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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 months

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"The district recreation club was the social center for the slum boys what the Y. M. C. A. was to their fellows at a slightly higher level of the social structure. At the age of fourteen, Williams was as tall and strong as most boys of sixteen or eighteen; and because of his fistic powers and general toughness was soon on terms of intimacy with members of the notorious Tanner Smith mob, which was then staging its last fight for control of the district (they lost out to the equally notorious Madden mob, which still controls that and other districts of the city). With other members of the mob, Williams took part in the various gangster activities; robbing freight cars, wharves, warehouses; exacting financial tributes from local store owners whom they terrorized with threats of bombing and other atrocities; but mainly in voting illegally and terrorizing non-Tammany voters on election day; and at other times terrorizing strikers or their employers (whichever side paid the most), and fighting with and raiding the headquarters of the Madden mob. Williams proved a valuable recruit and was soon as dangerous and skillful with a knife, club, or gun as he was with his clever fists.

Gradually he began going in with other gangsters for the more remunerative crimes (pay-roll robberies, safe-cracking, hold-ups, and the like); and before he was eighteen Williams was "keeping" a girl in a Broadway apartment and getting initiated into the night life of the city. His mother and sisters remained at the old home on West 49th Street, but Williams did not neglect them. He had long ago dropped even the pretence of legitimate work; but he contributed regularly and generously to the support of his mother and sisters and visited them almost daily.

Before he was twenty, Williams had been arrested a dozen times as a suspect in the various gangster killings and other activities of the city; but never did he serve a day in prison after appearing in court. The usual procedure (which the gangsters themselves preferred to formal arraignment and trial) was as follows: after a killing or robbery, the detectives would arrest and bring to headquarters any gangsters whom they could find, subject them to an intensive third degree (often beating them unmercifully), and then turn them loose when the beatings had failed to elicit evidence connecting them with the crime in question.

This was all a part of the regular routine of Williams's life; and while he took it as a matter of course, he had seen so much of corruption among detectives, district attorneys, and even judges that he came to have a strong hatred for representatives of law and order. Wise to the ways of the under-world, a shrewd and clever criminal who never worked except after laying carefully-thought-out plans, it was not until Williams tried to operate in a strange city, with gangsters he did not know, that he got into serious trouble.

In 1918, at the age of twenty, he was asked to come to Boston with three other gangsters to steal the pay roll of a large corporation. It was to be the Christmas pay roll, estimated at $60,000. Through some carelessness of the local tipsters, the information was inaccurate; so that Williams got only a comparatively small pay roll of $15,000, in the seizing of which he shot an armed guard who attempted to draw his gun. Because of the shooting (although the guard did not die for two years) and because of the prestige of the corporation, there was a great hue and cry about the crime. One of the Boston gangsters was arrested on suspicion.

Fearing a long prison term for himself, he implicated Williams and three other men. In spite of this, it is doubtful that Williams could have been convicted. The books of a New York firm of longshoremen showed that Williams and his pals had been working in New York on the day of the robbery! Thus did Williams plan his crimes before he went to work. But the man who had implicated him was persuaded to turn state's evidence; so, in spite of the efforts of a former district attorney, who had been paid a retainer of $3,000 to "fix" the case, Williams and his pals were given ten to fifteen-year terms in the state prison (the crooked ex-district attorney, by the way, was later disbarred and sent to prison at the time when two other district attorneys were disbarred and removed from office). The informer, as it happens, was killed within a few months.

Williams, as I came to know him in the prison, was in many ways a fine character. He was entirely reliable and honest with his friends, deceitful and treacherous with his enemies, and utterly without fear. He would never steal or harm poor people; he would select his victims solely from among the moneyed classes. From one point of view I have always found certain gangsters to be, on the whole, the very highest type of criminal. Although there are many hangers-on of a much lower grade in gang circles, the real gangster is in many ways a fellow who lives strictly up to a stern though predatory code of his own. I liked Williams, personally, better than any other criminal I have ever known.

But he was definitely antisocial in his attitude toward law and order and reformation. While he would admit the theoretical necessity of laws and policemen, he had seen so much of corruption in the ranks of law-enforcement officials that he knew himself to be no worse than many of these, and far better than some. He took the cynical attitude. "What the hell," he would say. "Everybody's out for the money. Get it, long as you don't have to take it from some poor bastard that can't afford to lose it. But get it. Once you've got it, nobody cares ---- where you got it."

When he left prison, after serving a little more than nine years, he merely became more cautious, going in for the bootleg and night-club racketeering which had developed during his years in prison. I met him in New York in the autumn of 1931. We were discussing the state of affairs in regard to unemployment and the slackness in racketeering profits. "It's pretty tough," said Williams. "I've got my apartment and my mother's home to keep up. My two sisters are married and their husbands haven't had work for months. There's not much money in the rackets, the way things are nowadays." I asked him, in view of this, how he was able to keep up his own establishment and his mother's and also help his sisters keep alive during the current depression.

"There's only one thing to do," said Williams. "I'm doing it, and so is almost every one I know. Grab a gun and go out and steal!" In his various attitudes and general character, Williams was typical of his kind of criminal.

- Victor F. Nelson, Prison Days and Nights. Second edition. With an introduction by Abraham Myerson, M.D. Garden City: Garden City Publishing Co., 1936. p. 85-88.

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iturbide · 5 months

Note

First, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR EXPLANATIONS I AM ABSORBING THEM-

Second- In terms of ‘history’, I don’t necessarily mean anything violent or such, I mean it more in terms of well… How the city was built, how the religious setting changed, how people of importance entered and maintained their positions. Just.. the things that are recorded and spoken about by historians.

Also- Now I’m Very Curious as to what brought Mirym and Dain there, but I have a feeling it’s Spoilers. That, or friendship.

I'M GLAD YOU'VE BEEN ENJOYING THEM I have. So much lore. It's ridiculous frankly.

