flowers that once crowned her traitorous head have not been seen in many a year. The mountains are eternally capped with snow, the frost-beards no longer trapped within their narrow valley. Our kingdom, once vibrantly flushed with the blood of those taken to feed an endless summer, is now white and pure, cleansed by the endless falling snow.

My mother saved her kingdom from a blood soaked opulence, from a land made rich and fat off the hearts of their own, and yet they still turned upon her. Called her witch, demon, and worse. In the end, as the purifying snows fell heavier and heavier, The Usurper-- covered in ash from the fires she’d set to hold the snows at bay-- besieged the capitol. With her brother at her side, with an army of thred-bare shop-keepers and merchants laid low, she came up the Great Road with as much pride and assurance as if the crown sat already upon her head.

My aunt, foster-sister of my mother, and others who remained loyal, who knew their true queen for the power that she was, fought back. Indeed, my aunt and the wolves that answered to her slew The Usurper’s brother upon the very threshold. But the faithful were soon overwhelmed. The few who survived were driven into the woods, seeking the shelter that had been granted to my mother. The Usurper had the trees set ablaze, calling out that the dark powers of the forest would not be allowed to aid the followers of a witch. Her army came right up to the palace gates. And my father, my dear, foolish, fearful, traitorous father, who’s heart had been turned by The Usurper’s treacherous lies--himself unbarred the door for her.

My mother did not flee, whatever they say. She who had vowed to never be driven by anyone again, she who had bent the very elements to her will. She did not flee before The Usurper’s feeble army of ragged townsfolk and treacherous palace guards,even as they tore up her portraits, burned her books, and smashed her mirror into a thousand pieces.

No,they were not granted that victory. When she fell, she fell of her own accord, and her white gown sparkled like snow-flakes in the sun as she dived, down from the window at which her mother had once sat sewing, down, down into the blazing, waiting embrace of the woods that had heard her mother’s prayer.

When the fires at last burned themselves out, they found my mother’s body, ash covered, but untouched by the flames, as if even they could not bear to besmirch her beauty. She was placed once more in the glass coffin that bore her name, and it sat in state for three days in the royal chapel. She was, after all, a king’s daughter, and wife of another. On the third day, it was gone. Some claim she was properly buried, far beneath the ground, with a hawthorn branch in her heart. Others say that the rebels took the coffin, and burned it till the glass was melted down into a lump as black as her hair had been. The faithful say that the frost-beards came in the dark of the night, and reclaimed their daughter, carrying the coffin up once more to the high valley where my father once found her, to await the day when she will awaken again.

If she has not so already.

For though my mother’s crown sits on The Usurper’s head, and her daughters are to be sent to the far corners of the earth, in hopes the heat of the sun and the scent of the flowers will drive her from their hearts, the winter still lays heavy upon the land, and the wind has not ceased to blow since the day that she fell.

Father is sending us away tomorrow, and I do not think he shall be long in following. So many have left already. He longs for the shores of his youth, where the spring and summer follows after the winter. My uncle, his brother, has already returned there, with many of his children. The common folk are leaving as regularly as they can clear the mountain passes, which is not easy in these times. The birds and gentler animals left years ago. Soon, it will be only the wolves that prowl the dark woods, edging closer and closer into the towns as more and more people abandon my mother’s frozen kingdom. They say that the spectre of my aunt can be seen running with the wolves sometimes, when the moon is obscured by clouds, red cloak trailing behind her like blood on the snow.

They can send me away, but I shall find my way back. A thousand’s flowers scents could not make me forget the smell of the pines, a thousand bird’s songs could not drown out the howl of the wind. The bluest of skies cannot burn away the purest of snows. Not all the mirror’s pieces were ground to powder. I managed to save one, one single shard reclaimed in the chaos that shattered my childhood. I have kept it close, reworked and polished it, set it into a clasp on a chain that rests even now against my heart, hidden beneath my dress so that The Usurper cannot see. Already I have learned much, not as much as my mother, I do not claim that, but enough

And when the time is right, I know it shall lead me home. Past the guards that will be placed at the door, past the gates that will be barred, over the rivers and hills and far away, back to my mother’s mountain. And there I know I shall find her again, hair as black as night, lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow; riding in her sleigh of glass thru the eternal winter air to meet me.

#my writing #snow white #snow white retelling #got inspired by a few different short stories #Tanith Lee's Red as Blood #Neil Gaiman's Snow Glass Apples #and Theodora Goss' England Under the White Witch #plus just my own love of faitytales and finding ways to mash them together #also wanted to do a dark Snow White story where she doesn't just start out as an evil vampiry child #but becomes corrupted by her fear and trauma #snow white and the seven dwarfs #snow white and rose red #little red riding hood #hansel and gretel #(the usurper is meant to be gretel as in some varients she grows up to marry a king #and who better to kill a witch?) #honestly would love to come back and explore some of the other characters in this story like her and red riding hood) #the snow queen #(really i think i just wanted to tie all the snow white/snow stories together x) #short stories #short story #walter crane #for the banner art #dwarves #witches #vampires #kinda with the witch queen

[holylustration]

Fic Rec: A Good (Little) Soldier

I'll 100% admit my bias here as both his beta and loving fiancée, but I think 1000_Otters (@qogoist) has created a delightfully charming and smutty piece featuring Theodora von Valancius and a certain Major Archibald Meliorn (who may or may not be the father of a certain Edmant von Valancius).

If you want to see Theodora dommy mommying an upstanding citizen of the Imperium and distinguished member of the Astra Militarum in the pursuit of an heir, give this a read and a comment! It is sexy and funny!

#rogue trader #warhammer 40k #rogue trader crpg #warhammer 40000 #Theodora von Valancius #fanfic recs #writing

[demetrius-haggarty]

Meech pulls Theodora along with him down a narrow path after he asked her to close her eyes and cast a silencing charm around her ears. Perhaps it sounded like a strange invitation. Demetrius was ready to embrace a 'no' to such a request but he hoped that the trust they share transcends this kind of suspicion. Knowing how clumsy Theodora can get, he holds her hand and periodically comments on their surroundings and any tricky roots on their path. He is ready to catch her if need be — if he judges by how tight her hold on him is.

The further they walk the warmer it gets. The Gryffindor did mention at some point that he found a small patch of land that by some miracle is green and blooming even in the middle of winter. Demetrius knows that she is aware of the shift in temperature when Theodora starts impatiently asking ‘Can I open my eyes yet? What about now? What about… now?’ every other moment. The wizard only chuckles and pulls her further down the path, either squeezing her hand or giving a pat on the shoulder. He can tell Theo is excited, and that is a clear understatement. The Gryffindor fastens his pace while making the final few steps to their destination. They are here!

