#agile failure

[lostconsultants]

The Iron Triangle Illusion: Why Scope, Budget, and Time Are Never Really Fixed

The Iron Triangle illusion is one of the biggest myths in project management. The idea that you can lock down scope, budget, and time at once sounds great in theory, but in reality, one of these factors is always compromised—whether organisations admit it or not. Despite the best efforts to keep control, the real trade-offs happen in quality, team health, and long-term sustainability. So why do…

[oneknightstand-if]

Narnia anon, and eh, it's not really code diving but save scumming (for me) to see which is the funniest or stupidest choice for shit and giggles

...

Also brain rot

Man, considering how many of those choices actually split off into their own separate scenes... that's going to take awhile.

But yes, look upon all my glorious words! Because apparently most IF readers only play through once and thus will be seeing less than 10% of what's actually there.

[davidelalocomotive]

Why Staying True to Yourself Might Not Work — But Still Matters

Speaking up won’t always change the outcome.But staying quiet when you know better? That changes you.This is what I’ve learned about staying true—even when it doesn’t work. Some developers and product owners act like rockstars.Not the kind who release masterpieces.The kind who trash hotel rooms and throw TVs out the window. I’ve worked as a QA and a Scrum Master. I’ve disagreed with people who…

[jonfazzaro]

"They are not pursuing a solution to a genuine problem, but preying on our bias for action in order to glorify themselves."

[voittoinsights]

How top companies are embracing failures and succeeding ?

Table of ContentsI. Introduction: The changing view of business failures   a. Failure’s historical stigma   b. Failure tolerant cultures are on the rise  c. The importance of failure learning   II. Accepting failure as a force for success   a. Redefining failure Key concepts:   Rapid prototypingIterative learning Accepting risk and experimentation Key concepts:  Exploration of Blue Oceans Moving…

[soulofapatrick]

Don’t Tempt Me - Xaden Riorson x female reader

Summary: Xaden finds you burnt out on the training field 

Warnings: none 

Words: 6k (somehow)

Notes: Not my fave and not proofread

Y/N's POV

The sun hangs low over Basgiath, bleeding gold and deep crimson across the sky, its light casting jagged shadows over the towering battlements. The war college looms around me, its stone walls unyielding, its presence as foreboding as ever. The air is thick with the lingering scent of sweat and scorched leather, remnants of a day spent in brutal training.

The air is thick with the scent of fresh earth and damp stone as I sprint across the training yard, my feet pounding the ground with a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat—a constant reminder of my inadequacies. Sweat drips down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I refuse to wipe it away. I don’t have time to care about that. I only have time to run.

Over and over, I push myself to the brink, my body screaming in protest, muscles tight with fatigue. My breaths are ragged, desperate for air that feels like it's slowly being stolen from me. But the pain doesn’t matter. It’s nothing compared to the quiet voice inside my head, the one that whispers my doubts and my fears, the one that tells me I’m not enough.

You can’t keep doing this.

It’s Virethalon’s voice. Low, firm, and impossibly calm, like he always is when he sees me teetering on the edge. His presence pulses in my mind, filling the quiet spaces with a calm I can’t find within myself.

Stop, he says again, the warning clear. You’ll burn out before you ever get the chance to fly.

But I ignore him. I have to. I can’t stop, not when the weight of everyone’s expectations hangs so heavily on my shoulders. I can’t afford to be weak. I can’t afford to be what everyone expects—a failure.

My legs scream, my body trembling with every step, but I push harder. Faster. A flip, a backflip, then a roll, twisting midair in an effort to improve my reaction time, my agility. I force my limbs to obey, despite how they beg for rest, despite how my mind is breaking under the strain.

I am not enough. I’m not strong enough to make it here.

Each fall, each misstep echoes the same message in my mind: You don’t belong.

The words are a sting in my chest, sharp and bitter, poisoning the air in front of me. The instructors don’t believe in me, not truly. They’re waiting for me to break, to fail in front of everyone. The other cadets—they’re watching too, eager to see how long I’ll last.

Stop.

Virethalon’s voice is more insistent now, rising with frustration. I know he’s watching, can feel his eyes on me, even though he’s nowhere near. You don’t need to prove anything.

I don’t stop. I can’t. If I stop now, the quiet, haunting voice of failure will take over. If I stop, I’ll feel it—the shame of not being able to meet the impossible standard everyone else expects from me.

The ground shifts beneath me as I sprint forward, my foot catching on something, my body twisting unnaturally in the air. For a split second, time seems to stretch—slow, agonising. And then, I crash.

The world flips. My body slams into the earth, my hands and knees taking the brunt of it. The impact rattles my bones, sharp and unforgiving. My breath is knocked out of me, and for a moment, I just lay there, feeling the tremor of my body as it tries to recover from the shock.

I’m not moving. I can’t move.

Gentle hands find my shoulders before I can even process what’s happening. The pressure is firm yet careful, guiding me, coaxing me into a sitting position. My body trembles from exhaustion, every muscle protesting the movement, every joint aching with the weight of my own failure. I try to steady myself, but the effort makes the world spin, and I can’t seem to get my bearings.

The cold stone beneath me is a cruel reminder of how far I’ve pushed myself. My hands shake, fingers stiff from too much strain, and I finally drop my head, trying to hide the rush of heat that floods my face.

And then, I feel him.

His presence looms over me like a shadow, suffocating and unavoidable. My heart skips a beat, and I immediately wish I could melt into the ground, anything to escape the situation. But it’s too late.

I glance up—my breath catches as I come face to face with him. Xaden Riorson. He stands before me, looking like a damn god, his tall, muscular frame casting a shadow over me. The way his wide shoulders fill out his leather jacket should be illegal. He’s built like someone who’s spent years training and fighting, his chest massive, arms heavily muscled. His dark hair is windblown and tousled, the kind of messy that only makes him look more dangerous. His tawny-brown skin is kissed by the sun, and the dark stubble along his jawline only adds to the rough, untamed look. His eyes—gold-flecked onyx—are locked on mine with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m about to be set ablaze, and I would rather do anything else than face him like this.

I rub my face with both hands, hoping to hide the blush that’s rising to my cheeks. Of all the ways for this to end—of course, it’s Xaden Riorson who catches me. And of course, he looks like that.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls, his voice a deep rumble of anger that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “You’re an idiot.”

I blink, half-frozen, half in disbelief. The audacity. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Wing Leader,” I drawl, sarcasm practically dripping from my tongue. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Xaden’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t bite back—at least, not yet. Instead, his eyes flicker over me, and I know he’s assessing the damage. My exhaustion. The way I’m trembling, barely able to hold myself upright. It’s the worst feeling in the world. I’m embarrassed as hell that he’s seeing me like this—weak, on the edge of crumbling.

“I told you to stop before you reached this point,” he mutters, shaking his head. There’s an edge of frustration in his tone now, and I can’t decide if I want to hit something or laugh at how he sounds like he’s scolding a child.

“Yeah, well, you know me,” I say, wiping a bead of sweat off my brow, trying to make myself sound more in control than I feel. “Can’t resist proving everyone wrong.” I let out a bitter laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach my eyes. “But, hey, thanks for showing up and saving the day. Just what every soldier needs: an overbearing Wing Leader.”

A flash of something—maybe amusement, maybe exasperation—crosses his face, but it’s gone too quickly for me to read it properly. His dark brows furrow, and he steps closer, invading my space. “You’re burning yourself out. You can’t keep going like this.”

I force myself to sit up straighter, determined not to appear as weak as I feel, but I can’t hide the tremor in my limbs. The ache in my muscles is almost unbearable now, and Virethalon’s voice echoes through my mind—Stop, or you’ll destroy yourself. But I ignore it, as I have for hours.

I grit my teeth. “I don’t need your help, okay? I don’t need anyone’s help.”

I try to push myself to my feet, but my body betrays me, buckling underneath me like a broken chair. I stumble, gasping for breath, my hand reaching out for support but finding nothing.

Xaden’s eyes flash with anger again, but his movements are faster than I can process. He’s at my side in a heartbeat, and before I can even protest, he lifts me up, cradling me against him in one smooth, powerful motion. His arms are like iron around me, and my body, still trembling with exhaustion, goes stiff against him.

“What the hell are you doing?” I gasp, still trying to regain some semblance of control. I push against his chest—unsuccessfully—my arms too weak to do anything more than flop uselessly at my sides. “Put me down, you asshole!”

Xaden doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t have to. His grip tightens, holding me effortlessly against him as he carries me toward the barracks. “I told you to stop, but you never listen. So now you’re paying the price.” His tone is laced with annoyance, but there’s something else beneath it—something that makes my heart twist. Maybe it’s concern, maybe it’s guilt, but I can’t focus on that. I’m too busy trying to avoid the heat that floods my face.

“You’re such a prick,” I mutter, my voice half muffled by his chest. I’m so fucking embarrassed, and I hate that I feel this way. His warmth, his scent, is all-consuming, and my skin burns at the contact. But I refuse to admit it. “I don’t need you to carry me like some helpless baby.”

“Funny,” he says, his voice low, “because you sure look like one right now.”

I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and I want to punch him. I should punch him. But I don’t have the energy, so I settle for biting my lip, muttering curses under my breath as he carries me.

The weight of his presence presses against me, and I can feel his muscles shifting beneath me, each movement of his body reminding me of just how powerful he is. And for all my protests, for all my sarcasm, I don’t want to admit that I’m secretly grateful. Grateful that he’s here. Grateful that he doesn’t let me fall apart.

Even if it means I have to endure his endless teasing.

Xaden’s warm eyes flicker down at me, and this time, there’s something softer there. Almost like...he understands. But I’m too stubborn to let myself believe it.

Xaden doesn’t say a word as he carries me through the barracks, the warmth of his body pressing against mine as I try to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. I’m too tired to fight it. His presence is too overwhelming, and I can feel his heartbeat steady against me. Every step he takes is calculated, strong, as though it’s second nature for him to carry someone in his arms like this. It’s as if he’s done it a hundred times—though I have to wonder just how many times I’ve crossed his mind before today.

Xaden moves with a quiet grace, his large frame effortlessly navigating the corridors of the dorm building as though he’s done this a thousand times before. He steps softly, almost soundlessly, his footsteps absorbed by the shadows that seem to cling to him like a second skin. My heart races, but it's not from exertion anymore—it's the way he's so effortlessly commanding in everything he does. The weight of his arms around me, the heat radiating from his body, and the way my mind seems to short-circuit whenever I’m near him make it hard to think straight.

We pass the first-year rooms—mine included—and I can’t help but cringe at the thought of being caught sneaking past curfew. But Xaden moves with such precision, such mastery of his surroundings, that the idea of us being caught seems laughable. No one can hear us, no one even notices us. It’s like we’re ghosts, gliding past the rooms, unseen by anyone else.

I briefly wonder how he does it—how he’s so adept at slipping through the shadows, unnoticed, silent. But then, he’s always been a mystery to me. The kind of mystery I’ve never quite been able to figure out. And maybe, in a way, I don't want to.

Finally, we reach the staircase that leads to the upper floors, and with a swift glance in either direction, Xaden steps into the shadows, carrying me effortlessly up the stairs. We move past the landing and down the hallway to the last door—the one I know leads to his room. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause, and with a final quiet push of the door, we’re inside.

Xaden doesn’t put me down right away. His arms remain around me, his hold firm, as if he’s unwilling to let go. As if, for a brief moment, he’s afraid to lose the connection. The closeness between us feels suffocating, overwhelming, and yet I can’t bring myself to pull away. Every inch of my body is acutely aware of his presence, the heat of his skin seeping into mine, the muscle and strength in his arms keeping me held too close. I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against me, mirroring the frantic pulse racing through my veins.

His dark eyes meet mine, and I swear, for a second, everything else falls away. His gaze is fierce, like a storm trapped behind his irises, flickering with a raw intensity that sends a wave of heat rushing through me. I’m suddenly aware of how painfully close we are—so close that if I moved even an inch, I’d be pressed against him completely. My breath catches, and I can’t look away, trapped in the gravity of his stare, like he’s pulling me toward him without even trying. And then, as if trying to fight whatever is building between us, his eyes flicker to my lips, and I feel it—the pull—stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

But just as quickly as the moment seems to rise, he jerks his gaze away, his jaw tightening with the effort to control himself. It’s like he’s trying to push back the part of him that’s aware—aware of the magnetic pull between us, aware of how much he’s been fighting this… whatever this is. He shakes his head slightly, as though dismissing the thought entirely, like he’s trying to shut down the desire that flares in him. But I see it in his eyes—the flicker of something primal. Something I can’t ignore.

Finally, he sets me down, but he doesn’t let go immediately. He’s still so close that I can feel his breath on my skin, a whisper of warmth against the cold, the tension stretching taut between us, like a string pulled too tight. My pulse races as I settle onto the bed, the soft covers pressing against me, but my chest feels like it’s about to burst. I try to catch my breath, but it’s like the air in the room has thickened, heavy with unsaid words and the suffocating weight of everything unsaid.

Xaden doesn’t back away. He hovers, towering over me, his presence suffusing the space around us. I can feel the heat radiating off him, his body just a breath away, and every inch of me is screaming to close the distance. But I don’t move. I’m not sure I can. His nearness makes every part of me ache, makes every nerve light up, thrumming with the raw electricity that crackles between us.

His voice cuts through the thick silence, deep and steady, but there’s something almost... softer now, something gentler that makes my heart stutter. “Stay here,” he commands, his words pressing down on me like a physical weight, making my chest tighten. The force of his tone is undeniable, but there’s an undercurrent of something else—something that makes my stomach flutter. Something dangerous and thrilling all at once. "Be a good girl. Don’t go anywhere.”

I feel those words in my bones, in the very marrow of my being. The way he says it—it’s like a promise, a command that makes my heart race faster than it should. And yet, there’s a tenderness beneath it, a strange gentleness that pulls at me, twists my insides into knots. He wants to keep me here, close. He wants to possess this moment with me, even though I can feel the struggle in him—his body yearning to cross the line, but his mind pulling him back, trying to control what’s growing between us.

His gaze holds mine, unwavering, and I swear I see something break in his eyes—something raw and unspoken. It’s as if he’s holding himself back from doing something he knows would be too much, too dangerous. But the look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know: the battle is far from over, and this tension—this charge—it’s only just beginning.