But in terms of that history...there's really nothing of particular note? It was established first as a mining settlement to take advantage of both the mountains for quarrying and the nearby river for stone shipping, building up rather gradually from a utilitarian settlement to a settled village, then a larger town, and finally building out into a more proper 'city' (though anyone who's seen cities can tell that it's perhaps ambitious to call it such). The walls have been in development for quite a while, with the first iteration just being an attempt to control floods along the tributary (which were not overly successful; eventually they just had to let the plants grow, which also helped with filtration of the water) but gradually building out over years to surround the city, with gates as a security measure. Some of the oldest sectors of the city are the central plaza (where the market is held), the mill, and the craftsman's quarter near the southern edge, which ultimately put a hard limit on the overall growth in that direction since they can't really move their millhouse and the long-term use of those spaces has left distinct effects; similarly, the buildings closest to the craftsman's quarter are mostly used for storage rather than residency or sales since, y'know, that's where the loud and otherwise unpleasant trades do business (like the tanner).

The religious setting has been a change a long time coming, but it's a fairly routine story for all such cities. After a certain point, ambient magic in a city like that just dries up, and ends up mostly forgotten as the generations pass without anyone being able to effectively learn the craft, which in turn leads to their potential vilification. By the same turn, the old belief in Wild Spirits is forgotten along with magic, and what remains is a shadow of what was: in the case of the city, Six Gods and a Tainted Seventh (representing the elements of light, wood, earth, air, fire, water, and exiling the dark). The belief in Gods over Spirits has spread organically from settlement to settlement once it reaches a size where ambient magic is no longer present in usable quantities, with variations based on regional differences.

Given that this is a pretty self-sufficient town, there hasn't been so much to speak of regarding the everyday history. Magistrates come and go, marshals come and go, brought to their positions by virtue of their skills and sometimes stepping down, other times being removed. It's the kind of boring, dry, names and dates history that drives school children up the wall and I'm not putting any more work into it than that because I'm sparing my inner child.

As for what brought Miryn and Dain, you have to wait until Book 3

#answered #cheeseandcake #original fiction #summer storm #i know too much about this already honestly #the minutiae is drowning me #save me

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sylphidine · 3 months

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[Fic] Call Signs, Chapter 33

Fandom: Deltarune

‘Verse: Human AU

Pairing: Swatch/Spamton [Swatchton]

Characters: Spamton Addison, T.M. Tanner, Leroux Kaard, Lance O'Toole, GiGi McCray

Rating: Mature

Chapter title: Sweet And Sour Grapes

Chapter summary: Spamton and T.M. fit a lot more into a Sunday morning than either of the two of them had planned.

Author notes:

Again, apologies for the delay in posting. I did not intend to take TWO MONTHS between chapters. I work retail, so yes, the winter holidays definitely eat away at my writing time each year. But offline life, which is Always Interesting [insert sarcastic emoji here] decided to get Even More Interesting this year, and I've had to spend more time than I'd like clearing up the wreckage.

Anyway. On to the chapter. Warnings as always for angst and dark themes, sprinkled in amongst the fluph.

My thanks to @jaimistoryteller for last-minute beta-reading and hand-holding while I dithered over some of the details.

_________________

“You know, you’re the first person I’ve met who thinks in music the way I do.”

“R-really?”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” T.M. straightened up from where she’d been reshelving the LPs and CDs that Spamton handed her, one at a time. She was filing albums that had aged out from being “new acquisitions” and could be added to the radio station’s core library, housed in Prodo in a recessed alcove.

When T.M. had invited Spamton along this morning after breakfast, she had explained this was her usual Sunday task, self-imposed of course, but one that gave her enormous satisfaction.

Spamton got the impression that T.M. didn’t invite just anyone to do this task with her.

But things had changed between them since last night.

This morning should have been awkward as hell, once Spamton realized that there was an extra person in his and Swatch’s bed.

But, surprisingly, it wasn’t.

His brain registered that he must have fallen asleep in his clothes, as had Swatch. Spamton still had his arms around Swatch and his face buried in Swatch’s slightly scratchy sweater. That was normal.

What wasn’t normal was the warmth at his back… a warmth that felt like someone else’s back.

Spamton remembered T.M. lying down behind him last night. He himself had turned over to clamber onto Swatch, as was the nightly pattern for them both.

He remembered that she had put an arm loosely over his shoulders, not tightly under his arms and around his waist.

She had been an anchor, not a restraint.

He cautiously moved from his usual position on his right side, to gradually be half on his back, half on his left side.

A head of blonde hair with aqua-blue tips was on a pillow next to him. Half under blankets, he also saw an arm clad in a black and silver sweater with a cat-and-moon pattern.

The puzzle pieces came together then as Spamton remembered blowing an emotional gasket the night before and apologetically telling T.M. that it would be all right if she stayed over. He had felt awful about ruining the cuddle puddle the three of them had had going, but he couldn’t stop all of the rage at Mike from choking him.

Still, it wasn’t T.M.’s fault that he was a screwed-up mess.

Not only was everyone in their clothes, but he was lying on top of the big comforter. At some point either Swatch or T.M. must have gotten up to find an extra pillow and extra blankets to throw over all three of them.

Cozy and reassuring.

He must have twitched, or his breathing must have changed, because his thoughts were interrupted by a quiet voice asking, “Y-You awake?”

"Yes," he managed to croak out, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

And then Spamton woke up for real.

His arms were still around Swatch, but the two of them were the only ones in the bed.

The sensations of three, not two, had felt so real, though.

He resolved to mull the night over later. First things first… nature was calling. No, more accurately, nature was SCREAMING.

He carefully disengaged himself from Swatch, who remained deeply asleep. Not that Spamton blamed them. Swatch had definitely earned a morning of sleeping in.

The question on the tip of Spamton's mind was answered when he sat up and put his hand down on a piece of paper. T.M. had left a note.

Gonna crash on the couch. Wake me up and we can do breakfast.

He quickly grabbed some clothes to change into in the small downstairs bathroom.

When he headed into the living room, T.M. was already pulling herself up into a sitting position on the couch. Spamton felt a tiny flash of amusement at her hair sticking out in various directions. For once she was the rumpled one.

"Morning, Short Stuff," she greeted him. "Guess you saw my note." Her voice sounded normal… chipper, sweet, no hidden undertones.

"Uh huh,” he answered. “Should we - should we wait f-for Swatch?"

