#summon wyrm

[evostrashbin]

VERY serious warmup doodle from like two days ago about Grima asking the truly important questions

[anthonyspage]

👩🪄♨️🌫🐉✨

[eorzeashan]

I've been so blind this whole time. It wasn't Zenos, it was Shinryu. The moment Nya fell in love was when Shinryu lifted him up to the heavens and let him be among the stars before the final fight, and it was so wondrous it took his breath away. The rest of the primals were summoned to carry you to the end of the universe as their pure, good selves, of course Shinryu-- the dragon of Gyr Abanian strength, suffering, and despair would bear you on its back. It deserved to ride the cosmic wind and sing of victory with the WoL astride it. The swell of its chorus drowning out the despair that sings for all....

[wizardsspellbook]

[theology101]

Why did Oisin’s Grandma go so unimaginably hard?

Seriously, besides the vague idea of “Porter made a promise of money/power when this was over” or “These kids killed my boyfriend who i haven’t seen in 300 years,” why the hell did she summon multiple wyrms and other dragonkin, presumably from her own brood, to fight the Bad Kids?

What did she gain?

Why does she even care what one of her hundreds of descendants is up to?

[choiceofgames]

New game! “Werewolf: The Apocalypse — The Book of Hungry Names” — Unleash Rage and wield spirit to heal the land and rebuild your fallen pack

Werewolf: The Apocalypse — The Book of Hungry Names is now available on Steam, iOS, and Android!

It’s 25% off until May 2nd! Furthermore, as a special offer, if you purchase "Werewolf: The Apocalypse — The Book of Hungry Names" by 11:59pm PDT on April 26th, we'll give away the "Wardens and Furies" DLC, featuring the options to play as a member of the Black Fury tribe or the Hart Warden tribe, for free.

You and your shattered werewolf pack must save the living Earth with Rage and spirit! In this interactive novel with hundreds of choices, can you defeat a Wyrm Spirit who manifests as a lie that you want to believe?

Werewolf: The Apocalypse — The Book of Hungry Names is an interactive novel by Kyle Marquis set in the World of Darkness. It's entirely text-based—1.8 million words, without graphics or sound effects—and fueled by the vast, unstoppable power of your imagination.

Shapeshifter. Mystic. Hero. Monster. You are a werewolf, and you are all these things. Werewolves are the living earth's last guardians, created by Gaia, given the gift of shifting between human and wolf forms, and called to stop humanity from destroying the world.

But you have failed.

Three years ago, packs of werewolves worked together as a Sept in Broad Brook, Massachusetts, battling the Wyrm, the enemy of Gaia. While other Septs fell to the Wyrm or tore themselves apart with fratricidal Rage, Broad Brook thrived. Some said they would be the ones to stop the Apocalypse.

But in one night, a Wyrm Spirit called "the Answering Tiger" destroyed the Broad Brook Sept and defiled its caern. In fact, Broad Brook had never been thriving at all. The Tiger had deceived their senses, disordered their thoughts, and turned them against one another. Where the different tribes saw trust, in truth there was resentment and growing Rage. Where the different packs saw safety, there were security flaws that could be exploited. Where they saw the Wyrm, there were innocents that they massacred, before reporting to other Septs about another glorious victory.

Their cruel pride allowed the Wyrm Spirit to deceive them, and they mostly destroyed themselves. The Answering Tiger had servants, too, monstrous Banes and fomori, and even werewolves sworn to the Wyrm. But they were only there to pick off whoever was left.

Now, the Stormcat, once the Patron Spirit of the Broad Brook Sept, has called upon you to rebuild a pack from the survivors and fight back against the Answering Tiger. In the savage woods and decaying towns of New England, you will forge your own legend.

Build Your Pack. Human and werewolf survivors haunt the woods and hide in the cities: find them to learn what happened and to rebuild the werewolf nation. But not all werewolves can be trusted: shun those wolves consumed by Rage, and pity those who have lost the Wolf and become empty shells.

Survive the Wilds. A desperate exile, shunned by those of your old pack who have abandoned their oaths to Gaia, you'll have to survive by your wits. A winter night can kill as surely as any monster: find shelter, seek allies among spirits and humans, and learn how far you'll go to survive.

Unleash Your Rage. You are one of Gaia's monsters, a living weapon, herald of horror and death. Now the Apocalypse is here: wield your Rage with savage cunning and keen discretion, or it will swallow you whole.

• Play as male, female, or nonbinary; befriend or romance werewolves and humans of all genders.

• Shapeshift among five forms to slaughter your enemies, or outwit them to take what you need.

• Choose your auspice (moon-sign) and your werewolf tribe: Bone Gnawer, Child of Gaia, Glass Walker, Shadow Lord, or Silver Fang

• Claim your territory and heal the spirits there to unlock Gifts that let you summon animals, see into the past, or enter the spirit world.

