#<- ??? i forgor which i tag him as uhh

[dizzybizz]

some memeatronic,,, if you will

[tiredassmage]

@captainderyn: #wait dot Tyr has a bladesmithing hobby tell more?

I... forgor I have probably only directly said this to Joel and maybe only hinted at it in tags sometimes, lol. But uhh! Yea! For a while, my Selected Streaming was whatever seasons of Forged in Fire were available on said streaming service - which to save the unfamiliar a quick google search is, in short, a bladesmithing competition show where four competitors compete in three rounds of bladesmithing, typically with an elimination in each round - ultimately with two competitors recreating an assigned historical weapon with a winner determined through various weapons tests. It's not a hobby I could ever say I'd pick up myself, but it's very interesting to see the craftsmanship and the process and so, as one does when one has blorbo brain... I decided that was a fun thing to pick up and run with.

There's been idle jokes of Alliance Jenga nights and the like because I imagine Tyr's... hands on, typically. He likes to do things, keep his hands occupied - a softer transference of his training primarily as an operative. And I figure as weapon maintenance is already important to him and his work as a Cipher... given the opportunity, it's a process he'd enjoy learning about.

So, in short, knifemaking is a hobby he explores in what downtime he finds as Alliance Commander - primarily through the blacksmiths and other such trades that come to partner with the Alliance over time. Tyr generally keeps relatively quiet about it. Forging is several hours he can get to himself and just kind of tune the world out, physically working on something that can require some problem solving that... occasionally helps him sort through the shit in his head, too.

Anyway! That's how Tyr picks up bladesmithing as a sort of... soft retirement hobby. He gets interested chatting up a couple Alliance personnel, ends up asking them some questions, and learning from some of them. While I imagine he typically makes blades with the intention to see them used, him and Izvoye (@hyrohkaah) have gotten lost in some historical records at times trying to parse together historical techniques. (And as a lil bonus, part of his proposal to her in their lil 'verse together is forging a ceremonial blade for her that leans a bit more heavier into artistic and craftsmanship techniques and skills than the kind of blades he tends to use as an agent.)

[straightuppotato-art]

Um so... a couple months ago I got tagged by @grapecaseschoices to make ocs in this picrew and I meant to and then... Forgor <3 So here they are now!!

It's my Infamous babies and uhh here's some fun facts under the cut!

Tae-yeon:

She's 5'11"!! Because I wanted to dwarf Orion but that man is too tall :CCC

She's translated a few of the band's songs into Korean and she posts the covers on the official youtube channel!

She's big on TikTok (tragic) for dancing but like. She's actually good at it lmao

Rosé:

She's got rose tattoos on her shoulders, three stars on her left hip, and a heart on her chest, in addition to the Seven tattoo (which she doesn't cover up)!

Loves Postmodern Jukebox and posts her own old-timey covers of the band's songs occasionally!!

Knows ASL!

Fatima:

She's a lil pianist!!!

Always sings happy birthday if someone has a birthday sign at a concert lol

Her dream is to settle down and have a little house with a BIG garden with lots of flowers 🥺

Calliope:

Shortest of the bunch at 5'3"

He plays guitar (also really wants to play a lute during a concert at some point)

Ever since they've been able to choose what to dress as for Halloween, they've been a Greek mythological figure. There have been a few exceptions when Seven or the band requested matching outfits!!

Ari:

Despite looking relatively identifiable, they very rarely get recognized on the street. The only difference is the glasses, but Ari has a tendency to blend in the background!

Got their nose scar because they ate concrete while skateboarding lmao

Would DIE if they ever got to meet Hozier!!!!

Max:

Won't talk to you for a week if you call him Maximilian. You can use this to your advantage.

Most tatted up the gang but idk all of them. But he does have parental advisory under his right boob, a tramp stamp (idk of what lol), and a skull on his right thigh, plus a skull over Seven's tattoo.

Another guitarist, but he learned because he thinks it makes him hotter lmao

[multi-lefaiye]

A Name Dripping With Blood: A Salvatore Character Study - 1: SCOTT ("Gaelic speaker")

It's finally here! Chapter one of the Salvatore character study!!! Yahoo!!!

