#what is grimin??????
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from ANMA Live From RTX
#grimmons#rvb#red vs blue#grif#simmons#sorry for lying slightly but i only edited the captions so they actually say what they said#bc the real captions say like gave us grimin#what is grimin??????#anyway are we getting grimmons this season or what#timestamp is 40:20 btw but they talk about rvb for a few mins beforehand
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6. describe your personality in 3 words or less 14. if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? 21. sandals or sneakers? 76. what color looks best on you? 97. dark, milk, or white chocolate? (I agree--the most important question! >:3)
6. describe your personality in 3 words or less
god this is hard“what the fuck”
14. if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?
well, atm Perth, Australia. ‘cause my gf lives there and i’d love for us to have a place over there to have a life ;v; and ‘cause i don’t want to stay in the states.
21. sandals or sneakers?
s n e a k e r s. sandals are the devil
76. what color looks best on you?
cliche, but, black; achromatics in general though. colors don’t like me ;;
97. dark, milk, or white chocolate?
dark chocolate all the way babey! white chocolate is nasty, and milk chocolate is only barely tolerable when it’s mixed with something else (aka peanut butter) and that’s it.
#about me#'what the fuck' is me @ myself bc i don't really know how to describe myself?#it's just a real big mood i'm in 90% of the time#for various reasons#griminal-rising#emord answers
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@deadpool-scar-bro @hikayelastoria @cornsnoot-fr @redlion-fr @mushroomdraggo @murdoch-fr @tales-around-sornieth @frxemriss @rainhearts-hatchery @rexcaliburr-fr @starry-ampelope @plainstriderbard @reanimatedfr @ally-fr @golden-lionsnake @rookfern @griminal-rising (let me know if you’d like to be added to the lore pinglist)
The Centralists
Desmond, Lucy
Official/unofficially Altair and Malik's adopted mortal son
Neither of them will admit that but Desmond has called Malik 'dad' on accident more than once and Malik always gets VERY flustered and stumbles over his words
Altair's paladin
From an abusive home in Tseen Foo on the river that borders it and Bezek
Is a trained blacksmith but since he came to Altair he doesn't do that anymore
Forged the original godkiller sword, by accident, but has since destroyed it so it can't hurt anyone else ever again
In a relationship with Altair's head cleric
Very charming, always ready to help anyone in need all across Eagle
Used to wear full plate but now except when he needs to act as Altair's champion is lazes about in robes and fine clothes bc he's literally the son of two gods who's gonna say sh*t to him????
Altair's head cleric
big feelings for Desmond but feels it's inappropriate to be with him as he's Altair's paladin and basically the adopted son of two gods
Got her position recently by literally just taking it after Altair threw out the old head cleric
looks like a cinnamon roll, could probably kill you
is generally very kind but recognizes what Altair wants
has brought back blood sacrifices to all of Eagle. Not human sacrifices. In general the gods like that a lot more than what they did before.
doesn't take lip from anyone, including her clerics who think she's young and doesn't know the first thing about being a cleric
totally winging it
prettier than you
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hello! this is my first post for my new fr sideblog, im going to rb all fr related stuff here (unfortunately i cant draw dragons....Yet) and what i generally see on other fr tumblrs! i hope i dont immediately kill this blog..
my fr is kinda old, but im just getting started!
@griminal-rising @faraway-fr @mobian-fr @hungrytundras @alstroemeria-fox @dire-vulture @gimmethemprimals @rainbowishere-fr
(i hope im not annoying yall i just want to try and get a boost out there)
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Yọmí’s fiancé was as handsome a dragon as had ever graced Feldspar lands. He carried himself with the air of one who understood his own value, so that even without the circlet upon his strong brow, those beneath him knew at once that he was royalty. Everything, from the rings adorning his fingers, to the golden buttons of his coat, designated him elite.
Yet, as he strode to meet Yọmí, it was with an almost childlike enthusiasm. The regal expression he had worn until that moment melted into an amalgam of bewilderment and relief, and he pulled Yọmí into a fierce embrace, his fingers burying themselves in the architect’s wild curls.
“You’re safe,” he breathed, “by the Earthshaker’s grace, you’re safe.”
A crowd had begun to gather around them. At this time of day, the west gate was thronging with farmers bringing their crops to market. Yọmí met their gazes over his fiancé’s shoulder, one by one. “Yes,” he said tentatively, “I am, but what are you doing here, Abaeze?”
Abaeze held him at arm’s length, and Yọmí saw his beaming smile falter. “I’ve come to bring you home,” he replied, “why else?”
Yọmí looked to Dreamweaver, but before they could intervene, Abaeze had rounded on them. He dared not challenge them, perhaps sensing their immense power, but it was clear that he was incensed. His serenity upon seeing his betrothed had turned abruptly into a silent snarl, his teeth clenched, his hands balled into fists.
“You are the sovereign of these lands,” he said, the statement more of an accusation. “My fiancé was abducted from my kingdom and brought here against his will, likely by slavers. Tell me why you have kept him here, rather than allowing him to return to me.”
For a moment, Dreamweaver could only stare, mouth slightly agape, and Yọmí turned away in shame. Then, as always, they composed themself, clasped their hands in front of them, and said, “There’s been a misunderstanding. Yọmí came to us of his own free will. He is our chief architect, not a slave.”
“You lie,” Abaeze hissed.
“No.”
Yọmí pressed his hands to his lips. He could feel Abaeze’s eyes on him again, and shuddered under the intensity of his scrutiny. “They’re telling the truth, Abaeze,” he said. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, his words came out muffled between his fingers, but he persisted. “I was too cowardly to face you then, and so I ran away with my tail tucked between my legs.”
“What are you saying?” Abaeze asked.
Yọmí took in a deep, steadying breath, let his hands fall to his sides, and wheeled around so quickly that Abaeze took a startled step back. “Our marriage was my father’s wish,” he explained, “not mine. He sought to gain power and influence for our house, but I’ve never cared about any of that. I came here to be with my siblings, the only family I have left in this world, and here I shall stay.”