Buy it now!

[toskarin]

toskarin how do i stop procrastinating

summon the wyrm

[auternadelaide]

ramblings of a batshit fangirl after reading chapter 1115 of One Piece below

one of my favorite parts of this Vegapunk announcement is the constant glances around the world. i'm loving getting to see Nami, Zoro and Chopper's hometowns. Wano, Zou and Water 7. the random ass characters with Demaro Black and his band cosplaying as the Kidd pirates, Foxy and Marianne(Miss Goldenweek- partner to Mister 3 from waaaaaay back in Little Garden arc)

feel there's gonna be some weird Stussy/Kaku deal soon for sure.

Frank saving Bonney. god i love this man. i'm glad he's getting to do a lot of stuff this arc since he didn't get to just be a fucking science nerd with Vegapunk. Franky is definitely MVP for Egghead for sure

the reveal of the ancient world being swallowed by the sea is just confirmation to what was already suspected but the amount the sea level rose by is wild. 200m. with Lulusia Kingdom being obliterated, the sea level rose by 1m. so either the weapon that was used has lost power and no longer sinks the world as far as it once did OR thats 200 uses of that weapon over about a century

lots of stuff this chapter for sure but the one thing that's got its hook in me..

ONE OF THE GOROSEI IS MIA

WHERE IS HE

WHAT IS HE DOING

HE BETTER NOT HURT MY FAMILY

we're missing St. Shepherd Ju Peter. The Sand Wyrm.

the youngest looking of the Gorosei

now usually i wouldn't think anything of this but it feels like Oda has made a point to include his wyrmy face in every chapter until this one

quick timeline of wyrm events

chapter 1110 he gets the big chop

chapter 1111 we see his body after the chopperino multiple times and then finally see his silhouette where he has apparently regenerated

chapter 1112 he consumes a building

chapter 1113 just a single panel of his face

chapter 1114 another single panel of his wyrm face

and that brings us to chapter 1115. NOTHING

WHERE THE FUCK IS HE

we see all of the other gorosei and at the end of the chapter we get one of those flash between some gorosei we've already seen this chapter

you would figure he might get a single panel here but NOPE. Oda's planning something with this mother fucker

now the big reason i'm worried about this particular Gorosei is because he's Number 1. if you haven't seen the numbering of the Gorosei, lemme just show you

when Saturn appeared with his summoning circle, he had 5s all around it

when the rest of the Gorosei were summoned, you can see 4s, 3s and a 2. then it goes to the wider shot and we see another 4

each of these being St. Marcus Mars(The Itsumade- 4), St. Topman Mercury(The Hōki- 3) and St. Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro(The Bakotsu- 2)

which leaves only the wyrm as Number 1. now this could mean he's the strongest, the first Gorosei or the first to receive whatever power allows them to be summoned like that.

OR it's all a fucking red herring and he's actually number 6 and Imu is number 1.

im going batshit over here

[dgrailwar]

Round 8, Day 1 - ALL TEAMS (but mostly Team Pretender) - [ TRUE NAME DISSOLUTION ]

Team Pretender chooses to trigger the Pretender's True Name Dissolution! Oberon's gameplay style, personality, skills, and perhaps even the current state of the Grail War will cha--

"Ahh… you're sure? This would be a pretty nasty spoiler… I mean, might spoil things in a pretty nasty way."

"Well, if you say so. Let's put up a curtain, just in case anyone wants to remain in this illusion of bliss."

Ah. So you decided to keep reading? Good. I hope you're ready. Because in exchange for visuals, you'll have to live with words.

You watched as the form of 'Oberon' began to decay, his form withering and rotting away into dark, pulpy matter. The process was vile and agonizing, the smell of sloughing sinew and blackening bones filling the forest. The bugs crawled to the disgusting carcass, worming their way in, making nests and feasting greedily as the fairy king dropped to the earth, his body no more than a dark puddle that slowly grew in size, before rising.

Rising, and rising.

A swarm of darkness, rising and rising.

A vile king, an abyssal worm, rising above the digital space.

An empty entity that loathed existence itself. An eternal pit that swallowed worlds.

And as naught but innocent bystanders, the Masters could only watch in horror, for how could they have known this would happen?!

Hah!

Yeah, right. That's horseshit.

Of course they knew what would happen. They just didn't care. Not about the others, or how things would change. That's human nature, you know? Ruin things because it seems interesting at the moment. That's the simple fact of the matter.

They probably looked on proudly. 'We did it!', they would declare, 'We summoned such a mighty and powerful Servant, and none will stand in our way', they probably proclaimed. Or, perhaps even more naively (and perhaps even worse), 'Our friend now has the power to win'! Blegh. Anyways.

Then, as the audience is given a beat to grapple in the horror of the scenario, in a manner of surprising comedic timing they would check their Command Spells… and they would be gone.