'Whenever you're ready, undo the charm and open your eyes!' Meech says after they come to a stop at the edge of a small clearing. It is filled to the brim with happy honking daffodils while the area outside of the magical circle is still covered in snow. Demetrius looks at his companion expectantly but Theodora doesn't say or do anything. He frowns: did he say something wrong?

'I promise this is not something scary or dangerous!' he tries again and then takes her hands in his. The witch startles a little and Meech curses himself internally. Even if she smiled at the touch, he of all people should’ve known better. He looks anywhere but at Theodora's face as he goes on speaking, hoping to convince her to take a look.

'I— I've never taken anyone here before. When I was still dealing with my great aunt, I used to run away often. Stumbling upon this place was a gift in the dead of winter a few years ago. I was so tired and exhausted that I just collapsed. The flowers only honked for a bit and certainly calmed down by the time I woke up the next morning. But since then I always knew that if somebody from the outside came to this place, the daffodils would surely wake me up. It's a safe haven for m—'

He has to stop to take a deep breath. The memories are bittersweet and he doesn't want to burden Theodora with his past. What happened — happened. It's time this place starts creating happier memories for him.

‘Meech, are you ok over there?’ Theodora asks and her hands are no longer in Meech’. Instead, he feels her soft fingers on his face. It is his time to startle a little. Meech raises his head to look Theodora in the eyes and realises that she didn't hear a word he said: no undoing a silencing charm if Theo never heard him say 'we are here' to begin with. His face turns bright red from embarrassment and he freezes as if made of stone, frowning more than usual.

@theodoradevlin

#d. h. #theodora #hogwarts legacy rp #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #*The writing agreed upon with my co-writer* #*Written for the International Women's Day but it took me a while to edit in the responces*

[a-cloud-for-dreams]

Did you ever write any fics for rc?

Hi anon! Sorry, again, for answering extremely late lol. I wanna write more fics for RC on here but the books are so well written on their own that I feel like my fanfic would be too wattpad-y in comparison. That being said, I just posted a Gabriel x Amala fic, but I do plan to write more fics for KCOD (Killian, Amrit), KFOS (Saraswati, Ram), WTC (Shen), and THE (Lawrence, John Roberts) specifically. But all of my works can be found in my masterlist. Ty for asking! And feel free to send in requests <3

#i really have to get back into writing for choices lol #asks #romance club #kali call of darkness #amala khan #gabriel grant #amala x gabriel #rc theodora #kali: flame of samsara #rc killian #amrit doobay #saraswati basu #ram doobay #lawrence barkley #rc john roberts #w: time catcher #rc shen

[skyrim-forever]

OC Facts

This isn't a tag but feel free to do this as well :) I felt like dumping some of my oc brainrot somewhere haha

Theodora Viticius

Age: 27 when she first arrives in Skyrim, 28 when she meets Ondolemar and 30 when she defeats Alduin.

Sexuality: Bisexual <3

Parents: Both members of the Imperial legion, currently deceased.

Hometown: Anvil, Cyrodiil

Provinces Visited: Cyrodiil, Valenwood, Morrowind and Skyrim

Deities: Past worship of Sanguine and Nocturnal, currently follower of Akatosh

Relationship: Various lovers from 16 to 25, eventually married to Ondolemar <3

Children(?): Has two, a son at 30 and a daughter at 34

#skyrim #skyrim oc #oc: theodora #my girl! #I should write a flash forward sometime #about the kids #right now they are just in my head but they are cool <3

[harmonyowl]

What was Birdie up to during the Shadow Company Betrayal-Debacle?

Thank you for asking hun! 💙 Haha you picked probably one of the more exciting moments for Theodora 😂

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Why, in the holy hell, did Johnny want thirty churros!?

Theodora had seen him do some pretty spectacular things in the time she had known him, but putting away a meal alongside thirty churros was something that even she thought was a stretch.

Tapping her thumb on the steering wheel to the music from the radio, Theodora glanced over at the food sitting in the passenger seat and debated whether Johnny would miss a churro or two, the smell permeating the car was really starting to make her mouth water.

But when Theodora came around the bend back towards the base's checkpoint, what she saw made her quickly press her heeled foot onto the brake. The car slowed to a stop and something about the scene made her stomach drop.

Theodora never claimed to be any better at reading people than the average person, but she did know her boys, and right now their stances made the little hairs on her arms stand up. Something wasn't right about where Shadow Company was, or the tenseness of Simon and Johnny's backs, or the fact that Alejandro looked like he was in the middle of an argument.

The slow stop of the car got their attention for a moment, and when Johnny and Simon turned their heads towards her, Theodora got the sense they were trying to convey something to her but she was too far away to truly discern it. Very discreetly she moved her hand down to the gear lever and put the car in reverse, hoping that the white lights on the back didn't show up too brightly.

But Theodora realised quickly she wouldn't have to worry about that, because all hell broke loose once Alejandro lurched forward to attack Phillip. She didn't even waste time to stay and watch what happened, once the first hit was thrown Theodora slammed her foot back onto the accelerator and turned over her shoulder to try and navigate herself away.

Admittedly, Backwards Getaway Driving 101 wasn't a class Theodora had ever taken in her life, and in her rising panic she misjudged the bend and slammed the back of the car into the road guard.

'Fucking shite!' She muttered as the back of her head smacked the headrest, her stress growing at the sound of gunfire. What the hell was going on? Everything had just seemed to go so wrong so fast, and just after their win with the missile. Quickly shifting the lever back to drive, Theodora turned the steering wheel to try and get as far away from there as possible.

But despite being well away from all the chaos, bullets tended to close that distance well, and car doors were the furtherest things from bulletproof.

And God did that bullet burn.

Theodora cried out and instinctively grabbed her left thigh, causing the car to swerve slightly. She drove down the road for only a short while longer before she had to slam on the brakes and put it in park, her thigh was absolutely throbbing and hot blood was flowing out over her hand. Her panic was turning into full on terror as she thought about the location of her injury, was she going to bleed out? Was she going to die here?

With shaking hands Theodora slid the hem of her dress up her thigh, pained noises escaping her mouth as the fabric pressed against the wound, blood making the fabric sticky. She was sucking in tears as she pulled her cardigan off her shoulders, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes briefly to psyche herself up, Theodora lifted her bleeding thigh with a cry and shoved her cardigan underneath it. Taking the sleeves she tied a knot and pulled as hard as she could, it was agonising but it kept a constant pressure, and she knew the worst part of it hadn't even started yet.

Blindly reaching under the food bags with one hand Theodora grabbed her tablet while the other was trying to unlatch the door, the slippery blood on her hand made it harder. Stumbling out onto the road was the worst part of all this so far, other than actually getting shot, her thigh burned and stung every time she had to step on it and her heels made it pure agony. Kicking said heels off Theodora stumbled towards the gap in the road guard, limping as fast as she could, she didn't want to deal with Shadow Company or whatever the hell was going on behind her.