Abaeze said nothing, and so Yọmí went to him. He took his fiancé’s hands in his own; they were soft, the hands of a noble who had never known hardship. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, words meant only for Abaeze’s ears. “I never meant to hurt you. It was cruel of me to assume you felt the same as I did. Now I see that you loved--”
Crack.
For the first time since the capital’s establishment, there was silence at the west gate. Yọmí reached up to touch his cheek, felt the sting of Abaeze’s palm, and stumbled backward into the crowd. His clanmates rallied around him, but Abaeze advanced regardless of their bristling spines and bared fangs.
“You were a whore when I met you,” he spat. “What choice do you think you have in this?”
Then there was too much sound. His kin were screaming, all gnashing teeth and indignation. He saw Dreamweaver’s fingers twitch, the light come alive in their eyes, and when they stepped forward, it was as if the very earth beneath them parted for fear of their ire. Yọmí knew at once that they would kill Abaeze if they reached him.
“Wait,” he rasped, “wait--”
“That’s enough of that.”
A huge, scarred hand came down hard on Abaeze’s shoulder. His entourage moved to defend him, but a single slam of Tarragon’s tail was enough to deter them. He observed them through narrowed eyes, glinting in the shadow of his hood. “You’ll have him back in one piece,” he assured. “I only want a word with him.”
“Take your hands off me,” Abaeze demanded, but whatever harsher words he may have had died in his throat when he realized to whom he spoke. "A shaman...”
“That’s right,” Tarragon said, his hold on Abaeze’s shoulder tightening, “and if you don’t apologize to my clanmate there, I’m going to remind you why it is your people revere us.”
“This...” Abaeze scrambled to collect himself. “This is not the business of shamans,” he insisted. “I was promised his hand.”
“Were the two of you united before the gods?” Tarragon inquired.
“No, but--”
Tarragon snorted, and his hot breath, smelling of loam, mussed Abaeze’s neatly coiffed locks. “Then there’s not even any damned paperwork binding him to you,” he said, “much less love. Listen--” Tarragon leaned down, so that Abaeze had no choice but to face him-- “consider yourself lucky I haven’t sent for his brother. I’m allowing you the chance to leave these lands alive; Moyọ̀ won’t be so kind if he gets his hands on you. That isn’t to mention our dear founder.”
Abaeze stared him down, searching for weakness, but Tarragon's expression was even. He looked next to Dreamweaver, and paled at the sight of them. It was hard to say which of the two he wished to cross less.
“Then we’re in agreement,” said Tarragon, and released Abaeze from his iron grip. “Go in peace.”
The king and his procession moved to depart. However, Abaeze lingered for a moment, glancing between Tarragon and his former fiancé, and the sneer upon his lips renewed the crowd’s rage. “This isn’t over,” he said. “One way or another, you will come home, Yọmí; if I have to drag you back by your hair, so be it.”
Tarragon extended an arm to hold Dreamweaver back. “What about that apology?” he prompted.
Abaeze sniffed. “He’ll get his apology when he comes to his senses.”
Only once the sound of clinking armor and horses’ hooves had faded did Tarragon lower his arm. Dreamweaver rushed to Yọmí’s side, and Tarragon followed, almost dutifully. The stunned Skydancer accepted the shaman’s hand when it was offered, his clanmates helping him to his feet. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “You didn’t have to--”
“We’re kin,” Tarragon said. “Just because I’m not the friendly type doesn’t mean I don’t protect my own.”
“Come,” Dreamweaver urged, tugging gently on Yọmí’s sleeve, “we’ll have Hollyhock tend to your cheek. His herbs will dull the pain, and some tea will bolster your spirits.”
“I’m sorry,” Yọmí choked out as tears at last began to well in his eyes. “I should have told you...”
“Nonsense.” Dreamweaver touched Yọmí’s uninjured cheek tenderly. The magic lingering on their fingers was pleasantly warm. “It’s as Tarragon said: we’re kin.”
Again, Yọmí opened his mouth to protest, but his clanmates were watching him with such concern that all he could do was sob. His legs gave out beneath him, and Tarragon wrapped an arm around his waist to support him. “Let’s get you someplace quiet,” he said.
@nostlenne @sophiellum-fr @serthis-archivist @airris-fr @jaxxem @reanimatedfr @jollyroger-fr@megane-pigeon @griminal-rising @windkissesfr
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This video by the awesome @griminator is humorous...but it is also an accurate representation of almost all my encounters with men (except perhaps the wizard part). At what point in their lives are males taught that no doesn't mean no, that they shouldn't stop when a woman asks them to, and that their desires are more important than a woman's? We all have the right to say no and for that refusal to be respected. Even the 'nice guys' seem to find it tricky to comprehend this.
Watch the full video here: https://instagram.com/p/BpSQC9vl6SA/
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#Repost @griminator
・・・
It shouldn't take a wizard. No means no and maybe means no.✌✌✌
Follow my comedy page @grim_humor
🤚Attn ppl arguing that a woman should just say no: Plz unfollow me. Do your research. Understand that it's hard and scary for MANY women to say no to a man.
@huffpostwomen @feminist @bustle @plannedparenthood
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Goodbye + Romanogers (For the prompt kiss)
19. Good luck was requested by @sleepygrimm. I decided to merge these two prompts together because it fit for this story. Fun fact, initially I was gonna write something angsty, but fluff won instead XD.
Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss
50.Goodbye + 19.For good luck
Steve looked at the device that Scott Lang had given him. Apparently the former criminal had found a way to go back in time and prevent Thanos from ever getting any of the stones. It was going to be a risky mission but he knew that he had to go with Scott and Tony to fix the timeline. They had lost so many friends during their fight against Thanos.
The super soldier found himself looking at the mirror. Griminicing at the fact he had to wear the ridiculous outfit he first wore during the Battle of New York. It felt like years ago when this small group of misfits formed, not only did they become an amazing team but also family. Steve rubbed his clean shaven chin, it felt weird not having the beard but he knew he had to shave in order to look like what he did a few years ago. Back then he was still adjusting to the new time and was hopeful that things would be better.
“I haven’t seen that outfit in ages,” he saw Natasha’s reflection, “where’d you get it?”
“Tony somehow had it still stashed away.” Steve felt embarrassed. “I really wished he had gotten my stealth suit.”