'Gone? How could they be gone?', would be the question buzzing in their minds, panic beginning to settle in. Of course, the answer was simple.

That giant abyssal creature did not exist, and yet did exist. A 'hole', only truly meant for a Lost World.

Anyways, do you want a big explanation on how each Servant suffers and dies under the curse, and how the Grail crumbles and withers into itself, reverting to nothing, and how the magical energy suffused by this dark entity breaks free from this digital prison, dooming this world? I mean, I could. Sure.

But why bother? It's basically settled. Here.

What was that thing that Shakespeare had Puck say at the end of that bullshit play?

"If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber’d here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream."

It's over. You can leave now.

The dream is done.

The Abyssal Wyrm comes and everyone dies. Meaning you've reached a...

I said you can go.

Leave, shoo. Go away.

There's not much past this, so bye.

…Hah! Fine. I lied. I mean, obviously. What a shit ending that would be otherwise. Let's keep it 'sporting', then. This whole farce makes me want to puke, so I need to let out my anger on someone before this ends. Ah- wait, this is narration. No more 'I'. Let's stay detached, lest this become a monologue.

Now, let's settle the matter of where this story stands.

There was the melting, the decay, the ruination of the idea of 'Oberon'. Check.

The insects feasting, nesting, and crowding on his decaying body, a ritual to send his body to the earth, and arise anew. Duh.

The vanishing Command Spells, as you realized that your connection was nothing more than a scam. Of course.

The giant abyssal creature looming over the horizon. Obviously.

That stuff happened. Remember it.

But the Servants didn't die (yet).

The digital space wasn't swallowed by darkness (yet).

All isn't lost (yet).

Those were lies. Though, if I'm the one saying it…

Ah, whatever. Now... how did these sort of things go for the others? Right, right.

Behold, the vile king of the abyss. He who resides wherever 'emptiness' lies. The wrath of the Planet, given form and cursed with eternal loathing and hollow truth. He who only should have existed within the confines of the Lost World, as he has no role within human history. He, made of lies, sheds his farcical shell. He who makes you go 'Oh, we, uh, should have summoned the Archetype of the Planet for this one' with dumb mouths agape!

Behold, the end of worlds and dreams. The one who fells the morning lark. The one who consumes the evening shroud. The one who devours the twilight.

Behold--

The Extra Class of Endless Deceit, Pretender!

[little-tyrant-gortash]

I just started to think about something now that I've officially finished the game...

Who else dies from your allies? I mean, unless you summon them during the last boss fight and they fall, then of course, they can, but... no other ally dies in a way you can't prevent it.

Except Gortash.

You can persuade others not to do something stupid and foolish. You can manipulate the circumstances NOT to allow them to be near the threat with you. Halsin asks you to get rid of the goblin leaders? You can recruit him - or you can tell him to stay behind to keep him out of trouble. Jaheira is a bit weak at the time you're about to descend at Moonrise Towers? Gently persuade her to stay back.

But then there's this stubborn motherfucker who sticks with you from the moment you defeat Orin, and he doesn't give you one single fucking chance to tell him to stay in Wyrm's Rock Fortress, uncork a wine, read a book and wait out the shit that's about to go down. Because "we rule as one", and he truly believes in that.

And I do understand. He goes with us because he wants to handle this with us. Together. But he could've lived. He could've been given a chance. Perhaps a 25 Persuasion check to convince him to give you his stone, then perhaps join you in the battle where his chances of survival is in the player's hands.

But, I remind myself... he was never given a chance about his future. He never had a choice concerning his fate. He never had anyone who'd tell him, "No, let me handle this, you stay behind and stay safe."

In the entire game, Gortash is the one and only ally you can not save.

Honestly. After all the shit we've been through for him, after all the shit HE'D been through in his entire fucking life, this is really not fair.

[tourettesdog]

Pops up from a bush like the short wyrm king I am

Hello my friend!

I am here to interest you in a DP x DC thing I have cause I haven't sent one on tumblr in a while.

This time I shall be finally using the Ghost King Danny hc anyways.

Ghost King Danny has just recently lost his friends and family in the nasty burger explosion, unfortunately CW couldn't rewind the accident and so, Danny is left by himself to wallow in hate and misery.

Until he was introduced to Batman. A character who lost everything at a young age but managed to drag himself up and become a hero.

Danny has been spending his everything to acquire comic books of this hero, watching his highs, the lows and cheering him on every step of the way.

Danny love Batman, because he's the only thing that helped to pull him out of his spiral. If he could, he would hug him and never let go.

Meanwhile in the DC universe. Batman has been unknowingly (to the both of them) blessed by the ghost king and highly favored.

During a mission to find and stop a cult from summoning this mysterious 'ghost king' that they want to unleash upon the world to destroy it.

They failed to stop the summoning in time, but instead of this eldritch being beyond human comprehension.