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. Every muscle in my body is taut, every nerve alive with an electric hum. Xaden disappears into the adjoining ensuite, his heavy footsteps echoing softly across the stone floor. I can hear the gentle hiss of the water filling the tub, the steady flow of it working in rhythm with the hammering of my heart. The tension between us lingers, the silence more suffocating now than ever before, and I can’t shake the feeling of his gaze still lingering on me even as he disappears from the room.

I should feel grateful for the space—should breathe, slow my pulse—but all I can think of is him. The way he’s so effortlessly commanding, yet there’s this softness beneath it that I can't quite place. The way he had looked at me, his expression a battle between restraint and something far more intense.

My fingers twitch, almost compulsively, and I reach for my boots, needing to do something. My body is still shaking from the exertion, from the near-collapse, and now my brain feels fuzzy, the exhaustion creeping in faster than I expected. I should just wait, I know I should, but I feel... out of control. I need to regain some semblance of normalcy, something to anchor me.

I struggle to bend down, but my balance is still far off from the punishment I just put my body through. My vision swims a little, and before I can register what’s happening, my body tips forward, sending me sprawling from the edge of the bed with a yelp. The floor greets me hard, and a shock of pain shoots up my spine, but it's nothing compared to the embarrassment that floods through me in waves. My pulse spikes, and I scramble, feeling utterly ridiculous.

A sharp, almost instinctive growl of frustration rises in the air—Xaden. He’s already moving quickly, a blur of motion as he rushes back into the room, his broad form filling the doorway in an instant. His dark eyes sweep over me, a flicker of concern passing through them, but it’s quickly replaced with something harder—almost irritated.

"You really are a disaster, aren't you?" His voice is deep, but there's a teasing bite to it, even as he crosses the room toward me in strides that eat up the distance. I can’t even find it in me to be offended. I’m too busy feeling like a complete fool.

Before I can open my mouth to respond, he’s crouching in front of me, his hands reaching for my arms to steady me. The sheer strength in his touch almost knocks the wind out of me as he helps me back onto my feet, the warmth of his hands traveling through my skin and straight to my chest. He doesn’t say anything else, but the way his eyes linger on me for a moment, as though making sure I’m okay, sends something fluttering nervously in my stomach.

“Try not to break anything else, would you?” His voice is softer now, as though the weight of the moment has finally broken through that icy exterior of his. His lips curve into a smirk, but there’s no denying the genuine care beneath the sarcasm.

Xaden moves with quiet precision, his hands wrapping around my waist, gentle but firm, as he guides me toward the bed. The heat from his touch lingers on my skin, and despite everything, I can't help but shiver. His grip is unyielding, his presence surrounding me, and as I sit on the edge of the bed, he stands in front of me, towering over me. The dim light from the room casts shadows across his features, making him look even more intimidating than usual, but there’s something in his eyes that betrays the mask he’s trying so hard to maintain.

His hands rest on my knees for a moment, and his gaze flickers to mine. There’s a question there, unspoken, something almost vulnerable beneath that stoic expression. I can see the battle waging in his eyes. He doesn’t want to touch me—at least, that’s what his expression says. But his eyes… those eyes of molten gold flecked with onyx… they betray him, flashing with an intensity I can’t quite read.

And then, in a moment that feels both like an eternity and a breath, Xaden sinks to his knees in front of me. The movement is fluid, almost too graceful, and my heart skips a beat. It feels wrong to be this close, too intimate. His presence is overwhelming, and I can feel the tension in the room thickening with every inch of space he closes between us.

Xaden kneels before me, his hands gentle but firm as he removes my boots. His touch is careful, almost reverent, but the tension is unmistakable. Each movement is deliberate, like he's holding himself back from something. The weight of his gaze on me is intense—smouldering, even—and I can feel every inch of him watching, noticing, memorising.

As he pulls off the second boot, his fingers brush against my calf, sending a jolt through me. My breath catches, and I instinctively tense, but it's more from the electric charge between us than the discomfort of my body. I don’t know why it affects me like this—this man who’s never once been shy about hiding the way he feels or thinking that his touch doesn’t matter—but in this moment, it matters. It matters more than it should.

He looks up then, his gaze locking onto mine. The heat in his eyes is unmistakable, a dark storm brewing just beneath the surface. His brow furrows slightly, and for a split second, I wonder if he’s questioning something—me, himself, what we’re both doing here, like this. But then his eyes flick lower, and I can see the hesitation there, a silent question that hangs in the air between us.

His fingers hover at the waistband of my tracksuit bottoms, brushing lightly against my hips. The touch is almost too soft, as if he’s trying to gauge my reaction before crossing a line that’s already dangerously blurred. He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t have to. The question is in his eyes, in the way his lips part ever so slightly, in the subtle tension in his jaw. It’s an unspoken request, one that I know all too well.

I can feel the pulse of uncertainty in my veins, but something about this—about him—makes me lower my defences, just a little. Without even thinking, I raise my hips slightly, just enough to give him the signal. My movement is small, almost imperceptible, but it's enough. His breath hitches, and I can see the way his eyes flicker, a momentary loss of control before he tightens his grip on his composure.

Xaden exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath all this time, and I can see it in his expression—the struggle between what he wants and what he’s trying so hard to resist. His fingers slide beneath the waistband of my tracksuit bottoms, and I feel the slightest tremor in his touch. He’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savouring the moment, but also like he’s afraid that if he moves too quickly, the entire thing might shatter.

The air between us crackles with an electric tension, and as he helps me out of the fabric, I’m left feeling exposed in a way that’s more than physical. My heartbeat is louder than anything else, pounding in my ears, and for a moment, I forget about the aches in my body, the bruises, the exhaustion. It’s as though the world has narrowed to just us. Just this. And I can’t seem to pull away from him, from the way he makes me feel, from the way his hands linger a little too long at the edge of my clothing, as if to remind me that he sees me—every part of me.

I know it’s not supposed to feel this way, not like this. But every glance, every touch, every quiet, unspoken word between us is enough to unravel the careful walls I’ve built. And yet, even as he pulls the tracksuit bottoms off, his hands gentle but insistent, there’s something else in his eyes—something that tells me he’s fighting every urge to touch me, to kiss me. But he doesn’t. He never does.

I can’t decide whether that makes it harder or easier.

And when he finishes, leaving me in nothing but my sports bra and panties, I feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever been—completely at his mercy, exposed in more ways than one. The air is thick with unspoken words, and even as I sit there, trying to catch my breath, I know this isn’t over.

Xaden lets out a frustrated sound, a low, throaty growl that resonates deep in his chest. His breath stutters as his forehead falls gently to my thigh, the weight of it anchoring me in place. The intensity of the moment is suffocating, like the world around us has slowed to a stop, leaving only the two of us, tangled in something we can’t deny. His hands are gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles white, and I can feel the tension in his body, a tight coil of restraint and hunger.

And then, in one swift, desperate motion, he surges upward, his lips crashing against mine. There’s no warning, no hesitation. Just pure, raw need. His mouth takes mine with a fierce intensity that leaves me breathless, as though he’s been holding back for far too long and now there’s no more control. It’s like he’s been starved for this—starved for me—and he doesn’t want to let me go, not even for a second.

I kiss him back with everything I have, my hands finding the sides of his face, pulling him closer, as if I can’t get enough. Every part of me feels alive with the heat between us, my skin tingling where his fingers brush against it, my heart thudding erratically in my chest. He tastes like fire—burning hot, consuming—and I can’t help but fall into him, into the kiss, into the feeling of him. I can feel the weight of his body pressing against mine, the strength of him, but it’s not overbearing. It’s grounding, like he’s pulling me into his orbit.

His hands move quickly, urgently, as if he’s afraid the moment will slip away from him. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, he’s lifting me effortlessly from the bed, and suddenly I’m straddling his thighs. His hands settle on my hips, holding me in place, the heat of his body radiating into mine. I can feel the way his pulse races beneath his skin, the way his chest rises and falls against mine. The kiss deepens, growing even more frantic, and I don’t know whether it’s the intensity of it or the way he’s holding me that makes everything else feel so insignificant.

He pulls me closer, his hands guiding me with a possessive, yet gentle touch, and I can feel the thrum of energy between us, something electric, something undeniable. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, and the sound of his breathing, his heavy exhales, fills the space between us. I can hear the way he’s fighting for control, the way his muscles tighten with the effort of keeping his composure.

But I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to hold back.

I don’t want him to fight it anymore.

I can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my sports bra, his chest pressing against mine with each movement, and I’m acutely aware of how close we are, how easy it would be to lose ourselves completely in this. And yet, even as we continue kissing, tangled in each other’s embrace, there’s a part of me that’s still unsure, still trying to catch up with everything happening around me. But when his hands slide down to my thighs, gripping them with such possessiveness, that uncertainty melts away, replaced by a heady rush of desire.

The kiss breaks, but just for a moment, both of us gasping for air. His lips hover above mine, and I can see the raw intensity in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and something else—something far more tender, even if it’s buried beneath the layers of urgency.

"Don't stop," he mutters, his voice rough and low. His hands tighten around me, pulling me against him, as if he’s trying to make sure I’m real. “Please don’t stop.”

And all I can do is nod, my chest still rising and falling with the rapid pace of my heart. I don't want to stop either.

The air between us feels thick with heat, charged with a tension that I don't want to break, even as the reality of what we’re doing begins to settle in. Xaden’s hands are still firm on my hips, his grip tightening with every shift of my body, and I can feel every muscle in his form, every bit of control he's holding onto, fighting to stay composed. He pulls me closer again, the fabric of my sports bra barely separating us, his chest brushing against mine as he presses his forehead to mine, both of us gasping for breath.

The heat from his skin, the closeness of his body, is too much to ignore. It's overwhelming in the best way. I can hear my own pulse hammering in my ears, feel the electricity between us that neither of us can escape. He looks at me, his gold-flecked eyes searching mine, his breath ragged as if he's barely holding on to the edge of whatever control he has left.

I can't stop myself from raising my hand to touch his face, my fingers trailing down the line of his jaw, tracing the hard curve of his chin, feeling the roughness of his stubble. The tenderness in my touch makes him shiver, his breath catching in his throat, and for a brief second, everything else fades. There’s no training, no curfew, no expectations—just the two of us, caught in something far more complex than either of us ever intended.

His lips brush against mine once more, a soft, tentative kiss, but it feels more intimate than the previous fiery moments. It's full of the unspoken things, the feelings we've been hiding, buried beneath layers of duty and unacknowledged desire. Xaden pulls back slowly, just enough to look at me, his eyes heavy with something unreadable.

"I—" he starts, his voice thick with emotion, but I stop him, my fingers pressing gently to his lips.

“I know," I whisper. "I know, Xaden. We don’t need to say it.”

The words hang in the air between us, unspoken yet understood. He looks at me, really looks at me, and for once, there’s no pretension, no walls between us. Just a moment of raw honesty.

But then, he pulls back just a fraction, his hands slowly loosening their grip on me, as if reluctant to let go but knowing he has to. His eyes soften, a flicker of something tender passing over his features before he runs a hand through his windblown hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“You should rest,” he murmurs, though there’s a trace of something unreadable in his voice. “You’ve pushed yourself too hard tonight.”

I nod, feeling the weight of his words as the adrenaline from our moment starts to ebb away, leaving me with a sense of vulnerability, of exhaustion I hadn’t realised had been creeping up on me. My body is still sore from the training, but now, there’s an ache of a different kind, a deep, resonating need I’m not sure how to deal with.

“You’re right,” I murmur, my voice hoarse. “About that bath…”

Xaden’s hands gently guide me to my feet, his fingers lingering on my hips just a moment longer than necessary, as if making sure I’m steady before he lets go. His touch is firm but considerate, grounding me, reminding me that he’s here, present, in this moment. I almost wish he didn’t have to pull away so soon, but the space between us feels impossible to close for reasons I can’t quite name.

With a soft grunt, Xaden rises to his full height, towering over me for a moment before he reaches down and picks me up again, effortlessly moving me toward the bed. His strong arms encircle my waist, and I feel the heat radiating from his chest, the power in his body that he keeps so carefully controlled. He sets me down gently on the edge of the mattress, the softness of the sheets a stark contrast to the tension that still crackles in the air between us.

I sit there for a moment, watching him, as he turns toward the bathroom, his broad back stretching as he moves, his muscular frame rippling with every step. His windblown black hair falls just above his collar, and I can't help but stare at the way he walks—confident, purposeful, but there’s an undercurrent of something, a quiet storm inside him that’s barely contained.

The silence feels heavy, too heavy, until I finally speak up, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

“... Maybe you could join me?”

The moment they leave my mouth, time seems to slow. Xaden freezes in his tracks, his hand hovering over the doorframe, his back to me. For a breathless second, I wonder if he didn’t hear me, if the words just got lost in the space between us. But then, the tension in his body is palpable. His shoulders tighten, his jaw clenches, and I watch as a low, almost imperceptible sound slips from his throat—a frustrated, breathy exhale that he seems to be holding back with all his strength.

He doesn’t turn around right away, but when he does, his eyes meet mine, and there's a flicker of something dangerous there. It’s not anger. It’s hunger—raw, palpable, and so intense that it sends a shiver down my spine. I can't look away, can't tear my gaze from his. The silence between us stretches, thickening, until I can almost feel the heat coming off of him.

"You really want that?" His voice is low, a little strained, like he's trying to rein himself in. There's a slight tremor in his hands, and his posture is tense, like a coil ready to snap. He’s trying to keep himself in check, and I know he’s holding back everything he wants to say, everything he wants to do. But there's something in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability, of yearning, that betrays the composure he’s trying so hard to maintain.

I nod slowly, heart pounding in my chest as I search his face, looking for any sign of hesitation, any clue that I’ve crossed a line. But there’s none. Instead, he takes a step toward me, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s waiting for me to stop him, to give him some sort of excuse to turn back. But I don’t.

I don’t know what happens next, only that the space between us feels like it’s been stretched so thin that it could snap at any moment. Xaden is so close now, his presence overwhelming, and I can’t breathe, not properly. All I can do is stare at him, feel the pull, the need between us, and wonder if he can feel it too.

“Don’t tempt me,” he mutters under his breath, before stepping into the bathroom, leaving me to wonder if he’ll give in, if he’ll actually let this tension between us break.