So uhh if you're new here. Salvatore is my vampire blorbo from a very relatively obscure horror series I'm fixated on (not TFTGS, a different one). He's a former mobster and local dramatic old man. I wanted to write a study exploring him as a character a bit more, and it got out of hand <3

So here's the first part of that! I'm planning for there to be 10 chapters total, and if I exceed that, please hunt me for sport.

Content Warnings: I'll include warnings for each chapter, but the biggest warning for this chapter is a mention of suicide. Also, I'm starting this study from before Salvatore realizes his transness and he is referred to with she/her pronouns and his deadname. If that is something that would make you uncomfortable pls tread lightly!!

Tagging (like I said I forgor who wanted to be tagged for this </3 But if you want to be added or removed pls let me know!! I will not forget again): @wherearetheplants @albatris @approximately20eggs @skitzo-kero @nicola-writes @jezifster

--

Salvatore wasn't always a monster. He was once a man--a deeply flawed man, but a man nonetheless. The story of that man didn't begin in an abandoned warehouse in 1986--it began in 1948, in a small tenement building in Manhattan, New York, with the birth of a too-tiny baby girl.

---

The year was 1948.

It was an unusually warm February day, the last signs of winter grasping desperately to hold onto the world as they melted away. Three years before this day, the Second World War had come to an end, and three days later, Gerard Kuiper would discover another of Uranus’ moons, which he would name Miranda (“admirable, wonderful”).

On that day, Leslie Burke was born.

Leslie (“garden of holly”) was born in a small tenement building on the Lower East Side. It took eight long, agonizing hours for her mother Anna (“favor, grace”) to finally give birth to her, holed up in a small room with her neighbor, who happened to be a nurse, and her husband Westley (“west meadow”).

Leslie’s father had insisted that his youngest daughter be born at home, as he had a long-running distrust of doctors. Besides, he was a proud man, and he had helped his wife bear their previous three children. Leslie would be no different.

Thankfully, everything went as expected, and soon Leslie came screaming into the world, a tiny bundle of flailing limbs with a scowl on her face and a dark tuft of hair on her head. She wailed from the moment her small lungs took their first breath, as though crying out to all the stars and heavens themselves, demanding that they hear her and take her seriously.

Afterwards, Anna, though she was exhausted, cradled her tiny baby in her arms, a smile on her face as she remarked to her husband, “My, this one sure is lively!” Leslie, though she was far too young to understand the words, pouted nonetheless as she squirmed in the soft blanket she’d been swaddled in.

Westley chuckled breathlessly, his relief and pride plain on his face as he agreed, “We’ve got a real spitfire on our hands here.”

Soon after, Leslie quieted down, seemingly too tired to yell any longer, and she was introduced to the rest of her family.

The first to hold her was her cousin, Scott Clifton. Scott (“Gaelic speaker”) was a fine young man, having only recently come home from his time overseas. He was his family’s pride and joy, as he’d fought on the front lines in the terrible war. Combat had left him with a prominent limp and a sad, desperate sort of exhaustion in his eyes, but he still wore a smile on his face most days.

He was a good man, the sort of man many boys aspired to be. Though he was young, he had much to be proud of. At least, that’s what he’d always been told.

Scott held Leslie like she was something fragile, something to protect. He ran gentle, world-weary fingers over the soft brown hair on her tiny head. Even when she batted his hand away with little fists and whined, he only smiled warmly.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, his voice a soft whisper.

“She’ll be a fine young woman someday!” Westley agreed readily. He grinned good-naturedly at his nephew and pointedly added, “Now, you just need to find yourself a nice gal of your own, and maybe soon you’ll have your own baby girl just like her!”

Scott had only smiled thinly at his uncle in response.

After Scott was Leslie’s oldest brother, Jesse. Where Scott was the perfect soldier, a paragon of masculinity for his family to be proud of, Jesse (“gift”) was an academic. He was still only thirteen at the time, but he had a bright mind that shone like the sun behind his pale eyes.

Jesse was the sort of young man who would make his mark on the world, the sort who would be remembered. He would tell anyone who would listen about his dreams and his accomplishments, the heights he would climb in the coming years.