She was just a technical analyst, she'd never been shot before, she shouldn't have to deal with this shit!

Hopefully she'd find someone who could help her soon, or Johnny, or Simon, or anyone that knew what to do in these kinds of situations.

Through the trees Theodora could see some lights in the distance, and with an agonisingly throbbing thigh, she stumbled her way towards them. Hoping and praying for another little miracle of luck.

#theodora “birdie” march #call of duty oc #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #codmw #codmw2 #cod #mw2 #ask meme #my writing

[cryptidwritings]

WIP Questionnaire

Snatching up the open tag from @i-can-even-burn-salad and will make this one an open tag, also. Feel free to tag me if you do it.

I really need to make a list of people who would like to be tagged in stuff...

I can only do one WIP at a time, so of course this is for Dark Water, though I might re-do this for another WIP that I have in mind.

This got long, the rest of it (and the template) are under the cut.

What was the first part of your wip that you created?

Dark Water actually started as a present day one-shot where I was exploring the idea of a whumpee held captive on a small boat (think a personal one-man sailing boat), Adair and Moss both came from that. It eventually fell flat, but I still really enjoyed the concept and the characters. Once I put them in the right time period, everything else started revealing itself.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

This song was on REPEAT when I started it. Pretty sure it made it on my Spotify Wrapped that year.

3. Who are your favourite characters you've made? Why?

Moss: he's been through a lot, and has plenty of reasons to be angry and to just give up but keeps going anyway. He's more stubborn than optimistic, basically of the thought that if he casts a wide enough net then hes bound to catch something. His determination usually goes too far and ends up hurting himself, and others, in the process.

Isidro: loves his mom, loves his family, but was kept away from them due to no fault of his own but earned the self-loathing through all of his choices since then.

Theodora: She's strong, logical, a hard worker and self-reliant, all good and amazing things... when balanced. Unfortunately, she lives in a world that doesn't allow her to be anything else at the threat of her own survival.

Isola: She's emotionally cold, and tenacious for personal gain. She understands her place in the world, and where most would feel pangs of guilt or even second-guess their actions, she's unapologetic and convinced she's 100% right in her brutality. She's fun to write, fun to think about, and fun to describe. (the moment where her feet are up on a table with her boots dripping blood was in my mind for ages and I WILL get that commissioned someday. I have a mighty need.)

4. What other pieces of media do you think would share a fan base for your story?

I... don't know :,) . I'm really bad at following current and trending stuff because I have limited time when I'm not working, and I'd rather write than do anything else.

Low hanging fruit would be Pirates of the Caribbean, if you also like the idea of Davy Jones being a human woman. That's not spoilers, that's just how I see her.

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your wip?

The same struggle with every WIP... pacing. If I do a more official edit for Dark Water, that'll be what I tackle first.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

Ghost - Isidro's horse, is a brown mare with white front feet. His best friend, essentially.

Theodora's horses are unnamed, also her best friends.

A dog named Crow who will come up eventually. I've had the chapter where he comes up written for a long time because I needed to get it out of my head. I posted a sentence from that chapter forever ago thinking I only had a few chapters to go before getting there... the novel had other plans.

7. How do your characters get around? (ex: trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

On foot or by horse... or unwillingly being pulled behind a horse on foot :)

8. What part of your wip are you working on rn?

The end of the second arc, ramping up to the beginning of the third. I'm on the cusp, like the moment before the rollercoaster begins going down, just sitting up there like... well this is taking forever, but the words aren't wording.

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe?) of your wip do you think will draw people in?

Sad wet cat of a man, buff but sad women, PIRATES, aroace main character who has a lot of displaced anger... sword fights.

10. What are your hopes for your wip?

That people will read it and go 'hell yeah' sometimes.

... TEMPLATE ...

1 What was the first part of your wip that you created?

2 If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

3 Who are your favourite characters you've made? Why?

4 What other pieces of media do you think would share a fan base for your story?

5 What has been your biggest struggle with your wip?

6 Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

7 How do your characters get around? (ex: trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

8 What part of your wip are you working on rn?

9 What aspects (tropes, maybe?) of your wip do you think will draw people in?

10 What are your hopes for your wip?

#dark water by jovi #oc moss #oc isidro #oc theodora #oc isola #wip ask game #wip questionnaire #am writing #Youtube

[galpalaven]

black ice

Winter is creeping up on us here in the Great White North, and I was so inspired by the latest chapter of @evertidings' when twilight strikes that I just had to write something. Rylan finds themself in a bit of a predicament one night as the chill of winter sets in, and the hunter is more than happy to give them a safe place to crash. when twilight strikes. rylan villanueva/theodora blackburn. 3200+ words

“Rylan, oh my god—”

“Relax, hunter, I’m fine—”

“It’s freezing rain, Ry, get in here.”

The nickname catches them off guard long enough that Theodora successfully manages to drag them through her front door by the lapels of their leather jacket, grumbling under her breath about the temperatures as she kicks the door shut behind them. They want to make some kind of quip when she shoves their jacket off of their shoulders, shaking out the snow and rain over her welcome mat, but the warmth of her apartment hits them harder than they’d been expecting. Their teeth start to chatter as the cold of their wet clothes really starts to seep into their bones.

Theodora practically sprints to the nearby closet, slamming it open to reveal piles of neatly folded towels. She grabs a beach towel with a cartoon crab on it and rushes back to their side, throwing it around their shoulders and chafing her hands up and down their arms to try and help dry them off.

“What the fuck were you doing out tonight?” she asks, hands slowing a little as they shiver in front of her. “It’s supposed to freeze over and snow like five inches by morning.”

They laugh through their chattering teeth, shrugging lightly. “D-Dunno. Thought I would s-surprise you.”

She fixes them with a flat look that tells them that she’s absolutely aware that they were not out to see her, that they had been out for hours before they decided that they really needed to get out of the rain, and that her place really had been the closest to them when they realized that they weren’t going to be able to walk back to their place and still keep all of their extremities intact. 

“Right. I’ll just pretend that I believe that.”

They laugh again, nodding as they hug the towel around themself. “That’s fair.”

Theodora shakes her head with a sigh, but she doesn’t seem mad—just concerned. “Come on. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes. I’ll run you a hot bath and you can wear some of my workout clothes tonight to sleep in.”

Rylan blinks, innuendo dying in their throat at the end of her sentence. They tilt their head, watching her as she turns to go to where they know her bathroom is. 

“Sleep in?”

She snorts, shooting them an incredulous look over her shoulder. “Did you think I was going to let you leave when it’s this cold out?”