Part Two ⇒ Giving Into Temptation

Fourth Wing Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

@xadenswhore @fanficscuziranout @daisydark @Mariahoedt @marrass @

[imsobadatnicknames2]

Regarding your post(s) about investigation checks and the like, there's something that's bothering me, and it bothered me for a while. Not in regard to investigation, but charisma (and similar checks, diplomacy, negotiation, persuasion, whatever the game calls it).

In a TTRPG with skills, those skills are an abstraction meant to simulate a characters actual capabilities. If I want to make a character who can effortlessly jump from rooftop to rooftop, I'll give them high Athletics, Agility, Endurance, whatever. Maybe some feats, abilities, perks, advantages etc that pertain to jumping. Now, if I want my character to jump from rooftop to rooftop, I just roll the dice, and the skills, attributes, perks etc will make sure I have a high likelihood of success. I don't need to prove to the GM or the group that I myself could make that jump.

But now let's talk about Charisma checks. I've often heard stories of groups who say they don't make those checks, they just let the player make the argument, and if the GM is convinced, they "pass." But like... that means the character will always be as persuasive as the player. If the player isn't good at formulating an argument, the character won't be, either. Same with perception, investigation, etc. Sometimes, players just aren't good at picking up on hints and clues and/or they're not good at drawing conclusions from the clues they have. So that means that they can't play as a character who is?

Don't get me wrong, I get your point, I just find this is an issue worth thinking about. Why are things like athleticism, stealth, and combat prowess, or even things like lockpicking, hacking, or repairing stuff okay to abstract away as dice rolls, but deduction, perception, and maybe also persuasion and rhetoric aren't? Or, maybe the better, more constructive question: How would you propose handling a player playing a character whose skills exceed the player's?

I also think it's an issue worth thinking about, but I think "thinking about it" also has to involve asking the questions "why is this a problem?" and "is this ACTUALLY a problem?"

Like this discussion comes with the prepackaged assumption that allowing you to play a character whose abilities exceed yours as a player is both a) a universally desirable thing, and b) something that must be treated as a game design priority. And, with that assumption, it's logical to conclude that a TTRPG has an *obligation* to allow you to play a character whose abilities are not limited by yours as a player in any way, and not allowing you to do so constitutes a failure on the game's part.

But let's question that assumption a little bit. Because, the way I see it "allowing you to play a character who is good at X even if that's something that you, personally, are not good at" is not an inherently desirable design goal. It's a value-neutral feature, and it becomes a good or bad design goal to pursue depending on what X is and whether abstracting X so that the player doesn't have to engage with it benefits or detracts from the desired gameplay experience.

Let's for example, imagine a TTRPG with wargame elements, where, among other things to do, there are situations where your character can assume command of an army to engage in large-scale battles. It's pretty clear that, in such a game, you simply can't play as a character who is a better tactician than you, the player, are. If I'm not a good tactician, I don't get to play a character who's supposed to be the most brilliant tactician in all the land. That's simply not a character concept I get to play unless I am also skilled at tactical decision-making.

Is that inherently a problem to be solved? If we got rid of tactical decision-making as an activity that the players have to engage in, and instead gave the characters a "Tactics" skill and we used a Tactics skill check to determine whether they win or lose a battle, that would certainly allow a player who's bad at tactics the freedom to play a character who's the best tactician ever. But would this be an objectively good change? I'd say no, because it would skip past the entire point of the wargame elements, which is engaging as a player with the process of tactical decision-making, and that's not something that I'd consider worth sacrificing in pursuit of allowing the player to play a character whose skills exceed theirs in this particular aspect.

To name a more concrete example that someone else mentioned in the notes of that post: Mothership has no equivalent of a stealth skill, despite being a game where a lot of your playtime is spent hiding from some flavor of Scary Space Monster, because if the game abstracted stealth that way the resolution to any situation where you're trying to hide from a Scary Space Monster would be saying "I roll stealth" and hoping you roll high enough. Without a stealth skill, you're forced to participate in the narrative conversation of paying attention to the GM's description of the environment, ask clarifying questions if needed, and describe how you try to hide in the space presented to you.

This, once again, presents a situation where your character's skills are limited by your own. It's pretty clear that your character can only be as good at hiding as you are at thinking of places to hide and describing how they hide in them, and that if the game took the "i roll stealth" approach instead, it would solve the "problem" of your character's skills being limited by your own in this particular way. But is solving this "problem" worth sacrificing the tension that the game seeks to create by deliberately refusing to abstract stealth in this way?

So yeah... I think lacking skill checks for stuff such as perception or investigation makes a dungeon-crawling game better because it forces the players to narratively engage with the environment as a real place when they're looking for something, and it's also true that the lack of such mechanics kinda does mean that a player who just isn't good at picking up hints and clues from environmental details simply doesn't get to play a character who is supposed to be good at picking up hints and clues from environmental details. But I think that ensuring a player's ability to play such a character regardless of their real-life skill level is not a design goal that a game has any inherent obligation to pursue, especially not at the cost of skipping over the actions that, to me, are the meat and potatoes of a dungeon crawl.

My answer to "why is it okay to abstract certain skills as dice rolls and not others" is that games are allowed to make decisions about which actions they want to skip over with a dice roll and which actions they want the players to have to exercise direct narrative control and mastery of, and sometimes that's gonna interfere with their freedom to play a character whose skills exceed theirs, and that's okay because sometimes other game design goals are going to have priority over the goal of ensuring the character's skills aren't limited by the player's real-life skills in any conceivable way.

[felassan]

Jason Schreier: "NEW: After the release of Dragon Age: The Veilguard, dozens of BioWare employees were told they were temporarily assigned to other projects within EA. This week, a twist: those temp assignments are now *permanent* transfers. And BioWare has shrunk. Story: [link] Dragon Age: The Veilguard was undeniably divisive, but to many who worked on it, it was a miraculous accomplishment to even ship a complete game after EA forced live-service into it, then reversed course. Now, their reward for the long hours and hard work is layoffs and transfers." [source]

Bloomberg article:

"Electronic Arts Slashes BioWare After ‘Dragon Age’ Sales Miss The studio has shrunk to less than 100 people following the release of Dragon Age: The Veilguard Dragon Age: The Veilguard missed EA’s sales expectations by 50%, leading to cuts at the studio"

"Hi everyone. Today we’re diving into the cuts at Electronic Arts Inc.’s BioWare. BioWare magic Late last year, after the release of the new role-playing game Dragon Age: The Veilguard, dozens of employees at developer BioWare were given some staffing news. Moving forward, they were going to be loaned out to other teams within their parent company, Electronic Arts, where they would work on various upcoming games like Iron Man and Skate. The logic made sense. BioWare’s next game, a new installment in the popular sci-fi Mass Effect series, was in pre-production and did not need the entire studio. There were no other internal projects for everyone to work on. Instead of getting laid off, they would stay employed, working on other projects until Mass Effect was ready for them. But this week, the group was informed that the loans had morphed into permanent relocations, according to people familiar with what happened. They were no longer BioWare employees who were temporarily on assignment elsewhere; now, they worked for whichever EA subsidiary had borrowed them. If they want to work at BioWare again in the future, they would have to look for job openings and re-apply. This was an unwelcome development for some of the employees, who now find themselves on brand-new teams at studios they’d never planned to join. Some had come to BioWare to work on storied role-playing game franchises and found the idea of working on action or sports games less appealing. But at least they got to keep their jobs. During the same reorganization this week, around two dozen other people at BioWare were laid off, according to the people familiar, who asked not to be identified discussing nonpublic information. Writer Trick Weekes and producer Jen Cheverie said on Bluesky that they were among the veteran workers who’d been cut."

"BioWare is now down from more than 200 people two years ago to less than 100 today, according to the people familiar. A small team will remain to work on the next Mass Effect game — led by company veterans who oversaw the development on the original trilogy as well as on 2019’s Anthem — in hopes of expanding as the game gets further into production. The company announced the reorganization on Wednesday, saying it planned to “become a more agile, focused studio,” without mentioning the job cuts and the relocation of staff permanently to other studios. A spokesperson for EA declined to comment on specific numbers. It’s been a rough month for EA. Last week, the company’s shares plunged 18% after reporting preliminary holiday-season results that missed estimates and lowering its forecast for the fiscal year. The poor results were largely due to the underperformance of EA’s latest soccer game but the company also said that Dragon Age: The Veilguard reached 1.5 million players, missing sales expectations by 50%. What may be most surprising is that EA, which has a long history of shuttering studios after a failure, is keeping BioWare around. The once-revered RPG studio, founded in 1995 by a trio of doctors, released a string of beloved titles throughout the 1990s and 2000s, including the first two Baldur’s Gate games, Dragon Age: Origins and the Mass Effect trilogy. But the studio has failed to release a hit since 2014’s Dragon Age: Inquisition. Mass Effect: Andromeda, released in 2017, received mediocre reviews and was widely criticized for its bugs and uncanny animations. BioWare then pivoted to a live-service shooter with 2019’s Anthem, which was roundly panned and killed after less than two years. Both games were plagued by management issues, brutal deadline crunches and a belief — called “BioWare magic” — that everything would work out in the end."

"With the single-player Dragon Age: The Veilguard, which had its own turbulent development cycle and was rebooted multiple times, the studio hoped to win back lapsed fans. Despite generally positive reviews, the game proved to be divisive among players, with some criticizing the writing, art style and linear level design. But many observers and staff blame EA for the situation they put BioWare in — canceling an early version of Dragon Age in favor of one that would be required to have a “live-service” multiplayer component with recurring revenue, only to then reverse course, reverting once again back to the single-player format. It would be difficult for most game-makers to release something great under those conditions. Now, BioWare studio head Gary McKay and Mass Effect executive producer Mike Gamble are essentially looking to reboot the company as they plunge forward on their next game. It will be a long road ahead, and what emerges will be a very different BioWare. But at least for now, the studio will continue.""

[source]

[themissinghand]

Solo Leveling Fire and Ice, That's Pretty Nice

Summary: In which opposites attract and the shadow army gets a terrifying mother figure. 

Or more of Jinwoo’s shadow army shenanigans.

Pairing: Igris x Ice Elf Queen Reader!

Note: Self indulgent because I can basically count all the solo leveling female characters on one hand. 

Also I like Igris >.<

This is longer than most of my other works at (7.5k words x.x)

Warnings: Violence and mother’s rage. Kind of long introduction.

★・・・・・・★

Jinwoo stood over the lifeless body of the Ice Elf King, his black blade dripping with blood. 

He tightened his grip on Kasaka's Venom Fang and exhaled, his breath turning to frost. 

"I couldn’t turn him into one of my shadows." Jinwoo muttered, almost disappointed. 3 tries, and all of them were a failure.

Ha. A wasted opportunity.

Then, he felt it.

A tremor.

The sound of countless footsteps on the snow. 

He turned to face the open field, his eyes narrowing as he summoned his shadows. 

Ha. 

An army of Ice Elves. Dozens, no, hundreds. Their blue-tinted skin and ice weapons glinted like shards of glass in the pale light.

"Backup?" Jinwoo said under his breath, his heartbeat quickening in excitement. 

"Bring it on."

But then, the temperature plummeted.

It wasn't just the cold.

It was her.

The elves parted, bowing in reverence as the figure approached. Armor forged of pure ice clung to a tall, commanding form. Frost spread from each of your steps, the ground itself cracking and freezing beneath your weight.

You carried no weapon, for you were the weapon, an entity born of vengeance and ice.

Jinwoo's instincts screamed at him. 

Danger.

Then, the ding of a system message appeared before his eyes:

[System Alert: New Enemy] [Danger! Hidden Boss] [Defeat the Ice Elf Queen]

The Ice Elf King had been impressive, but compared to you, he seemed like nothing more than a footnote in the hierarchy of this dungeon.

You stopped several paces away from Jinwoo, your piercing gaze locking onto his. Frost coated your silver lashes, and your voice carried like the howl of a blizzard.

"You killed my children," you said, the words cutting deeper than the ice of your domain.

Jinwoo froze, just for a moment. Children?

And then he understood. The Ice Elf King was not merely your ruler. The elites he had fought. the ones who had fallen at his hand, had been your offspring.

"You'll regret that," you hissed, lifting a gauntleted hand. A bitter wind howled, and shards of ice erupted from the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, spires that sought to impale the intruder who dared stain your legacy.

Jinwoo barely managed to sidestep the first barrage, his speed saving him from certain death. His eyes gleamed with mana as his black armor manifested around him.

"So, you're the real boss of this place," he said, grinning. 

"Then let's get started."

The battlefield exploded. 

You were relentless. For every shadow Jinwoo summoned, your frost overwhelmed it. Spears of ice shot from the ground, forcing Jinwoo to stay on the move, his agility tested like never before. 

Jinwoo darted forward, closing the distance in an instant. He swung Kasaka's Venom Fang with lethal precision, aiming for the gap between your ice-plated joints. But the moment the blade connected, your armor regenerated, spreading frost across his weapon like a virus.

"What?"

You seized the opportunity. Raising both hands, you summoned a swirling blizzard around him. The gale shrieked as jagged shards of ice formed mid-air, each one honed to kill.

The storm closed in.

For a moment, there was nothing but cold.

But then, amidst the storm, Jinwoo's voice cut through, calm and deadly.

"Shadow Exchange."

A dark ripple pulsed across the battlefield, and Jinwoo vanished, only to reappear behind you.

Ruler's Authority!

Your head snapped around just as the force of Jinwoo's telekinetic grip slammed into your back, sending you skidding across the ice. You caught yourself, frost blooming from your fingertips as you snarled in rage.

Jinwoo landed lightly, black smoke coiling around his feet like serpents.

"You're strong," he admitted, his voice laced with excitement. 

"But I've fought worse."

Your eyes glowed brighter, your voice now a roar of grief and fury. 

"Then you've never fought a mother."

The world trembled. Ice surged from the ground, forming massive constructs, golems of frozen wrath that towered above Jinwoo's shadows. The air grew thick with frost, suffocating and relentless.

Jinwoo grinned, though he felt the chill in his bones.

"Good," he said, raising his hand. "I was just starting to get bored."

"ARISE."

From the shadows of the fallen elves, soldiers of death began to rise.

The Ice Queen, you stood amidst the blizzard you had summoned, your piercing gaze burning with icy wrath. Each of your attacks carried not just strength, but emotion. 

Grief. Fury. Vengeance.

Jinwoo had fought countless enemies, monsters, bosses, and even beings beyond comprehension. But none had ever felt quite like this. You weren’t just a beast.