“That stealth suit really looked good on you.” She smiled and placed her hands on his chest. Natasha looked at the star and chuckled. “It’s been a while since you had a star on your chest.”
“Yeah.” He looked deep into her eyes and felt his heart racing. Natasha gasped as Steve placed his lips against her own, surprised she didn’t pull away but deepened it. The soldier pulled back and blushed. “Sorry I didn’t mean too-”
“Spangles, Ant-man is ready to take us.”
Steve groaned inwardly at Tony’s impeccable timing.
“I have to go,” he stroked her cheek.
“Why’d you kiss me?”
“Because I didn’t want to be too late anymore.” He was late when it came to his relationship with Peggy, and he didn’t want to make the mistake of being too late with his feelings with Natasha. “I know after we fix the timeline, you probably won’t remember this.”
“So you decided to kiss me now?” Steve’s face was burning. “You really are dramatic.”
“But I promise you that this won’t be the last time we kiss.” He smiled and picked up the shield that Tony restored and headed off.
Steve finally arrived to where Tony, Scott, Clint, Bruce, Thor, and Rhodey were.
“About time you showed up Cap, didn’t think you really wanted to go,” Tony grinned.
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this over with.”
Scott nodded and began to go over the plans. Before they activated the devices on their hands, the sounds of footsteps were heard. Natasha threw herself into Steve’s arms, making them fall and she kissed him hard. Steve closed his eyes and kissed her back with intense passion.
“What was that about,” he panted heavily.
Natasha blushed, “A kiss...for good luck.”
The soldier chuckled and helped her get up. “And I thought I was dramatic.”
“Oh shut up old man,” the redhead playfully swatted his chest. “Now go help save the world.”
“Yes ma’am,” Steve saluted and he, Tony and Scott activated their devices. “Natasha,” she looked at him, “you promise to teach me how to dance?”
She grinned, “Who else than a former ballet dancer.” She watched as the three of them disappeared in a flash. As she placed her hands in her pockets, she felt something metal in her right pocket. Her eyes widened at what she took out. Somehow Steve placed his dog tags in her pocket. Natasha felt her eyes water and kissed the tags, praying that Steve would be okay.
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@hellkite-fr, @fusefr, @kattafr, @archaic-fr, @mask-fr, @griminal-rising, @wearetherot, @jadedragons, @lumoselm, @webwingalpha, @slighteyewing, @deadwapiti-fr, @shardclan, @fr-blackiebelle, @airris-fr, @frxemriss, @fitzfr, @nochnyr, @jaggeddragonbones
The letter comes in quick, blocky capitals.
More resistance than expected. Backup needed.
-F.
It’s not like Faraday to request assistance so genuinely. Letters begging for help come, oh yes, but never with a real weight behind them. This is written urgently, delivered urgently, with the magpie who delivered it staying on Koschei’s shoulder.
Such a serious ask will meet a serious answer.
The mercenaries come in force, with Koschei commanding them. The resistance is fierce, fierce and desperate. Here he’d thought they’d abandon their citadel when pushed this far, but instead their eyes go wild, limbs severed and smashed before they stop fighting. This must be why Faraday wanted the help- he’s even pleased he swallowed his pride to ask for it, as the mercenaries fight until they meet Faraday’s far smaller force. Whilst splattered with dirt and nursing a limp, Faraday greets him with a cheerful grin as Koschei pulls him into a hug.
“Hey boss!” he chirps, “Thanks for coming so fast.”
“Wording,” Koschei replies, neutrally, and when Faraday looks at him blankly he adds, “Don’t worry. You were right to ask for backup.”
He pauses to look around. They’ve made it to the vault, now, but with the treasure being hauled away, it feels conspicuously empty.
“Pray, Faraday,” he murmurs, stepping around the cooling bodies, “What do you think they’re protecting?”
“What do people usually protect?” Faraday muses, slinging his railgun over his shoulder. “Things that can’t protect themselves. Things they care about.”
He spins around, arms thrown open.
“But this place’s full of dust and nothing else,” he continues, “So I don’t know.”
He jogs over to a wall and smacks it with his fist. Koschei winces delicately.
“Faraday-”
Faraday wheels around to the wall he just playfully smacked, his frills flexing up straight in surprise. Koschei’s hand draws down to the pommel of his sword, fingers flexing to grasp it’s hilt.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
“Nah,” Faraday says, faintly. He traces a finger along the dusty wall. Although Koschei can’t see, his soft brown eyes are narrowed. His thick tail lashes for a moment, and he side steps along the wall, his finger tracing a straight line- then moving up, and curving down. “Stand back a sec, boss.”
Koschei does not do that.
Faraday lays his hand flat down against the featureless wall and, in the blink of an eye, cracks ricochet across it’s surface. Violently plaster splinters away, as if shoved by a shockwave of force, the very wall seeming to recoil.
“Magical field,” Faraday says, drawing the word out, “A very delicate one, but super strong. Look at all this!”
Koschei hums in agreement, a little more wary than excited as the barrier- now visible to the both of them- peels off the wall. With it gone, part of the wall collapses, showing a passageway.
“Oh!” Faraday exclaims, taking a step forward before Koschei strides over to put an arm around his waist, stopping him.
“You’re injured,” Koschei says, “I’ll assume you didn’t realise that, and weren’t about to stumble down into the unknown with a gut wound.”
Faraday looks down. True to his words, Koschei has wrapped an arm just below a dark stain in his jacket, now resting his chin against Faraday’s shoulder. Which is awful posture.
“That’s where the blood smell’s coming from?” Faraday asks, turning his head up- awkwardly flattening his fins against Koschei’s chest- “I thought it was you.”
“Why would it be- never mind that,” Koschei mutters, letting go of him. “Trail me, please.”
“Are you sure?” Faraday says doubtfully, as Koschei gently moves him aside. “It could be dangerous. Shouldn’t I go first?”
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t,” Koschei says, a little amused.
The pair of them descend further down. At first he assumes the oncoming stink is either an indicator of excessive plague energy stored underground, or a pit of bodies, neither of which he wants to deal with. But after the entrance turns into a distant light, Koschei stops.