She flung off the blanket she’d been using and stood up, stretching. "Nah, let them sleep. We can go to the caf, I still have guest points from last semester."

That was a relief to him, although he would have been willing to pay his way. "Okay. B-but let me leave a note."

“Sure thing.”

___________________________

There was an unexpected delay before breakfast, unexpected at least on Spamton’s part. T.M. insisted on stopping by her dorm first to change clothes, saying, “Esther will never let me live it down if she sees me for breakfast in the same outfit I showed up for dinner in!”

Spamton grinned at that. He remembered Esther from last semester. He was fond of her because she never made a fuss or gave him the side-eye when he asked her to halve the portion of whatever was being served at mealtimes, unlike some of the other staff who would make height jokes in response to his request. And another trait that endeared Esther to him was she seemed to believe that every day should be Talk Like A Pirate Day.

He hadn’t expected to be greeted by a pair of actual pirates when T.M. unlocked the door to her suite.

The shorter of the two barely came up to Spamton's waist, brandishing what looked like a garden trowel. He wore a jaunty black cardboard hat, decorated with a skull and crossbones. Otherwise his outfit was that of any other kindergartner. He had soft, baby-fine brown hair, bright blue eyes, and dimples in his pale cheeks.

“Ho ho! I’m the bad guy!” the smaller pirate chortled, sticking his tongue out. The taller, wearing a similar homemade hat, was quick to say, "Lancelot Roland O'Toole! Standeth down, swabby. These be fellow captains here to parley." Leroux followed this up almost immediately by mouthing, half-silently, "Please playeth alonge."

Leroux's admonishment was apparently acceptable, because Lance looked back, smiled, and replied, "okay, lesser dad", as he put his improvised weapon away.

T.M. stepped into the conversational breach as she strode into the living room. She intoned, "Permission to come aboard, Captains?" At the young boy's almost regal nod, a sharp contrast to his delighted grin, she bent down to shake Lance's hand, then pointed behind her to introduce Spamton.

"Pirate Lancelot, this is Pirate Stanton. Please treat him as an honored guest."

There was the sound of laughter from the next room, followed by GiGi's voice chiming in with the comment, "Welcome To The Poop Deck!"

Leroux looked pained, but rolled his eyes fondly and shrugged in a what can you do kind of way. T.M. rolled her own eyes back at him in a far less fond manner and continued, "And if you good shipmates will excuse me, I'm feeling filthy as a bilge rat."

She moved off in what Spamton presumed was the direction of her own room, tossing over her shoulder as she went, "If Pirate Regina has used up all the hot water and not left any for my shower, I'm going to make her walk the plank."

The kindergartner giggled at that, and then grabbed Spamton’s hand, tugging him towards a chair. Leroux followed, pulling his own pirate hat off and running a dark hand through his silvery beaded braids. He sat on the couch next to a pile of winter coats, and Lance plopped himself down to sit on the floor.

"Stan-ton. That’s a funny name. Your hair is funny too. Can I call you Grunkle Stan?"

It took Spamton a few seconds to realize what Lance was referencing, but once he did, he decided to roll with it. He leaned forward in his chair and answered in a gravelly voice, doing his best to disguise his stutter, "Kid, I think you’re m-mixing me up with Ford. But I'll take that as a compliment!"

That response had Lance literally rolling on his back laughing and waving his feet in the air. GiGi came into the room, stuffing one last textbook into her backpack, and commented, “Watch where you’re kicking, little guy. Remember to respect the pottery.” Leroux got to his own feet, saying, “Cometh now, my irrepressible prince, it is time to go.”

“Okay!” The little boy grabbed his coat off the pile, and then handed GiGi hers, saying, “Here you go, girldad.”

Spamton was impressed by the kid’s good manners, but was starting to feel confused about the dynamics in the room. Leroux picked up on the vibe and shot Spamton a worried look disguised by a smile, saying, “Always good to see you. I hope to get a chance to talketh more with you at the next staffe meeting.” He grabbed his own coat from the arm of the couch, and the three left the apartment.

What was THAT all about? Spamton mused to himself. You’d think this was THEIR home and that T.M. was the visitor.

And, furthermore, it was one thing to know that his boss at the radio station had a child; it was another thing to meet that child and to realize that the little boy looked nothing like Leroux and didn’t even share his last name. And what was the deal with the kid calling Leroux his “lesser dad”?

The thought crossed Spamton’s mind that the old Gainsboro Stanton Addison would have felt obligated to be appalled, assuming the nickname was a rude one on the child’s part. He was glad to find himself intrigued instead, and felt vindicated in his hard-fought-for belief that family was where you found it.

But if this was how GiGi treated T.M. in the apartment that they were supposed to share, it was no wonder that T.M. found excuses to study, eat, and sleep elsewhere.

The possibility of asking T.M. to move into the townhouse with him and Swatch flashed across his mind once again. Swatch had even joked about it last night, before everything had gone pear-shaped.

Then it’s settled. None of us are ever leaving this couch again. Sorry, Moggy, you live here now.

Swatch had been joking, hadn’t they?

The lady herself appeared in the doorway not even a moment later and interrupted his further reflection on the topic. T.M. was wearing a deep purple sweater with a wide leather belt, as well as skinny jeans tucked into knee-high fringed boots. She shrugged herself into her studded leather jacket. “Sorry to leave you with the pirate crew, but I really was going to crawl out of my skin if I didn’t get cleaned up. You ready for breakfast?”

“V-very ready.”

____________________

“J-just so I know what you - you mean by ‘thinking in m-music’, do you mean you actually see scenes from your life as song - song lyrics?” That wasn’t exactly what he meant to say, but Spamton was finding it hard to lay his hands on the words he wanted.

T.M. looked over at him and tilted her head to the side. “Not quite, but that sounds really cool, too. Like those AMVs that people make for their favorite characters. No, what I mean is, it sounds to me like when someone says something to you, your brain leaps immediately into responding with a song lyric.”

“Huh. I d-don’t know that I ever p-put two and two t-t-together like that, but you may be on to something.” A suspicion crossed his mind and he blurted out, before he could think better of it, “Hey. Is this about - about last night? Because I’m still tired of talking about Mike.”