You were a mother.

"Why…?" Jinwoo muttered, dodging another spear of ice that shattered against the wall behind him. He leapt toward you, his shadowed blade swinging to strike, but your hand rose faster.

With a chilling whisper, frost erupted around your palm, and you caught his sword mid-swing. The force of it cracked the ground beneath your feet, yet you held firm, your armor regenerating instantly where the black blade had scraped through.

"Why?" you echoed, your voice trembling between grief and rage. "Because you stole them from me!"

A pulse of mana erupted from you, blasting Jinwoo back. He skidded across the ice, his boots digging into the frozen ground to stop himself. A headache throbbed in his temple, and he realized, his mana was draining.

Quickly.

What?

He glanced at his status bar, disbelief flickering across his face. His mana pool, vast as it was, had dropped significantly. When did this start?

Then he looked at you. The frost spreading beneath your feet was no longer just physical ice, it shimmered with a dark, consuming energy.

"You’re absorbing it," he murmured, realization dawning.

You advanced slowly, frost blooming with every step. The air grew impossibly heavy, laced with sorrow that hung like a weight on his shoulders.

"You are no different than the others who came before. Slaughtering for sport, for power. My children were not monsters. They were mine. My blood. My heart."

Jinwoo’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard curses and cries from his enemies before, pleas for mercy, hatred, or blind rage. But this was different.

Your grief wasn’t just a programmed reaction. It felt real.

For the first time, as he looked into the burning blue of your eyes, Jinwoo hesitated.

"Your children attacked me," he said carefully, his voice lower, steadier than before. "They were strong. Dangerous."

“And did they ask to be born here, to fight in this cold, forgotten prison?” you shot back, ice crackling at the edges of your words.

“Did they choose to face someone like you?”

Your anger was consuming the air, turning it into frost itself, and now it was consuming him. His mana continued to bleed away into the frost-covered ground beneath his feet. The realization struck him hard, this wasn’t a simple boss battle anymore. 

You weren’t just regenerating. You were feeding on his mana, absorbing his strength to sustain your fury.

His mind raced. She’s not just strong. She’s unstoppable at this rate.

You lunged, faster than before, your form a blur. Jinwoo barely managed to deflect the strike, but the force of it sent shockwaves rippling up his arms.

Think. Think.

His shadows flickered around him, faltering under your draining aura. His mana bar continued to drop, and for the first time in a long while, Jinwoo felt something unfamiliar.

Pressure.

This was no mindless monster. You were a mother with nothing left to lose.

Jinwoo grit his teeth, his mind racing as he struggled to regain control. The cold was unrelenting, his mana still bleeding away into the frost-laden ground. You stood tall before him, your ice-forged armor glimmering with an unnatural, otherworldly beauty, your fury as eternal as the chill in the air.

He readied himself to charge, but before he could, a shadow moved, an unmistakable figure leapt forward.

"Igris?" Jinwoo muttered in disbelief.

The red knight stood between you and his master, his massive sword lowered but steady. The flames of his crimson armor flared against the oppressive cold, his presence a stark contrast to the glacial frost you commanded.

What happened next shocked Jinwoo.

Igris, who had always been silent, spoke.

"Ice Queen," the knight said, his voice deep and reverberating like the echoes of an ancient cathedral. For a moment, the frost stilled, and the blizzard paused as you regarded him.

“I am Igris, a knight.”

Igris took a step forward, his burning crimson gaze locking with yours. 

“You know me,” he said, his voice steady, firm. “Or at least… you knew me, once. Another time. Another world.”

Your expression faltered, just for a second, as though an old memory had scraped against your consciousness. The ice around your fingers trembled.

“Lies,” you hissed, but there was a faint tremor in your voice, one you could not suppress.

“No,” Igris said, his tone calm but unyielding. “You know it as truth.” He raised his blade and pointed it toward Jinwoo, though the gesture was not hostile. 

“He is my liege, the king I currently serve. Your children’s suffering has ended, and under his dominion, they will not suffer again. They will rise, reborn under a new master. Under his shadow, they will be safe.”

Safe.

The word pierced through the storm raging within you. Your frost cracked, spreading hairline fractures through the ice coating your domain.

“Lies!” you roared, your voice breaking with fury and grief. “They are dead! Their souls are gone, and you dare speak of safety?”

Igris lowered his sword slightly, the flames along his armor flickering. “Your grief is not unfounded,” he said, quieter this time. “But you know this truth already, buried beneath your rage. You feel it even now.”

Your breathing hitched as his words struck deeper, clawing at the wall you had built around yourself. There was something haunting about the way Igris spoke, something familiar.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice wavering.

Igris straightened, his form tall and unwavering against the storm. “A knight,” he replied. “A loyal servant. And in another time, another life… we knew each other’s names.”

The ice around you splintered further, your vision blurring with conflicting emotions. Memories you couldn’t place flitted at the edges of your mind, too faint to grasp, too powerful to ignore.

“I will not allow you to manipulate me!” you shouted, your frost lashing out again, cracking the earth beneath you.

Jinwoo, who had been watching in silence, stepped forward then, his voice cutting through the tension. 

“I don’t know what you two were,” he said firmly, his black armor darkening against the pale frost. 

“But Igris isn’t wrong. I don’t kill for sport, and I don’t take it without purpose. Your children are mine now, yes, but under my command, they will rise stronger, safer than before.”

Your eyes snapped to Jinwoo, blazing with mistrust and fury. 

“And why should I believe you? The man who stole everything from me?”

“Because I know what it’s like to lose everything.” His voice was calm but heavy, filled with a weight that gave you pause.

“And I won’t let that happen again. Not to my shadows. Not to them.”

Igris turned his gaze back to you, his voice softening.

“Do you truly believe your vengeance will bring them back? Or will you let their souls find purpose under a king who knows the weight of life and death?”

You staggered, your ice-cold heart trembling for the first time in centuries. The frost beneath you crackled and broke as you faltered.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No… I won’t… I can’t…”

The blizzard around you howled, raging with the last vestiges of your denial.

Jinwoo raised his sword once more, but this time, there was no mockery or cruelty in his stance. Only resolve.

“Then I’ll prove it to you,” he said, his voice echoing across the frozen cavern. “Come at me with everything you have.”

And you did.

Jinwoo stood before you now, a dark silhouette against the shattered blizzard. His breathing was heavy, his armor battered, but his resolve remained unbroken. Your knees hit the fractured ice, cracks spidering out beneath your weight as the last of your strength bled away.

“It’s over,” he said softly, lowering his sword. Shadows stirred behind him, coiling and whispering like sentient beings.

“Kill me,” you hissed, your voice ragged and weak. 

“Take my soul as you took my children’s.”

But Jinwoo didn’t move to strike. Instead, he reached out, his mana surging as shadows spilled forth and wrapped around the battlefield. Before you could protest or summon your magic, a dark aura pulsed through the field, gentle but commanding.

“What…are you doing?” you choked, trembling as you felt it, the unmistakable presence of life returning.

The shadows moved, forming shapes that you knew too well. Small figures emerged from the darkness, their translucent forms taking on flesh and light. Your breath caught as you saw them, your children.

One by one, they stood before you, no longer bound by cold and suffering. Their faces were radiant, their frostbitten forms replaced by vitality and warmth, though their bodies bore a faint shadowy sheen, a mark of this man’s power. 

They were alive. Reborn.

You dropped your sword, the clang echoing like the toll of a bell.

Jinwoo stood silent as your other children, now shadows, gathered around, their roars echoing through the forest. Shadows danced in their footsteps, but there was no malice.

“They… they are happy,” you whispered, staring at Jinwoo with wide, disbelieving eyes. “How is this possible?”

Jinwoo’s gaze was steady, his voice low and certain.

“I gave them a new purpose. Under me, they are free from pain and death. Immortal in my shadow. I promised they wouldn’t suffer again…and I keep my promises.”

You turned back to your children, watching them roar with expressions you hadn’t seen in centuries. The rage that had burned so fiercely within you began to fade, replaced by an ache so deep it left you breathless.

But when you looked again, you noticed someone missing. 

“Where…where is my king?” Jinwoo’s expression hardened. 

“Your king has passed before I could turn him into my shadow.” 

The words struck like a shard of ice, and for a moment, you felt the grief resurface. But as you looked back at your children, free, you realized the truth, your king’s ambition had led you here.

To war. To loss.

The sword you had carried for so long, the weight of vengeance and pain, slipped from your hand entirely, sinking into the ice.

Your voice trembled as you looked at Jinwoo, no longer with hate, but with reluctant acceptance. 

You rose to your feet slowly, your frost-forged armor shimmering as it began to melt away, replaced by a lighter form. The magic still swirled around you, but it was no longer violent. 

You had been a queen. A mother. A warrior. But now, you could be something else.

“I am a swordsman,” you said softly, staring at Jinwoo with renewed purpose. “And a mage. My strength has been forged in both ice and war. You have taken everything from me…but you have also given back what I thought was lost forever.”

Jinwoo regarded you carefully as you knelt before him, frost blooming beneath you like flowers in the snow.

“I will serve,” you said quietly, “not because I must, but because I choose to. For them. For my children.”

The shadows around Jinwoo swirled with approval, and Igris, who had watched the scene unfold, nodded once, his crimson armor glowing faintly.

Jinwoo extended his hand toward you, and for the first time in centuries, you felt something other than cold.

Hope.

With one final look at your children, who danced in the shadows, you took Jinwoo’s hand. A new bond was forged, one of loyalty, of purpose, and of peace.

The Ice Queen was no more.

But you, a magic swordsman, would rise again under Jinwoo’s command.

Serving your liege had been an adjustment, to say the least. 

The battlefield, once your home of ice and grief, had transformed into something else entirely, shadows and death. Yet, to your surprise, this place felt more alive than your frozen kingdom ever had.

Your children thrived here. They trained, played, and walked among the shadows without fear. You watched them grow stronger, their once-frozen faces now glowing with laughter as they hung out with other species. 

It brought peace to your heart, something you hadn’t thought possible for centuries.

Of course, your presence brought a new dynamic to Jinwoo’s overwhelmingly male army.

The soldiers, stoic and loyal as they were, had never been quite sure what to do with you. 

They knew strength and they respected power. 

And you, the former Ice Elf Queen, exuded both. But you also had a softer side, one you didn’t show on the battlefield. When Jinwoo began adding more female shadows to the ranks, they naturally gravitated toward you.

It wasn’t long before you became their unspoken leader, a mother, a guide, and an aunt, as some of the more playful ones had teased. You listened to their concerns, encouraged their strength, and ensured they were seen. 

You were fierce, yes, but you were also nurturing. It was a role you had forgotten you could play.

Even Jinwoo noticed the change. 

“You’ve turned my army into a family.” You had simply stared ahead. 

“An army is stronger when it has a heart.”

Jinwoo didn’t argue.

But there was one member of the Shadow Army who had become an unexpected complication.

Igris.

You first noticed it on the battlefield. Igris was always nearby, close enough to intercept any attack that came your way, his crimson armor a stark contrast to your icy form. It wasn’t unusual for soldiers to protect one another, but Igris seemed overly diligent.

Then it started happening outside of battle.

You would train with your frost magic and swordplay, and Igris would be there, watching silently. You’d turn around, and he’d be standing at the edge of the clearing, his massive sword resting at his side. At first, you assumed it was a coincidence.

It wasn’t.

Whenever you walked the shadow realm, Igris wasn’t far behind. He hovered like a lost puppy, a very tall, very intimidating puppy, his crimson flames flickering softly, as if unsure whether to step forward or hold back.

It reached a point where even Jinwoo noticed.

“Igris,” Jinwoo said one day, arms crossed as he observed the red knight following you into yet another training session. 

“Why are you always following her?”

Igris paused, the glowing slits of his helmet turning toward Jinwoo. 

For a moment, it seemed like he might deny it, but instead, he simply said, “I am ensuring her safety.”

Jinwoo arched a brow. 

“Her safety? She nearly killed me, and she’s stronger than half the army.”

Igris didn’t flinch. 

“It is… a habit. I do not understand why, perhaps it is due to memories from another life.”

Another life? Jinwoo remembered that you and Igris did seem to share some connection. Even then, they must have been a long time ago. 

You, listening to this conversation with your sword planted firmly in the ground, narrowed your eyes. 

“Igris.”

The knight turned to you instantly, as if awaiting an order. Jinwoo took a step back to exclude himself from the conversation.

“Are you following me?” you asked flatly.

There was a pause, brief but telling. Then, with that same unwavering voice, he replied, “Yes.”

“Why?”

Igris hesitated for the first time since you had met him. His sword shifted in his grip as if the flames themselves were unsure. 

“Because… I remember.”

The words froze you in place.

You stared at him, memories flickering at the edges of your mind, ones you couldn’t quite place but felt deep in your soul. Another time. Another life.

“You remember what?” you demanded softly.

“I remember you,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “From before. From a life long gone.”

Your heart skipped a beat, though you didn’t know why. 

“And what was I to you?”

Igris straightened, the flames of his armor burning brighter. 

“I am…uncertain. However, you were…important.”

Jinwoo, watching this exchange with no small amount of amusement, muttered under his breath, “This is getting interesting.”

Igris's words lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth beneath the ice that had once been your heart.

“Fine,” you said finally, turning your back on him as you picked up your sword. “While I do not remember as well as you may, you can follow me if you wish, but don’t get in my way.”

Igris bowed his head slightly, as if you’d just granted him a gift. 

“As you command.”

And so, the red knight continued to shadow your steps, silent but steadfast, his presence both a mystery and a comfort you didn’t dare admit.

Your liege, for his part, had to fight back a smirk every time he saw the two of you together. “Interesting indeed,” he’d mutter, much to your exasperation.

Managing the shadow army turned out to be far more chaotic than you ever anticipated.

At first, you assumed your liege, having reached such incredible strength and commanding an entire shadow legion, had a handle on things. 

You were wrong.

His form of “management” seemed to consist of standing silently with his arms crossed while the shadows interpreted his silence however they pleased. It was fine on the battlefield, his sheer presence was enough to unite and terrify, but outside of combat?

It was a mess.

Resting areas were haphazardly chosen, shadows sprawled out like abandoned weapons until it was time to fight again. Training consisted of brutal sparring with no structure or goals. And let’s not even discuss living quarters, shadows didn’t need sleep or comfort, so he’d never thought of such things.