“I can get us out if we have to,” Faraday says, without prompting. “I might also take out a mile around us, though.”
Koschei hums. He’s not particularly concerned about them being buried alive- although even thinking that is something he doesn’t want to imagine- but more what they’re going to find down here. The smell isn’t rot. It’s changing. It smells like decaying plant matter, not decay itself. The Wasteland has very little plant matter to decay, for the most part. Especially out here, in the middle of the Boneyard.
“Stay behind me,” Koschei murmurs.
“Awh, you care about me,” Faraday teases, nudging him in the back as they approach- something. It’s not well lit, but Koschei can just about make out an outline of an open arch. He has the glow of Faraday’s railgun to thank for that.
“Yes, I do,” Koschei says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Look sharp.”
The dark room lights up with spots of green when Koschei steps foot into it. He squints as his eyes adjust to the tiny drops of bioluminescence. It’s small, a circular room. Only five or so paces across. With Faraday limping in after him, there’s an extra trickle of light.
There’s something chained up in here.
Koschei hears Faraday shuffle around before he grunts, and then a dull, amber light flickers on just above the open arch of a door.
Koschei takes a step forward and looks up, linking his hands behind him.
There’s a man suspended from the ceiling. Trussed up in huge iron chains, his body still mostly obscured by the lingering and oppressive shadow. Both wrists have been pulled high above his head, held apart by heavy shackles. Both ankles have the same treatment, pulled apart by shackles, and a huge collar clasps his neck.
This room stinks, not of dust, not of blood, but of plant life.
The man’s head moves by a whisper, and then, like some ancient thing waking up slumber, with great difficulty raises up. Bright emerald eyes open, violently sharp as they meet Koschei’s steady gaze. For a moment, the two men stare at each other.
Another set of eyes open on the man’s face. And then another. Eyelids peel open all down his exposed body, down his arms, his limp torso, his sunken stomach and legs, down his tail. They roll in their sockets before all focusing on Koschei, all bright, violent, emerald green.
Leaves begin to grow in the corners, where the wall meets the ceiling.
Faraday exclaims wordlessly in surprise and protest, but Koschei doesn’t move a muscle.
The leaves grow and warp, twisting around one another into thick vines that run down the wall to grasp the iron chains. More and more grow, before the chains snap, crunching under the pressure. The vines run around the man’s body, under his armpits, around his thighs as they hold him in place before slowly, gracefully putting him down on the ground.
For a moment, Koschei wonders if it’s the tension radiating off this unknown prisoner, or a genuine magical aura. Another moment passes; and then, Koschei blinks, and the prisoner collapses.
“Shit,” Faraday says, rushing forward as Koschei kneels down, propping the prisoner up as he collapses into a pile of uselessly atrophied muscles and calcium deprived bone. The two of them lift him back up, and find no resistance to this.
“-Leave,” comes the very, very faint voice.
A shaking hand tries to root itself on Koschei’s shoulder. All of the eyes roll and round on him again, before the man manages to look up. Tears stream down his face. He can’t make a fist, but the raw, wretched misery coming off him hits Koschei like a truck.
“Don’t- leave,” he chokes out, barely able to speak at all. “Don’t-”
“We won’t,” Koschei says, gently- and sounds as shaken as he feels. He can sense Faraday looking at him in alarm. It takes him a moment to re-establish the barriers around his own emotions, pushing the worst of this poor fool’s out. “We won’t, child. We won’t.”
“You got him?” Faraday asks, standing back up. Koschei nods, pausing a moment before collecting the prisoner in his arms. He weights practically nothing. He’s still looking up, radiating an unending mix of misery and joy, all cut together with fear so strong it fills the room.
“I wonder why-” Faraday begins, as they trek back up the passageway.
“Hush,” Koschei interrupts, his voice sharp. “We will figure that out later.”
“Softie,” Faraday says, under his breath.
A trail of leaves follow from the room, spilling from the tips of the weeping man’s fingers like blossoms in spring.
#flight rising#fr lore#clan lore#my lore#thanatos syndicate#koschei urusov#faraday mac thame#sevranti
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@serthis-archivist @griminal-rising @majestyrising @kalistys @jacketyjackjack-fr @your-local-birb @airris-fr
The clan is mostly underground to escape the heat and hide their dealings in the black market. Its entire structural integrity relies on a giant pile of ancient bones that are mostly buried. There are lots of bazaars in the main entrance area, but the houses/residential areas are farther down in the bowels. A fog of sorts covers the ground in every level, but it only reaches about mid-calf on the smaller residents. However, many of the young thieves use this as cover.
The homes are built into the ground, in the bones, or are suspended above others. The higher in status you are, the more structurally secure your home and the higher/farther away from the other homes.
The bones protrude from the ground but have lanterns and fabrics draped on them for traders who sell their wares outside. Typically the poorer Typically the poorer or lower ranking residents have to make their sales here or in the inner part of the entrance.
Hyenas are a regular sight, and typically carry messages (or threats…) to various part of the clan. Most are used for patrolling with the guards, or keeping unwanted strangers away from what they shouldn’t stick their noses into.
Many of the farmers struggle to grow anything not native to the Scarred Wasteland, but the ranchers and hunters tend to have more success. If you don’t mind the taste of furian or podids that is.
Sage and Siren are not native to this city. They are merely travelers who catch the eye of the person ruling the city…
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The Iron-Forged Chronicles: Resurfaced
@griminal-rising @yuushanoah-fr @frxemriss (if you want to be pinged for future lore posts, let me know!)
(note: dragon’s in his gijinka form!)
A splash broke the silence in the snowy clearing as a male Skydancer burst out of the large lake in the area, gasping for air. His feet kicked to keep him afloat while his hands splashed around, desperate for anything they could get a hold of to get him out of the water. The water wasn't that deep where he was, but he wasn't adept at swimming; something that was obvious due to his flailing movements.
As erratic as his motions were, he eventually reached the shore, where he slowly pulled himself out of the water, breathing hard from the exertion. He didn't stop moving until he was completely out of the water, collapsing onto his stomach in the snow. He was spent... exhausted, from all that effort. Swimming was not something he had seriously done before, and thus, it had taken a lot out of him. He did not have the stamina for it.
