A Fossil Thrown into the Atomic Age @nucleartyrant-blog - Tumblr Blog

hcnorborn-deactivated20190430

@nucleartyrant

A warden should do better than mere bandits. She had, mostly. Only four, maybe five and all fell victim to her blade in the end. Bounty reaped, now time to collect the reward. The job was done, successfully though sloppy and in here failure to take note of her surroundings upon entering the campground, it had cost her. An arrow with a broken shaft sticks boldly from the side of her knee. It had punched though bone, mangled muscle and left her cursing her way down to a riverbank where it could be dealt with properly.

The rushing water would be numbing, hopefully. It was cold enough to work with, strong enough her legs would surely buckle out from beneath her least she use a sword to balance. The Warden never does make it to the riverbank, however. As she limps closer to the rushing river, she fails to seem it (it, yes not he). Monstrous, tall and green as the forest, it was much, much to close.

With a gasp settling between a growl and a scream, she hoists her sword forward, determined to keep distance before she slay what would could only be a demon. The Samurai spoke of such creatures in their Myre, but never would the knight such a beast to find itself in Ashfeld. Unless, it was of the most unholy. A true biblical fiend here as no more than an affront to her God. Like the scaled serpents in holy scripture- the dragon St. George took beneath his spear. Truly, completely, terrifying.

❝ A step closer and i’ll see you gutted. ❞

nucleartyrant-blog

Violence. Fighting. Killing. All these aspects are a common phenomena in this place. It has only been months since the green behemoth has arisen from his slumber deep underground. How or why he came to be is still unknowable. The only thing the beast has learned from his awakening is that he is outnumbered by legions who are all armed to the teeth with all sorts of weaponry.

He didn’t understand why they are constantly fighting or what brought about but one thing is clear, they don’t like him. Whenever he has found himself confronting the Samurais or the Vikings they all have called him the same thing. Dragon.

The way they acted towards him made him believe that they may know more about his own origins. But that was not the case. Each encounter was the same. A scream, a proclamation or war-cry, a charge and then fighting. Despite the odds against iron, the beast has always won with his unique ‘fire breath’.

Even though the ‘Dragon’ was victorious, there was never joy. He actually had difficulties going forward with killing every time he sees someone. In fact he has since stuck close to the remote regions of the wilderness in the hopes of not encountering more people.

A part of him wondered why so many seemed to hate him. Has he done something wrong to them in some other life that he can’t remember? The only thing he can remember is humid air, red skies and peace. But there is no peace here, just constant warfare between three groups that he knows little to nothing about.

Whether it was the smell of blood or the sound of her swearing that attracted the ‘dragon’ from the woods to find the wounded knight. Though was some undeniable instinct to go to those who seem wounded. Perhaps it was in his nature to not be a killer but a helper.

However, she already pulled out her sword. His red eyes narrow but he takes a small step back. Listening to her warning. The ‘beast’ looks anything but ordinary. Scaly green skin, elongated ears, a deformed looking head and appendages that almost look like wings. A true demon to any ‘believers’ eyes. However, the beast nearly snorts. She speaks a tongue that he has familiarized himself over the months of traveling on his own.

“ ... You are hurt “

#{v: HERE BE DRAGONS}#{let the dino man hug you}#{rp response}#hcnorborn

{ooc}

{ I really ought to finish this blog and finally post those links ...} {also tempted to get a new theme} {might be a wee bit until this blog is in full operations } {no fear! It'll come together soon! }

#{ooc}#{update}

( Envyofstargazers ) ‘ Tyrannus, your tails are small. ’

The green behemoth quietly looks over at the blue imp in a annoyed manner.

“ So is your taste in people but you don’t see me pointing that out. “

‘ swiggity swooty? ’

Lemme Smash Starters :: Always accepting

“ ...Is that some type of German greeting? “

bluesmemethings

Lemme Smash Starters

‘ this is a nice stick. ’ ‘ I like sticks. ’ ‘ lemme smash. please? ’ ‘ no, (name), go find (name2). ’ ‘ you want sum fuk? ’ ‘ no, (name), I don’t want sum fuk. ’ ‘ I got you blue. ’ ‘ hey girl. you want some tail ? ’ ‘ (name), your tail is small. ’ ‘ wot? ’ ‘ swiggity swooty? ’ ‘ you want yellow? ’ ‘ she doesn’t want yellow. ’ ‘ blue and yellow? no. ’ ‘ (name), I’m leaving. ’ ‘ no! wait! lemme smash! ’ ‘ what has my life come to ? ’ ‘ (name) thought my tail was big. ’ ‘ (name) used to let me smash. ’ ‘ but (name) is smashin (name2). (name2) is a hoe. ’ ‘ fuck this nest. fuck (name)! ’ ‘ I need you (name)! ’ ‘ (name) lemme smash! ’ ‘ I’ma get that bitch a stick. ’ ‘ bitches love sticks. ’ ‘ stick stick stick stick stick stick stick. ’ ‘ need stick? got stick. (name) I got stick. lemme smash. ’