Without waiting for them to reply, she just rolls her eyes and flicks the bathroom light on, disappearing into the room and leaving them standing helplessly in the foyer. They’re very aware of just how much like a drowned rat they look as they follow after her meekly a moment later. Their skin is starting to tingle as their circulation begins to get better, fingers and toes beginning to thaw in the warmth of the hunter’s apartment.

When they peek around the doorframe, she’s kneeling by the bath, hand stuck under the tap as she adjusts the temperature.

Something in their throat squeezes when she shoots them a smile, blowing a wayward curl out of her face with a huff.

“I’ll put it as hot as I can so it stays warm for a while. You’re free to use any of my products if you’d like to wash while you're here. Do you want a bubble bath?”

Rylan feels like they must have hit their head.

“A bubble bath?”

She hums, not looking at them as she plugs the tub and pushes herself back to her feet. “I have some that I use to help relax if you’d like.”

They’re quiet for a beat too long, because she looks over at them curiously, and then snorts, reaching for a bottle and tipping it to pour something into the tub. The smell of pomegranates fills the humid air of the bathroom, and bubbles begin to form as water rushes out of the faucet.

She walks back over, hands gentle on their arms as she scoots them over so she can slip out past them. “Feel free to sit by the tub and warm up while I go grab you something to wear tonight.”

She’s gone before they can manage a complete coherent thought, so they just do as she suggested and take a seat on the closed toilet seat. Her bathroom is clean, and the heat rising from the tub is sinking into their skin, loosening their tight muscles with each passing second. They can’t remember the last time that they were truly relaxed, but this is getting awfully close. 

The next few minutes are a blur—at some point, Theodora returns with a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. She tells them that she’ll put their clothes in the wash tonight and make sure they’re clean and dry for tomorrow, and then she leaves them to their bath. 

The water hurts a bit as they sink into the bubbles, as their nearly numb limbs begin to thaw in the warmth of the water. It hurts, but it feels so good—they feel like they’ve been cold for months, and they groan softly as they recline against the back of the tub, letting their eyes flutter shut. 

They have to fight the urge to sleep, forcing themself to wash instead of luxuriate when keeping their eyes open becomes a challenge. Sleep has been chasing them these past few weeks, and they’re not ready to succumb yet. 

Rylan dresses themself in Theodora’s soft loungewear after they dry off, taking the time to pull a comb she left out for them through their hair after squeezing it as dry as they can with their towel. The breath they take as they look at themself in the mirror is deep and easy, which is something they haven’t had for a while. 

When they open the bathroom door, the smell of cooking food hits them, and their eyes start to burn a little. It smells like bacon and eggs, and when they finally walk out into the living room, they find Theodora leaning against her counter, watching the pan she has on the stove. 

She’d cooked for them.

They cough a little as they walk over to the counter, sliding into one of the stools as she turns to smile at them. 

“I hope you don’t mind turkey bacon,” she says, crossing her arms as she leans against the counter as well. “I don’t eat pork, but if you think it tastes too bad I can keep some pork bacon in the freezer for you.”

The sheet suggestion of her buying food that she won’t even eat for them has their voice caught in their throat. A lot about what she’s done tonight has their voice caught in their throat.

About a minute too late, they manage to rasp, “You don’t have to do that.”

Theodora just laughs, plating the food on two plates she’d already set aside. She slides one across the counter to them, along with a fork and a bottle of water, and starts to pick at her own food with a shrug.

“I don’t mind to keep things around for you,” she says, shoveling some scrambled eggs into her mouth. “You always seem hungry when you come over. I’d like to keep things you like around for you.”

They bite into their food to give themself an excuse not to talk. They don’t trust their voice right now, sitting in her clothes with the sound of sleet hitting the windows, the smell of all her best smelling soaps wrapped around them. 

It’s dark in her apartment. She’d only turned on the light above the stove and above the sink, so it’s still pleasantly dim and cozy as they eat in a mostly companionable silence. They’d expected her to ask questions about why they were out, but she apparently seems mostly content to just eat and enjoy the silence.

They aren’t sure what to make of her.

By all means, they shouldn’t even be sitting here right now. A bounty showing up at their hunter’s house in the dead of night looking for a warm place to wait out the rain shouldn’t even be a thing that entered their mind. They shouldn’t be here, eating her food that she cooked for them, wearing her clothes after having a bath in her tub.

They shouldn’t be here.

At all.

And yet here they are, warm and safe and so relaxed that they think they could fall asleep into their eggs.

Well, if they hadn’t inhaled the food anyway.

“Still hungry?” comes her voice after a moment, and they nearly startle at the sound of it.

They blink, and then shake their head, smiling to try and regain some of their control. “No. Thanks, though. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Mm.”

Theodora’s hum is the only answer they get as she gathers their plates and dumps them in the sink. They feel bad—feel like they should go ahead and do the dishes now to save her the trouble—but she just waved them off when she notices them watching. 

“Don’t worry about it. They can wait until tomorrow. You must be exhausted after being out in the cold for god knows how long.”

There it is.

“What were you doing out, anyway?”

Rylan fidgets as she leans on the counter again, hazel eyes earnest and concerned as she props her head up with her hand. They fix their gaze on the chipped nail polish on their fingernails as they shrug and say, “Well, when you have a bounty on your head… it’s not always the hunters from your organization you have to worry about.”

“…someone has been bothering you at your place?”

They grin humorlessly. “I came home to find the entire place trashed a few days ago and I haven’t been back since.”

“Rylan…”

They don’t want to talk about it. They don’t even really want her to know, but they also hate lying to her. They don’t… they don’t know what they want.

Theodora’s hands come into their line of sight as she cups their hands in hers. That scares them into looking up at her again, mouth falling slack in surprise. She smiles at them. And for a moment, with the backlight of the stove light making her curls glow a bit on the ends, they think she looks something like an angel.

Her thumbs stroke back and forth over the back of their hands as she smiles softly at them, tilting her head and looking at them in such a tender way that their heart nearly stops in their chest.

“Why don’t you just stay with me for a bit?”

Their jaw nearly hits the countertop. Of all the things they expected her to say, that somehow hadn’t made the list.

“What?”

She grins, and they’re struggling not to get distracted by how pretty she is.

“Think about it—what safer place for you to stay than with me? The best hunter in New York?”

“Well, I don’t know. Probably the Bahamas, or anywhere else that isn’t in New York.”

She rolls her eyes, laughing when they smirk at her, but she nods regardless, eying the window as she says, “You have a point, but the offer stands. I like having you around. You’re always welcome here.”

They turn their hands so that they can squeeze hers in return, eyes fixed on their fingers instead of her face as they murmur, “For now, anyway.”