She picked up an empty album jacket and tapped him gently on the head with it. “It’s not always about you. But his name was Mike, huh?”

Spamton was torn between wanting to curse himself out for letting Mike's name slip and wanting to laugh out loud at how slyly she'd maneuvered him, so he settled for a snort and a smirk, saying, “Give the lucky lady ten points, she only needs another ten to win the kewpie doll.”

T.M. smirked back at him at that, and then gave him a piercing look. “You know, Swatch was right. Your stutter really DOES go away when you’re pissed off.”

How was he supposed to answer that?

At the sight of his conflicted expression, T.M. rushed in to continue, “Don’t blame Swatch. They didn’t give up any secrets about you. We were talking about Leroux, believe it or not, and how all that ‘ye olde Englishe’ pose of his goes away when he’s really serious about something, and Swatch mentioned something about when Catto tried to go two hours without talking, and then got a fit of hiccups for another two hours, and God, I’m just babbling and making things worse and putting my foot deeper in my mouth, aren’t I?”

She looked so stricken as she said that last bit that Spamton had to laugh. “N-no, you’re fine. If I - I think about it, it’s actually f-f-flattering to know my partner talks about me to his best friend.”

“Damn straight,” T.M. replied in a relieved voice. “They really love you, you know. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“Oh, I d-don’t. We - we got that settled after the initial m-m-m-misunderstanding.”

“Good.”

“But about last night…”

Spamton had to reach up to do it, but he used the same empty record album jacket [NURSERY CRYME by Genesis] to whap her on the head. “Let’s t-t-talk about you, not me, T.M.”

She crinkled her eyes and wrinkled her nose at him with an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Do we have all day?”

His phone chose that moment to interrupt with a text notification, and he held it out to her so she could read it.

From: SWATCH

Sunday: 10:52

Got your note, thank you {REALLY} for letting me sleep. Didn’t know how much I needed it. You coming back here before your work shift or should I meet you at Luigi’s after?

“Well, then. If you don’t mind hanging out with me, instead of flying back to Birdman, I suppppppppppppppose I can let you in on my deep dark secrets,” T.M. said flippantly.

Spamton matched her tone and replied, “Mmmmm, dish to me baby, I love me some d-deep dish.” He typed back to Swatch, It makes sense if I just stay on campus for now and meet up at Luigi’s later. And are we food shopping tonight? It’s supposed to snow this week.

The answer came back immediately. Sounds good. Although I’ll believe snow when I see it. I’m walking around topless. And bottomless.

He grinned to himself and texted, Promise?

“Oh my God, you’re actually blushing! You two are so cute and domestic, I’m gonna melt into goop, I swear.”

Spamton’s grin froze. He'd forgotten in the few brief moments of his texting exactly who was still peering over his shoulder.

He looked up at T.M. in embarrassment, but her face was neither mocking nor judgemental, and her next words sounded thoughtful, as though they weren’t meant to reach his ears. “I wish I had what you and Swatch have.”

Should he pretend he hadn’t heard?

The decision was taken out of his hands. While he was trying to come up with something to say, T.M. brushed him aside, physically as well as verbally by muttering, “Be right back,” as she beat a hasty exit from the Prodo studio.

When she came back, Spamton put on a show of needing to also hit the restroom, to give her a moment. He took his time, but not excessively so. On his return, he noticed that the door to Prodo was closed and the electric RECORDING IN SESSION! DO NOT DISTURB! sign was lit up over the transom.

After a few nerve-wracking moments, T.M. opened the door and let him in, but the sign stayed lit. She closed the door behind him, turned away and shimmied up to perch on the counter behind the mixing board, kicking her legs nervously. She pointed her finger at him and asked, for all the world sounding like a prophet of doom, “Do you have a ‘Go To Hell’ playlist? I think everyone should have a ‘Go To Hell’ playlist.”

Spamton took a seat near her on one of the office stools, swiveling pensively back and forth on its casters. “That’s - that’s a fair question. I assume you h-have one of your own?”

She nodded. “I’ve actually got multiples. And lucky me, one of them is three-quarters of the songs on one album.”

“Huh.”

“But I need a new playlist for my current situation.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My mother wants to marry some guy she's known for all of four months and move to fucking New Jersey to breed racehorses.”

She let that sink in, and he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “That’s - yeah, that’s what I’d c-call…. Something. I d-d-don’t know what I’d call it, but… yeah.” Spamton could see how upset T.M. was, even without having any context. He felt like it was his turn to be dancing in a minefield.

“What it is, my friend, is pure unadulterated narcissistic selfishness.” T.M.’s voice rose with every word, until she was practically screaming. “The woman didn’t ask me, she TOLD me. On Tuesday night. Right before you stopped by. And she doesn’t even have the decency to wait until I graduate. She’s got all her plans set for the end of April. So just like Swatch, in a couple of months I’ll have no home either…”

She paused for breath, and then spoke more calmly. “It doesn’t bug me when you and Swatch make goo-goo eyes at each other, not like GiGi and Leroux. Because I’ve got a gut feeling that you and my Swatchy are going to go the distance, and I’m also pretty sure that GiGi’s going to get bored… or scared… and dump Leroux. I just feel bad for Leroux’s kid… he’ll latch onto anyone who shows him the tiniest scrap of affection.” She snorted as a thought seemed to strike her. “Too damn relatable.”

That was a bomb that Spamton didn’t even want to START defusing. Too damn relatable for me, too.

T.M. seemed to have run out of steam by then. They both sat there in silence for a few minutes, until T.M. said, entirely too brightly, “So! Before you head off for your library job. How’s about a little music therapy?”

"For you, or f-for me?"

"Tell you what. Make it interesting, let's each pick one song." She wore more of a rictus than a smile. "You go first."

He nodded uneasily. "Okay. B-but I need - need a minute."

Spamton closed his eyes to give the impression that he was thinking hard, but almost as soon as T.M. had mentioned a "Go To Hell" playlist, he knew one song that should be on his. It had been a staple on the “psychic jukebox” at The Grass Roots Tavern; he remembered that John the bartender always used to make rude comments when it came on, so he never picked it himself. But the song satisfied something dark in Spamton’s soul.