It's instead this small boy. A boy with a crown that's so big on his that it's around his neck, with a cape that looks like universe was weaved upon it.

The boy seemed confused on what happened, looking around and taking in everything slowly, his eyes roamed over the summoning circle laying upon the floor.

The defeated cultists sprawled about, the old, time taken look of the building until his eyes at last roamed over the Justice League.

The boy met Batman's eyes, and in that moment. With a speed that can only be less than the likes of Superman and the Flash, appeared before Batman directly.

The Justice League tenses and prepared for a fight, but instead of attacking the boy only hugged?

The boy's eyes seemed to be small stars themself as he looked up at Batman, and with a small and quivering voice spoke:

"You're real..."

this might be cringe but anyways.

Crawls back into the bush

This is not cringe at all. I actually really love it ahhh <3 ; o ;

The thought of Danny actually finding the person that helped him get through a hard time, when he didn't even think he was real? Very sweet and endearing.

[rosanna-writer]

Love at First Sight's for Suckers (3/5)

Summary: [A Feysand Newsies AU] Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally... Warnings: None

We're back with our favorite Santa Fae <3 HUGE thank you to @itsthedoodle for continuing to beta my gift for @the-lonelybarricade!

Ch. 1 - Got a Feelin' 'bout the Headline | Ch. 2 - Beautiful. Smart. Independent. | Ch. 3 Guts and Glory

You can read the third chapter Here on AO3 or under the readmore.

That night turned out to be the longest of Feyre's life. There was barely time for a few hours of fitful sleep; instead, she was rousing newsies and mobilizing them to get the word out about the price increase before morning.

She started with Lucien. Then Bron and Hart and Alis and Les and Davey, newsies who she'd befriended and who'd listen to her. Once they learned that the marching orders came from the High Lady herself, the rest of the newsies of the Rainbow agreed to the strike readily.

And to Feyre's surprise, they also agreed to fan out across the city, spread the news, and cajole the rest of the city's newsies into striking alongside them. They looked to her for direction, and Feyre found herself dividing up the territory among them—Bone and Salt, Thread and Jewels, Hoof and Leaf.

But no one wanted to take the south side of the Sidra. That was Nesta's turf.

Given the choice, Feyre would rather fight a Middengard Wyrm than cross the Sidra for her sister's help. Any other newsie would probably feel the same; the south side fae were big and unflinchingly loyal to Nesta, who ran her side of the city like a well-oiled machine.

Nothing got past Nesta, though. Before Feyre even had the chance to summon up the courage to go see her sister, a note appeared out of thin air and fluttered down into Feyre's hands.

Waiting on proof that you won't fold at the first sign of trouble — N

That wasn't an outright insult, so Feyre supposed that was the best she could have hoped for. Even if it stung. For all her faults, though, Nesta was true to her word. Feyre pocketed the note and didn't bother with a reply; in the morning, she'd prove to her sister that the newsies of the Rainbow weren't backing down.

But it was more than just Nesta who doubted them. The responses came in one by one from the rest of the city, and they were all the same: they'd back up the Rainbow newsies…but only if Nesta did it first.

This would be a test. Feyre was sure of it, all the way down her bones, as the sky lightened in the east and stacks of papers were readied for distribution. For now, the newsies of the Rainbow would be standing alone.

Though on some level she'd expected it, Feyre's heart still sank at the sight of scabs lining up to buy papers to sell that morning. She wasn't the only one—a fight had nearly broken out immediately. Tensions might have boiled over if Feyre hadn't put an arm out to stop a newsie from charging right at them.

"Listen," she said, gentle but firm enough that the unionized newsies quieted as she spoke to the scabs, "I'm sure you were paid handsomely for this. But it isn't right. You've heard how they speak to us—if you ask Pulitzer, we're all gutter rats willing to stab each other in the back. There's no shame in being poor or lesser fae. We all deserve a fair deal. Every single one of us. So, please, I beg you…throw your papers down and join the strike."

By the time she finished speaking, even the fae passing by and going about their business stopped to listen to her. Feyre hoped the churning in her stomach didn't show on her face. For a few long moments, a heavy silence hung over the square.

One by one, the scabs dropped their papers.

The rest of the stacks of papers at the distribution window sat untouched after that. There hadn't been time to make banners or signs, but it was clear enough that the newsies of the Rainbow fully intended to ensure that every single paper went unsold. After all—by the end of the day, they'd be too out of date to be of use, anyway.

By noon, Feyre supposed, the message was received. She was already thinking ahead to votes and negotiations, demands they could make beyond just lowering the price of papers back down to what it had been originally. The strike might actually succeed.

And then a group of High Fae in identical police uniforms rounded the corner, and Feyre's hopes sank all at once. But she didn't panic, just gritted her teeth—she'd vowed to prove to Nesta that they wouldn't fold at the first sign of trouble, and trouble had arrived.

