#ironwil

[charr-salad]

It's too late for Halloween but I didn't want to put this drawing off until next year, SO here's Lyza trick-or-treating with her cub, Fearra :)

[brutalstoppage]

These three can make a gang of 20 dudes wet their pants.

[solas-backpack-mug]

also vote in the poll about yourself

[ulisesworms]

IRON WILL ©️ ULISES WORMS

[hiddenincommand]

The Weight of History

Legacy is not something that is simply passed from one hand to another—it must be earned, forged in the fires of discipline, sacrifice, and the decisions that weigh upon the soul. The past is not a distant memory but a constant presence, lingering in the quiet moments, reminding us of the burden we carry.

This journal tells more than just stories; it carries the weight of those who have walked before me, men whose names are remembered not because they sought glory, but because they embodied discipline and command. Every medal that glistens in the light is not a symbol of victory, but of endurance. Every crease in the leather is a testament to battles fought not just in the world, but within.

True leadership is not loud, nor is it boastful. It is the quiet, relentless resolve to carry the burden of those before us, to stand firm when others falter, and to remain steadfast when faced with the weight of the past. History may seem distant to most, but to those who understand its weight, it is ever-present, guiding and testing. The burden of command is never light, but only those with iron resolve can carry it.

In this image, the silent weight of history is captured. A worn, vintage military journal lies open on a large, dark wooden desk. Beside it, glistening under soft light, are military medals, symbols of discipline and command. In the background, blurred but significant, an old map hints at past conquests and decisions that shaped destinies. The scene is solemn, with the soft glow of sunlight casting long shadows, a reflection of the timeless presence of legacy.

What decisions in your past have shaped the person you are today? Do you feel the weight of your own history? How does it influence your present actions? Share your thoughts, your stories. Let us reflect together on the burdens we carry and the legacies we are building.

Tags:

#Legacy #Discipline #Tradition #Command #IronWill #History #Authority #Leadership #VintageAesthetic #MilitaryHeritage #Reflection #Strength #Stoicism #Mastery #TimelessPower #Endurance #Duty

[almostlookedhuman]

[simmering-affection]

Tags below

kyoko: visuals <- Kyoko images

character spotlight: kyoko <- Kyoko characterization

Kyoko: musings <- musing as Kyoko

simmering affection: inbox

simmering affection: rp <- rp tag

tenderheart: kyoko <- Teen! Kyoko

bruisedheart: kyoko <- TYL! Kyoko

Verses

ironwill: kyoko <- kyoko who chooses to join the mafia

bubbled: kyoko <- kyoko who never learns of the mafia but is entangled nonetheless.

freebird: kyoko <- kyoko, who was never entangled in the mafia.

[gargarismo-blog1]

NEW single and video clip from IRONWILL ("Sad Night" out from upcoming EP)

IRONWILL

Psychological rock

THE PROJECT: ROCK AGAINST BULLYING

The Rock against Bullying project was born in 2018 from an initiative by Salvo "Ironwill" Dell'Arte: the band is part of a wide kaleidoscope in which all artistic forms are involved: music, photography, video, comics, illustration and works of art. IRONWILL ‘s aim is to bring together the best artists who are able to express, the importance of the themes dealt with in each phase of the project, through their emotions. IRONWILL believes that rock music and other forms of art are the best way to communicate with people, especially young people and teenagers, the light of the soul that everyone needs on the evolution path of their lives. Art is part of life and is the best way to help us give true meaning to our journey on this Earth. IRONWILL aims to deal with personal and psychological issues, offering different points of view into the depths of one's soul, trying to shine a warm light at the audience. The first chapter dealt with bullying; in 2019 IRONWILL recorded the concept album "The Jonathan's Journey". The second chapter released in 2020/2021, called "Breakout", is about the evolution of souls; 10 songs (plus an introductory single) linked by the same perspective: a positive evolution. In the meantime, IRONWILL are experimenting with a return to blues with a set of singles in which the crossover between rock and blues allows them to explore the themes musically. This

fascinating exploration is called B2B Back to Blues.The third single and video clip from Ironwill's upcoming EP has just premiered..

Website: www.ironwilltheband.com  

Facebook: : https://www.facebook.com/ironwilltheband  

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ironwilltheband/ 

Spotify: IRONWILL  

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_O225KgUBcJBppDvUJiXYg 

[anmksteeldetailing]

"Forging Tomorrow's Dreams: Our Steel, Your Vision - Where Strength Meets Innovation!"

@anmksteeldetailing

@cpwworld

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[thatonebirbnerd]

Posts that activate me like a sleeper agent....

Despite the fact that it was abducted (fulfilling its Dream) and technically killed before being taken to a blighting pod, Bláithín gives approximately zero fucks about the whole experience and somehow recovered from the dragon's influence almost immediately. As far as they're concerned, Mordremoth was a way to get better at fighting, even though Bláithín wasn't conscious at the time - they weren't a commander but climbed high up in the ranks and retained their skills. She may have lost her old semblance of beauty under its influence, but in her view, this is who she was on the inside anyway. Plus, her intimidating size, features, and remaining ley energy powers are an asset for a leader of a Nightmare splinter faction.