“G-got it,” he said now, opening his eyes. He flipped through the CD racks until he found the Billy Talent album he was looking for. He fitted the disc into the slot on the mixing board, adjusted the volume so that it was loud, but not likely to burst anyone’s eardrums, and hit the “play” button.

I stumble through the wreckage

Rusted from the rain

There's nothing left to salvage

No one left to blame

Among the broken mirrors

I don't look the same

I'm rusted from the rain

Dissect me 'til my blood runs

Down into the drain

My bitter heart is pumping

Oil into my veins

I'm nothing but a tin man

Don't feel any pain

I don't feel any pain

I'm rusted from the rain

Go on, crush me like a flower

Rusted from the rain

Come on, strip me of my power

Beat me with your chains

And if I'm the king of cowards

You're the queen of pain

I'm rusted from the rain

You hung me like a picture

Now I'm just a frame

I used to be your lapdog

Now I'm just a stray

Shackled in the graveyard

Left here to decay

I'm rusted from the rain

Go on, crush me like a flower

Rusted from the rain

Come on, strip me of my power

Beat me with your chains

And if I'm the king of cowards

You're the queen of pain

I'm rusted from the rain

He hadn’t realized that he’d closed his eyes again and was practically panting until T.M.’s voice broke through the blood-red haze of his rage. Tears soaked his eyelashes as he blinked at her behind his glasses. She was sitting on the other swivel stool next to him, holding his hands gently but firmly in hers.

“Wow, man. Just… wow. That wasn’t what I expected you to pick, but it kind of proves my point.”

He thought he’d gotten all the poison out when he’d broken down all those times in front of Ballew after Ballew had found him and brought him home.

When he’d verbally vomited up all the details to Dr. George and to his therapist, in his months of treatment, about what he’d put his body through during his homeless stretch.

When he’d outlined the timeline of his rise and fall to Swatch a few days ago.

Would there never be an end to it?

“Your turn,” he said gruffly, his throat feeling like he’d swallowed a handful of razor blades and then washed them down with a mug of bile. “T-tell me who you hate as much as I - I hate Mike.”

T.M. had an odd expression on her face as she dropped his hands and pressed the “play” button for her own selection. “Take a wild guess,” she said quietly as the voice of Tori Amos rolled out from the speakers.

Every finger in the room is pointing at me

I want to spit in their faces then I get afraid what that could bring

I got a bowling ball in my stomach, I got a desert in my mouth

Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now

I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets

Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

I've been raising up my hands, drive another nail in

Just what god needs, one more victim

Why do we crucify ourselves every day?

I crucify myself and nothing I do is good enough for you

I crucify myself every day

I crucify myself and my heart is sick of being

I said my heart is sick of being in chains

Chains

Got a kick for a dog begging for love

I got to have my suffering so that I can have my cross

I know a cat named Easter, he says, will you ever learn

You're just an empty cage, girl, if you kill the bird

I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets

Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

I've been raising up my hands, drive another nail in

Got enough guilt to start my own religion

Why do we crucify ourselves every day?

I crucify myself and nothing I do is good enough for you

I crucify myself every day

I crucify myself and my heart is sick of being

I said my heart is sick of being in chains

Chains

Please be

Save me

I cry

And now T.M. was crying as the piano notes reached a crescendo along with Tori’s wails of anguish.

Spamton didn’t think, he acted.

He only wanted to comfort his friend.

But somehow he ended up half in her lap and she half in his, one of her legs trapped between both of his, her hands in his hair, his hands cupping her face, the two of them just one heartbeat away from kissing.

#deltarune #deltarune fanfiction #fic: call signs #spamton addison #tabitha montgomery tanner #sylph writes

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f4erienotk4t · 7 months

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Masterlist of Information (FTNewGen - kkumri)

The information on this page was collected from old Tumblr posts of kkumri. All the information was said directly or implied by kkumri.

Luna Dragneel. She is eccentric and acts out alone. She is oblivious when people hit on her. She uses color language (curse words). She is, secretly, a bookworm. She loves strawberries dipped in tuna paste. Gale and Storm call her a “Luna-tic”. She fawns over Storm’s “battle mode”. Luna is afraid of revealing her feelings for Storm, because he already goes soft on her when sparring. She spars with Gale. Her guild mark is located on her right shoulder and pink. She is a tsundere (harsh personality, but gradually becomes kinder). She is seventeen years old. She is a Sagittarius.

Nash Dragneel. He is gay. He has a huge appetite. He was born with heterochromia (one eye is a different color than the other). He is approachable, loud, and easily bashful and irritable. His emotions are easily wavered as well. He blushes crazy and cannot think straight when complimented, leading to people using his weakness to their advantage. He also tends to overthink. He is very forgetful. He is oblivious when people hit on him. He inherited his father’s fierce glare (when upset) and uses colorful language (curse words). He thinks Gale is hot (platonically). Nash and Storm like to spend time together and drink hot chocolate when it’s cold. His guild mark is located on his left shoulder blade. He likes to marathon tv shows and sports. His hobbies include boxing, writing, and gaming. He is a Celestial Mage and uses Gun Magic. He takes and learns advice from his mother. Nash and Sylvia get along well! His parents accept him after his relationship with Reiki becomes public, and the news shocks the guild because “it wasn’t obvious”. In the future, it is likely that Nash and Reiki open an orphanage (basically adopting dozens of children). He is sixteen years old. He is a Pisces.

Storm Fullbuster. He is very frank (direct) in terms of communication. He tends to drift off in his daydreams. He has learned his father’s stripping habit. He likes soft things and ice pops. His hobbies include dancing, skating, and cooking. He uses Water Body and Ice Make Magic. He curses while in “battle mode”. His guild mark is located on his left pectoral and blue. He feels confident and secure of Luna’s reciprocal feelings for him. He understands Luna’s fears, of their relationship changing if she reveals her feelings for him, once he sees the gleam in her eyes when she spars with Gale. Storm and Nash like to spend time together and drink hot chocolate when it’s cold. He is seventeen years old. He is a Leo.