So Feyre marched forward to meet them. Head held high, she returned their stares and didn't bother glancing back to make sure the newsies of the Rainbow followed her.

The cops might have already been reaching for their nightsticks, but Feyre decided to make one attempt at resolving this peaceably. "Good afternoon," she said evenly, letting her voice carry. "Is there—"

But the thwack of a nightstick colliding with a newsie's jaw cut that short.

Feyre's hands curled into fists, her arms moving up to protect her face on instinct. Around her, the square erupted into chaos—shouting and newsies running in all directions. Something struck her in the side. She cried out in pain, too stunned to make herself incorporeal.

She scrambled backwards, glancing around for a flash of Lucien's red hair. If Feyre had to run, she wouldn't leave without him. All around her, newsies were fleeing or being dragged and winnowed away by police.

A shadow fell over the square, cast by a massive wingspan. An Illyrian warrior—what in the bottomless depths of the Cauldron was he doing in Velaris?—landed with his back to her, unsheathing a sword strapped along his spine. His wings flared out as if to shield her.

A vicious growl escaped the Illyrian. "Touch her again and you die," he spat at the cop, and Feyre recognized the voice. Not just any Illyrian warrior— Rhysand.

With a single deft movement of his wrist, Rhys used his sword to knock the nightstick out of the closest policeman's hand. It clattered to the pavement and rolled towards Feyre.

"What are you doing here?" Feyre hissed, picking up the nightstick.

"I told you I'd publicly support a strike, didn't I?"

There was no time to demand an explanation, not when Lucien was still nowhere in sight. Feyre threw herself into the fray. Hands grabbed at her, but she knocked them away with the nightstick before anyone could winnow her.

If they caught her, she'd end up in the Prison. Once, Feyre had nearly found herself trapped on that barren island of rock on the western shore. She wouldn't let it happen today, either.

She called Lucien's name, searching for any sign of him. There was none, but perhaps he'd already gotten to safety…

No, there he was, all the way across the square. Feyre called his name as she launched herself towards him. A cop was charging at Lucien, ready to strike or winnow him away.

Feyre reached for Lucien. So did the cop. But Lucien didn't see—he'd turned his head at the sound of her voice, and the officer was on the side where his missing eye narrowed his field of vision.

And Feyre wasn't fast enough. Her fingers closed around empty air. Lucien was gone.

Not just gone—taken to the Prison, with no hope of escaping that island full of monsters. Feyre choked back a sob.

Something tugged in her chest, urgent and insistent, as Rhys's voice filled her mind. Get. Home. I'm holding them off for you.

Feyre didn't need to be told twice—if she stayed any longer, she'd end up in the Prison, too. She faded until she was little more than a ghost, slipping from shadow to shadow until she was back at her tenement.

The Rainbow's High Lady should have been assessing the damage, getting a count of how many newsies had been arrested, and making sure any injured newsies who'd escaped found a healer. But Feyre was tired.

At at the sight of Lucien's empty bed, she finally let out the sob that she'd held back before running away. She'd never felt like a bigger idiot; going up against Pulitzer had been massively stupid, and now her best friend was paying the price. Dreams of a better world were just that—dreams. Nothing more.

So Feyre lifted the floorboard and gathered what she'd saved of the money Rhysand had tipped her. It was long past time to buy that one-way ticket to the Continent.

***

The force of his father's power knocked through Rhys's mental shields like a battering ram. House of Wind. Now.

Rhys sheathed his sword, glancing around the rapidly-emptying square. Feyre had disappeared safely into the shadows, and his work here was done. But the feral instinct to protect his mate hadn't disappeared with her. Rhys shot into the sky, hoping to clear his head before he misted anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

As he flew, Rhys shifted himself out of his leathers and back into a tunic—whatever explanation he gave his father, it would be better received if he looked less Illyrian. Less like a threat, if he was being honest.

But really, the only thing that would quell his father's anger would be telling him that Feyre was his mate. Rhys refused to take that option; his behavior might be excused as protectiveness typical of a mated male, but that wasn't worth exposing Feyre to pressure to accept the bond. She'd resent him for eternity for that.

So Rhys just steeled himself for whatever punishment his father would mete out. He'd endure anything if it meant Feyre had a choice.

The High Lord was waiting on the balcony of the House of Wind, and even from the sky, Rhys could see darkness swirling around him in furious, pulsing waves. He schooled his expression into careful neutrality as he landed.

"Would you please explain," the High Lord said, the mild words no less an ice-cold threat, "what exactly you were doing attacking a police officer in the middle of Velaris just now?"

"Preventing a bloodbath," Rhys said, just as coolly.

For a moment, night rippled between the High Lord and his heir as they stared each other down. Then Rhys's father turned on his heel and strode back into the House of Wind, clearly expecting Rhys to follow.

He hadn't yielded—Rhys knew this tactic well. He matched his father's long strides and awaited the dressing down that was meant to be overheard,not behind closed doors in the High Lord's study.

