✦ MIND FULL OF THUNDER indie urban fantasy OC set in original lore & adapted for multiple fandoms. iconless - private - selective - low activity. ( A STUDY IN: chasing catharsis through revenge, always being the unwanted replacement, perfectionism as poison, troubled knights with troubling codes of honour, loyalty that would go beyond the grave. ) written by NATASHA (she/they, 31) AFFILIATED WITH bitegentler + ghostsighted.
WARNING! there will be mentions of abuse/neglect, death, and violence; everything will be tagged. i do not interact with those under 21.
✦ CARRD PROMPTS INTERACTION GUIDE
hi, i'm natasha! i'm 32, irish/bangladeshi, and my pronouns are she/they. this blog is private, selective & low activity. i'll try and keep these rules short & simple! ty for reading.
I WILL HARDBLOCK: if i see content that glorifies paedophilia, incest, racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, or any form of religious bigotry. zionists, or any other kind of genocide sympathiser for that matter, are not welcome here. i will reblog callouts at my discretion — but i always want to be informed if someone within the community has done something that warrants being warned about. i will reblog psas about real world events / donation posts. if this annoys you, kindly don't follow.
FOLLOWING: i can take a while to follow back — i like to read everyones pages fully, which can take some time. if i can't figure out a way for our muses to interact, i may not follow. i do not follow or have any wish to interact with those under 21, for my own comfort. if i unfollow, i will softblock. i do not refollow people who have unfollowed me, in case it was also a softblock. i promise it's nothing personal!
INTERACTING: if we're mutuals, everything is open to you — memes, starter calls, inbox calls, etc. the EASIEST way to get writing with me, with or without plotting, is through sending memes. it's not necessary to let me know you're dropping a thread / continuing a meme as a thread, etc.
i'm a very low maintenance rp partner, do whatever is fun for you! i just ask you give me the same grace to respond in my own time. my discord is available on request, but i can take a while to respond to IMs/DMs cos i can get overwhelmed easily.
SHIPPING AND SMUT: i love ships, though they're not the focus on this blog, or any of my blogs. i require chemistry between our muses, lots of plotting, and good ooc communication! re: smut — i am not the best at writing it and it also won't be a focus on this blog. i can try lol but i'm unlikely to engage in smut writing/discussion if i don't know you very well yet. other than that, it will be discussed generally sometimes, and tagged 'USFW TW'.
CROSSOVERS AND AUs: oh i LOVE a good crossover, love an AU even more. i will try my best to accommodate anyone who wants to interact with teddy, and if i do not have a setting that works with your muse's, we can plot. i just ask for patience if i am unfamiliar with the fandom your character is set in. for ocs, and other characters set in original lore — please have information about your characters available. i will devour the whole thing, but i need something to base interactions off.
TRIGGERS AND TAGGING: teddy's story happens within an urban fantasy setting, which, plus his background, means quite heavy / dark topics like child abuse, death, substance abuse, and eating disorders will be mentioned and spoken about. everything will be tagged accordingly, and if you need a particular thing tagged, let me know. all common triggers will be tagged '(TRIGGER) TW'.
please please please tag animal death/abuse whenever possible, thank you!!
AFFILIATES & MAINS: i don't really have mains yet because this blog is still super new. that said — this blog is associated with @/bitegentler and @/ghostsighted. if you'd like to be mains, lmk!
DISCLAIMER: while he is an original character, the setting teddy operates in was devised by/with rook. all else about him, including his powers and background, etc, was created by me :^) i make all my own graphics and art, be respectful and don't steal.
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✦ HE ESCAPES INTO THE NEW ROMAN night with aeriform grace; nine years and eight months of service have granted him a certain tenacity in his sneaking around — expertise better fit for a child of mercury than aquilo, though its certainly too late in his lifetime to be wishing for a reclaiming — which draws the total time between slipping out of the barracks and reaching the marble city beyond a mere thirteen minutes. twenty seconds off from his last quickest time. taking the rooftop route had proved very useful.