Sylvia Fullbuster. She is the most proper of her siblings. She can be dramatic. She had some complications during her birth, so she is weaker than her twin brother. She is older than her twin brother, Rin. She idolizes Asuka Connell. She uses water based magic and mainly uses them for healing purposes (she learns from her mother and Wendy Marvell). She has the ability to summon rain. Sylvia and Nash get along well! She is bolder than Akatsuki. Her guild mark is located on her right hip. She is eleven years old. She is an Aries.

Rin Fullbuster. He has a fraternal twin sister and he is protective of her. He is hot headed, dramatic, and easily jealous. He is also the worst to anger, because he causes the most destruction when upset. He is labeled as the joker of the FTNewGen. He is tanner than his twin sister, because he is sporty, and the time he spends outside, means he is in the harsh sunlight. He has a “big potty mouth”. He learned his father’s stripping habit. He idolizes Asuka Connell. He likes Rosemary (“the plant”) and betting. HIs hobbies include dressing up and sleeping. He has a cross tattoo on the back of his neck. He uses Plasma Beams and Earth Elements Magic. His magic requires a lot of high pain tolerance and he has the ability to summon lava from the ground. His guild mark is located on his right hip. He is eleven years old. He is an Aries.

Reiki Fernandes. He is bisexual. He can be bossy and competitive, yet is cool headed, well-mannered, and polite. He inherited his mother’s intense glare. He also is prepared for anything and finds cleaning swords therapeutic (like his mother). He loves his mother. He can be a “drama queen” and is a trusted leader. He usually steps out of brawls victorious and unharmed. He is an S-Class mage. He is a “lousy assed drinker” (he turns to it when he gets too stressed). He is quite vague in terms of communication. He is more buff than Storm. He tends to “baby” his little sister. He thinks Gale is hot (platonically). He begged Gale to “make him look more like his father”, so Gale gave Reiki his facial tattoo. He dated Nova for a bit, before breaking up with her because she was not her true self like how she was with Gale. He helps out his father with cooking at home. He likes strawberry cakes and corny films. His hobbies include teasing guildmates (especially Nash), training and exploring. His parents accept him after his relationship with Nash becomes public, and the news shocks the guild because “it wasn’t obvious”. In the future, it is likely that Reiki and Nash open an orphanage (basically adopting dozens of children). He uses Destruction Magic and is a sword wielder. His guild mark is located on his right shoulder blade. He is nineteen years old. He is a Leo.

Rosemary Fernandes. She loves her father. She is cool headed and well-mannered, but also a kamidere (self-absorbed). She loves awards and profit, yet is not greedy. She was born with an insane amount of magic power, leading to multiple failed kidnappings by evil wizards. “Holding back” is not in her dictionary. She is an S-Class mage when she becomes a teenager. She prefers solo missions. She uses Crystal Control and Energy Manipulation Magic. Her guild mark is located on the middle of her lower back. She likes nature, mementos, and music. Her hobbies include sword fighting, sewing, and dancing. She is ten years old. She is an Aquarius.

Gale Redfox. As a child, he was all “sunshine and rainbows”. He used to be weak and timid, causing him to be bullied frequently. He was a HUGE mama’s boy and, now, tries his best to overcome his attachment to his mother. He got involved in bad company, which turned him into a rebel. He used his magic power to prank people and destroy public property. He started to work out and hone his powers to prove people wrong. He dyed his hair dark blue to appear more intimidating. The more trouble he got into, the more his father got worried, leading to fights between the two to vent out frustrations. Gajeel tells Gale about his time in Phantom Lord and how he doesn’t want his son following the same path. Gale returns to Fairy Tail to make amends. His guild mark is located on his left pectoral. He prefers solo missions. The Fullbuster twins seem to have taken a liking to him! He spars with Luna. He learns tattoo art in his free time and believes his mother’s Script Magic is the prettiest art there is. He is a much better singer than his father and, secretly, has singing lessons with Mirajane Strauss. He likes to eat mutton with mint ice cream. He never curses, but he does label or nickname people. He is a kuudere (shut out, cold, shows no emotions). Gale is the one who gave Reiki his face tattoo after Reiki was begging him to make him more like his father. His feisty relationship with Nova causes him to fall for her (unknowingly). Her mental strength encourages Gale to become more powerful to win her heart, even when he knew she fell for Reiki. When Nova breaks down, after learning Reiki is together with Nash, Gale comforts her and confesses his feelings. He tells her he loves her sassy, prideful, vulgar, and hot headed self (along with her good, kind heart). He starts to go out on more missions with Nova and realizes the reciprocal feelings. He is eighteen years old. He is a Scorpio.

“Little Redfox daughter”. Her possible names are Mackenzie, Venetia, or Izusa. She is possibly short or "little". She is possibly younger or "little(r)" than her brother.

“MIRAXUS son”. His possible names are Kai, Raiden, or Kakumi. He is an S-Class mage. He looks scary, but is not.

Nova Dreyar. Her father treats her like his little princess. She is sassy and powerful. She can be intimidating (like her parents). She prides herself in maintaining Fairy Tail’s powerful reputation, but stresses out because of the public’s expectation of her being just as powerful as her parents. She trains herself extensively to the point of exhaustion, and her parents intervened to convince her that she did not have to live up to anyone’s expectations. Nova would taunt and tease Gale to pressure him into becoming more powerful to prove her wrong. She keeps a close eye on Nash and Rin (the more destructive members of Fairy Tail). She is closest to Asuka Connell, Reiki Fernandes, and Gale Redfox. She falls for Reiki and that becomes glaringly obvious. Nova and Reiki dated for a while before the relationship ended. She becomes vulnerable with Gale, who comforts and confesses his feelings for her, and reveals her frailty when it comes to the matters of her heart. The pair go out on more missions together and Nova realizes her true feelings for Gale. She vents her frustrations through witty sarcasm. She likes horoscopes and horse riding. Her hobbies include bartending and biking. Her guild mark is located on her right thigh. She uses Omnicounter Magic. She is eighteen years old. She is a Capricorn.

Akatsuki Eucliffe. He is Sabertooth’s log keeper and, possibly, has no magic power. His guild mark is located on his left shoulder. He is very intelligent. He likes bowties and ties. His hobbies include reading, writing, and photography. He believes Sylvia is a pretty girl, and he is shy and secretive about his feelings for her. He is eleven years old. He is a Virgo.