A beat—and then she snorts, laughing as she pulls away completely. They start to think they’ve finally brought her to her senses, but she just comes around to their side of the counter, grabbing them by their wrists to lead them towards the couch.

“You know,” she starts conversationally, walking backwards as she leads them to the living room, “for someone who is so good at reading people, you’re especially thick when it comes to reading me.”

Rylan lets her lead them, frowning and watching her smile at them until she pushes them lightly onto the couch (which already has a few big, fluffy blankets on it and a pillow at one end). She sits beside them, tucking one leg up under her as she props her head up with her hand, elbow resting on the back of the couch.

Rylan… doesn’t understand.

“What… what do you mean?”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “You really haven’t picked up on the fact that I have no plans to arrest you, have you?”

…

No. No, they most certainly haven’t.

“What?”

“I’m not going to arrest you, even after the two months are up.”

“What?”

Theodora just laughs, tilting her head and looking at them like they’re the cutest thing she’s ever seen. They don’t understand what she’s saying, and they don’t know what to do with this. They keep looking for the punchline, for the lie in what she’s said, but she just looks happy. Content.

They don’t understand.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks after a moment.

They swallow thickly, tongue dry. “A secret?”

She nods. “It’ll make all of this make sense, I think. It’s about why I became a hunter.”

They roll their eyes, looking away. “No offense, hunter, but I don’t really want to hear about the origin of your decision to hunt my kind for a living.”

“Oh, good lord,” she mumbles, and their lips twitch because they're pretty sure she’s rolling her eyes. “Just listen, alright? It’ll make sense.”

They just hum, turning to look at her again. She smiles at them before she sighs, looking at the windows as she begins her story.

“My parents were murdered.”

…oh.

She looks over at them out of the corner of her eye, smiling grimly at what must be realization on their face. Looking down at her nails, she explains further, “They were murdered by a serial killer. A Fae who had been killing people around Toronto where we used to live. The—the problem was that the serial killer who killed them was supposed to have been caught an entire week prior.”

Rylan frowns, tilting their head. “He’d been caught?”

She nods, eyes far away. “Mhm. They’d caught the wrong person, and because of that he was still free to—to torture my parents to death. It was—“ she cuts herself off, frowning and shaking her head. “It was gruesome. And it could have been prevented, I found out later. I looked into it and the hunters who framed the man that wasn’t the killer—they’d cut corners because they were sick of not having any answers for the public. Rather than do their jobs right, they decided they’d just pick someone and make it work.”

She takes a deep breath, sighing and rubbing at her eyes like she’s trying to rub the memory away.

“I decided that I was going to do something after that. I wanted to stop that happening to anyone else, so I went into casework. I thought working in the documents I’d be able to make sure that the hunters had all of the correct information.” She shrugs, shaking her head again. “It didn’t work very well, so when I got the offer to become a hunter myself, I thought at least I’d be able to make sure that I was making the best choice. That I could make sure that I had all the best information, and that I could be fair and just and do my job the best that I could. To protect not only the humans out there, but also supernaturals who might get framed for things just because someone was feeling lazy.”

Rylan’s throat is tight when she finally looks at them again.

“So, when you were insistent that it wasn’t you? I believed you. I have believed you for a while now. And I’m going to help you find the person that really did it, no matter how long it takes. I don’t care about the deadline. I don’t care what our records say. If I take you in, the real killer is still out there, and I refuse to live with any of that on my conscience. It’s just—not who I am.”

“Theodora…” Rylan hears themself rasp, and they don’t realize that they’re shaking until her hands find theirs in their lap. “I don’t know what to say.”

She laughs softly, reaching up to brush some of their hair out of their face. “You don’t have to say anything. Just—well, just stop saying that we’ll be enemies after we find Caine. We’re not enemies. I’m on your side.”

Her fingers brush their cheek, and it’s so hard to keep from leaning into the touch as her thumb follows the curve of their cheekbone. In the dark apartment, she seems to have gained a bit of courage, inching closer as she breathes, “I like you, Rylan.”

They laugh, and the sound is a little pathetic as they reach up to press her hand fully against their face, kissing her palm and delighting in the flutter of her pulse at the touch.

“I like you, too, Theodora.”

They smile at each other, giddy and flustered in the darkness, for a moment. They watch her eyes dart across their face, watch the softness in her eyes as she catalogues every little part of their face, until her gaze pauses on their lips. She hesitates there, thumb absently stroking across their skin as her tongue darts out to wet her own lips.

They know they’ll probably regret it in the morning, but after that whole spiel, there’s really nothing left for them to do but to lean in and finally give them both what they so desperately seem to want.

When Rylan kisses her, it feels like coming home.

She kisses them right back immediately, inhaling sharply as she does. When the kiss breaks for just a moment, they can feel her grin against them before she presses forward again. 

They lose track of time as they sit there, trading soft, almost hesitant kisses in the dark. The spark of electricity that shoots across their skin when they deepen the kiss has the butterflies in their stomach swarming, Theodora’s hand sliding over their still-wet hair. 

Rylan has kissed many people, and has been kissed by just as many, but somehow this kiss feels like a first. They feel nervous and excited all at once, and there’s a pliance to both of them as they follow each other that feels new and terrifying, but also so damn good that they never want it to end. If they could, they would happily sit right here on this couch, kissing Theodora for the rest of time.

Unfortunately, their body has other plans, and they have to pull away to yawn at one point. An apology is on the edge of their tongue before they’ve even finished, but Theodora just laughs, kissing at their jaw and smiling into their skin.

“You’re tired,” she murmurs, pulling away finally. They watch her plump, kiss swollen lips as she says, “I think it’s time for bed.”

“Does it have to be?” comes out of their mouth before they can stop it, though the relaxation and warmth that has seeped into their frame is dragging them further towards the land of dreams by the second.

She chuckles, curling her fingers under their chin as she leans in to kiss them one more time.

“Sleep, Rylan. We can kiss more tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

She laughs, and they chuckle with her.

“I promise.”

#my writing #rylan villanueva #when twilight strikes #theodora blackburn #rylan x hunter

[adozentothedawn]

Early sketch of a little piece of my new Rogue Trader Carolus

Carolus and Theodora talk, Theodora sees a piece of paper poke out of a pocket and pulls it out, it's a child's drawing,

"My daughter's, Lord Captain."

"A daughter? How surprising. Curious that I did not hear about her..."

"She is a mutant, Lord Captain. I do not mention her often, for her own safety. I took her with me to the Expanse and left her in the care of a mutant colony on Janus. One of your worlds, I hear?"

"Indeed, but do not change the subject. A mutant child then. That doesn't bode well for a continuing of the line."