he does this without reward when the mood strikes him. the night is unctuous and the freedom offered is addictive, so teddy indulges wildly and without guilt — what will be done to him if caught and unable to charm his way out of capture? his centurions will put him on some ridiculous job for a few days or weeks, and the more sanctimonious cohorts will whisper lies about how nobody from their hallowed ranks would ever do anything as pedestrian, as loutish, as sneaking out long after curfew. he will respond by sending one of their mollycoddled, weak-chinned freaks sprawling with a bloody nose, and they'll repeat the whole sorry rigmarole over again but with more of his blood spilled in the mix. it would shake the monotony at least. in four months his almost-decade of impiety will grant him a chance to flee for boston for better or worse, and in the last three or so weeks, very little has felt consequential to teddy, a creature already resistant to most forms of punishment. nine years and eight months of service have taught him that, too.
well. at least this night, he has a co-conspirator; another body to throw across the train tracks alongside his own, if he is ever caught. and the leverage is wickedly delightful — he has the first cohort's very own.
“i wasn't sure you would come.”
“but you showed up anyway?” he crouches to enter through the window, greeted by the poisonous glint of yellow-gold in the dark; it could only be vareck. “make that make sense.”
@daylighter hadn't always been first cohort. he'd been — less officious, once. the war had scrambled roman hierarchy and kenneth had done something teddy both hated for its outcome but respected for the sheer audacity: he had danced a merry dance on octavian's grave and clawed his way up the ranks. disdain roils in his gut, alongside a portentous mix of anticipation and curiousness. this could well be a trap, too.
“here i am, centurion. are we chasing treasure, or are we here for tea?”
is it harder or easier to work with a response that dialogue heavy?? or like. is place setting more important to have as something to REACT to outside of dialogue?
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✦ HE SWORE HE'D NEVER GO TO ANOTHER midweek concert ever again, and then immediately went back on his sacrosanct vow the very second a pair of tickets landed in his lap; it was good economics, or whatever. the heat has started to melt his brain though, and the decision to drink a bucket of mystery mess — neon orange it was! he had no clue what the bartender had thrown in there, because it tasted of absolute nonsense — is working against him. teddy's eyes swivel to his nearest responsible adult, with his face pressed against the cooling window of a kebab shop now permeating his beautiful concert outfit with the alluring aroma of fried meat and chilli sauce.
tomorrow-teddy would be a miserable wretch at work, but he'd have been closer to ritual homicide without the steady presence of a certified teddy-wrangler, armed with overpriced water. bless him. he opens his drying mouth to say something that barely touches nine percent coherent — thank you for looking after me, perhaps, or, thank you for taking really good pictures of me tonight, if his mouth and brain could co-ordinate long enough to form words and not guttural huffs — and all he manages is a wobbly smile instead. really, the window feels so nice. his cheeks are so fucking warm.
@tremaynes says, “i know it sounds childish, but i can't help believing some people are meant to find one another.”
one eye had started to slide shut, and it remains stuck half way down. teddy peels himself off the window to really look at fionn.
“obviously,” he doesn't slur the words together! a victory by all accounts, “like us.”
mystery slop of dubious alcoholic content aside — the words ring true, right down to the marrow of his bones. his focus sharpens for a beat, then holds its tune long enough for teddy to add: “its not childish. its love. nobody — comes into the world destined to be unloved and alone forever. some of us,” he punctuates the sentiment by jabbing a finger into fionn's shoulder, “some of us get lucky and get got quicker. and then they always have someone to go to concerts with that make 'em not boring.”
the cook behind the counter yells, yours is ready, lads!
this overwhelms teddy very quickly. “and then they share kebabs. oh my god. i love you.”
✦ HE IS A HEAD BENT INTO THE PAGES of a book, almost at all times; if it were pure scholarly pursuit that kept his nerves hooked directly to his growing collection of notes, he might not look so feral about it. no, it is teddy's vanity and pride that keep him tethered to his work, and its rare, bordering on apocalyptic, to see teddy unfocused and dawdling at anything. his is a mind that whirrs and whirrs until smoke pours out both ears, and on that steam his whole body moves along to complete whatever ominous, selfish goal he fixated on. he registers @ownlore as a disembodied voice floating somewhere to the left of him, and doesn't look up from his fervent scribbling lest it drag him away from the cusp of a new scientific revelation.