Maybe he could just rest for a bit in the snow. That sounded good...
Wait.
He sat up on his knees with a start, inhaling sharply as the realization hit him full force. No. He shouldn't be alive. He shouldn't be here, breathing and moving, in the snow like this. He should be dead. He had been pushed into a very cold lake, when he couldn't swim. He had gone completely under. He remembered the blacking out, the horrendous feeling of not being able to breathe as everything went dark.
But yet, somehow. He was here. How?
The Skydancer stumbled to his feet, nearly falling back over as his legs nearly gave out on him, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. This couldn't... it shouldn't be possible. He had drowned. There was no way he should be able to stand and breathe and move around like he was doing now.
His heart was beginning to race at this point and he found himself having to lean against a nearby tree before he ended up falling back down due to his dizziness and his currently shaking legs. What... what even was all this? A second chance? No. He didn't deserve that. Not one bit. So why? Why in all of Sornieth was he still alive?
A wave of cold washed over him and he shivered, pulling his arms close to him as he did so, shifting to lean further against the tree. And why was he so cold? He didn't get cold. He was an ice dragon. This was a downright unnatural feeling and he despised it. Even in soaked clothing he shouldn't be feeling cold like this. It made no sense...
Shivering again, his eyes moved around the area he was in, taking in his surroundings for the first time. Something wasn't right. He couldn't place it. He knew this area well, for it was a place he often spent time in, even though he preferred to stay away from the water, and so, it was obvious to him that something was amiss. But what? The clearing looked the same, was it the weather? It was snowing lightly now, and had been since he had crawled out of the cold depths of the lake, unlike the stillness that had fallen over the area not long before the argument...
What was going on? There weren't any footprints in the snow at all, other than the ones he had just left moments before as he had stumbled through the snow. That made no sense. Where were his footprints from before he got pushed in? More importantly, where were her footprints? From when she had rushed up to him furiously, yelling in his face after he had gotten the nerve to finally confront her? Surely it hadn't snowed so much in a short length of time to cover up all signs of that event?
He pressed the fingers of one hand against his forehead as he closed his eyes, sliding to his knees. Surely it hadn't been longer than that. It.. it couldn't be. It had only felt like he had passed out for a little while before coming to again, but as he thought, he became slowly aware of a blank spot in his memory. Like he had just woken up from a dreamless sleep, but a longer black area than for it to be just that. No. It.. surely wasn't possible. How long had he really been out? How was he still alive if it hadn't been only a few minutes?
Again, how was he even alive at all? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. He didn't suddenly gain the ability to breathe underwater, not when he had still needed to breathe when he became aware again. The memories of asphyxiation were still fresh and clear in his mind as well, no matter how long it had really been. It just... it just wasn't possible. He couldn't have died and come back either, surely. No. That wasn't right either.
Bewildered and fearful, the Skydancer shifted off of his knees so he was sitting on a hip, shivering as he leaned against the tree. He had no idea what to do. He needed to figure out what was going on, get back to his home, tell the others he was not dead, that someone had attempted to kill him. That is, if they were still around. No. It couldn't have been that long. They were still around, surely. Maybe even... she was still around. The one who had tried to kill him.
Could it have been even longer than that? He needed to find out soon. Really soon.
It couldn't have been that long, could it?
First and foremost though, he needed to rest. For someone who had apparently been in some sort of strange coma for the past who knows how long, he was exhausted. Not just physically, either; his overwhelming thoughts had left him mentally tired as well. He just wanted to rest. He wasn't up to wandering to look for someone he could talk to just yet. That could wait.
He let his eyelids slip closed, pulling his coat closer to him as he slowly drifted off into an uneasy and cold sleep.
#The Iron Forged Chronicles#The Great Iron Forged Empire#lore post!#l: Aquarius#oh you're in for a big surprise darling#it's a lot worse than you think it really is#also wow at this thing being annoying this time with the tagging
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@deadpool-scar-bro @hikayelastoria @cornsnoot-fr @redlion-fr @mushroomdraggo @murdoch-fr @tales-around-sornieth @frxemriss @rainhearts-hatchery @rexcaliburr-fr @starry-ampelope @plainstriderbard @reanimatedfr @ally-fr @golden-lionsnake @rookfern @griminal-rising (let me know if you’d like to be added to the lore pinglist)
Deeprealm Denizens
Walkers, Watchers, and the Map
Reza, Rahila, Destiny, Fate, and the Map
If you’d like a Deeprealm denizen yourself you can check out the subspecies thread for information on how to get one/make one from a dragon you already have
Powerful Deeprealm Walker
Once part of a powerful clan but lost his memories and sense of self in the Deeprealm
Now wanders Sorienth and the Deeprealm searching for... something. He isn't quite sure. He doesn't remember
Has no long term memory. Can remember about a week total at a time
He and Rahila keep an extensive journal of all of Reza's movements, thoughts, and feelings
Feels incredibly guilty for not always remembering Rahila
Since he met Fate and Destiny his memory is a bit better but not much
Likes documenting the plants and flowers that grow in the Deeprealm
Deeprealm Guide
Holder of the Map of the Deeprealm
Very distrustful of just about everyone after what happened to Reza
Devoted to Reza to a fault
feels intense guilt over what happened to him and blames herself. She feels that because of her he had his ability to remember taken away
Was once very haughty and still sometimes is but has become more humble in caring for Reza
Is older than Reza
Knows many Walkers who want to help them but doesn't trust them and in turn Reza doesn't either as he doesn't have the long term memory to build relationships with other Walkers
Is pretty much in awe of Destiny and Fate and that they came to Reza
Is even more protective of the Map than of Reza as she recognizes that it is the reason he is like this
Deeprealm Watcher
Did not have a name until they came to Reza and he named her
Very troubled by Reza's plight
unfathomably gentle and kind
Most things about her are unknown and she does not share what she sees
Deeprealm Watcher
Did not have a name until they came to Reza and he named him
Came to Reza bc he was intrigued why Destiny would find him of interest
Does not share what he sees
unfathomably full of love and flaming passions, to the point he can appear enraged
Curious about Reza more than actually wants to help him
When the map was first made its cartographer realized one cannot simply map the Deeprealm to parchment. It must be like the Deeprealm. It must be able to change.