"The trait comes from her father. We had an... Induced night of passion after which he promptly deceased. Frankly I didn't expect the child to survive and so didn't bother getting rid of it. But she has proven impressively hardy and I cannot bring myself to regret my decision. Besides- you yourself are choosing from the family's distant branches rather than continuing the line yourself."

Smirk. "A cutting answer. I like it. You may keep your cripple child as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties." Hands the drawing back.

#warhammer 40k rogue trader #writing #what theodora doesn't know is that carolus is lying #that child is in fact half drukhari #and the product of some hate sex #the guy is dead though carolus killed him eventually #can drukhari and humans interbreed in canon who knows who cares #i don't #reality bends to my will and even the god emperor trembles before my power to ignore canon #theodora von valancius

[bnbc]

I had Aishara in my head for 10 hours, she is my horrible daughter now.

Here is a fic for her, with a toxic old people ship cameo! Mind rating tho.

#i was suppised to write heinrix/iza that day but inquistion requistioned me #Rogue Trader #Acolyte Aishara #heinrix van calox #xavier calcazar #theodora von valancius #calcadora #for the win tbh #gigiltrader

[rats-and-robots]

Updated sketch of my RT now that I've decided how I'm gonna build him.

#crime lord sniper lets gooo #also with enough metal to double his weight from being born on a Forge World #i was originally gonna do Voidborn but #i would like for him to have Mechanicus connections because of... someone else im sneaking in #after all #he needs a master of whispers #and a proud crime lord isnt simply going to leave behind people who were loyal to him #no matter what Theodora says about the RT's life before beinf forfiet #big robot attack dog who may or may not have... familiar origins #ill talk abour Farris later #i dont wanna spoil in case i decide to write a big reveal #warhammer 40k: rogue trader #garion von valancius #i might still add more augments to him.........

[lunarsluttymoon]

Kicking my feet giggling over Joseph and Theodora’s dynamic. Guy who would never talk about his feelings if it killed him & girl who will make you talk about your feelings if it kills her. Guy who struggles with understanding tone and expressions (autism) and girl who wears her heart on her sleeve (adhd).

#me twirling my hair: who came up with this heehee (me I did) #epithet erased #American pie fic #zora salazar #Joseph Salazar #Theodora Salazar #they r everything to me #not saying I’m writing Joseph and Theodora as unknownly having autism and adhd #(​but I am explicitly saying I’m writing them as unknowingly having autism and adhd)

[esta-elavaris]

Me writing this AU, which is my third time writing James and Theo meeting for the first time: Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference--

#james and theodora #james/theodora #im writing it out of order bc that's just how i do stuff like this #so i'm currently writing their first introduction #and he's so much more suspicious in this one #like yes bb be a dick you've earned it it's fair

[demetrius-haggarty]

Shrub Club: Episode 2

Demetrius walks all over the castle grounds to make sure he finds the perfect location for the Shrub Club’s greenhouse. The duo comprising of a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor got all the paperwork out of the way so that Meech can finally claim a location for their own meeting space.

It is right outside of the main Herbology building in a small secluded area. There are no flowerbeds here that would be destroyed nor are there trees in the middle to take down. Just some beehives to the side which can even be helpful depending on what they decide to grow. Having spent quite some time in this location, Demetrius comes to a conclusion that it does get plenty of sunlight as well, unlike the area right underneath that he considered first.

The farmer boy has all the instruments needed for building with him. Although he has never constructed something like this on his own before, he helped his gramps plenty of times. This should not be hard considering that all of his club members volunteered to help out as well. Meech feels rather relived at that: his magic is only good for certain things, practical things. There is no Quidditch practice this weekend so the Gryffindor is set on finishing his part of the construction in two days.

He places charms on the instruments, commanding them to do as he wills. Some of the stone and wood he had already levitated to this area during his preliminary observations of the grounds. Stone goes for the base, and wood — for the building frame. It might look rather basic and but with the help of others the greenhouse would surely flourish. The glass and the decorations? Some protective charms? Maybe even something that can make the inside of the greenhouse bigger than the outside? He is sure that the girls will have it covered.

Having talked to @theodoradevlin @ask-wren-zhang and @justmagnoliaellistor he approximated their skill sets. Theodora talked about letting nature provide the beauty and Meech is curious as to how that can be achieved. Using wood-like plants in the construction? The vines that take over the wooden posts and swirl around like those solved Merlin Trials structures? Theo also wondered if she can use Glacius to freeze window panes out of water since they cannot really afford all that glass. Wren mentioned that she is rather good at furnishing (that would help cover the inside of the greenhouse) and can even bring refreshments. And Magnolia talked so fondly about flowers in one of her letters that Meech is sure that her sense of beautify and experience with taking care of an actual garden back home would come in handy. The wizard wonders how different Magnolia’s garden is compared to Theo’s grove or what he and his gramps grow on the farm.

The Gryffindor doesn’t feel like he has the right to tell people what to do even if everyone involved offered to help. They can all get together and see what it is they want to grow, what plants would go where. Would they want a small area with a table and chairs where they can sit and discuss things? Maybe a separate terrace on the outside or a porch as part of the greenhouse overlooking the valley below? They have to figure out and get the right soil and fertiliser for the seeds, sprouts and saplings they’d plan to get. How would the watering system work, ventilation, heating in winter? They certainly need to do more research, a lot of it probably charms Meech has never heard off. And there is the question of the greenhouse decorations, of course!

Less thinking, more doing: Demetrius gets to work.

#d. h. #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy rp #theodora #magnolia #wren #shrub club #Wren will get an owl regarding her letter later today! #*Feel free to mention what you feel like your character wants to add!* #*I only summarised your owls and googled some greenhouse basics to give you an idea but anything is welcome!* #*Want to make a moodboard or throw in a picture of how you think a greenhouse of your dream would look like? Go for it!* #*Want to think what plants your character likes? Where to get the seeds? Who else to call for help? Feel free to write!* #*Want to talk more about our OCs and MCs interacting — I'm all ears!* #*Replies or reblogs or messages: I am free for anything.* #*Just have fun if you wish to join and it not — that is also ok 💙*

[madmarchhare]

'Who else would come see you first?' New short story

Not about Caine or Asriel sorry. This is something new that is part of something I might write later on. Hope you all enjoy it. It is loosely inspire by dnd, and I'm really only tagging it to get the medieval/ fantasy fans, but don't leave, I promise you'll like it!

“So, where should we go next?” Vyck asked, leaning over the table, steepling his hands. I peered at him over the rim of my tankard, taking one more mouthful of ale before lowing it from my mouth.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not sure whether to be curious or bored. He looked back at me as if it was obvious.

“What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’? I mean what quest we should do next!” He finished excitedly, spreading his arms widely.