But you had.

So, in the absence of leadership outside of war, you stepped in.

You oversaw the construction of a proper base, a castle, as the shadows began calling it. Walls rose high, forged of dark stone and reinforced with your frost magic. 

Resting areas were organized, equipped with blackened banners, training grounds, and even kitchens (even if Jinwoo’s shadows didn’t eat, you insisted on adding them for dignity’s sake).

Jinwoo watched all of this unfold with mild amusement. 

“I didn’t think they needed this.”

“An army isn’t just swords and numbers,” you replied matter-of-factly, arms crossed as you oversaw the placement of a fountain. 

“They need purpose. Structure. Pride.”

To your surprise, Jinwoo didn’t argue. Instead, he simply muttered, “You’re better at this than me.”

You didn’t deny it.

But it wasn’t long before you encountered an entirely different issue, the shadow army was obsessed with him.

It started small.

The first time you noticed it, a group of shadows had gathered in a circle, whispering with surprising energy. Curiosity piqued, you approached, only to stop dead in your tracks when you saw it:

A statue of your liege.

It was crude, clearly carved with brute force rather than finesse, but it was unmistakably him.

“What…is this?” you asked slowly, arching an eyebrow.

The shadows flinched, clearly caught red-handed. 

“A tribute to our liege.” You sighed. 

“Fine. One statue is acceptable.”

But it didn’t stop there.

Days later, as you surveyed the newly completed courtyard, you found another one. This one was bigger. Shinier. Better.

“Another tribute,” one shadow explained proudly.

The following week, statues started cropping up everywhere, lining the training grounds, looming over the entrances, even decorating the castle halls.

Some depicted your liege in dramatic combat poses; others made him look regal, arms crossed and cape billowing as if he stood atop the world. You found one shadow carefully polishing a statue of your liege's face, its glowing eyes full of reverence.

It was absurd.

You cornered your liege about it one evening, after stumbling upon yet another statue, this one holding a disproportionately large sword.

“Do you know what the shadows are doing?” you demanded, arms crossed.

Jinwoo blinked at you. 

“Training?”

“No.” You jabbed a finger toward the nearest statue. 

“They’re turning this entire castle into a shrine dedicated to you.” Jinwoo glanced at the statue and tilted his head. 

“Huh. That’s new.”

“This isn’t new, my liege! It’s everywhere.” He stared for a long moment, then shrugged. 

“Let them do what they want. It’s harmless.” You gave him an incredulous look. 

“You’ll regret this when you can’t see the sky because of all the statues.” Jinwoo’s lips twitched into something resembling a smirk. 

“I think you’re exaggerating.”

You weren’t.

The next day, you found a group of shadows trying to carve Jinwoo’s face into a mountain.

You glared up at the giant, incomplete mural, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, “they take after him.”

“Isn’t it grand, my lady?” one of the shadows asked eagerly.

You sighed, looking at their hopeful, flickering forms. In truth, you couldn’t find it in yourself to scold them. They were loyal. Fiercely so. And if building statues of their liege brought them joy, then who were you to stop them?

Still, there had to be limits.

“Fine,” you said, hands on your hips. “You can have three statues in the courtyard. No more. And stay away from the mountain.”

The shadows grumbled but reluctantly agreed. You knew they’d push the boundary again eventually, but for now, you’d won this battle.

Later that night, you found Igris standing silently near one of the more polished Jinwoo statues.

“Don’t tell me you approve of this,” Igris turned his helmet toward you. 

“I find it… excessive.” You nod. 

“Good. At least someone has sense around here.”

“…But it is well-crafted.”

Silence, then a sigh. You did admit at least the craftsmanship improved over time. You dragged a hand down your face as Igris tilted his head ever so slightly, his version of amusement.

Jinwoo, watching the entire exchange from the castle steps, simply chuckled. 

“You really have your hands full, don’t you?”

“My liege, you could help.”

“I could,” he replied, turning back toward his ever-growing army. “But you’re doing such a good job.”

You swore you heard Igris laugh softly under his breath as you stalked off, vowing to tear down at least one statue before the day ended.

Boys would be boys, indeed.

It started with small, almost negligible details, at least to everyone except Jinwoo.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. 

Igris was Igris: noble, stoic, and unwaveringly loyal. But recently, something had changed, and Jinwoo couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

It began when you sparred with Igris one afternoon. Your icy blade clashed with his crimson greatsword, magic flaring, and shadows gathering to watch the spectacle. The spar had been long and hard-fought, ending in a draw that left you both panting but satisfied.

“That was impressive,” Jinwoo said afterward as he approached.

Igris remained quiet, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on you as you restored your blade to your sheath with a graceful flourish.

“…Igris?” Jinwoo prompted.

The knight stiffened and turned sharply.

“Yes, my liege?”

Jinwoo frowned. Weird.

Then there were the moments when Jinwoo would notice Igris standing near you, closer than necessary, his crimson armor seemingly shining brighter whenever you were around. 

And there was that one time he caught Igris subtly handing you an ice-forged rose that one of your children had made, claiming it was “on behalf of the Shadow Army.”

You accepted it with mild amusement. 

“Tell them their craftsmanship is improving.”

Igris’ helm dipped slightly, as though he was pleased with himself.

Jinwoo, watching this from the corner of the room, blinked slowly. 

Wait a second…

The final confirmation came when Beru, as excitable and nosy as ever, suddenly burst into Jinwoo’s quarters with the energy of a gossiping whirlwind.

“My liege!” Beru hissed dramatically, clawed hands wringing together. 

“You won’t believe what I’ve discovered!” Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

“Is this another complaint about shadow formations?”

“No, no!” Beru waved him off frantically. 

“It’s about Sir Igris!”

That got Jinwoo’s attention. 

“What about him?” Beru leaned in, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. 

“He has a crush.”

Jinwoo blinked, then stared blankly. 

“A what?”

“A crush! On the Ice Queen!” Beru practically cackled. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes! He follows her like a lost puppy! He watches her sparring matches with an intensity I’ve never seen before! And when she talks, my liege, he listens.”

Jinwoo leaned back in his chair, processing this information. At first, the thought seemed ridiculous, this was Igris, his most loyal knight, the epitome of calm and collected authority. But the more Jinwoo thought about it…the more the pieces started to fit.

“Oh no,” Jinwoo muttered to himself, realizing the truth.

“Igris does have a crush.”

And just as Jinwoo said it, the doors opened, and in walked Igris, calm, composed, and completely oblivious to the whispers and stares from Beru and Jinwoo.

“My liege,” Igris said with his usual gravitas. “You called for me?”

Jinwoo stared at his knight for a long moment, a smirk creeping onto his face. This is going to be interesting.

“Igris,” Jinwoo began innocently, “how do you feel about the Ice Queen?”

For the first time Jinwoo could remember, Igris paused. It wasn’t a noticeable pause, just a momentary stiffness in his stance, a subtle hesitation. But Jinwoo caught it, and so did Beru, who was practically vibrating with glee beside him.

“She is an exceptional warrior,” Igris replied after a beat, his tone measured but somehow…off.

“Her leadership skills have greatly benefited the Shadow Army.”

“And?” Jinwoo pressed, feigning innocence. Igris’ helm tilted slightly. 

“…And she is a valuable ally.”

“And?”

“My liege,” Igris said firmly, clearly aware he was being cornered, “is there a point to this line of questioning?”

Before Jinwoo could answer, Beru burst out, “Just admit it, Sir Igris! You like her! You admire her ice powers! You think she’s graceful and strong!”

Igris’ head turned slowly toward Beru, the kind of slow turn that suggested death was imminent. 

“I suggest you choose your next words carefully.” But Beru wasn’t done.

“Don’t worry, Sir Igris! Everyone thinks you two would make a perfect match!”

Jinwoo covered his face with a hand, trying to stifle his laughter as Igris stood there, every ounce of his dignity being stripped away. 

The knight’s silence spoke volumes.

“Run.”

Beru flew out the door. 

Later that day, you found Jinwoo observing the training grounds with an odd little smirk. You didn’t question it until you spotted Igris in the corner, supervising recruits with an intensity that could only be described as aggressively focused.

You frowned, sensing something was off. 

“My liege, what’s wrong with Igris today?” Jinwoo shrugged, his smirk widening. 

“Oh, nothing. He’s just… dealing with some feelings.”

“Feelings?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion brewing, but you didn’t press further. 

And in the shadows, Beru lurked with giddy delight, ready to share his next piece of gossip with anyone willing to listen.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the Shadow Army to catch wind of Igris’ crush. Beru, being the ultimate gossip enthusiast, made sure of that.

It started with whispers, hushed conversations in the halls of the shadow castle, smirks exchanged between troops, and subtle glances whenever Igris and you crossed paths.

Tank was the first to approach Igris alone.

The massive shadow bear lumbered up to the knight during a sparring session, his size making him impossible to ignore. Igris turned, his crimson greatsword in hand, only to find Tank staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

“…What is it, Tank?” Igris asked coolly, though he already sensed trouble.

Tank tilted his enormous head. 

“Sir Igris.”

“Yes?”

“Have you…mated with the Ice Queen yet?” Igris froze, his blade still mid-swing. 

“WHAT.”

“Tank, you absolute imbecile!” came Beru’s screech from a nearby shadow. “You’re not supposed to ask him that directly!”

Tank shrugged with a rumbling growl. 

“But Beru said-”

“I said implied!”

Igris turned his helm toward the two of them, a palpable aura of murderous intent swirling around him. 

“What. Are. You. Talking. About?”

Beru cackled and immediately scampered away, leaving Tank to deal with the consequences.

“Tank, run!” Beru’s voice echoed from the distance.

Iron, who lacked any and all social tact, decided to take a much more direct approach.

One afternoon, you were overseeing recruits sparring when Iron stomped up to you, his hulking form casting a shadow over everyone present.

“Ice Queen!” Iron’s booming voice startled even you, though you quickly straightened.

“Yes, Iron?” you replied with a raised brow.

“Igris likes you!”

The training grounds fell deathly silent. The recruits froze mid-swing, staring wide-eyed as the words echoed through the air. You blinked once, your stoic mask cracking slightly.

“…Excuse me?”

“Igris! He likes you! He looks at you like Tank looks at honey!” Iron repeated proudly, as if he’d uncovered the world’s greatest secret.

From across the field, Igris appeared out of nowhere, slamming his sword into the ground with such force the ground shook. 

“IRON!” Iron flinched. 

“Oh. Was that supposed to be a secret?”

You slowly turned to Igris, curiosity lighting up your expression as he stomped toward Iron with an air of absolute murder.

“Iron, you fool,” Igris growled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, don’t be mad!” Iron said, cheerfully unbothered. “The Ice Queen is strong! You’d make good mates!”

“Silence!”

You crossed your arms, watching with mild amusement as Igris all but dragged Iron away, his dignity shredded once again.

That night, as you stood at the edge of the shadow castle overlooking the vast plains, Igris approached you silently.

“You asked for me?” you asked without turning, sensing his presence.

Igris hesitated, just for a second, before he spoke. 

“I…wished to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For the… behavior of the others,” he replied stiffly. 

“Their gossip is uncalled for.”

You smirked faintly, turning fully to face him. 

“Let them talk. I don’t concern myself with rumors.”

Igris stood taller at your words, though something about his posture softened. You stepped closer, your gaze steady. 

“But perhaps you should tell me, do they speak the truth?”

For the first time, Igris faltered. His helm tilted downward, his silence louder than words.

You studied him for a moment longer before turning back to the plains, an unreadable smile on your lips. 

“Goodnight, Igris.”

As you walked away, Igris remained rooted to the spot, the chill of the night air doing little to mask the warmth lingering in his chest.

From the shadows, Jinwoo and Beru watched the exchange, the latter barely containing his squeals of delight.

“Did you see that, my liege?!” Beru whispered excitedly.

“Oh, I saw it. Poor Igris doesn’t stand a chance.”

Who knew watching his subordinate's love story could be so fun?

Igris had faced dragons, commanders, kings, and hordes of enemies without faltering. His blade had clashed against unbeatable odds, his will unwavering against death itself. 

But now, the once-mighty knight stood in a shadowy corridor, frozen in place, gripped by the strangest and most insurmountable enemy of all, his feelings.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I know! I know! Sir Igris must confess his undying love!”

The voice of Beru shattered whatever composure Igris had left. The insectoid shadow stepped out of a dark corner, his glowing eyes alight with glee.

“…Beru.” Igris groaned, instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword. “This is none of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is!” Beru exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. “As the Shadow Army’s most socially attuned being-”

“Hardly.”

“-I am here to assist you! I have gathered extensive knowledge from hours of observing human courtship rituals.”

“…Human courtship rituals?” Igris echoed skeptically.

“Yes! Lady Jinah has been watching these K-Dramas! And I, being a shadow of excellent taste, have memorized their methods for confession!”

Igris turned slowly toward him, dread pooling in his core. 

“I don’t want to know.”

“Step one!” Beru ignored him entirely. 

“The Grand Gesture.”

And so, an hour later, you stood in the training grounds watching with a mix of amusement and confusion as Igris, in full armor, dramatically knelt before you.

“What…are you doing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as the crimson knight extended a single glowing flower made of mana.

Igris said nothing for several moments, clearly at war with himself. Finally, his deep voice rumbled, “This is… for you.”

Before you could respond, Beru leaped out from behind a pillar. 

“SPEAK YOUR HEART!”

“Beru—!” Igris snapped, his mana flaring in irritation.

“SPEAK IT!”

Igris, utterly flustered now, turned back to you stiffly. “I… appreciate your strength and…” He paused, clearly struggling. “…you’re very… capable.”

You stared at him, blinking. 

“Capable?”

“Like a soaring falcon!” Beru added unhelpfully.

“…Right.”

Before you could respond, Igris stood abruptly, tossing the flower onto the ground like it offended him.

“Forget this ever happened.”

And with that, he stormed away, leaving Beru screeching, “Wait, you didn’t finish the confession scene!”

You watched the chaos unfold, shaking your head with a quiet laugh.

At least it was cute.

Two failed grand gestures later (including an unfortunate rain-soaked poetry recital Beru insisted on), Igris had all but given up. He found himself back in the training grounds, gripping his sword far tighter than necessary.

You approached him, clearly done with whatever weird behavior he had been exhibiting for days now. 