"A bloodbath might have been just the thing we needed, but everyone saw you protecting their ringleader. Do you understand the chaos that could cause in Velaris? A direct challenge to my authority, from my own heir. I won't have you starting riots, Rhysand."

Servants and courtiers alike scurried out of the way as they walked. Rhys made sure to keep his head held high.

"What they were doing….it wasn't right, High Lord." His father's title tasted like ash on Rhys's tongue.

" Right doesn't matter, keeping the peace does, especially in Velaris. I have half a mind to send you to Illyria if you're so intent on seeing this city burn to the ground."

Rhys nearly stumbled in shock—sending him to Illyria was the closest his father could manage to banishing him. Perhaps though, he shouldn't have been surprised. If the laws of Prythian had allowed it, Rhys suspected his father would have killed him before Rhys had a chance to ever challenge him for the throne.

"Velaris is my home now."

"You aren't acting like it. Undermine me again and I'll order Devlon to strip you of your rank and put you on border duty in the coldest corner of the Steppes."

A warning was more generous than Rhys had any right to expect. Though in truth, he suspected it wasn't mercy so much as his father's desire to keep a close eye on him that was allowing him to stay in the city for now.

"Thank you, father," he said with a curt nod.

They reached the High Lord's study, and the door slamming in Rhys's face was dismissal enough. That was fine. Feyre was probably off somewhere marshaling the newsies that hadn't been arrested, and Rhys would give her time to handle that before checking to make sure she'd gotten some safely.

Gods, he wanted to see her though.

To pass the time instead, Rhys began making his way down to the library to brood. But the sound of Mor calling his name made him freeze. A faint note of panic in her voice nearly had him reaching for his sword.

"Thank the Mother you're still here. I was just at Ressina's," Mor said.

Rhys stilled. "The theater?"

"There was some artwork I bought from her. And you should go there now because I saw—" Mor cut herself off then glanced around, eyes going wide. Rhys understood; privacy wasn't always a given in the House of Wind. Dropping her voice lower, she added, " You know who is there, talking about leaving for the Continent tonight. Go get her."

Rhys didn't need to be told twice. He set off at a sprint toward the balcony, snapped his wings open, and took to the sky. Once he'd climbed above the wards, he winnowed straight to the theater.

Feyre was alone on stage, painting mountains on a backdrop and looking as peaceful as Rhys had ever seen her. The beauty of it stopped him in his tracks halfway down the center aisle. She'd captured the majesty of the craggy peaks in Illyria—but with a hazy, otherworldly quality as if she'd seen them in a dream.

"What do you want, Rhys?" she said without turning around.

"An explanation."

"Of what? Why the strike was a colossal failure?"

"Of why you're planning on running away."

At that, Feyre spun on her heel, holding the paintbrush as if it were a javelin to throw at him. Her blue-grey eyes flashed as Rhys climbed the stairs to the stage and got closer. "Mother's tits, my best friend got dragged to the Prison today . I'm not putting anyone else at risk."

"I didn't take you for a female who backs down from a challenge."

For a moment, Rhys was sure she was about to strike him. And he probably would have deserved it. Feyre just sighed and went back to her painting.

"I tried sending a note to Lucien," she said quietly, "but he was too beat up to even send an answer back. If he doesn't make it…"

Rhys's eyes drifted to a crumpled piece of paper at her feet. "Then what's that?"

"A message from Nesta, saying next time we can count on the south side newsies. Easy for her to say when there won't be a next time."

It had been a while since Rhys had seen anyone with this sort of bitterness in their voice and defeated slump in their shoulders. He recognized it all the same—from his time in war-camps after lost battles. The drinking and partying that the gossip columns loved to write about so much had been his way of getting sights like that out of his head, to chase away thoughts of what might have happened to soldiers captured by Hybern.

He'd never expected Feyre to look broken that way.. But Rhys had commanded a legion; he knew what to do.

"Get your head on straight, Archeron," he said, a note of command creeping into his voice. Feyre stiffened for a moment, but kept painting. He pressed on. "You're winning, and don't be stupid enough to throw it away now. Pulitzer called on my father for support because you had him scared. And after what happened in the square, all of Velaris knows it. So keep moving forward."

For a long moment, Feyre said nothing, just kept adjusting the shading on one of the mountains. Rhys began to wonder if she was determined to ignore him until he left—she was certainly stubborn enough.

"Why do you care? You're a prince. I don't see why this matters so much to you," she said eventually.

Rhys couldn't tell her that the thought of an ocean between them was already ripping his heart in two. But he didn't have to lie, either.

"Because I'm Illyrian. I spent seven years breaking the news to families that they'd lost a loved one because High Fae bastards like my father think of my mother's people as cannon fodder and nothing more. Most of the newsies are lesser fae, and you can't tell me Pulitzer doesn't see you the same way. There are enough camp-lords who hate my father enough that they'll lend their support if you ask for it, and with Nesta on board, that's a powerful coalition."