“We just finished one! I want a rest!” I replied indignantly, snatching my drink up to my lips as I finished, looking at Vyck as I took a quick swig. I had met Vyck a couple of months ago, and decided to form a party with him, well, he invited me and I didn’t want to have to ask anyone else. He was a tall, thin elf man, dressed in a fine purple and gold cloak that hung rather loosely over a white shirt and a pair of black trousers. He was a good looking man, with pale hued skin and reddish hair, that was left with a fringe at the front and platted at the back under a black ushanka. He was a handsome man, quite suited to be a bard, despite his role as a wizard. Though he did  always like to make a show of it.

“What? Your little dwarf legs tired having to keep after us Thedrick?” Vyck replied slyly, resisting his face in his hands as he leant over the table. Oh, and he’s a cunt, I forgot to mention that. Fun, but a real bastard.

“Thedrick’s right,” Clock suddenly piped up, having to pull himself up from his seat, to see over the table, “we need a rest, that last quest was hard, and we’ve been doing them nonstop.” Clock was our resident Kobold fighter, yes I know it sounds odd, but I don’t care, he is very good at what he does. He was around 3’6” with black scales, though he would paint some on his face and arms white with whitewash, which made him look quite interesting. His snout was rather broad and squat, like an alligator’s, filled with neatly white teeth that he cleaned almost religiously. He wore a stet of leather arm guards along with a studded leather breastplate, over the top a chainmail shirt and trousers.

“We’ve been doing them non-stop because of how little they pay us!” Vyck burst out, throwing his hands up into the air, his cloak sleeves falling down to his shoulders as he did. “The rent around here is expensive, so unless we do enough quests, we’ll get kicked out. So, we just to need to one more decent paying quest and then we can buy a house, so we don’t have to worry so much.” Both Clock and I looked at him, begrudgingly accepting the good point he made. The town we were staying at, Bury Saint Michael, was an adventurer town, so, all the landlords tended to peg the rent high, and rake it in off of them. “And,” Vyck began proudly, catching our attention, “if we do enough, we might get chosen as one of the Gods’ champions!” The table collectively groaned at this, all four members bar Vyck exhausted with him.

“For the last time Vyck,” Theodora replied, her voice exhausted, “no God’s  gonna make you their champion.” She looked down at him quite tiredly. Theodora, though she preferred to be called just ‘Ra’, was a wolf-woman-thing… I have no fucking clue what she is really, none of us did. We knew she was a big, buff, kickass wolf lady, and that she was our resident big fuck off barbarian-slash-rouge… Don’t ask me to explain, I can’t. She was the tallest out of us, outstanding Vyck by about a foot at 7’ something. She wore a reddish gilet along with a sort of skirt-kilt thing, with a great white sash across her chest.

“Why not? After all, I’m handsome enough to be picked by the god of beauty!” Vyck responded, placing his finger tips under his chin as he tilted back his head.

“Mate, just drop it. besides, you know you’re not that God’s type,” I responded, tipping my tankard back as I drank down.

“Oh, and what is his type then?” Vyck asked slyly, a sultry smile on his face, his chin in his hand as he leaned forward.

“Not twinks,” Clock said calmly, stabbing a sausage with one of his claws and popping it in his mouth as I coughed and sputtered on my drink, Ra and Hollace laughing hard.

“Oh,” Vyck replied, in a sneaky sort of voice, leaning closer to Clock, “and who taught you what a twink is?”

“Well!” I burst out, slamming my tankard onto the table as I looked over at the wall, avoiding Vysk’s gaze, “I think we are digressing from our main point.” I added, feeling my face flush red under my beard.

“Oh do you now?” Vysk asked sultrily, leaning over the table.

“I think you have a point about the quests, but we’ve been working non-stop. Are you sure we can manage another?” turning back to look at him, he leaned back into his seat with a smile.

“We’ll be fine don’t worry: I’m not going to pick something too hard.”

“If we are going to do another quest, can it not be a dungeon? I’m getting really tired of either having to hold a torch or ask you all what is happening.” Hollace, the sole human in our party asked. Hollace was a reasonably tall man, just slightly shorter than Vysk, he was our healer and had the bedside manner of one. By which I mean none at all. He was a well built man, dressed in a set of steel armour, though he never wore a helmet, and used a ball and chain for a weapon. Though I had seen him beat an undead to de-wait… never mind, bare handed. His face was rather squarish, punctuated by a number of freckles and a well trimmer moustache he would style up into points, and a mop of dark black hair held into a messy parting, trimmed at the sides.

As the only human in our group, he often had to be put forward to soothe things over when Vysk wouldn’t work. His rather blunt manner didn’t make that any easier.

“Ah, our resident human getting tiered of his useless little eyes.” Ra declared, grabbing him with one arm and pulling him in close.

“I’ll bite you,” Hollace responded quite sternly.

“Oh, and what would that do little man?”

“My teeth are silver.”

“Oh, kinky…” Ra responded sultrily as she pulled him closer, before Vyck came int between them

“I think that’s enough children!” he announced slyly, putting his nose high in the air as Clock and I laughed at the pair. “I’ll find a good quest we can do, so don’t worry.” Giving us all a confidant smile as he turned to look at me. I sighed and shook my head slightly as I let a smile fall across my lips. Not that they could tell.

It wasn’t a good quest

“Why is that fucking things down here?!” Hollace cried out to Vyck as he dashed along the side of the chasm we were in, punching a bipedal fox looking creature that jumped him as he did.

“I don’t bloody know! The quest just said there were some Kitsune things here!” Vyck snapped back, his voice and face drawn taught in panic, as he launched a blast of ice crystals at the creature Hollace meant leaving it with a bunch of shallow slashes on its rippling flesh. It only seemed to make it even angrier than it already was. The creature in question was twelve feet tall, it’s presence filling in the room. It was a great lumbering thing, standing on twig like legs that ended in stumps, one significantly shorter than the other thanks to a lucky shot from Clock. It’s skin, if it could be called that, looked odd, like if someone had taken various shades of mud and stamped them all together, and yet blood poured from it’s wounds, many ones we had not inflicted.

“We’ll it’s here now! What do we do?” Clock called out as he was pinned by four of the kitsune creatures, left as a blur from his speed.

“Just fight it! It bleeds enough that it’s got to be killable!” Ra screamed out excitedly as she suddenly jumped down on the creatures tube shaped head and clamped down on it with her jaws, tearing into the left side of it’s face. The thing let out a billowing sort of wail, and flung up his arms to tear her off as it stumbled around, finally grabbing her with an oversized hand and tossing her to the side. She landed on the floor and skidded back a few dozen feet as her claws threw up sparks on the stone floor.