“Sir Igris.”

He stilled.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are we going to keep pretending you haven’t been acting strange?”

“I am not-”

“Pick up your sword,” you interrupted.

“What?” Igris blinked behind his helm.

“You’re clearly distracted. Spar me. If you win, I’ll stop asking.”

The knight hesitated, then nodded. Sparring was straightforward, something he understood.

Or so he thought.

Ten minutes later, Igris found himself flat on his back, his blade knocked clean from his grip as you stood over him, your own weapon pointed at his chest.

“You’re distracted,” you said simply, though there was a glint of satisfaction in your eyes. “And you’re terrible at hiding it.”

Igris groaned inwardly, his pride in tatters.

“This… is difficult for me.”

“What is?”

He hesitated, then finally, finally, spoke.

“You.”

“…Me?”

“I…” He sighed, clearly abandoning every complicated plan Beru had forced on him. “I admire you. Your strength, your leadership…You have earned my trust.”

“That’s what’s been bothering you?” you asked, a brow raised.

Igris slowly sat up, his crimson helm turned toward you. 

“…It is not just trust. I…adore you”

A long pause stretched between you before you smirked faintly.

“You could’ve just been direct about it, you know.”

Igris stared at your offered hand for a moment, then took it, allowing you to pull him up. 

“Being direct was… not part of Beru’s advice.” You snorted. 

“Beru? You took advice from Beru?”

“Unfortunately.”

“…No wonder you were acting weird.” You turned, sheathing your weapon. “Next time, just say what’s on your mind.”

As you walked away, Igris stood rooted in place, feeling something unfamiliar settle in his chest, relief.

From the shadows, Beru and Jinwoo watched once again.

“Well, that could’ve gone smoother,” Beru chirped, pouting.

Jinwoo laughed under his breath. “You’re banned from giving advice.”

“No! Give me another chance, my liege!”

“Not happening.”

“Humans are confusing creatures.”

“No, you’re just terrible at romance. And shadows are not humans.”

As for Igris, he silently vowed to never listen to Beru again, unless he wanted another existential crisis.

After weeks of awkward interactions, failed grand gestures, and silent brooding, Igris had finally decided to end his suffering.

And so there he stood, outside the castle training grounds, holding a bouquet of rare, frost-kissed flowers he had painstakingly gathered from dungeons. His usually stoic demeanor was betrayed by the faint tension in his posture, his grip on the bouquet just a little too tight.

When you walked out and caught sight of him, you paused, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sir Igris?”

He stepped forward, the crimson armor reflecting the soft glow of the fading sun. Slowly, he extended the bouquet toward you, the flowers shimmering in an ethereal light. 

“These are… for you.” You blinked at the sight. 

“Flowers? You brought me flowers?”

“I…” Igris faltered for the briefest of moments, his voice lower now. “I wished to offer you something…as a sign of what I feel.”

“What you feel?” you echoed, amusement tugging at your lips.

“Yes.” He stood straighter, his deep voice unwavering despite the hint of nervousness beneath it. 

“I have admired you since the day we crossed swords. Your strength, your resolve… you. I care for you. I love you.”

The confession hung in the air, thick with weight. Igris, who had faced countless foes without flinching, now stood in front of you, awaiting your response like a man facing judgment.

You stared at him for a beat, then smiled softly, shaking your head. 

“About time.” Igris blinked. 

“…What?”

“I knew, Igris,” you said, taking the bouquet from his armored hands with a smile. “You’re not exactly subtle. The weird grand gestures? The brooding? Beru’s antics? I figured it out weeks ago.”

He stiffened. 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I wanted you to say it yourself,” you replied, smirking. “A knight should be direct, don’t you think?”

Igris remained silent for a moment, processing your words, before the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

“You… are maddening.”

“And you’re dramatic, but I love you too,” you shot back playfully, while Igris froze on the spot, speechless. 

“Thanks for the flowers, they’re beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as you.

A faint glow emanated from Igris’s crimson armor, almost as if he were embarrassed. 

“I…am glad you like them.”

From a nearby shadow, Beru’s voice suddenly chirped, “FINALLY!”

Both of you turned sharply to see Beru, Jinwoo, and the rest of the shadow army peeking out from behind pillars and walls, clearly eavesdropping.

Jinwoo crossed his arms, grinning. 

“Took you long enough, Igris.” Beru buzzed with excitement. 

“Now kiss her! That’s what happens in the dramas!”

“Beru,” Igris growled warningly, mana flaring around him.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you turned to Igris. “I guess we’ll never live this down, will we?”

“…Perhaps not,” he muttered, though the hint of fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

“Well,” you said, tucking one of the frost-kissed flowers into your hair. “Let’s give them something to talk about, shall we?”

And for the first time, the unshakable knight seemed utterly stunned as you leaned up to press a kiss against the side of his crimson helm.

The resulting cheers from the shadows echoed across the entire territory.

Jinwoo let out a relieved sigh.

Who would've thought his shadows would get a relationship quicker than him?

Jinah is going to love this.

[bwat5-blog]

Caitlyn Kiramman's Strength

**Spoiler warning for all of arcane**

“You will never rest knowing that she’s out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not. To forgive, and trust in tomorrow”- Ambessa

Caitlyn's commander arc has been a HEAVY topic of debate. I have written plenty as have many others. I am writing this after reading a wonderful exchange between some other users who added even more to my understanding of this story.

For my purposes today, I am thinking about Caitlyn's strength. The question of true strength is one pursued in many ways throughout this story. Vi learning she deserves to be loved for more than the strength of her arm, Huck explaining to Caitlyn that he became addicted to shimmer because he just wanted for someone else to be afraid for once. So what of Caitlyn? Her strength to achieve, is the strength to forgive.

There are many kinds of strength. Caitlyn is agile, and a great fighter. Her mind is sharp and creative. Even as a rookie enforcer she has the force of will to follow a mysterious tattooed Zaunite into the undercity, never knowing how her life would change. What she would lose, and what she would gain.

People have made many ham-handed attempts at demonizing Caitlyn's character arc in season 2. Their failure to grasp the ways in which grief can warp us is their cross to bear. In Caitlyn's story, we watch as a kind, clever, idealistic and brave young woman is terrorized and almost murdered by wanted terrorist, only to watch helplessly as her mother falls to the same killer. Because remember my friends it's easy for us to look at Jinx's actions and try for understanding. We were there when Powder was a scared little girl holding her sisters hand on that bridge. Caitlyn wasn't. And in a span of mere days, all for the crime of believing she could make a difference, her reality is violently transformed in front of her.

This show gives us many depictions of the illusion of strength. My mind goes to the breaking of Powder and creation of JInx, in which Silco lauds the strength she has achieved by "letting Powder die". When the truth is that no matter how strong her body has become, her mind has only grown more fractured.

Caitlyn's takes control of her house. She demands her seat at the council, and forms a strike team to go into Zaun all of her own accord where they actively engage in combat against the Chem Barons. Strength? On the surface yes. But the unfortunately reality is that she is not an agent of law and order, bringing peace and safety to troubled streets. She is on a crusade. And with every step she takes down that road, she destroys more and more of what really matters to her, until even the woman she loves lays heartbroken and alone. All culminating in her glorious rise to Commander. Strength..

It is during this bleak time in Caitlyn's story, that she and Ambessa have a conversation. Caitlyn is questioning the Noxian's brutal tactics, and if the ongoing occupation of Zaun is really worth it anymore. Ambessa says the quote at the top to remind her of her rage.. and of her fear.

“You will never rest knowing that she’s out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not. To forgive, and trust in tomorrow”

And it works! For the time being. Because what neither of them could have known is Caitlyn was soon to be reunited with the woman who reminded her of inner strength. The woman who believed in her, who supported her, who sacrificed for her. Who at the moment of their reuniting, even with that emotional chasm between them and all of Caitlyn's wrongs known, trusts Caitlyn to save her father.

Trust... that single word from someone so important to her and Caitlyn begins to find herself again. Ambessa taught her to kill, to trick, to oppress and debilitate. Caitlyn's physical body growing stronger and more dangerous while her soul was buried deeper and deeper beneath the waves. But it was not until Vi was still willing to believe in her, to give her a second chance, that she truly began to breathe again.

It is in this time, that Caitlyn's true strength emerges. When face to face with the woman she knows captured her heart, and who calls her to account, the question of who deserves who gets a second chance is left in the air. What Jinx took from Caitlyn cannot be undone. And Vi is not asking her to love Jinx, or to love what she did. She is asking her to let go of the hatred, and the fear, and the pain. To live not just for Jinx's benefit but for Caitlyn herself as well. To carry the same strength in her heart that Vi demonstrated by telling her about Vander. And in so doing, for the sake of herself, and the woman she loves, Caitlyn sets aside that rage, and opens the way for them all to start healing.

Our story ends with Vi, and Caitlyn enjoying a quiet moment together. Violet's journey was never about physical strength, but about the strength to admit she deserves to feel loved, and protected, and safe. To know that she is worth more to her partner than the strength of her arm. Caitlyn was almost swallowed by her darkness, never having been more alone than when she was one of the most powerful people in the city. Now here, at the end of things, it is because she found the strength to forgive the person who wronged her, and in aspiring to be the person Vi deserves has begun to forgive herself, that she finds peace.

[sorceresssundries]

The Githyanki Initiate

A Lae'zel prequel story

Art by the incredible @orangekittyenergy - please send her some love for it <3

Warnings: Violence, death, angst

Nestled deep within the Tears of Selûne a hollowed-out asteroid drifted silently through the sea of night, Its silhouette stark against the luminous backdrop of stars and swirling cosmic dust. This was no place for outsiders; it was a sanctified bastion of discipline, a fortress where tradition and honour were etched into the very stone.

Within its confines, the children of Gith were hatched, raised, and forged. Their raw, untamed potential was shaped by discipline and fire, hammered into the tempered steel of seasoned warriors. Here, the weak were culled without mercy, and only the strongest emerged, tested by relentless trials to serve Vlaakith, the eternal Lich-Queen and their pitiless God. 

Not just a training ground; it was a crucible where the young were stripped of weakness, reshaped by pain and perseverance, and reborn as the relentless warriors who would one day take their place among the stars; destined to continue the eternal war against their enemies. Every stone, every shadow, and every breath pulsed with the legacy of a people determined to conquer all, driven by a history of enslavement and a future of unyielding conquest. 

In Crèche K’liir the strong survived, and the weak were forgotten. 

At its heart was a vast chamber filled with the gruelling clang of clashing blades and the grunts of exertion. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the crackling energy of psionic power, as recruits of all ages, from the youngest initiates to those on the brink of joining the Githyanki’s elite, honed their deadly skills under the vigilant eyes of seasoned instructors, their Varsh. The training grounds were meticulously divided into specialised sections, each designed to forge different aspects of combat mastery. Sparring arenas witnessed fierce one-on-one duels, where every strike could mean victory or death. Obstacle courses twisted through the grounds, designed to test not only physical agility but the recruits' strategic thinking and endurance. 

Every failure was a death sentence, and every success a stay of execution. It was barbarous, it was impersonal, it was necessary.

In these unforgiving environs, a lesson was unfolding - one that would be the most challenging, the most pivotal, ever taught to young Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir. 

She was ten years old, and she was about to be changed forever. 

Today, the weight of expectation pressed heavily on Lae’zel’s shoulders as Kith'rak Urlon, a towering figure of authority and unyielding discipline, observed the lesson. His cold, piercing gaze swept over the recruits, measuring their worth with an unreadable expression.

Lae’zel felt the intensity of his scrutiny, every movement of her body under the sharp focus of his eyes. She knew this was not just another lesson - it was a test, one that could define her path within the crèche and into the great beyond. If she was to become a Kith’rak and sit astride a Red Dragon, if she were to bring honour to her race and blaze the legacy of the Githyanki across the stars, it would all start here. Now.

There were no training swords, nor were there lighter, smaller blades meant for the soft hands of younglings. Lae’zel was an initiate of the Githyanki, and she would have her glory, or she would die chasing it. 

With the precision of a seasoned warrior, she sparred against her peers, her blade a blur of calculated strikes. One by one, she disarmed her opponents, her skill evident in the fluidity of her movements and the sharpness of her mind. Finally, she faced a young boy, a cousin from her clutch. Their clash was brief but brutal. With a swift, decisive strike, she brought him to his knees, his weapon clattering to the ground.

As the boy gasped for breath, Lae’zel stood over him, her heart pounding not from exertion but from the realisation that all eyes were on her. Kith'rak Urlon stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor, and stopped before her. His expression was inscrutable, but his words were laced with a cold, hard edge.

“Impressive,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Your ferocity and tactics are commendable, Lae’zel.”

A flicker of pride surged within her, though she kept her expression neutral. “Thank you, Kith'rak.”

“Tell me,” he continued, his tone more probing, “have you made your first kill?”

The question struck her like a physical blow. Though her training had prepared her for this moment, she hadn’t expected it to come so soon. Still, she met his gaze unflinchingly. “I have not, Kith'rak, but I eagerly await the day my blade is baptised in blood.”

He remained impassive. “That day is today,” he declared. He gestured to the boy she had just bested. “Kill him.”

For a heartbeat, hesitation flickered across Lae’zel’s face. The boy knelt before her, his breath ragged. The weight of the command, the finality of it, pressed like too-tight armour against her chest.

They were children. And as her eyes met his, memores stirred within her, bittersweet and fleeting, like a ghost from a time that no longer belonged to them.

She knew him well, he was from her clutch, the same group of young Githyanki raised together from the time they could toddle. They had studied the same ancient texts, shared the same meals in the cold, cavernous mess hall, and endured the same gruelling lessons. There were nights when, after the day’s brutality, they had found moments of quiet together. They would sit at the edge of the great asteroid, looking out at the vastness of space, watching as the lights of far-off worlds twinkled in the distance, promising future conquests. In those quiet moments, they had shared all the possibilities that were waiting for them. The battles they could face, the precious knowledge they could gather.

Entire worlds were theirs to conquer, they had the pride of the Githyanki and the impenetrable imagination of children. 

“What will you become?” Lae’zel had asked him, as she dreamt of her own future. 

He had paused for a while, before answering her. “Whatever I want.”