Again, Feyre said nothing. But he watched as she dipped a new brush into silvery paint and slowly added three stars atop the mountain in the center of the backdrop. That was answer enough.

She turned and studied him, and Rhys had never felt more exposed than he did under the weight of her gaze. Feyre had a way of seeing right to the center of him, and when she'd drawn his portrait, it was as if she'd reproduced it on newsprint for the whole world to see.

"Does that mean you're in this with me? All the way to the end?"

Not for the first time, Rhys wondered if she knew what they were to each other. There were times—like now—that he felt the bond so acutely that every breath seemed to pull on a cord tied to his ribs. If he were a worse male, he would have slid past her shields to see if her question meant what he suspected.

But that wouldn't change his answer. "You have me. Everything I can give, for as long as you need, Feyre."

She set the paintbrush down. "Then let's get back to work."

[wellthebardsdead]

Voryn: okay Wyrm let’s try a simple conjuration spell. Focus on my hand and try to summon a rabbit.

Wyrm: why a rabbit?

Voryn: because if the summoned creature is hostile at least it’ll be harmless.

Wyrm: oh, okay! *focuses on his hand and casts the spell*

*POOF!*

Voryn: *blinks and looks down to see a grey little bunny in his hand, and Wyrms clothes scattered on the floor* w-Wyrm?… are you the bunny?

Wyrm: *is 100% the bunny* owo

Voryn: … *puts him in his pocket* so we’re not telling Urag about this.

[bluegekk0]

what would fighting pk when he was ruling be like you think

First off, it's worth mentioning that FPK is definitely the type to only fight when absolutely necessary. He's always been more of a "hide and wait out the threat" kind of person, and during his rule, it meant that he would prioritize peaceful negotiations above anything. Deepnest was troublesome as its inhabitants were too territorial, and the decision to still attempt building a tram station there is something he still regrets, though luckily he was able to find some common ground with its ruler through the bargain with Herrah. But whenever he can, he will try to resolve things peacefully.

It backfired with The Radiance, he approached the Moth Tribe and entered her domain with a dream nail in order to negotiate peace, and nearly got himself killed since she treated him like an intruder - he wasn't a true god so she thought of herself as above him, and the fact that her worshippers turned from her and chose him infuriated her even more; so when he showed up in her realm, she tried to get rid of him. He managed to escape back to the physical world, where she couldn't reach him without taking control of another being, something she wasn't as desperate to do at that point.

But that aside, he was still a very powerful being, using soul spells he learned to his advantage. He could form blades, spears and even a bow with arrows (saw that headcanon once and really loved it) to shoot at his opponent, he could shield himself from oncoming attacks, and even teleport around (though that one was quite exhausting). I view it as very similar to how Pure Vessel fights in the game, though more long distanced, and he would get exhausted more easily, as unlike them, he had no higher being blood running through his veins. His knowledge and skill in soul magic was impressive, and he was able to change his physical form to a great extent once, but he couldn't make himself a god. At the end of the day, he was just a wyrm - a giant intelligent creature that mutated to stop aging, but still essentially just a large animal.

I think the Xero incident is worth bringing up here since it showed a side of him he desperately tried to hide. Initially, he responded to his threat as you'd expect, utilizing his spells to defeat the (surprisingly strong) opponent. But when Xero threatened Hornet, who was there with Vyrm at the time, something in him snapped. He always made sure to avoid using his claws and teeth in combat, in fear that it would bring out his instincts, which is exactly what happened when Xero aimed his blade at Hornet. Panic and protective instincts took over, and when he regained control, he found himself crouched over a decapitated, partially eaten Xero, with blood all over his hands and mouth.

So in short - to fight him in the first place, you'd have to leave him with no other option. And during the battle, he would use soul blades and other summoned projectiles as his weapon, though only at a distance, for reasons that only became clear after Xero threatened his daughter. He was very powerful, but exhaustion was his weak point. Of course, that wasn't a problem 99% of the time, as he would take care of basically any threat that wasn't a more powerful god before that happened.

But it was there, a quiet reminder that no matter how strong he gets, he'll never be a true god. A theme prominent throughout his entire life, him trying to be someone he isn't, often to meet others' expectations, only to fail and suffer the consequences. He would never be like the other wyrms, he was too weak and too peaceful, and so he was rejected by them. He would never be a truly good king material, he was too emotionally vulnerable and lacked the confidence, and so he made mistakes and failed to protect his kingdom. And he would never be a god, no matter how much he pretended to be, a choice that infuriated The Radiance and led to the downfall of everything he worked for.

He wouldn't find out who he truly is until after he made horrible mistakes and lost everything. Turns out all he ever needed was a peaceful life, and being surrounded by those who don't expect him to be someone he could never be. I think all that background gives his current domestic life a lot more meaning.