“I’ll trip him you get him while he’s down!” I called out, throwing my great axe at his unwounded leg, the great steel blade digging itself deep into the trunk of a limb. The great thing teetered then fell onto it’s back. Clock slashed apart the kitsune near him then dashed forward to the monster just as Ra and Hollace did the same. Clock plunged his sword into it’s chest as Ra tore at its neck, sending up a spray of blood that covered her and Hollace as the latter brought down his ball and chain head down onto the hilt of Clock’s sword, driving it even deeper. Then a great spear of fire shot through it’s head making it fall limp, the other three turning to look at Vyck, who wore a stressed, yet relived looking expression, the veins on his hands glowing red.

He shot us a smile, and I shared it. Then I suddenly felt something thrust itself through my chest, and saw it fling itself out of my chest.

“Thedrick!” Vyck screamed out, terror in his voice, causing the others to turn to me and all adopt matching looks of terror.

“Thedrick!” They all called out as they rushed over to me, dropping their weapons. I looked down at the protrusion from my chest, it looked the same as the creature and as I looked back up I saw it drop it’s hand, the light finally fading from its hollow eyes. I coughed up a mess of blood, spattering it over my beard as the word around me began to dim.

“Heal him!” Vyck cried out, grabbing me as the great limb fell apart like dust, the magic in it gone.

“I don’t have any spell’s left!” Hollace cried out desperately, his voice fading in and out as I stared up at the roof. It was quite beautiful despite the darkness, covered in great mosaics depicting pleasant little scenes.

“Just try!” Vyck snapped back to him, his voice breaking as everything went quite dark. Then, as soon as I opened my eyes I was in a black room. At least I thought it was room. I couldn’t see any walls, or a floor, or anything in it at all really.

“Wha-” I began to myself as I spotted someone, a tall, thin man stood there, where I was quite sure no-one was before. He wore a black suit that hung slightly large on his frame, over the top of a high collared white shirt, tied together with a silver tie covered in small black slits. His face was thin, pale in complexion his eyes clamped shut behind a pair of armless over-loop glasses. On top of his black hair was a wide brimmed hat, a pork pie I think they were called, that shrouded his face slightly in darkness. He stood a few feet from me, his hands behind his back, a pleasant look on his face.

I strode over to him, calling out. “Hey you! Where am I?” He turned to me, seemingly unsurprised by presence and gave me a warm smile.

“Good afternoon Mr. Thedrick,” he responded, surprising me, “it is nice to formally meet you.”

“H-how do you know my name?” I asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“I know a lot about you. You’re a good, charitable man, you always have been, and you will continue to be.” He responded in an odd sort of voice. One that duplicitously was confident and cowardly. I looked at him confused on what he meant when I suddenly remembered, I died. I looked down at my hands not sure what to do. “Don’t worry, you won’t be here long. You have a cleric with you, I’m sure he’ll bring you back.” He stated, seeming to know exactly what I was thinking, a consoling tone in his voice.

“No, he ran out of spells,” I replied hollowly, the man turning to me, a look of light surprise on his face, “I’m not going back.” I finished, dropping my face into my hands, my breathing shaking me as I dragged air into non-existent lungs. He didn’t say anything for a moment, leaving me in silence.

“I don’t know about that,” he suddenly began, stepping past me, as I looked at up at him bleary eyed, “this time, yes, this time I think he has one more.” He added, lifting one of his hands up parallel with his face revealing a large set of black hands that fell into claws and snapped his fingers. As soon as he did I suddenly felt lighter, as if had been relived of some great burden, then I saw my limbs begin to fade out.

“what’s happening?” I asked, staring incredulously at my arm.

“Your cleric is using his last spell to revive you of course.” He replied, off handily, looking out into the darkness. “If you are wondering why, I just like good people.”

I looked at him as I felt myself disappear and had to ask before I left. “Who are you?” He gave a short chuckle in response and turned to me, opening his eyes, reaving a dozen smaller eyes surrounded by silver all darting about in the socket, just as the slits in the tie split open into eyes as well.

“My dear man, who else would come see you first?” He replied, a wide smile on his face. I stared at him flabbergasted for a second before he seemed to disappear into the white. The next thing I knew I woke up on the ground, gasping in a breath of air. I looked up and saw Hollace standing over me, red-faced and red eyed with a stunned expression on his face.

“Thedrick…” He whispered out stunned, relief clear in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I replied, pulling myself so I was sitting, but as soon as I did Vyck leapt on me and pulled me into a hug, digging his head into my shoulder.

I was stunned for a moment, leaving my arms hanging in the air when he suddenly wailed out, “I’m so sorry!” Which surprised me more. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I thought it would be safe. I thought we’d just do one more and we’d be set, but I ended up getting you fucking killed because I wanted to be some bloody gods’ champion! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so, so, so, so, sorryyyy!” Vyck blubbered out, hugging me tightly, sobbing and wailing as I saw Ra look at me with teary eyed relief, her mouth pulled in a terrified smile, Clock half laughing-half crying as stood close Hollace staring down at me with exhausted joy.

I looked down at Vyck who was still gripping me tightly, muttering apologies under his breath. “It’s alright, I’m back, don’t worry.”

@agarespicero @gaap-goemon-ismylife @psycho-zom-atic @jemimacatclover @shark-smuggler @shaoron @irumeanie @sleepy-gry @pemopemochimi @csoisoi @the-messenger-hawk @momonoki-a-real-teacher @trans-asmodeus @noyakwajhang

#Death #dnd5e #fanatsy #fiction #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #HMAD #Vyck FitzHerald #Thedrick Uarry #Clock m Sokm #Hollace of West #Theodora 'Ra' Caine #The one who's left

[marzely]

If Theo were to introduce herself she would say “I’m the Oracle to K’s Nightwing”. She has always preferred to work behind the scenes than on the field. Research, hacking, anything tech related she on the case. Though that’s not to say she’s completely useless on the field. After some incidents she found it best to learn some basic combat (which she convinced K to teach her).

Theo for as long as she can remember has lived by the motto “Fake it till you make it”. She believed there’s nothing like a bit of fake confidence to get you though some tough challenges. So on the rare (and she means like UR+ card rare) occurrence (specifically K going missing) she is willing to play the roll of Batgirl for a night or two. She has the (fake) confidence to bluff her way though playing Agent especially if it means bring K home safe.

Soooo I saw a dress on Pinterest and was like I have to draw Theo in that. So here she is! If you don’t know Theo is my MC for @kalorphic IF Novaturient please check it out if you haven’t!

#sooo i know kalorphic said k is more Jason than dick but…. K 100% has dicks figure in my mind and idk why #anyway i watched the last episode of spy x family and i miss it so much but like how can I watch sxf and not draw Theo in a spy dress?? #sorry for the long winded stuff its been awhile since I’ve been inspired to write and draw being free from summer classes must do that #novaturient #interactive fiction #my art #marzely #oc: theodora