The cartographer made the Map from the Deeprealm itself.
The Map has no gender or conscious. It simply exists as a thing that is alive but not as something that is living
Made from time and space of the Deeprealm via magic
is highly sought after by many Walkers who cannot easily transverse the Deeprealm without getting lost
Does not exist in a true physical form unless summoned into existence by Rahila
Can display distance, time, and space all at the same time depending on what Rahila needs to find
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This is @griminal-after-dark‘s fault!! (Not like I didn’t want to do this anyways. ;D I’ll make an official list at some point, but for noooow...)
Dudes w/ THAT BIG DICK ENERGY (IF U KNOW WHAT I MEAN /EYEBROW WIGGLE):
Lockwood, Vashon, Erebos, Nemesis, Vasilios, Hallewell, Tirumala, Alchaeon, Enlai, Haimah, Shesha, Tsozin, Chiron, Jericho, Sverre, Dread (2!! 2 of them!! Lucky!!), Xen, Panzer, Jaeger, Gear, Efah, Konrad, Sabre, Bayonet, Shields, Emblem, Madness, Pandemonium, Kinbaku, Maitake, Howler, Agravain, Helsing (he’s a short shit, but he packin’.)
#I can't help it I'm laughin'#They're all uhhh -big boys-#Shesha and Howler are probably the scariest out of 'em but holy crap#PREPARE YOURSELF BUHUHUHU
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A FORGOTTEN CROWN
Part 0.5: A Land of Secrets
@withoutbounds-fr, @airris-fr, @griminal-rising, @mypilot-fr
The prince had been married a year before his father died and he took the throne. In all that time, it is said no love fostered between him and his betrothed, and even as the prince became the king, it was with little ceremony and with only the stiff presence of his supposed beloved.
Not everyone fed into this story; some believed the young king and his consort were lovers, destined for one another since their hatching. Kallis was imperious and conniving, and Zervos was serious and firm. This was the true reason behind their formal appearances: they were simply made that way.
Regardless of either theory, the kingdom cherished their royalty. King Kallis was a firm ruler, one who saw what the people needed and knew how to get it, and the consort Zervos was a reliable rock who who do anything to defend his people. They loved their kingdom and were loved in turn.
The kingdom itself was seated in the heart of the Sunbeam Ruins, the marbled walls and towers built loftily in the windswept plains between the Hewn City and the Promenade. It was a place of knowledge and study, but it was not all within the light’s view. The dragons there were sly things, cunning and quick. It was in their nature, it was in the very crown. The dragons were clever simply because they always had been.
Perhaps, then, this was why so much mystery was within those walls. Who could best keep a secret than those intelligent enough to dodge the answer?
Such was the Vaeral Kingdom.
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previous | next
“Come on, hurry up!”
“If you go any slower, you’ll miss it.”
“It’s on the beach!”
“Myrtle says it’s important.”
“Slow down!” Dreamweaver shouted over the rush of wind in their ears, but neither Morpheus nor Phobetor relented. The twins had been flying for mere months, and yet they could outpace even Phantasos, who was struggling to keep them in sight among low-hanging spring rain clouds. “You’re going to pull a muscle!” Dreamweaver tried again. “You’re going to strain, er, something-or-other!”
Beside them, Banrai chuckled, and maneuvered closer, so that his broad wings cast them in shadow. “You’re worrying too much, dear,” he said. “They’ve never flown this far before. Let them stretch their legs--or, rather, wings.”
“It’s all right, dede!” Phantasos called back. “I can fly faster than they can fall!”
Dreamweaver only groaned in response.
“There it is!” Morpheus squealed. “Look, look, you can see it from here!”
As the royal family dipped down below the cloudline, Dreamweaver thought at first that Danu had risen from the depths to speak with them, and that this must be what was so very important. Only when they drew nearer to the shore did they realize that what they were looking at was not a dragon, but an airship, larger and more magnificent than any they had ever imagined. It was Lightning-make, if the sophistication of its machinations was any indication...
...and it was docking just outside of Seaside.
“This is either really good,” Phantasos said, “or really bad.”
The twins were the first to arrive. Morpheus’ landing was clumsy, and Phobetor had to catch them as they stumbled, but they were off the very next moment. Myrtle greeted them with a warm smile. “We brought da and dede!” Morpheus informed brightly. “Can we go and see the airship now?!”
“You promised to let them see the airship?” Dreamweaver said as they alighted in the sand beside their children. “Myrtle, what have I told you about spoiling them?”
“I didn’t think there would be any harm in it,” said Myrtle in his dreamy voice. “It’s not a warship; we examined it thoroughly before clearing it for landing.”
“Then what’s it doing here?” Dreamweaver asked.
“Dreamy, they’re tourists,” Banrai said, squeezing his mate’s shoulder bracingly. “We get them all the time. A clan as large as ours, in as central a location as ours, with as many resources and local attractions as ours--well, it’s bound to attract sightseers.”
“I know that,” Dreamweaver mumbled.
“Then let’s go and watch the landing.”
Unable to find a flaw in their husband’s logic, Dreamweaver dismissed the twins with a reluctant wave of their hand. Before they could charge forward, however, Phantasos had scooped them both up in his arms. “Me and Ozy will keep an eye on ‘em,” he offered, “and I reckon Thal’ll show up soon enough, seeing as his boyfriend’s here and all.”
“Let’s go,” Ozymandias said, and, grabbing his young ward by the scruff of his neck, propelled him forward. “I’ll keep an eye on them--all of them.”
“Thank you, Ozymandias,” Dreamweaver replied.
“It looks like the vendors are already setting up shop at the landing site,” Banrai said, squinting against the harsh midday sun. “We had best go along and make sure they don’t try to swindle anyone out of anything. I’d hate to gain a reputation as a tourist trap.”
So the pair, along with Myrtle, made their way up the shore to where the ship was just beginning to touch down. Its propellers kicked up a cloud of sand in their wake, but this didn’t seem to deter any of the curious onlookers--nor the merchants hoping to make quick coin. Dreamweaver scanned the craft for Lightning weaponry, but saw only smooth, glimmering copper. If it was a warship, it was unlike any they had ever encountered.