“do you ever worry about the kind of person you're becoming.”
“no,” and then, just as dismissively, “that's the kind of enormous nonsense i cut out of my life. i don't want stress wrinkles.”
ari, perhaps, is the worrying sort. the thought shames him on behalf of the other — a brilliant alchemist by all accounts, beyond the pale and all expectation — as much as it grates on his tenderest nerves. the sort of person you're becoming. is he worried about himself?
teddy's pen halts over the paper. just for a second. it is enough to sting his curiosity, but still not to look up.
“we're all in charge of ourselves. if you don't like who you see in the mirror, then its your sole duty to either improve or stagnate,” he doesn't mean to sound admonishing — comfort is not, and has never been, within his remit; he isn't even sure its comfort that ari wants, “look — are you worried for yourself, or for me? i assure you i have no concerns about being dubbed a heinous bitch for the rest of my life. and you shouldn't, either.”
✦ HE'S IN THE RIGHT PROFESSION. he's sure of it now. his hands and arms are scarred over from a menagerie's worth of beasts, running the full gamut between mortal and decidedly supernatural; he regards them with the defiant pride of a very vain man now having to contend with a series of marks he will be questioned on, again and again and again and — so on so forth, until something faded. everything was a lesson, of course. every bite and scrape and venomous tentacle levied in his direction and with the sole intent of killing him — everything was a lesson. he loves being a veterinarian; he adores being a crypto-zoologist.
he does miss the suit and earpiece, though. from time to time. vaguely. being growled at by a chimera isn't so different to being shot at.
but its — funny, really. how the backdrop of his life has altered so drastically without his having to lose much. he's swapped limousines for emergency vans, bespoke suits for scrubs, glittering gala halls for a hectic veterinary hospital — but he gets to keep one little pearl from his old life. just one.
“it's a little strange. i think i've started looking forward to seeing you.”
“mmm, i think you just like the smell of disinfectant,” lord, but @proditeur is a welcome distraction; there he stands in the doorway to teddy's office, reminiscent of some romantic figure in a black and white movie, jarring against the frothy chaos of deranged animal howling and phones ringing, and teddy's heart turns over in his chest. the cat carrier signals his favourite patient, who might already have escaped her cage to roam and cause mischief, but if nothing else: it would give teddy a few minutes alone with regulus before they had to go hunt her down. “you know, you don't need an appointment to come see me.”
he's sure he's blushing. it's horrible. “not that i don't love seeing you overdress for a nail clipping appointment. what's that you're wearing? you look good.”
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Little does this fellow know, but he may have done the crew of the ship he sunk a favor. Had he not sent the vessel to the depths, surely the Volkvolny would have caught up to it soon enough. Though the object of their mission was to intercept cargo of the inanimate variety, their fate may have been much more gruesome once the truth of their trade was revealed.
So, no, the captain and his perfectly acceptable and arguably good-looking orange hair was not present aboard the slaver.
"You can't fault a man for wanting to be well-rounded," he returns, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "I could possibly read Shu poetry, but Saints know I cannot write it. I can't even write Ravkan poetry." A loud snort comes from the table nearest them. "Tolya will tell you! He won't let me live it down."
He takes a seat in the proffered chair and lifts his glass to toast the bartender before tipping it back, hissing as it burns down his throat. His glass is immediately refilled as soon as it touches the bar.
"I have not. How observant of you." He turns to look around the bar at the clientele left remaining that aren't part of his crew. Most catch his gaze and immediately glance away. Well... "I would wager you're the only one here who doesn't already know who I am."
"Sturmhond." The captain holds out a hand to shake. "The pleasure is all mine. I'm a big fan of what you did last night. All boom!" He replicates the explosion theatrically with his hands. "Why go to the theater when you can see a show on the waterfront."
✦ HIS NERVES, PERENNIALLY ON EDGE for the whole rotten sum of his life, are once again alight with suspicion. nothing about the man's posture or gestures thus far have implied the presence of this tolya, be he a creature lurking in the shadows like a watch dog or a local mobster to be wary of, but teddy casts a sly glance around just in case. nobody will look their way. no — nobody will meet the man's gaze.