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winedark · 12 days

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thoughts n prayers i bought self/gradual tanner which is honestly something i never thought i would do but my legs have not seen sunlight in 2 decades and it SHOWS 😭

#beehive whispers #i don't want my tattoo to fade either!

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jasperhaleobsessed · 23 days

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!!!!Contains spoiler for the short second life of Bree tanner!!!!

I read the short second life of Bree tanner for the first time people weren't lying when they said it was darker and sadder. By the end of the book I did feel kinda bad for her especially because of how Jane talked to her, she was cold, indifferent etc, etc. And the fact that she wanted information but tortured her which was unnecessary because she was gonna tell her. And then Felix killed her. 😭 When I read Eclipse for the first time that scene almost made me cry I felt so disturbed and shocked. I'm very interested to see what will happen to freaky Fred. I think he's intriguing and his gift seems really interesting! But overall I felt bad for her since she gradually was figuring everything out and it was too late to back away by the time the Volturi came. I honestly think she would have been a good addition to the Cullen family and I think Stephanie Meyers really missed out on that one. I give this book between a 3-4 stars.

#text #the short second life of bree tanner #bree tanner #twilight #twilight saga #the cullens #the cullen clan #the volturi #freaky fred

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cloveroctobers · 25 days

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STRAWBERRY CRUSH — STELLA KIDD [Spring Prompts]

A/N: alright, alright you caught me! I may or may not have a crush on Stella and thought it was only fair to write a little something since I am binge-watching after all—currently finishing up season six as I write this! In short: Yes we love Stellaride over here but this one specifically is for my wlw, you’re welcome!

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + I’m using: 6. “I am going to have a magical picnic and you can’t do anything to stop it!” “Yeah, but the bugs can.” + 16. “Your beauty outshines all the flowers.” “Are you sure? The flowers are really pretty this year.”

WARNINGS: reader is a southern plant/earth lover, this is what it’s like to see Stella crushing but unsure, + written in MY version of HC’s/note form.

᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘ 𓅪 ⚘𖥧᠂ 𖡼᠃ ˖𓍢ִ໋ ᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘ 𓅪 ⚘𖥧᠂ 𖡼᠃ ˖𓍢ִ໋ ᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘

Strawberries require well drained soil, they must be placed on a gradual slope, and receive full sunlight in order to experience successful growth.

That’s something your grandfather first told you, once you were old enough to get into farming.

It’s never left your mind even with his passing and you always had the best eye when it came to picking produce.

Granted, picking that particular item in a mini mart in the city might not be the best choice but Stella made sure to put the red berry on the list.

She wanted the best snacks or else she would leave you hanging on this outing—just like she ditched her second date with the guy from 98–to be with you.

Stella can’t help but to catch a glimpse of you at the end of one aisle, you’re by the freezers now and you’re standing on your tippy toes, teal silk shirt raising above your fitted jeans and revealing tatted skin as you grab a beverage.

The height difference is something she has to get used to and often caught her mind thinking about whenever you were face to face and she would have to play it off as her being tired instead of daydreaming about what your lips would feel like.

“You ready, Stella star?” Your hip is bumping against hers before you carry on towards the registers.

It’s your own personal nickname for her and it has a cuteness to it with your contrast of a southern twang. However when each of you are out fighting fires, you on squad and her on her truck 81, she has to learn how not to miss it as much, as you go forth with using her last name like everyone else.

The man at the register jokes, “You ladies buying the whole store?”

You rack your red nails against the counter, “hm…you sell lottery tickets? My friend here is feeling lucky.”

“I mean, with a babe like you, who wouldn’t be?” He winks at you while Stella raises her brows with a cross of her arms.

He rings up two tickets before continuing with the rest of the items.

You and Stella are grabbing the bags before you say one last thing, “also it’s mango season so you may want to step it up with your mangoes since yours are rottin’ in the back, the last thing you want is for the insects to spread to the rest of the underwhelming products. Now, that’ll be all! You have a good one.”

Stella winks at the man for good measure who scowls at the both of you on your exit.

“His store is crappy anyway.” Stella sasses as the both of you load up her car some more, “There’s a way better one downtown, closer to lake shore.”

“Noted for next time.”

“Ohhh, look at you already thinking about spending more time with little ‘ol fabulous me?” Stella places a hand on her chest dramatically while she makes her way over to the driver’s side.

You smile as you open the passenger side, “what can I say? Maybe I just can’t get enough of you, Stella-Star.” Before climbing into the vehicle, leaving the dark haired woman to be impressed at your charm while also feeling her cheeks warm.

The drive to lake shore drive is full of Chicago’s vibrant buildings and singing along to the radio while you both smoothly move along with the traffic.

The ride felt shorter than it was, like time often felt between the two of you when you had the chance to have it.

Stella was definitely in her head about this, wondering if it was a date and knew chatting about it (unwillingly) with Otis and Joe was a lost cause so she chose to hit up your shared girl friends to see if you gave them any insight.

Gabby and Sylvie were 1000% sure it was a date—although they claim you didn’t say or gave much away when you causally brought it up. Stella even went as far to pick Cap and Tony’s brain before Severide could get a whiff and tease her about how awkward she was being.

Kelly was actually the first one to pinpoint that Stella was “drooling” over you and kept pushing for Stella to just go for it.

He would hint at things and then act like he wasn’t and that left Stella thinking maybe he was trying to set her up! to make a fool outta herself but she believed Kelly wouldn’t trick her like that, especially if this had the potential to be serious.

He had her back and she had his…they were good friends like that.

So when you approached after an extremely long shift with this idea, Stella almost collapsed to her knees.

The both of you rarely had alone time together, it was always in group settings but when you did share conversations privately—Stella felt something shift between you two recently and she was still trying to pinpoint when exactly that happened.

See…there she was being too much in her head about it!

“We should have brought some bikes out here,” Stella comments as she carries her portion of bags, glancing at the chicagoans who flew by on the biking path.

You shrug, “here’s the thing…I never could get that down.”

“What?!”” Stella is shocked, “aren’t you from the south? Don’t tell me you ran or walked everywhere with those roads? Or wait…rode horses?”