This was before sharper blades had been pushed into their gentle little hands. Before their futures had been decided and they still had the sweet, innocent privilege of being able to dream one for themselves and to get lost in the bright adventures of tomorrow, the way children often do. But, time has a way of sharpening the softness of youth. What was once a world of limitless possibilities slowly narrowed into a path they had no choice but to walk. Their laughter became battle cries, duty replaced dreaming, and wonder, which had once been boundless, was now shackled, locked away, and eventually… forgotten.

She stared at him now. He was steady, unafraid, despite the certainty of what was about to happen. Knowing him made her proud. Knowing him made her hesitate. Only for a moment, but long enough. 

“Perhaps I was wrong about you, Lae’zel,” Urlon said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Perhaps you lack the ruthlessness required to honour Vlaakith”

His words were a dagger to her pride. The very idea that she could fail, that she might be deemed unworthy in the eyes of her people and their queen, ignited a fire within her. She could feel the eyes of her fellow recruits on her, the raw heat of their judgement. The pressure was immense, suffocating.

“If you cannot fulfil this command, then perhaps you are the one who needs to be culled.” He gestured to three other initiates, waiting patiently at the sidelines.

 “Execute her,” he ordered them coldly.

Something pulled tight snapped within Lae’zel. This would not be the end of her legacy. Her grip tightened on her blade, and without a second thought, she whirled to face the approaching students. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the threat, she had the calculated mind of a warrior who knew she was outnumbered and outsized… but far from outmatched. 

The first initiate charged with a war cry and Lae’zel dropped into Hrath Ajak, the battle stance known for its precision and fluidity. Her muscles coiled like a spring, and as he brought his sword down in a sweeping arc meant to cleave her in two, Lae’zel darted to the side, her body a blur of motion. His blade met only air, and before he could recover, she was inside his guard, her blade flashing up to slice across his unprotected thigh. With a quick pivot, she thrust her sword into his side, between the plates of his armour. He collapsed, his eyes wide with shock as life was snuffed from them. 

The second initiate lunged at her with a snarl, his blade slashing toward her with well-honed viscousness. Lae’zel twisted her body, just barely evading the strike, but the tip of his sword slashed down her face, leaving a burning line of pain. Blood welled up from the cut and trickled into her mouth, and she spat scarlet onto the floor at his feet and hissed at him in response.

The pain was a whetstone, and she sharpened herself against it.

He advanced, each step deliberate, each swing of his sword aimed to overpower her. Lae’zel danced backward, her movements fluid, conserving her energy as she let him tire himself out. She was smaller, lighter on her feet, and she used it to her advantage. She ducked under a wild swing and darted around him, her blade flicking out to slash at the back of his knee. He staggered but didn’t fall, turning to face her with a growl of frustration. Before the growl was finished, she drew her blade across neck, silencing him with a swift, ruthless strike. He was still spluttering blood as the third soldier attempted to approach her from behind. 

He was the largest of the three, and Lae’zel knew she couldn’t match his strength, so she did not try.  He pressed his attack, striking harder each time, trying to crush her beneath his superior size. Lae’zel’s breath came in short, controlled bursts as she parried his blows, her arms shaking from the force behind each of his hits.

As he brought his sword down in a powerful overhead strike, Lae’zel dropped to the ground, rolling beneath his swing and coming up behind him. She darted around him, her movements quick and unpredictable, her blade slashing at every exposed piece of flesh she could find. Finally, she saw her chance. As he brought his sword up for another heavy blow, she leapt upwards, and thrust her blade under his chin and out through the top of his skull.

Lae’zel stood amidst the fallen, bloodied but unbent, her chest heaving with adrenaline. Salt from her sweat dripped into the gash across her face—it stung fiercely, mingling with the taste of iron on her lips. She felt the pain but did not acknowledge it.

She turned back to the boy, her cousin who she had once gazed at the stars with and asked about his future, and In a single, fluid motion, she drove her blade between his ribs and into his heart. 

His corpse slumped to the ground with the others. 

Kith'rak Urlon watched her with a neutral expression. 

There was a beat where she expected the swing of his sword to drive her to the same fate, but she was spared. 

“You will make a fine soldier, Lae’zel. Report directly to me tomorrow and we will continue your training.”

Lae’zel, still breathing heavily, bowed but did not bother to wipe the blood from her blade as she sheathed it. Let the blood of her kin stain the floor beneath her feet. She cast one last glance at the bodies on the ground before leaving them behind. 

Something had ended today, and something else began. There was no going back. 

Later that night, she sat alone in the Great Library of K’liir. Her ten short years were but a single, unpolished stone against the tower of ancient knowledge surrounding her. She was small, a solitary figure in the vastness, the low orange candlelight throwing shadows that loomed large behind her. In her small hands, still caked with the blood of her kin, she gripped a Githyanki Disc - her gold eyes danced over it, reading the story of her people as though it were a fairytale. To a frail and fanciful human, it might have seemed just that: knights clashing with dragons, the slaying of monstrous horrors. But, this was her history, and her future. She would be a hero to sail the astral sea and bring glory to her kin. She would drag a mind flayer’s severed head through the halls of her people and mount a dragon whose fiery breath would set the stars alight.

She would not just be a part of history; she would make it.

She read the disc in her hands for the third time. 

There is no other race as proud, as fierce, or as deserving of the stars as the Githyanki. We are the survivors of enslavement, the conquerors of our oppressors, and the raiders of countless worlds. We, who have risen from the chains of the Illithids, stand as the eternal guardians of the Astral Plane.

Without our vigilant guardianship, the Illithid parasites would spread like a blight across the cosmos, an uncontrollable plague that devours life and enslaves our people. These soulless creatures would have turned the stars themselves into a wasteland. It is by our hand, our unwavering resolve, that such a fate has been averted. While other races allow their emotions to cloud their judgement, we possess the strength to cast aside such weaknesses and do what must be done. A Githyanki does not falter.

Our brutality is not born of cruelty for its own sake, but of necessity. We do not shy away from the hard choices, the difficult actions that must be taken to preserve the balance of power. It is our destiny to bring order to the chaos that lesser beings have allowed to fester. 

We are the blade that cuts through decay, the fire that purges weakness, the storm that reshapes worlds.

Vlaakith gha'g shkath zai.

After reading it so many times the words became etched in her mind, she walked with aching muscles and a heaviness in her bones over to the great statue of Vlaakith that stood vigilant over the room where the history of her people was held. 

The Lich-Queen’s carved eyes seemed to pierce into Lae’zel’s very soul, demanding her fealty, her submission, her all.

She let herself have one final, mournful thought of a cousin who she had once sat with and talked of the future, before gripping the pommel of her blooded sword and vowing to never hesitate again. One day her sword would be silver, and she would be tethered to no-one, only Vlaakith.

Never again would she sit idly and watch the sun and stars with another, nor let the colours of a hopeful sky warm her days or glimmer with promises of what could be. There was no more colour, no more softness. There was only the red of blood and the black of death.

Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir, was a child no more.

[joehills]

Sunk Cost Fallodyssey

I spent $2.72 buying Fallout: A Post Nuclear Role Playing Game and was dismayed to discover that Codeweavers Crossover would only install, but not run the executable.

Unwilling to give up, I spent a few hours attempting different Crossover bottle tweaks before stumbling onto the existence of the Fallout: Community Edition project, a modern reimplementation of the game's engine with compatibility for modern computers.

At last, the game launched successfully, and I learned from the opening cinematic that war is transformative but static, and was allowed to access the character creation screen:

Since I don't know anything about Fallout, I decided to create a character based on Kaladin Stormblessed from the Brandon Sanderson's Stormlight Archive novels. In Sanderson's story, Kaladin is an unlucky son of a small-town physician somehow trapped in a cycle of being beaten within an inch of death while everyone else around him is killed, losing whatever job he had at the time, and ending up with a new job that is somehow more dangerous.

I started by lowering my character's luck stat to the game's floor of 1 (Very Bad), then re-investing the spare points into maxing out his endurance at 10 (Heroic) and bumping up his agility, charisma, and intelligence a bit each. I took a point out of perception because Sanderson's Kaladin usually needs obvious things explained to him.

For his three Tag Skills, I selected Melee Weapons, First Aid, and Doctor since Sanderson's Kaladin had training both as a spearman and as a physician.

For the first of his two optional traits, I selected Good Natured, which dropped his combat skills but boosted his First Aid, Doctor, Speech, and Barter abilities. My other choice here was Jinxed, which causes both the character and everyone around them to roll critical failures more often.

I started the game and died a dozen times to random encounters in the wastes. I was still having fun, but admit that I was growing a bit discouraged when I finally found my first actual spear on a random corpse giant molerats were dining on family-style.

Since grabbing the spear and fleeing those molerats, things have been looking up! I hit level two and have reached Vault 15 with far fewer deaths. The vault itself seems to be in poor repair, but without a rope to drop down the elevator shaft, I may need to continue my adventure elsewhere...

[britishsquidward]

Every Single "Holy (x)!" Thing Robin Says in the 66 Series (In Alphabetical Order)

Source: The Official Batman Batbook, The Revised Bat Edition

Note: I noticed some of the words in the book were spelt incorrectly or not in the correct order so I did my best to remedy them, but if you notice an error or maybe a word that didn't show up, let me know so I can make the proper adjustments!

Long Post Incoming:

A

Holy Agility

Holy Almost

Holy Alps

Holy Alter-Ego

Holy Anagrams

Holy Apparition (x2)

Holy Armadillos

Holy Ashtray

Holy Asp

Holy Astringent Pomite Fruit

Holy Astronomy

Holy Audobon

B

Holy Backfire

Holy Ball and Chain

Holy Bank Balance

Holy Bankruptcy

Holy Banks

Holy Barracuda

Holy Bargain Basement

Holy Bat-Logic

Holy Bat-Trap

Holy Benedict Arnold

Holy Bijou

Holy Bikini

Holy Blackbeard

Holy Blackout

Holy Blank Catridge

Holy Blizzard

Holy Bluebeard

Holy Bouncing Boilerplate

Holy Bowler

Holy Bullseye (x2)

Holy Bunsons

C

Holy Caffeine

Holy Camouflage (x2)

Holy Captain Nemo

Holy Caruso

Holy Catastrophe (x2)

Holy Chicken Coop

Holy Chiliblains

Holy Chocolate Eclair

Holy Chutzpah

Holy Cinderella

Holy Cinemascope

Holy Cliche

Holy Cliffhangers

Holy Clockwork

Holy Clockworks

Holy Coffin Nails

Holy Cold Creeps

Holy Complications

Holy Consecration

Holy Contributing to the Deliquency of Minors

Holy Corpuscles

Holy Cosmos

Holy Costume Party

Holy Crack-Up

Holy Crossfire

Holy Crucial Moment

Holy Crying Towels

Holy Cryptology

Holy Crystal Ball

D

Holy D'Artagnan

Holy Davy Jones

Holy Dead End

Holy Demolition

Holy Dental Hygiene

Holy Deposit Slip

Holy Detonation

Holy Detonator

Holy Deviltry

Holy Dilemma

Holy Disappearing Act

Holy Disaster Area

Holy Distortion

Holy Diversionary Tactic

Holy Diversionary Tactics

E

Holy Edison

Holy Eggshells

Holy Epicure

Holy Epigrams

Holy Escape Hatch

Holy Explosion

F

Holy Falsefront

Holy Fate Worse Than Death

Holy Felony

Holy Finishing Touches

Holy Fireworks

Holy Firing Squad

Holy Fishbowl

Holy Flightplan

Holy Flip-Flop

Holy Floodgates

Holy Floor Covering

Holy Flypaper

Holy Fog

Holy Fork-In-The-Road

Holy Fourth Amendment

Holy Frankenstein (x2)

Holy Fratricide

Holy Frogman

Holy Fruit Salad

Holy Fugitives

Holy Funny Bone

G

Holy Gall

Holy Gambles

Holy Gemini

Holy Geography

Holy Ghost Writer

Holy Giveaways

Holy Glue Pot

Holy Golden Gate

Holy Gbaf Zeppelin

Holy Grammar

Holy Graveyard

Holy Greed

Holy Guacamole

Holy Guadal Canal

Holy Gullibility

H

Holy H'Ordourves

Holy Haberdashery

Holy Hailstorm

Holy Hairdo

Holy Halleli

Holy Halloween

Holy Hamburger

Holy Hamlet (x2)

Holy Handiwork

Holy Happenstance

Holy Hardest Metal in the World

Holy Haziness

Holy Headache (x2)

Holy Headlines

Holy Heart-Break (x2)

Holy Heart Failure (x2)

Holy Helmets

Holy Helplessness

Holy Here We Go Again

Holy Hiedelburg

Holy Hieroglyphics (x3)

Holy High Wire

Holy Hijack

Holy Hijackers

Holy History

Holy Hoaxes

Holy Hole-in-a-Doughnut

Holy Hollywood

Holy Homecoming

Holy Homework

Holy Homicide

Holy Hoodwink

Holy Hoofbeats (x2)

Holy Horseshoe

Holy Horseshoes

Holy Hostage (x2)

Holy Hot Foot

Holy Hot Spot

Holy Houdini (x4)

Holy Human Collector's Item

Holy Human Pearls

Holy Human Pressure Cooker

Holy Human Surfboards

Holy Hunting Horn

Holy Hurricane

Holy Hydraulics

Holy Hypnotism

Holy Hypodermic

Holy Hypothesis

I

Holy Ice Picks

Holy Ice Skates

Holy Iceberg

Holy Impossibility

Holy Impregnability

Holy Incantation

Holy Inquisition

Holy Interplanetary Yardstick

Holy Interruptions

Holy I.T.&T.