source

#{OOC}#{oooohhh snap}#{ask opens}

goddesserryn

Send me a fetish and I'll rate it

#{OOC}#{I just feel like I am obligated to reblog this}#{ask away!}#{Make my dino boy uncomfortable}

@killerdelta London. What a constrictive and overcrowded environment. How are any animals able to survive in this place? At least in America and Russia, the cities had a small haven for animals and other denizens of nature. But London? Not so much. While this is not Tyrannus’ first time being in the United Kingdom, the country has certainly experienced of change since he was last here. For example, Tyrannus waits within Churchill’s mighty war room which has continued to remain since World War II. However, while this placed once saved Churchill and his government from the Luftwaffe, the bunker is now reduced to a museum. IT is understandable though that the British would want to preserve this place, it is almost like hollowed ground to them. Still, at least the setting seems familiar but having a meeting here of all places just seems odd. Too odd. While the Cold War has ended, the relationship between Russia and Britain has been anything but ‘stable’. From what he was informed from his Russian embassy connections, the British specifically wanted to talk to the Cold War relic about an important matter. A matter that, for once, has nothing to do with nuclear weapons or leftover sleeper agents. If there was some thing he despised the most with these meeting is the waiting aspect of it. How long has it been? twenty. Thirty minutes!? Where the hell was the representative!? Despite the growing impatience, Tyrannus waits quietly in one of the old war room offices while staring at the air. He only wears a simple black trench coat which sports no Soviet-era medals or insignia of any kind. His large legs and muscular arms shift uncomfortably as he continues to sit in one of the very small and old chairs which lies behind a desk. As nostalgic as this setting was, he still wonders, what the hell is this about?

#killerdelta #v: street fighter #{God this took WAY too long}

aflockofhalcyons

@nucleartyrant, continued from here.

The day is dreary, like many are in winter. The line between the horizon and the sky blurs in the abundant grey and white. Cynara sits on the curb of the snow-covered street, staring out into the fogged space between the town’s buildings. Pennsylvania looked hardly any different from the other states they’d driven across under this all-encompassing blanket of cold.

Shivering off a chill, she glances up at her companion, a non-human veteran hailing from the Soviet Union: A far more active participant in this past war than she, and perhaps a better authority on its merits. Where she has only read and heard the tales of the carnage and cruelty that swept Europe, he has seen them, and fought at their forefront. How many soldiers fighting for genocide had Tyrannus personally slain?

What point she had withers in her head. Even if good and bad men both laid dead in heaps, even if the atom bomb’s stains overtook cities, fighting this war did a great amount of good, for a great amount of people.

“ I sit here proven wrong. You’re right- it solved the Nazi problem. Given everything they did, the quickest solution was best. ”

She takes a deep breath. Peace. Right now, the world can call its state peace. For the sake of settling her stomach, and stilling her hands, she reminds herself that they are in peace. For how long? As a girl in her early teens she saw the close of the first great war. Just over twenty years later, another exploded, fanning the embers left behind by its predecessor. How long would it be until the next behemoth war, hungry for the lives its brethren left behind? With what new weapon from hell would mankind exterminate itself with, and what new excuses would they have for hate, for sadism?

Her hands curl, gripping tight onto the fabric of her coat. With a queasy stomach she lets her thoughts buzz in swarms, filled with gas and bombs and fire and guns. Her face sinks into her palm. It’s cold against her nose.

“ … Still, I don’t think it can answer every problem we have. And in its wake, we find ourselves drowned in more complications. But I’m glad the war is over. I’m glad that Germany’s been stopped. And- thank you, for whatever part you had in that. ”

nucleartyrant-blog

The large green behemoth has always noticed that whenever words and phrases leave this woman’s mouth, there was always this mixed tone of wisdom and weariness. It’s good that she, of all people, understands that the Nazis was a problem that could not be allowed to roam on this world. He is no human, he has no connection to the people of this world but he knows if there was ever a group of people who would round others up like cattle and exterminate them, they don’t deserve life. She does bring up a point. War can’t solve everything. It is necessary but if war were to happen again there must be some requirements before diving right into it. He recalls the sharp words from Stalin himself, never again. Never again shall Russia suffer a war, never again shall our borders be raped and violated. Never again. Those words continuously echo through his mind, Stalin’s command and proclamation is the reason why he is here. To ensure Russia is never violated again, even if it means to travel to some alien country and fight alongside questionable allies.