Geanais fought Mordremoth the whole way through, causing both physical and psychological consequences. She was a liability to both sides and was forced to strike out on her own, attempting to resist murderous rage as much as she could. After Mordremoth's death, she chose to walk home so that she could spend the most time possible picking up the pieces of herself, and is now a mentor to saplings.

Hawys was doomed to fail in their Wyld Hunt, and Mordremoth's influence transformed them and their pet into a sylvari-wyvern chimera. Unable to rejoin sylvari society due to essentially being a reptile half the time, they assigned themselves the solitary task of clearing out Mordrem after the dragon's death. They call it penance, though they don't have to explain it to very many people anymore.

question for my fellow mordrem-havers:

what was it like for them under the dragon's influence? if they weren't 'born' mordrem, what was their corruption experience? how are they handling life without the dragon?

[brutalstoppage]

"Blood fuels my fire—bring the war!" 🩸

[draconicdeityarts]

An Okarun design for an au made with a couple friends, currently being written into a fic by one of them! Go check out Ironwilled should you be interested in some fantasy shenanigans! I never quite finished this, but maybe one day you’ll see more polished refs/more art!

[tracyk13]

Ares Devotion

Ironwilled Ares, father of brave Alcippe, great protector of the unsung, may you stand with me and grant me courage for I know not what will come, but I know I must stand ready. 

[deathsmallcaps]

It was avengers 2. Real start of the decline for sure

I have no concept of how popular something is. If people put it on my dash it's known by everyone and enjoyed by most. If it's never on my dash then it has 5 or less readers/watchers worldwide. That's all I know.

[euphreana]

The Shape of Truth - Chapter 3: The Pink Phantom

Masterpost

-

Ambrosius was convinced he was seeing things. The stress of the day was getting to him. The punk teen who’d randomly appeared in his room continued to hold her hand out expectantly.

“I don't care.” He said in response to the greeting, “Just leave me alone.” He moved past the pink figure and flopped back onto his bed, eyes closed.

“Leave you alone? You look like you need all the help you can get!”

Ambrosius cracked his eyes open. The hallucination that had called itself ‘Nimona’ had her face inches away from his, upside down. She grinned.

“And luckily for you, I happen to be the perfect one for the job!”

Ambrosius narrowed his eyes. “What job?”

“Your new sidekick!”

Ambrosius groaned and rubbed his eyes. Was his brain trying to create an imaginary friend to fill the void Bal had left behind? When Ambrosius opened his eyes again, the teen had disappeared. Good. Then the same voice cut in again from atop a shelving unit.

“Don’t bother to fill me in, I saw everything.”

“What?” Ambrosius sat up, seeing Nimona now lounging on the shelves.

“It was a beautiful scheme!” She said.

Ambrosius blinked, and Nimona was suddenly spinning on the easy chair across the room.

“Assassination of a monarch, the kingdom thrown into complete and utter chaos, it would have been perfect, if only he’d made his daring escape! But don’t worry! This is just half-time - you can still finish what he started!”

“Finish w—” Ambrosius began, but suddenly found a sheaf of papers whirled into his hands. “What’s this?”

“My resume!”

Ambrosius glanced at the papers. There was no text; just crayon drawings of all manner of animals rampaging through piles of royal guards.

“… This is—”

“Awesome, isn’t it? I thought a visual aid would really make it POP!”

Ambrosius looked up from the papers to see Nimona sitting on the dresser.

“Sooo… what’s the plan, boss?”

Ambrosius stared at her for a long moment.

“What are you supposed to be exactly? Some repressed memory?”

The teen huffed and hopped off the dresser. “I told you - I’m Nimona.”

“Okay… Nimona. I’m tired and don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“Oh, oh sure, I get it. Still getting over your buddy’s death. Got it. Just let me know when you’re ready to move on to the next stage of the plan.”

Ambrosius shoved the papers back into her hands.

“There is no plan. Bal is…” He locked his jaw, willing the tears to go away.

“That’s not going to stop you though, right? The man must be avenged!”

Ambrosius was about to respond when he heard a knock at the door. He hoped the noise was real this time.

He opened the door. It was Captain Ironwill; a burly man with black hair.

“Captain.” Ambrosius greeted him.

“Goldenloin.” Ironwill nodded. “I heard about what happened at the execution. They’re giving you tomorrow off.”

Ambrosius lowered his gaze. “Thanks.”

“I tried to get you full bereavement leave, but you weren’t legally related.” Ironwill’s voice dropped slightly. “I’m sorry. I know you were close. At least he didn’t drag you into it.”

Ambrosius nodded.

Ironwill continued, “Nice choice of color.”

Ambrosius looked up. Ironwill was looking past him, into the room. Ambrosius turned around. There was a pink cat sitting on the bed wearing a vest labeled ‘Emotional Support’. Ambrosius stared at it mutely.

Ironwill acknowledged Ambrosius again and left. Ambrosius stood in the doorway, still staring at the cat.