“It’s very pretty,” Myrtle said.
“It’s very impressive,” Banrai added. “I’ve never seen one so large.”
“That’s because the big ones are always warships,” Dreamweaver reiterated. “Dragons have little need of them outside of conflict. If they don’t fly, they walk.”
“Don’t be that way, Dreamy.” Banrai pulled them close, and pressed a kiss to their temple. “Even Snappers can grow weary of walking everywhere.”
“I know,” Dreamweaver conceded, “I just can’t stand the smell.”
Finally, with a resounding boom that shook the earth beneath their feet, the airship came to rest in the sand. Banrai took the lead, parting the crowd so that Dreamweaver and Myrtle could pass, and soon, they stood before the gangway, already thronging with eager passengers. As Banrai had predicted, they were tourists, many with children, and Dreamweaver heaved a sigh of relief when they caught sight of the newcomers gawking at them.
“There,” said Banrai, “you see? You worried yourself for nothing--again.”
“Yes,” Dreamweaver agreed, “but that’s my job, isn’t it? Ah, I’ve never been happier to be stared at by so many strange eyes.”
“They think you’re beautiful,” Banrai said.
“They think I’m unusual,” Dreamweaver replied.
“Can’t it be both?” Myrtle asked.
“Welcome to Clan Feldspar and the Analemma Dominions! Enjoy your stay!”
Dreamweaver pursed their lips. “It would seem our son is already making friends.”
Indeed, Phantasos had taken to greeting their guests with perhaps a mite too much enthusiasm. He shook each hand that was offered to him, and was able to point out every last place of interest on every single map he was shown. Meanwhile, the ship’s younger passengers, buzzing with pent-up energy from their long voyage, joined Morpheus and Phobetor in a romp up and down the shore--under Ozymandias’ watchful eye.
“He’s better at this than us,” Banrai said.
“Well,” said Dreamweaver, flashing their husband a nasty grin, “we’ll see how he feels about it when we make him the official welcome wagon.”
Banrai was about to rib them for their mean streak when a call of, “Hey down there!” rang out above the clamor. Dreamweaver’s head snapped up, their ears flicking forward inquisitively. The voice was a familiar one, but the memory of its owner slipped between their fingers like the fine sand under their feet. He stood above them on the ship’s railing, hanging precariously with one arm outstretched, his features obscured by the sun at his back.
Then a cloud bank moved across it, and Dreamweaver gasped.
“Lutece?”
@nostlenne @serthis-archivist @airris-fr @reanimatedfr @jollyroger-fr @megane-pigeon @griminal-rising @windkissesfr
#flight rising#fr#zach writes#clan feldspar#feldspar lore#c: dreamweaver#c: banrai#c: myrtle#c: morpheus#c: phobetor#c: phantasos#c: lutece
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20 questions
life’s super busy lately and i have almost no time for flight rising but i was tagged by @poop-flying and i have a bit of time for this so here goes!
rules: answer 20 questions so your followers can get to know you better, and tag 20 other people you’d like to know better.
name: alice
nickname: tatooine, moons (obviously heh)
zodiac sign: cancer (june baby!)
height: 169cm
languages spoken: german, english, french, spanish, latin
nationality: german
favourite fruit: strawberries, watermelon, apples, grapes
favourite season: spring/summer/fall (i just hate winter lol)
favourite scent: lavender, rain, gasoline
favourite colour: green, black, grey (actually all haha)
favourite animal: cats (but i love all animals!)
favourite fictional character: uhhh so many??
coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: tea and hot chocolate!
number of blankets you sleep with: at least 3 unless it’s hot
when was your blog created: may 2nd 2015 i made my first post here! (my personal blog @tatooinedovah was also created on a may 2nd but in 2012, if i remember correctly? funny coincidence!)
favourite subject: like, in school? art and languages!
currently watching: nothing really, i’m too busy :(
stopped watching by accident and need to finish soon what are you doing: izombie, which i started watching randomly and it’s actually fun!
favourite band: metallica
instruments played: bass guitar (but i haven’t touched mine in ages ugh)
favourite book: hhh i’ve read sooo many books in my life haha
tagging uuuh gonna tag a bunch of people who tagged me in their imperial posts bc i can never remember who follows me lol feel free! (or not, obviously, no pressure!) love y’all! <3
@griminal-rising @nymphclan @avalonianrising @deadcell-fr @webwingalpha @emordnilap-fr @cetacean-rising @tarble-fr @thewindbloom @ohmydarlinq-fr @kiriatifr @rexcaliburr-fr @rebelfr @magichats-fr @crestedriverflight @mirrorseveryday @the-hewn-clan @airris-fr @deulirium-rising @frforlosers
#i'm still alive!#when i'm not busy i'm just sleeping#or playing video games haha#but i still exist and all that :D
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Cantio
Notes: Just a normal night in the the Magnanimous Magpie.
Pings: @hellkite-fr, @fusefr, @kattafr, @archaic-fr, @mask-fr, @griminal-rising, @wearetherot, @jadedragons, @palewastelandking, @lumoselm, @webwingalpha, @slighteyewing, @deadwapiti-fr, @shardclan, @fr-blackiebelle, @airris-fr, @frxemriss, @fitzfr, @nochnyr, @jaggeddragonbones
The smooth croon is a shock to everyone in the bar. It’s pretty busy tonight, the sun having set a couple of hours prior with all the mercs filing in after work. The cold radiating from the metal surfaces counteracts the swell of body heat of surprisingly calm occupants; chatter ebbs and flows; it’s been good for business without being aggressive and Oksana’s unfaltering smile shows that off.
But the croon, the crooning voice is a surprise.
Alcibiades tilts his head back with the slightest shit-eating smirk on his face. He knows damn well who that is, and although he is as shocked as everyone else for a very different reason, he doesn’t let on. His fingers gracefully shift the song he was playing from it’s soft relaxing rhythm to something darker, deeper, and altogether more sultry.
She plants one hand on the piano, long hair as deep as the abyss sliding from behind a frilled ear to cover part of her face as she sings.