“ ... Do not thank me. I just did what I thought was right to protect my adoptive home. I know Americans did not witness all the carnage that the Nazis put forward. Many more camps were in Poland than in France. “ His appendages quietly uncoil themselves as his black soviet issued military coat covers his muscular exterior. Despite his hulking figure and straight-forward mindset, the mentions of the camps still haunts him. His large hands instinctively makes a fist, the sound of his knuckles cracking can be heard. “ I understand where you are coming from. The fact war should not always be necessary. It might be for extreme cases but it is not something we should rely on constantly. Is that right? “ He stares at her with a neutral expression, awaiting her answer patiently. His words and very voice, while very Russian and almost reptilian, his tone remains ever patient and eerily calm.

#aflockofhalcyons #v: phantasm #{I am so sorry this took so long}

germanengiineering-deactivated2

I tyrannus I

@germanengiineering Another long night on the road through the ‘wonderland’ of hopes and democracy in the heartland of America. The group has been on the road for the last three nights and being cramped into a small space for so long would make anyone delirious. After mere mentions and slight protest from the group, the self-proclaimed ‘navigator’ of the outdated Studebaker pulls over to a remote motel. Everyone has a chance to unwind and rest but two members remain active. There is the Soviet dinosaur and the German 'Ubermensch’. The two are complete opposites of one another both physically and ideologically. One is more machine than man and still has that bitter taste of fascism in his system. The other is a creature from a bygone age who was raised and nurtured under the communism in Stalin’s Russia. While the seemingly instinctive enemies have worked well together, there is no amnesty between them. Both have an endgame in mind and the tension between them would make even the Cold War seem mildly pleasant.

Because of how remote and isolated the motel is, there is barely any other guests around. The motel seems more like a ghost town than an active business. With no prying eyes to worry about, 'Tyrannus’ sits quietly on top of the roof and overlooks the vacant parking lot (save for the Studebaker). The wind is bitter, a full moon hangs high, all seems quiet but Tyrannus know that it’s only a matter of time when his “comrade” arrives.

He breathes the night air like a man whose broken the surface after nearly drowning. Sleep is an elusive bitch, especially when it took so little to drive her away. Nightmares, unwanted roommates or too many hours spent grappling with the severity of his situation. Saving the world is no easy task; last time he played the part of hero, he lost his body and his life. Now, he will do the same only this time there will be no German praise awaiting him as a reward. He gets another three months in a Russian prison, then death by American firing squad.

Still, he’d never been one to lose hope so quickly, least of all mope around like a wounded war dog with a Soviet mutt so close by. Tyrannus’ offer was absurd but not wholly unwanted. They had fought to a tie (well, an awkward stalemate was more apt) with his body is disrepair. Now, with everything fixed to the genius of a woman whose name he yet again forgets, those rusted plates and cut wires were replaced. The broken down tank was now a well polished machine. Dinosaur mongrel did not stand a chance.

As he stepped out, he looked around the empty lot only to squint its vacancy. No one was there save a few squirrels and what looked to be a gull picking at trash. No Russian, and no dinosaur. He turned back to face the motel wall, then glanced back around the corner of the building. Still, no one. Perhaps it had over slept or perhaps it had bailed. Such cowardly behavior befit a creature of Tyrannus’ loyalties. Just as Stroheim turned back, disappointed, he spared a glance to the stars. There, perched atop the roof, was his lizard.

How or why it was up there was a mystery to the German, and it would remain just so. If that thing really expected him to engage on rooftop, it would be painfully mistaken.