J

Holy Jack-in-the-Box (x2)

Holy Jailbreak

Holy Jawbreaker

Holy Jelly Molds

Holy Jetset

Holy Jigsaw Puzzles

Holy Jitterbugs

Holy Journey to the Centre of the Earth

Holy Jumble

K

Holy Keyhole

Holy Keyring

Holy Kilowatts

Holy Kindergarten

Holy Knit One, Purl Two

Holy Knockout Drops

Holy Known-Unknown Flying Objects

Holy Koufax

L

Holy Leopard

Holy Levitation

Holy Lift-Off

Holy Living End

Holy Lodestone

Holy Long John Silver

Holy Looking Glass

Holy Lovebirds

Holy Luther Burbank

M

Holy Madnes

Holy Magician

Holy Magic Lantern

Holy Mainstrings

Holy Marathon

Holy Mashed Potatoes

Holy Masquerade (x2)

Holy Matador

Holy Mechanical Army

Holy Memorandum

Holy Memory Bank

Holy Merlin the Magician

Holy Mermaid

Holy Merry-Go-Round

Holy Metronome

Holy Miracles

Holy Miscast

Holy Missing Relatives

Holy Molars

Holy Molehill

Holy Movie Moguls

Holy Mucilage (x2)

Holy Multitudes

Holy Murder

Holy Mush

N

Holy Naivete

Holy Nerve Centre

Holy Nick-Of-Time (x2)

Holy Nightmare (x2)

Holy Non Sequiturs

O

Holy Oleo

Holy Olfactory

Holy One-Track Batcomputer Mind

Holy Oversight

Holy Oxygen

P

Holy Paderevsky

Holy Perfect Pitch

Holy Piano Roll

Holy Polar Front

Holy Polar Icesheets

Holy Polaris

Holy Popcorn

Holy Pot Luck

Holy Precision

Holy Pressure Cooker

Holy Priceless Collection of Etruscan Snoods

Holy Pseudonym

Holy Purple Cannibals

Holy Puzzles

(There's none for Q)

R

Holy Rainbow (x2)

Holy Rats in a Trap

Holy Ravioli

Holy Razor's Edge

Holy Red Herring

Holy Red Snapper

Holy Reincarnation

Holy Relief

Holy Recompense

Holy Remote-Control Robot

Holy Reshevsky

Holy Return from Oblivion

Holy Reverse Polarity

Holy Ricochet

Holy Rip Van Winkle (x2)

Holy Rising Hemlines

Holy Road Blocks

Holy Robert Lewis Stevenson

Holy Rock Garden

Holy Rocking Chair

Holy Rudder

S

Holy Sarcophagus

Holy Sardine

Holy Schizophrenia

Holy Sedatives

Holy Self-Service

Holy Semantics

Holy Serpentine

Holy Shamrocks

Holy Sherlock Holmes

Holy Shocks

Holy Show-Ups

Holy Showcase

Holy Shrinkage

Holy Skull Tamper

Holy Sky Rockets

Holy Slipped Disc

Holy Smoke (x2)

Holy Smokes (x2)

Holy Smokestack

Holy Snowball

Holy Sonic Booms

Holy Special Delivery

Holy Spider Webs

Holy Split Seconds

Holy Squirrel Cage

Holy Stalactite

Holy Stampede

Holy Standstills

Holy Stereo

Holy Stew Pot

Holy Stomachache

Holy Strait Jacket

Holy Stratosphere

Holy Stuffing

Holy Stupor

Holy Sub-Orbit

Holy Sudden Incapicitation

Holy Sundial

Holy Superlatives

Holy Suprise Party

Holy Switch-A-Roo

T

Holy Taj Mahal

Holy Tartars

Holy Taxation

Holy Taxidermy

Holy Tee Shot

Holy Ten Toes

Holy Terminology

Holy Tintinnabulation

Holy Tip-Offs

Holy Titanic

Holy Tome

Holy Toreador

Holy Trampoline

Holy Transformation

Holy Travel Agent

Holy Trickery

Holy Triple Feature

Holy Trolls and Goblins

Holy Tuxedo

U

Holy Uncanny Photographic Mental Process

Holy Understatement

Holy Underwritten Metropolis

Holy Unlikelihood

Holy Unrefillable Prescrptions

V

Holy Vanity Case

Holy Venezuela

Holy Vertebra

Holy Voltage

W

Holy Waste of Energy

Holy Wayne Manor

Holy Weaponry

Holy Wedding Cake

Holy Werner von Braun

Holy Whiskers

Holy Wigs

(There's none for X)

(There's none for Y)

Z

Holy Zorro

[jonfazzaro]

"If a team claims consistent success, are they high performing or playing it safe? It’s not only probably the latter, Sitkin argues, but there is also an opportunity cost to these claimed ‘successes.’"

[spacemothsota]

Gladiators of Kaon

Let's admit it, we like Kaon? I like that it is in this city of "vice and sin" that gladiator fights have been preserved. Regardless of the iteration of Transformers, it is known that the main "stage" of gladiators was Kaon. (Perhaps I will write about my view of this city later, because one of my OC characters directly works there).

I love the gladiator theme, but to be honest, I would like to somehow… Expand it? Classify it? Sorry, but the term "Gladiator" is so elastic and it seems to me that there is some limitation in what type of bots most often become it. So here are my ideas of what gladiators could be in Kaon. All this is very much a reference to Roman gladiators and is assumed by me for the features of certain frames.

Bestiary (bestiarius)

Bestiary (bestiarius) - gladiator bots of any weight category, who are trained to fight with various animals. In fact, this class of gladiators has no weight restrictions, since their battles can be with both medium and large animals. The opponents can be both Cybertronian representatives of the fauna like turbofoxes, and alien specimens brought from other planets. All gladiators can perform in this class, but if the animal is medium in size, this is not considered very honorable. Very often, Bestiary can perform at the beginning or in the middle of gladiator shows, so that the audience does not lose interest in what is happening. They also traditionally do not have very many weapons, it can be a spear or a sword. Shields are also rejected for the sake of spectacle.

One of the more difficult opponents were considered to be warrior insecticons, who possess intelligence and are capable of giving a worthy rebuff. (Insecticons were not considered full-fledged bots and were treated as available game for baiting, since there were many hives under the surface of Cybertron. At some point, this was even encouraged by the government, since it helped reduce the number of insecticons).

There is a separate class of Bestiaries (Venators?), who fight with the help of their cyberbeasts, as a rule, they are engaged in baiting insecticons and large representatives of alien and Cybertronian fauna (in such cases, they have several opponents).

Representatives: I think Soundwave could be a gladiator who, at the beginning of his career, belonged to the Bestiary class (and the presence of Ravage, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw positioned him as a professional).

Essedarius

Essedarius - Lightweight bots, mostly racing altforms (racing cars, motorcycles, sometimes small seekers). Essedarius are gladiators who fight using a combination of speed, agility, and precision. Fights usually resemble races, where opponents can circle each other. Essedarius are usually more about showing off their reaction and cunning. Fights can be short but spectacular, or they can last for hours, where both opponents prove themselves not only as skilled fighters with a tactical mindset, but also as hardy athletes. The main weapons are spears, energy bows, combat staffs, or blasters. Swords can also be used, but light options like needles (like nails from Hollow Knight) or rapiers are preferable. This class rejects the presence of a shield, as it slows down too much.

Essedarius are one of the few gladiator classes that are allowed to use blasters (blasters are not used in regular fights because the whole point of the fight is lost and spectators may not have time to enjoy the spectacle).

Essedarius are a class of gladiators for whom the arena is changed (gentle slopes, sharp turns, labyrinths). They are also quite popular with racers and aristocrats, as they are considered less bloody due to pinpoint and preemptive attacks.

There is a certain type of fight when Essedarius consume fuel for other types of bots instead of the usual racing energon. To avoid overloads and premature failure of fuel systems, the arena is grounded, which helps gladiators fight (think of it as a pill that gives various effects).

Representatives: Stunticons (Breakdown, Dead End, Wildrider, Drag Strip), etc.

Laquearius

Laquearius - gladiators of flying altforms fighting in the air. Laquearius - seekers, helicopters and reconnaissance air bots. The fights of these gladiators most often resemble complex acrobatic performances. The arena is specially redesigned for them so that they do not step on the ground. If one of the fighters steps on the ground, he is considered a loser, so the fights are about balance, good orientation in space and flying skills. The main weapons of the laquearius are an energy lasso, daggers, sharp swords or sabers. Despite no less ferocity in battles than other gladiators, no laquearius injures the wings of his opponent. This is a kind of taboo. Anyone who covets the wings (blades) of another can simply lose respect and reputation among other fighters (a demotion in status is also guaranteed).

The second type of fighters for whom the arena is specially changed. Gladiators practically do not touch the ground during the fight and use the walls of the arena, ropes and beams in order not to fall.

Sometimes the arena is deliberately limited, which makes it resemble a bird cage, this is done to deliberately bring the opponents closer together. This makes the Laquearius act more quickly, decisively and provocatively. (If you watched the classic Mad Max "Under the Thunderdome", then you can imagine how the arena chants "Thunderdome!" during the fight of the Laquearius)

Representatives: Starsream, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Vortex, etc.

Myrmillo

Myrmillo - all non-specialized standard gladiators, they can be either light or medium weight (anything from a regular machine to some highly specialized bot). These are the most standard gladiators. In fact, most fighters who do not have any type or have just stepped into the arena are myrmillo. They are agile, fast and usually hardy. If a myrmillo has some outstanding features, then after several fights he will most likely be given a type. However, if the fighter is satisfied with everything, then he can stay at this rank, which frees him from a narrow choice of weapons and performance time. The weapons are very diverse - electric batons, tridents, nets, swords, shields, etc. Myrmillo tend to use dirty tricks in battle to gain a tactical advantage (they do not stoop very low, but they are quite insidious).

The most famous myrmillo was Arcee, who fought in a duet with Galvatron (he belonged to the type of gladiators called Crupelaris). She was famous for her ferocity and mastery of two swords.

Myrmillo perform last during days of mourning, as a kind of symbol of a new beginning (it was a symbol that although life was suspended, it was not frozen forever. Young fighters were a symbol of the flourishing culture of gladiatorialism and in the best days there were quite a lot of them)

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are the only myrmillos who performed in a duet.

Bots who already had a main profession could become myrmillos. Among the police of Kaon, this was a good option to relieve tension and show their strength, so that gladiators would know that they should not be messed with again.

Representatives: Barricade, Arcee, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, etc.

Provocator

Provocator - gladiators of small altforms, various minicons. This class of fighters is extremely small (phphph, sorry) in terms of its numbers, since not many minicons have a strong enough body and good load capacity for full-fledged battles. Provocators often act as a duet, where one fighter acts as a distraction and the second as the main attacking force. Especially experienced provocators act solo using weapons like hammers in order to increase the damage inflicted on the enemy. Despite the fact that at first glance they may not seem like the most terrible opponents, they should not be underestimated. This type of gladiators does not have a primary weapon, many prefer to fight with the built-in modifications they have, such as enhanced hydraulics in the servo. Many consider fights with these fighters to be the most brutal due to the "tearing" of the enemy into pieces.

Sometimes provocateurs can act as support for other types of gladiators in team fights or two-on-two fights.

The name of this type of gladiators, historically, came from their daring behavior characteristic of them, it was in response to their not very impressive appearance for other opponents.

The threat of being bitten on the "ankles" is not a threat but a real attack in which the enemy will most likely be left without peds and the medic will have to weld them back.

Representatives: Rumble and Frenzy ("Terror Twins"/"Nightmare Twins")

Crupelarius

Crupelarius - heavyweight gladiators (armored trucks, tanks, shuttles, etc.). Some conventionally call these big guys the real "kings" of the arena, but only smart enough fighters reach the heights of their careers. Tactical mind and cruel nature put many of them at the top among other gladiators (Galvatron and Megatron). Due to their large size, strength and dense armor, they are difficult opponents, but can be slow or clumsy. These are most often close combat fighters, the fight between two crupellarius is like a clash of titans. The main weapons are swords, hammers, maces and shields. In fact, anything that can get under the servo can eventually turn into a weapon, so the fighters are not limited in how exactly to deal with each other (it can be a beam from a broken arena, torn out reinforcement or even a piece that comes to hand). Often, for greater spectacle, the Crupelarius during a fight tries to disarm his opponent in order to test his ability to regain control of the weapon or to fight back without a weapon.

Among the Crupelarius, there are fighters who engage in pure unarmed combat. This can be quite spectacular and mostly resembles fights without rules or a lucha libre show (in the second case, it requires a bit of acting skills from the gladiator).

The Crupelarius is not the most numerous class, so they often participate in inter-type battles. They work well in a duet with other types of gladiators in two-on-two fights.

The Crupelarius do not like to use guns and blasters, although this is not prohibited for them. Many believe that this will simply make the fight insufficiently spectacular (it is more interesting to see an armored one torn apart with the help of other weapons).

The Impactor was the only Crupelarius who used a harpoon-like weapon in combat.

Representatives: Megatron, Impactor, Overlord, Motormaster, Brawl, etc.

I just realized that I will probably do a part 2, because there is a lot of information and my personal ideas for the gladiatorial culture in Kaon. Some kind of my second magnum opus, to be honest. I will try to post a part 2 as soon as possible, in which I will talk about other things concerning the gladiatorial arenas, like traditions and festivals.

[the-cat-ara]

fanchild Metamy

Name: Iris Rose Parents: Amy Rose and Metal Sonic Age: 17 Height: 100 cm Gender: Female

Personality: She is quiet, observant. She is not very patient and prefers to take actions on her own, despite that she is obedient. She is very loyal and cares a lot about her family (the whole egg family).

Likes: sweet things and chocolate ice cream. She likes writing and reading, boxing and also knitting a bit (but only when she feels she has a lot of thoughts on her mind). Loves helping her dad and playing with or watching her uncles Cubot and Orbot. He enjoys talking to her Aunt Sage about complex things (although she mostly just listens to her and asks questions). He also enjoys learning robotics and science from her grandfather. Wants to learn baking because she was told her mother really liked it.

Dislikes: Sonic (that bad imitator of her father who also annoys her grandfather). Failing and having her failures thrown in her face. All her grandfather's enemies.

Data: She is the first organic android created on her world. Her skeleton is metallic, but her skin is organic, able to feel like any normal organic creature. She is able to regulate her temperature, to some extent. She inherited her mother's super strength, enhanced with her robotic part. She is very resistant to blows, fast and agile, she can also adapt and learn quickly. Although she fights melee, she can also use long or short distance weapons, like her mother she can make her personal weapon (kusarigama) appear and disappear, which she calls Kichi Kichi Kama. She is not mute, but prefers not to speak. Very few people have heard her speak (only her family circle) she prefers to communicate with sign language or simply not speak, especially with her enemies and strangers. Created from a piece of Metal Sonic's nucleus which was fused with Amy's DNA (all this required a great energy from the chaos emeralds, causing them to enter a state of hibernation), later it was implanted in Amy's womb where it developed successfully, but bringing side effects over the months, until Iris was born. Iris does not have many memories of her mother, she was only with her for the first year after she was born, Amy died after being hospitalized all that time (the process was too much for her body).