Sorry about the little tangent at the end. I hope I was still able to give you a satisfying answer, I just got a little carried away hahaha

[derangedthots]

rewatching hotd clips for inspo and it still drives me insane how whole conversations were happening in the glances btwn jace and daemon on dragonstone. like!! definitely across the painted table when nyra was in labor but the dragonmont especially!!

daemon asking ser lorent+steffon abt whether they acknowledge the true line of succession(him feeling out where their loyalties lie), jace sending him a look when they answer in the affirmative(as if to say "see, they're loyal, this isn't necessary"), but daemon still holds his frown like "hm, maybe, but let us leave no doubt" before leading the conversation to his true goal(steffon+lorent verbally recognizing rhaenyra as queen) and summoning caraxes to quell any remaining doubts the kind of violence daemon has in store for ppl who hurt his family.

also honorable mention for jace shuffling and visibly swallowing but maintaining face, never looking away, when daemon makes them reaffirm their oaths upon pain of caraxes - a moment which i read less of him being afraid of daemon's dragon(even tho this is the blood wyrm™ we're talking abt) but more of as his own acknowledgement of the lesson his stepfather is trying to teach him: viserys, daemon's own brother and jace's grandsire, should've had his vassals recommitting their oaths to his named heir(rhaenyra) in the long years of his reign, but he didn't. with him dead and succession 'unclear', daemon will not suffer that mistake and neither should jace. there can be no room for doubt, for division, with war looming on the horizon.

daemon reestablishes the hierarchy here and teaches jace the kinds of measures he'll have to take as rhaenyra's heir. daemon might be putting on a show of intimidation - i.e. threatening - steffon and lorent but he's not threatening jace.

he's guiding him.

and jace accepts it.

babes!! i'm insane! i'm insane abt this!! the intimacy and experience it takes to be able to communicate with someone else over a distance and IN SILENCE the way daemon and jace do here!! the blacks are a family period end of fucking sentence.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Okay, what about a regular Dragon AU? Where the mutants are all dragons, and dragons are the AUs equivalent to mutants, and it's partially a fantasy/sci-fi Earth/Terra?

So, dragons can be born to humans, but they'll turn into a dragon when they're older, or if trauma forces them to change early. Signs of the change include odd scales popping up, slitted pupils, growing sharper teeth, maybe even the beginning nubs of horns or wings or a tail...

Dragons have been killed for their scales and teeth and blood and organs in the past, and while it is outlawed in most areas, it still happens, it's just kept hushed up by the greedy nobles and kingdoms and scientists. Dragons have been captured to be beasts of burden, used for weapons of war and destruction and fear, the younger ones would even be captured to be "pets".

The older platonic yans are the sort who don't like humans. At ALL. And would happily eat them, burn their villages and cities down, and/or use the survivors as servants and slaves, hypnotizing then or forcing them into a village or hidden kingdom where the original humans worshipped dragons. The older platonic yans would be different types of dragons, all with different powers and sizes and species, and the youngest age to he considered an adult would be about 2,000 years old. The older dragons (in regular X-Men media were about 200 or older) would be closer 20,000, if not even older...

So yeah. Reader, if they are a teen by human years, is a wee hatchling, a baby, by dragon standards. So... normal dragon ages are like this:

• Egg/Fetus: unhatched dragon; takes about 50 years to incubate an egg; if the dragon is born to humans, then they are born human, but have dragon blood, thus still being a dragon, just not being born as one

• Baby: newly hatched/born/birthed dragon, be they in dragon or human form; are considered a baby until about 500 years old, and go through the process of growing and losing three sets of baby teeth; shed their scales every five years to replace the worn baby ones; slowly develop the beginnings of their powers

• Teen: when a dragon is about 1,300 years old, they are considered a teen; they start to grow adult teeth; start to grow their permanent scales; start to develop their powers; start learning to fly (they still will shed scales and regrow teeth, but the adult ones start to come in at this time)

• Adult: the dragon is 2,000 years old, and their dragon form should be big enough to be near impossible for a human or a small group to capture; they will be able to fly without as many breaks or assistance; can hunt large prey from as big as moose to as big as small whales; are old enough to find their own territory; old enough to start "dealing" with humans without without fear

Different types of dragons include:

Wyverns: two wings, two legs

Dracous: two wings, four legs

Sauurous: four wings, four legs

Insectine: four wings or six, six legs, possibly more than two eyes

Serpentus: long body, no wings, two arms

Wyrm: long body, two wings, two arms

Different magics can be anything from mind control to venom to fire-breath to thunder-making to bioluminescense... Even such powers as rain-summoning to ice-breath to jewel-tracking...

Reader, be they an egg-born dragon or not, would have a lot to survive, and a lot of potential places to go and dragons to meet...