❝ Und what ze hell are you doing? Cuddling with the pigeons? ❞

nucleartyrant-blog

The sound of the German is unmistakable. While most humans may fail to hear the innerworkings of the former Übermensch. Tyrannus can hear the constant grinding sounds of wires, metal cogs and god knows what else inside that thing. Of all the people and animals he has seen and combated with, none of them are comparable to Stroheim. This man. This ‘German’. This Übermensch is no man. He is nothing but outdated tank with an ‘Aryan’ poster child’s face pasted on. It doesn’t matter what upgrades or repairs the German receives, the horrendous smell of metal and rust still haunts Tyrannus’ sense of smell. Despite how unbearable he is both in sound and smell, Tyrannus remains quiet and continues to watch the German. He could just leap at him while his back faces him. A quick kill, maybe even painless but that wouldn’t be ‘honorable’. Tyrannus may be no man but he understands the obscure concept of honor that both Germans and Russians once had towards one another. He remembers hearing stories of how in the previous war, honored survived even in the face of defeat. Apparently there was even a time where Germans and Russians celebrated Christmas together, even though the war raged on. While the strange holiday of Christmas draws near, there is no truce between him and this German. As far as he is aware, Stroheim is no different than the other murderous Germans who are either cowardly, deranged or warmongering. It is only when his eyes locks upon Stroheim’s that he slowly moves to stand from his spot. His elongated ears twitch against the soft cold breeze that drifts along the rooftop. It’s almost funny, the German boasts his superiority both loudly and subtly but he still looks tiny and insignificant from above.

“Surely comrade, you should know that a smart predator never sits out in the open. “ Almost in an instant, the large humanoid quickly walks off the edge of the rooftop and lands with a loud thud on the concrete. His appendages spread outwards like wings. “Sorry. I forgot it’s been a while since you were a predator … “ Insults are not normally a choice of weapon but this is how they converse with one another.

#v: phantasm #{yesssss}#{let them fight}#{this was late as hell too but OH WELL}#germanengiineering

commonwealth-life

#oc: tyrannus aesthetics

sovtime

Ворон в зоне отчуждения после аварии на Чернобыльской АЭС. Фото: Василий Федосенко.

Black crow in the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone. Photo by Vasily Fedosenko.

#oc: tyrannus aesthetics #{chernobyl}

truecrimerip

The Elephant’s Foot of the Chernobyl disaster, 1986

A monster was born in the Chernobyl disaster - one of the most dangerous things in the world.

The “Elephant’s Foot” is a solid mass made of melted nuclear fuel mixed with lots and lots of concrete, sand, and core sealing material that the fuel had melted through. It is located in a basement area under the original location of the core. In 1986 the radiation level on the Elephant’s Foot was measured at 10,000 roentgens per hour, and anyone who approached would have received a fatal dose in under a minute. After just 30 seconds of exposure, dizziness and fatigue will find you a week later. Two minutes of exposure and your cells will soon begin to hemorrhage; four minutes: vomiting, diarrhea, and fever. At 300 seconds you have two days to live.

When the above photo was taken, 10 years after the disaster, the Elephant’s Foot was only emitting one-tenth of the radiation it once had. Still, merely 500 seconds of exposure would prove fatal.

#oc: tyrannus aesthetics #{ooc}#{holy shit}#{radiation}#{chernobyl}

( AflockofHalcyons ) "War never solved anything. It only makes life more miserable for everyone."

@aflockofhalcyonsThe green radioactive behemoth stares at the woman and listens carefully to her words. Do the words ring truth? Maybe. Could he argue against it? Definitely. War is never simple, nor easy to grasp. To Tyrannus, war seems to be an overextended and almost perverted example of Darwin’s ‘survival of the fittest’. Do people suffer? Yes. Do they deserve it? Probably not. But isn’t it better for the world to be rid of certain people who threatens peace? Tyrannus narrows his vivid radiated eyes suspiciously and proceeds to respond calmly.“ War solved the problem with the Nazis. Do you believe the world would be better if we didn’t fight back or let the Gestapo run the streets of Moscow, Paris and London?”

@germanengiineering Another long night on the road through the 'wonderland' of hopes and democracy in the heartland of America. The group has been on the road for the last three nights and being cramped into a small space for so long would make anyone delirious. After mere mentions and slight protest from the group, the self-proclaimed 'navigator' of the outdated Studebaker pulls over to a remote motel. Everyone has a chance to unwind and rest but two members remain active. There is the Soviet dinosaur and the German 'Ubermensch'. The two are complete opposites of one another both physically and ideologically. One is more machine than man and still has that bitter taste of fascism in his system. The other is a creature from a bygone age who was raised and nurtured under the communism in Stalin's Russia. While the seemingly instinctive enemies have worked well together, there is no amnesty between them. Both have an endgame in mind and the tension between them would make even the Cold War seem mildly pleasant.

Because of how remote and isolated the motel is, there is barely any other guests around. The motel seems more like a ghost town than an active business. With no prying eyes to worry about, 'Tyrannus' sits quietly on top of the roof and overlooks the vacant parking lot (save for the Studebaker). The wind is bitter, a full moon hangs high, all seems quiet but Tyrannus know that it's only a matter of time when his "comrade" arrives.

#v: phantasm #{oooohhh snap}#{here comes the smackdown}#{ooc}#germanengiineering