When Jesse held Leslie, he held her like she was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. Though she was quiet by now, he watched her with wide eyes, as though waiting for her to start screaming again. For her part, Leslie stared up at him, her tiny face screwed up in a frown.

“Can someone else take it?” Jesse said after a moment, lifting his head to look desperately at his mother.

“That’s not an it,” Anna chastised her son. “That’s your sister.” Still, she held out her arms for Leslie.

“Of course, of course,” Jesse said placatingly, quickly handing her the baby. “I just don’t want to hold her. All she does right now is wail, anyhow--maybe when she’s older and can hold a conversation.”

Next to hold Leslie was her only sister, Bethany. Bethany (“house of affliction”) was the perfect picture of a girl her age, with flowing brown hair and wide, blue eyes that sparkled in the light. Though the Burke’s were never a particularly wealthy family, Bethany dressed herself in the finest clothes she could. She had always been resourceful, and she made do with what she had.

This resourcefulness translated into a deathly sharp wit that Bethany had carried with her since she was young. She was outspoken and had a fiery temper, two qualities that made her stand out from the other girls her age. Though she was only thirteen, she was full of the same ambition and drive as her brother Jesse.

When Bethany held Leslie, she did so with a frown on her face and a furrow in her brow as she looked down at her young sister. Leslie seemed content to return the expression with a scowl of her own. Both girls seemed entirely unimpressed with the other.

“... Is this what all the fuss is about?” Bethany asked after a long moment.

“What do you mean?” Westley asked, his own expression somewhere between confused and perturbed.

“The baby,” Bethany said. “I thought she’d be a bit more impressive, ‘s all.” She looked up at her parents. “Everyone made such a big fuss about everything, you’d think she was one of them fancy ladies on Broadway.”

Westley chuckled, shaking his head. “All babies are impressive,” he told her. “You’ll understand when you have your own someday.”

Bethany looked unconvinced, but she didn’t object.

Finally, the last to hold Leslie was her youngest brother, older than her by only a scant few years. His name was Martin (“male”), and he was amazed to see his sister. His deep blue eyes were wide and shining as he balanced her in his thin arms. Though Leslie frowned up at him, he had nothing but smiles for her.

Martin was young, far too young for his future to be clear to anyone, but he already had a bright soul full of love for the world around him. As he grew, he would come to lose some of the naive spark he carried with him, but for the time being, his hope and optimism were his greatest qualities.

“Oh, gosh,” Martin said, “she’s so little!” He looked up at his mother, clearly blown away. “Was I ever this little?”

Anna chuckled and smiled indulgently at her youngest son. “You were,” she confirmed. “And someday she’ll grow up to be just as big as you!”

If it were possible, Martin’s eyes grew even wider, and he stared down at his sister some more. She continued glaring up at him, but he was unbothered by her apparent hostility.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “Just as big as me…” It was clear the idea was unimaginable to him, something incredible and worth celebration.

In the following years, Leslie would, indeed, grow to be just as big as Martin, but she wouldn’t stop there. She would tumble her way through her first steps and babble her way through her first words, her face set in a determined scowl the whole time. It was as though she felt she had something to prove from the moment she was born. And she would prove it, no matter what. The world loomed large and frightening, but she stared it down with a stiff upper lip and her tiny hands balled into fists.

---

The year of Leslie’s birth was a tumultuous one for the family. While the arrival of the new baby was a joyous occasion, only months later it would be followed by a terrible tragedy.

For reasons that the family didn’t understand at the time, Scott Cliffton threw himself from the Brooklyn Bridge. According to his friends, he’d suffered from combat fatigue. The war was done, but it never truly left Scott, eating him up inside even as he smiled and laughed and cradled his baby cousin.

In the years that followed, Leslie rarely heard Scott’s name. If he was spoken about at all, it was in hushed whispers and euphemisms. Sometimes, it seemed as though her parents were afraid to even say his name. He was no longer Scott Cliffton, the golden boy; he was now just him, the boy who never truly came home after the war ended.

As a child, Leslie never questioned any of this, never tried to fight for Scott’s memory. After all, she had no memories of Scott, only the faintest impression of strong yet gentle hands holding her protectively. She never knew the man he was, and now she never would.

But she never forgot his name. Though she never knew him, she would always remember his name.