“an easy wager,” he says, “but not one i intend to indulge.”
hmn . . . sturmhond. sturmhond? it rings a distant and discordant bell: he thinks of os alta, gleaming marble and swathes of red, blue, purple — he thinks of cannon smoke, gunfire, bodies trodden underfoot — and his expression goes very carefully blank.
he not been a young grisha soldier all those years ago, and too preoccupied with his own schemes to trifle much with gossip that floated ashore from the true sea. when he'd crossed the shadowy tempest himself for the first time, stationed on a sandskiff as the resident squaller, the name had come to him through his fellow shadow travellers; he could no longer remember what tawdry fairytale had been constructed out of sturmhond, but he came to understand the infamy of the name, his ship, its crew. what a pity he is a ravkan daydream, then. teddy's impression of the roguish stranger begins to curdle.
“i've heard of you,” he turns back to his own drink without so much as a glance at the outstretched hand; a gesture that makes the barkeeper's brows quirk, but remains unnoticed by him. “they say the ravkan king has a taste for your boot heels, and its why you'll never face ravkan gallows.”
sturmhond the infamous, sturmhond the wolf of the sea, sturmhond the royal pet — it doesn't matter what part of his reputation found teddy before this day: he had witnessed an act of the small science that could be profitable, or deadly, here in kerch.
" In that alone, you match. " Inej sighs deeply in the face of her cousin's indignation, and turns to her city, tracing its crooked angles and the path Kaz will have to take back to the Slat with her eyes. In a few hours, the ship will be unloaded, the crew spilling out into the taverns and pleasures of the West Stave and she will meet him at his window. Perhaps then, in the quiet, away from the weight of the crew's ever present expectations and Teddy's glare, she will be glad of the homecoming. Now, it weighs anchor in her chest, keeping her stranded at the berth, somewhere between Kaz and the city and her cousin and the sea.
They do not mean to ask it of her, to pressure her into choice. They know her heart has room for them both and much more besides. But they are each searching for something in her, a captain, a wraith, a laugh on a windowsill, the flutter of rose petals from a highwire. A memory and a future.
Inej is both and she is neither and she finds that sometimes, they cannot accept that answer.
The silence is long as she attempts to trap the feeling and transform it into syllables, and she is grateful that Teddy has sent Specht away so he does not bear witness to her indignity. The Suli feels heavy on her tongue, as she finally speaks. " I want you to try. " It is a captain's command and a child's plea. It is Inej standing before him, demanding miracles and impossibilities with her head held high. " I want you both to put down your schemes and threats and be able to share a room and a table. I want you to find it in your stubborn heart to accept him. And someday, I want you to trust that he is the choice I have made and he will not hurt me. "
✦ HIS OWN BLOOD ASKS FOR THE IMPOSSIBLE. put down your schemes and threats, says inej, open your heart to a creature that embodies both. the look he gives her is something he inherited from their grandfather: a forceful stillness of the entire face, and eyes with more insult and white around the iris than his usual mulish stare. it lasts for all of three seconds before he banishes it — he had asked for inej's honesty, and will not — cannot — begrudge her the choice to hit him with a figurative hammer. in her place, he would have done the same, and worse.
teddy exhales, quick and sharp, “you were put on this earth to test me.”
but there is hardly any venom in his words — a quiet resignation has begun to settle into every syllable, and it promises inej more than he can begin to really verbalise. here they stand arguing in their mother tongue, in possession of at least two other languages between them, and he is a beggar for words more concise than, do you understand why i am afraid for you? can you promise me you'll put him down like a wild beast if he barks or bites out of turn?
“alright,” he says instead, weary with absorbing the intensity of her whole kind, big-hearted being, “alright, babu, i'll try. i can't say you've never led me astray before, but i trust that you've never done so intentionally. i only ask one thing of you in return: don't tell him anything about me. let him learn himself. let him,” a sigh, accompanied by a thumb pressed to his temple, “let him learn from me directly. i won't have you become any more of a proxy than you already are. if we are to welcome that th — brekker — to our family, he will learn us without aid of his subterfuge, too.”
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i think bhaalspawn teddy just needs to be really tall. i have no reason for this outside of my own nefarious desires but i am claiming 'demigod genes made him Long as fuck'