You snorted, “I never was much of a horse girl either since my ass and thighs always ended up hurting afterwards AND i watched one kick the jelly out of my Grammy! Call me traumatized from that point on. I left those things to my gramps and brothers to deal with while I spent time with the chickens and cows.”

“And the yams and green beans.” Stella jokes while you walk side by side, scoping out a good spot of greenery.

Pointing up ahead at a hill like portion that had a great view of the water and also the buildings behind you, ending up being the winner as the both of you headed towards the incline.

“I have you know that my family has won competitions for the best veggies! And if my Grammy was here, she’d show off her mountain of photos to you.” You’re stretching out some blankets, one of them being a incredibly soft birthday gift from Brett who claimed that she purchased it from a Portuguese woman who handmade it at the market.

“I’m not arguing with ya there,” Stella raises her hands in surrender, “you country folk are built different…can’t exactly say better but different!”

You scoff with a shake of your head, “you city slickers.”

Stella laughs to herself as you make yourself comfortable, sitting crossed legged before pulling a full on woven basket from behind you.

“Where the heck did you hide that?”

“Can’t reveal all my secrets can I?” You grin, happy that you could surprise her, “I am going to have a magical picnic and you can’t do anything to stop it!”

A picnic on lake shore was not entirely what Stella was expecting…honestly she had no clue what this day entailed besides the fact that all she needed was good snacks to be all in.

She’s getting ready to sit across from you but not without saying, “yeah, but the bugs can.”

“Don’t tell me thee Stella-Star is an afraid of a little green friend.”

“That ain’t no friend of mine,” Stella’s face is scrunched up as she watched the grasshopper get comfy on her portion of the blanket, “…can you uh—get it?”

You laugh, “really?” As you lean forward, holding out a bottle of water so the insect can crawl onto before you lead it elsewhere, “there. Nobody was harmed and everyone is safe.”

“You’re lucky I like you, otherwise I would have stomped its ass out,” Stella huffs as she plops down now staring at the bottle you used, “also that one is yours.”

“Understood,” you laugh once more before opening up the basket to reveal it contents, leaving Stella further impressed as she peeks inside.

It’s such a good day in Chicago, little birds chirping along, the spin on the bike wheels in the distance could still be heard up on the slope, while the wind brushes by from the lake and the sunlight still shined bright although the city’s buildings were as tall as they could be.

There’s a brief silence as you dive into the snacks and take turns from the jug that contained a berry lemonade you actually made, before falling into natural chatter.

It felt right being here with each other and it’s something you already knew that you would want to do again.

You never doubted that.

The sunlight was behind Stella whereas it shined over you. The both of you found that each of you were a beautiful sight to witness and Stella was just glad she chose to wear her hair back into a ponytail since the spring wind picked up every so often.

Soon you’re laying side by side now, just a inch of space in between your heads but close enough to feel the warmth from each other and for you to smell the amber, Tonka, and plum that radiates from her frame.

“You smell good, girl.” You comment, pulling yourself from zoning out while making Stella pry open her eyes.

The way you’re peering up at her, almost makes her choke on her own air. “Thanks,” she manages to wheeze out, “I picked it out myself!”

Stella knows she sounds silly but you find amusement in her pride nonetheless.

So she attempts to clean up, arm cradling the back of her head as a smirk appears on her lips at her next best idea with the compliment flying out of her lips, “Your beauty outshines all the flowers.”

There’s barely a daisy embedded in the grass somewhere up ahead but it’s the first thing that comes out of her pretty pouty lips.

You squint up at her as you question, “Are you sure? The flowers are really pretty this year.”

You would know better than her with what’s in season and what not but something tells Stella, just by the way you break your stare that you may have some flaws you’re not too proud to speak about and that alone makes Stella frown a bit.

Before she can register what she’s doing, her fingers are reaching for your jaw, pulling your attention back to her’s, “are you kidding?! I’m damn sure and as corny as this is going to sound: you’d be my first flower I’d pick out of any garden. Anybody would and that’s because I said so! My word means a lot ya know?”

Your eyes shine like water but you don’t hold back a snort, “is does huh? Well I guess I have no choice but to believe you then.”

Stella’s chewing on her bottom lip now because there’s something in the air that’s telling her to just plant one on you.

“Stop me at any time,” she starts with a deep inhale, catching your eyes briefly on her mouth.

The corner’s of your mouth lift as you whisper, “do your worst, Stella-star.”

And with her lips on yours, you exhale as Stella breathes you in. Both hands are cupping your face as your lips move together in perfect unison and your hands shift from grasping her shoulder then down to her waist.

She’s watching your face in complete bliss when she decides to pull away but not fully, “was that okay?” She says against your lips.

“More than okay,” you nod at her with a beam before moving forward with another, “and I don’t think I said i was finished.”

Which leads into a full makeout session, and that’s something Stella is usually down for—especially if she’s had some drinks in her system but without the alcohol—she wouldn’t mind being drunk on you.

She’s on top of you now, and it quickly becomes a challenge of who gets to hold that position for the longest, erupting laughter between you two and Stella decides to cave once you both knock forehead’s.

You’re both panting now but there’s still laughter in your lungs and Stella is staring up at you adoringly, rubbing her head, while you caress the shape of her mouth, “what?” You quiz.

“You taste sweeter than I imagined.”

You smile, “so you thought about me in that way? I guess that means you really like me.”

“I couldn’t tell if you liked me!” Stella ran one hand over the top of her hair, clearly frustrated.

You snicker, “I thought I was pretty open with my flirtations but…I really like you too.”

And that’s all that matters to Stella as she’s pulling your face right back to hers.

Strawberries require well drained soil, they must be placed on a gradual slope, and receive full sunlight in order to experience successful growth.

᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘ 𓅪 ⚘𖥧᠂ 𖡼᠃ ˖𓍢ִ໋ ᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘ 𓅪 ⚘𖥧᠂ 𖡼᠃ ˖𓍢ִ໋ ᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘

Continue with my spring anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #queued #Chicago fire #Chicago fire x reader #stella kidd #Stella Kidd x reader #Stella kidd x f! reader #Stella kidd x f reader #miranda rae mayo

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