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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝟐𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝, 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

You knew it as soon as you saw him for the first time.

He was sitting just outside The Hard Deck, sipping a whiskey sour and watching the sun set in a glaze of glorious orange. You had stepped outside for just a moment, only to catch your breath. But you’d seen him sitting there, his honey-colored eyes so intently gazing at the sinking sun and his lips in a sweet smile.

Something in your chest came loose when he glanced at you for the first time, when his cheeks flooded and he stuttered out an apology and offered to move his feet out of the only other chair so you could sit down. It felt like some anchor had come undone and you were free-floating to the freshwater at the surface, leaving behind all the murky bottom feeders you’d known before Bradley looked at you. It was like you immediately knew that this is how you would tell time: before he looked at you and after he looked at you.

“Y’alright?” Bradley asked after a moment, the world almost alarmingly quiet around the two of you. Just some crying seagulls and crashing waves. “I really don’t mind moving! Wouldn’t mind the company either--honest!”

As if to prove his point, he let his feet drop from the chair and pushed it towards you.

You didn’t trust yourself to form a syllable so you nodded, smiling a small smile, before sitting in the chair beside him.

Bradley was a bit perplexed. One minute he was staring out over the ocean, thinking about his parents, and the next the most perfect fucking human specimen he’d ever seen was staring at him with a slacked jaw. Your cheeks were very rosy and your lips were swollen and your eyes were glossy--fucking perfect--and you were looking at him like you knew him.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked after a moment, eyebrows knit.

You gathered your dress in your hands, fiddling nervously. Tilting your head and squinting, you looked at him again. You knew he was trying to place you--trying to figure out why you looked so familiar to him.

“I don’t think so,” you told him.

His chest grew warm at the first sound of your voice.

He offered his hand, smiling.

“I’m Bradley,” he said. “Promise I’m not always a chair hog.”

You bit your lip, taking his hand in yours. And you just knew that his hand was one you were going to hold for a long time--a sturdy and sweet thing, one that fit into yours very nicely.

“Hi, Bradley,” you grinned. You knew it was going to fall out of your mouth, knew that those few glasses of wine you had were about to put in the work. “I think I’m your future wife.”

That day outside The Hard Deck feels like a very long time ago right now.

Right now, you’re lying on a different beach hundreds of miles away. It is warm, but not the same warm that California is. The sun is high in the sky, only a few wispy clouds drifting lazily up ahead. The sand is denser here, more white and less gold. There are much less people here, on this beach in Virginia, which you’re okay with. Less music, less hollering, less squealing, more room.

The tired beach towel underneath your body smells achingly like your home with Bradley: detergent, cologne, fresh air. It’s soft against the parts of your body that are not covered by your bikini.

You’re resting your heavy eyes, combing your fingers through Bradley’s damp curls languidly, trying not to squint up at the sun. He’s lying on his belly, mostly in the sand, with his cheek pressed against your belly.

He’s somewhere between awake and asleep, his limbs heavy from carrying you around in the water--even though he would never admit that--and his belly full of the nectarines and cheese you brought in the picnic basket. Absently, he’s rubbing the smooth skin of your bump, humming softly when he feels your son nestle just beneath his palms.

He’s always holding onto you in one way or the other--which he’s been doing since the very beginning. Things move fast when you tell someone that you’re their future wife, which you had never done before and he had never heard before. You were married before the following year, a spur-of-the-moment elopement just before his first big deployment after you two came together, and after a handful of years hopping all around the United States, you’re finally settled in his hometown together.

And not long after you settled into your little bungalow, just catching your breaths after so many years on the move, did you discover you were pregnant. Your baby boy, whom you are going to name Archie Nicholas, is due in a few weeks time. He will be born in the warmest month of the summer--which is also the month you met Bradley all those years ago--which tickles you to think about.

The pregnancy has drifted forwards lazily, easily. You like it--pregnancy suits you. Just a bit of morning sickness, some swelling, and a few vivid dreams here and there. Bradley likes it, too--more than he cares to admit to anyone except you.

Pregnancy has calmed you down, not that he needed you to calm down. You’re more slow-moving and sleepy now, always walking into his arms with pillow lines pressed into your cheeks and a yawn just behind your lips. You’re happy, an almost mindless kind of happy that just happens to you like that’s your natural state.

Bradley, who has always been an overly-attentive partner and sweet man, has only become more perfect in the months you’ve been growing your son. Kissing your belly in greeting each time he sees you, reading bedtime stories to your bump, struggling with that beautiful but complicated crib for a week, sending you baby names all day while he’s supposed to be working, bringing home those crab rangoons you’re always craving, playing with your hair in bed, telling you how big your baby is every week.

You’ve known since the moment you saw him that he is the love of your life. And it is only reinforced every single day with every single breath that fills his lungs.

It’s simple, really.

As simple as that board nose and those pert lips fall into your field of vision in the blue morning light. As simple as beholding him beneath the Virginia sun as he sips a lemonade and watches the clouds drift across overhead. As simple as watching his belly flex with laughter as he sprawls out on the floor after one too many whiskey sours.

You just know.