The cat spoke up, “What? Not a cat person?”

Ambrosius sputtered, then turned to the open door behind him. The hallway outside was empty.

“Good Gloreth I’m going crazy…” he muttered, shutting the door.

“Come again?” Ambrosius turned back to see Nimona sitting cross-legged where the cat had been. Definitely a hallucination, and one he was tired of.

“How do I make you go away?”

Nimona shrugged and got up, bouncing on the bed a few times. “Same time tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Morning?”

Ambroisus rubbed his eyes. Anything to make her leave.

“Fine. Just go.”

“Got it, boss!”

When he opened his eyes again, there was a pink bird perched on the windowsill.

“Tomorrow!” the bird said, then took off, leaving him alone in his room. Finally.

“Gloreth please don’t let this happen again.” Ambrosius said to himself, falling back onto his bed. He didn’t want to end up in the psych ward.

~ ~ ~

The front office was surprised to see Ambrosius when he went in early the next morning.

“Didn’t someone tell you to take the day off?” the receptionist said.

Ambrosius remembered the stress hallucination from the day before. Or had it been a vision of the future?

“Oh… Yeah, I forgot.” he stammered.

Ambrosius left the building, wondering what it was that had happened yesterday.

“THERE you are!” a familiar voice broke into his thoughts. It was that Nimona hallucination, except this time she’d taken the form of a large, pink dog, again wearing the emotional support vest.

Ambrosius groaned.

“You again…”

“Me again! I thought the longer legs would make it easier to keep up.” The dog waved a paw. “So what’s the plan for today? Or should we… discuss things somewhere private?”

Ambrosius wondered if ignoring Nimona would make her go away. He didn’t want to be seen talking to an imaginary friend, although there wasn’t really anyone to see - it was early enough that hardly anyone was out on the campus.

“Whatever.” he mumbled and started the walk to a nearby tea shop.

“What better place to hide than in the open. I like that.” Dog-Nimona winked and followed alongside, “I thought up some ideas for revenge - it looks like the director was the one who ordered the execution, so I was thinking we-”

“I’m not taking revenge. For all I know… Bal was guilty.”

“No duh! I saw him fire the… wait, are you saying that wasn’t part of the plan?”

“What? No! Why would I- I wasn’t- I don’t even know if-”

“Oh….” The dog suddenly looked disappointed. It was a look Ambrosius had always dreaded seeing. Was even his subconscious disappointed with him?

The dog spoke up again.

“So you’re not a villain?”

“No!”

“But he was, right?”

“I don’t—”

“Well someone is. So why don’t we find out who?” Nimona hurried in front of Ambrosius, now walking backwards so she could see his face. “We dig - we find out if your buddy was behind the plot, and if he wasn’t, we find out who was. And we take revenge!”

“Revenge?”

“So what leads do you have? Assuming you’ve already been looking into this. Searched his belongings for clues?”

“Everything got confiscated or thrown out.”

“Huh. Anything else of his?”

“I don’t know… they have his sword in the archives.”

“Then off to the archives we go!” Nimona began to trot on ahead.

It didn’t sound like a bad idea, but Ambrosius wondered why his subconscious would be so focused on revenge. He’d been taught the pitfalls of seeking revenge since he was young - the right thing to do was forgive and move on. But… he did want to know if his dead boyfriend had been a murderer or not. He needed to know if what they’d had had been real. What if the Institute had missed something in their assessment of the situation and there was someone else involved? The authorities didn’t know Bal like he did, and stuff wasn’t adding up…

The imaginary dog had charged ahead, but now it was looking back at him with pleading puppy eyes, wagging its tail.

“Aren't you coming?”

Well, since this was basically his own advice, he might as well follow it.

Chapter 4

[deathandthesoul]

Brb taking a sharp left turn into Cú Chulainn theming and incorporating this into Aidan's Horrid Form (even though he doesn't frenzy #pathofdeathandthesoul #ironwill #totaldetachment #nofrenzy)

Body horror text under the cut

The first warp-spasm seized Cúchulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing, hideous and shapeless, unheard of. His shanks and his joints, every knuckle and angle and organ from head to foot, shook like a tree in the flood or a reed in the stream. His body made a furious twist inside his skin, so that his feet and shins switched to the rear and his heels and calves switched to the front... On his head the temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child... he sucked one eye so deep into his head that a wild crane couldn't probe it onto his cheek out of the depths of his skull; the other eye fell out along his cheek. His mouth weirdly distorted: his cheek peeled back from his jaws until the gullet appeared, his lungs and his liver flapped in his mouth and throat, his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow, and fiery flakes large as a ram's fleece reached his mouth from his throat... The hair of his head twisted like the tangle of a red thornbush stuck in a gap; if a royal apple tree with all its kingly fruit were shaken above him, scarce an apple would reach the ground but each would be spiked on a bristle of his hair as it stood up on his scalp with rage. — Thomas Kinsella (translator), The Táin, Oxford University Press, 1969, pp. 150–153