Too bad she’s batshit. And not a man. Maybe he’ll ask after any brothers.
The duet turns the bar silent for a good couple of minutes before it ends. Everyone hesitates. Should they clap?
“Aren’t you going to thank us both?” Alcibiades purrs into the awkward silence. There’s a chorus of ‘no’ and ‘fuck you’ and then the chatter returns. He swivels on his seat, coattails sliding across the plush leather, and props his long dainty fingers underneath his chin.
Aisha lights a cigarette.
“What,” she says, flatly. Her purple eyes don’t reflect any of the light, but the crescent moon tattooed along her face glows slightly. She’s looking right past him; she’s actually looking at Gabriel, who silently raises a glass.
“I didn’t expect that from you tonight,” Alcibiades says, looking up at her through his eyelashes. She rolls her eyes before meeting his gaze. “Oh, ice cold.”
She shrugs noncommittally, inhaling deeply and then exhaling the smoke, thankfully away from his face.
“Aren’t you going to offer me one?” he asks, licking his bottom lip, “It’s a courtesy.”
“No,” she replies, brushing her hair back with her other hand. A single ruby ring shines on her fingers. “You’re a good pianist and nothing more. You are not my-“
Her lip curls in disgust.
“Friend,” she spits, framing the word with air quotes. This time, she does blow the smoke into his face. He doesn’t blink, even when his eyes water and twin trails of tears drip down his face. Nor does his little smirk falter.
“You wound me so deep, beautiful,” he says, sweetly.
“No,” she says, mildly.
“You have such a lovely singing voice,” he continues, casting his gaze to the heavens as he tilts his head back, “Such a siren.”
“I change my mind. Your playing is adequate at best. Stop talking to me.”
“And yet you’re still standing in front of me,” he notes, looking back at her, “You want something extra, cutie?”
Before he can react, she’s grabbed a knife from her hair- she was keeping that in her hair?- and holds it flush to his Adam’s apple.
“Hot,” he purrs, no fear in his eyes whatsoever.
“Ugh,” she mutters. Without the fear, it’s no fun.
He wonders for a moment if she’s going to stub the cigarette on his face, but she doesn’t. She lets go of him and saunters off; his eyes follow the swing of her hips before he looks up to find Oksana staring down at him.
She wipes his eyes with a handkerchief. It comes away with salt water, eyeliner, and a significant amount of pink glitter.
“Oksana,” Alcibiades complains, drawing out the last vowel, “Aisha was mean to me.”
“You know how she is,” Oksana says, patiently. “I don’t know why you talk to her. She’s an assassin. You know their type.”
“You told me to talk to more people-“
“I said, you should make some friends,” she interrupts, waggling a finger, “I didn’t mean try to bond with her. Why don’t you talk to someone else.”
“I do!” he complains. Dramatically he snatches her hand by the wrist and stands up. His outfit is perfectly tailored and hugs his slim body, the picture of grace. Some heads turn in surprise, but most ignore him. He turns around, heeled shoes clicking. “Gustav!”
Gustav turns around from his booth, blinking. Alcibiades gestures with one hand and Gustav gets up, slinking through the crowd to the grand piano. He brings his drink with him. It has an umbrella in it, but they both know it’s nothing but fruit juice.
“Yes Alci?” Gustav says, his soft wavy hair perfectly tousled around his perfect baby face.
“You like me, don’t you?” Alcibiades asks, his tone imbued with a heavy sense of drama.
Gustav mulls this over, looking up at the ceiling. He studies the crystal chandeliers for ten entirely silent seconds.
“You’re alright,” he decides on, before sipping his drink.
“See!” Alcibiades exclaims, turning back to Oksana.
She shakes her head and pats him on the shoulder before returning to the bar. Alcibiades sits back down with a huff, placing both hands on his knees.
“Why were you talking to that psycho?” Gustav asks plainly, looking at Aisha where she’s now leaning on the bar provocatively. She rotates her wrist as she talks to Gabriel, who nods slightly.
“She can sing,” Alcibiades says, his voice light.
“I’m aware of that now,” Gustav says, with the air of someone only slightly annoyed by that statement, “And that doesn’t answer my question.”
“It doesn’t? It should. I look for musicians, darling. I don’t care about their personalities,” Alcibiades explains, ghosting his fingers over the keys of his beloved piano. He slides his index finger up and down before going back to improvising a slow, relaxing song. “All I need is for her to sing.”
“I’m not a musician,” Gustav points out.
“No,” Alcibiades says, thoughtfully, “Not in music. But you’re a musician on stage, no? You dance. You can charm a thousand men with that smile. And you’re cute.”
Gustav giggles, thick serpentine tail swaying around his legs.
“It’s nice for someone to notice,” he says, basking in the glow of his own ego for a handful of seconds before he adds, “But you know you won’t get anywhere.”
“With you, or in life?” Alcibiades says, squinting one eye shut.
“With me,” Gustav says.
“Ah, yes,” Alcibiades murmurs, quieter, “You’re in mourning. Ah, no, don’t bristle. No, you haven’t said anything. I don’t know what you’re mourning, my sweet little peacock, but I do hope it was an angel.”
Gustav pauses. He watches Alcibiades play for a moment, the song a little sadder than before. Slower. Or maybe he’s imagining that. His electric blue eyes turn to look out the window. The night sky is black. In it, he sees a bouquet of roses, formed of the dark space between stars. He swallows thickly.
“Yes,” he answers.
“Mm,” Alcibiades muses, “We all have our lost angels. Not to worry. I won’t say anything to cause anyone enough ire to harm me. But for music, we must take risks. For our craft. You understand, don’t you?”
“I don’t know if I do,” Gustav says. “You step on everyone’s toes on purpose, Alci. I know you do.”
“Do you?” he says. “Do you know me at all?”
“No,” Gustav answers, easily, “You don’t know me either.”
Alcibiades smiles.
“Would you like a song, Gus?”
Gustav finishes his drink and tip toes to perch on the opposite end of the piano bench.
"Play for me.”
#flight rising#fr lore#clan lore#my lore#thanatos syndicate#alcibiades#aisha al sheikha#oksana#gustav tantastrom#thank you for making me write alci airris#i always love writing him 8')
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