You shift slightly, rolling your shoulders.

“Y’okay, mama?” Bradley asks, voice thick with sleep.

He blinks at you a few times and you hum in response, stroking the warm skin of your belly a few times.

“M’fine,” you answer breathily. “Think your son is awake, though.”

Like he’s been waiting for you to say it, Bradley feels movement beneath his cheek. This far along it feels much more pronounced, which he finds incredible. It’s tumbling and turning instead of little flutters. It’s a feeling that there is no mistaking.

“No sleep for the wicked. Morning, sweet boy,” Bradley whispers to your son, pressing a couple open-mouthed kisses to your belly. “Mama too relaxed for your liking?”

You laugh softly, glancing down at him. He’s grinning up at you.

“He prefers it when I’m his human rocking chair,” you breathe out, smiling when a foot or an elbow presses against your palm. “As in--moving.”

Bradley tuts, gazing up at you as you let your eyes slip shut again.

You are still, without a doubt, the most perfect person he’s ever seen in his life. You have those glossy eyes and perpetually-swollen lips that he loves, which are only enhanced when you have enough drinks to get giggly. You’ve grown and flourished with life these past eight months, becoming fuller and pinker with joy as you’ve grown yours and Bradley’s firstborn child.

It’s been precious, really, watching the person he loves the most carry his baby. He wasn’t sure you could ever get more precious to him, but you’ve continued to prove him wrong time and time again.

He was enamored the first moment he saw you, all in and head over heels by the second date when you read his Tarot cards and completely bullshitted your way through it.

When he proposed, only a few days before you two got married in a shitty courthouse in his service khakis and one of your old dresses, he thought that was when you were most precious to him: throat flexed with laughter, tears brimming your eyes, toothy grin on your lips.

Then he thought you would never get more precious to him than when he came home from that first deployment, when he walked into the house to paper flowers decorating the walls and diced fresh fruit on a platter--which you knew is what he missed the most on the carrier besides you. And, even now, this is how you greet him when he comes home from deployment. All those sweet, hand-cut paper flowers and laboriously diced fruit just for him.

There was even one night, just before you made the big move to Virginia together, when his heart screeched to a halt when he saw you. Naked in the early morning light, strewn across your floral sheets, hair standing up every which way. You were snoring softly, sleeping through the alarm you set. And in the doorway, with a mug of coffee in his hands for you, he thought that was it: he would never love you more than he did right there.

But then one day, he came home from work and found paper flowers taped to the bedroom door and a plate of fruit cut up. And you’d explained to him, with tears in your eyes and every single box from the move still ready to be unpacked, that you were going to give him a child.

Every single day since then, even on the days that you cry over Toyota commercials and suddenly can’t stand the stench of beer, you have only become more precious to him. More precious than he ever knew one human could be to another.

“Give mama some peace,” Bradley mutters, pressing his palm against your belly. You smile, your throat warm just listening to your husband speak to the baby that is so nearly in his arms. “She’s precious, did you know that? Of course, you’re precious, too. But mama’s our girl. Gotta let her sleep so she doesn’t fall asleep during Breaking Bad again.”

Your whole body vibrates as you laugh, the calling seagulls in the distance no match to your booming laughter. Archie kicks at the movement, at the sound. Bradley’s laughing, too, moving closer to you.

“I’m growing a human here,” you defend, a grin still biting your lips. “I don’t have time to get involved in Walter White’s life.”

Bradley’s teasing, of course. He doesn’t mind that you fall asleep every single time you try and watch Breaking Bad together--which is a show you insisted that he couldn’t watch without you. In fact, he enjoys those moments. Just as soon as your cheek presses into his shoulder, the popcorn bowl propped on your belly rising and falling steadily with your breaths, he kisses your hair and pauses the show. And then he just sits quietly pressed against you, thinking about the day you give birth to his first son, thinking about how precious you have become to him through the years. Honestly, he would prefer to sit there nestled on the couch with you over any episode of any television show ever.

“Baby, you know you can do whatever you want,” Bradley says softly, stroking your cheek as you settle back against the beach towel. “You’re giving me a baby. I’ll give you whatever you ask.”

You hum, lacing your fingers in his hair again.

“Give me thirty more minutes of this,” you sigh happily, closing your eyes again. “And then we can go home.”

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @cherrycola27'𝐬 𝐓𝐆𝐌 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧! 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬, 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲! 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚!

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roosterscockpit · 2 years

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His Little Girl | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader P. 1

click here for the master list

It's that moment you've all been waiting for bessssties! 🥺 I just want to thank everyone for your support. It truly means a lot to me. ❤️ I've been wanting to try to write a Bradley x reader story, but I was so nervous! But I really hope you all enjoy this first part! 😭 I love you all! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. 🥰 Happy reading! 💕

A/n: This is a flashback chapter for a little background! Enjoy! (sorry for poor grammar. I'm sure I missed a lot of errors lol.)

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: cursing, drinking, throwing up, fainting, angst (If there are more I'm sorry I literally can't remember all of them 🥺)

Please don't take my work, I will find you.

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You and Bradley had met each other in college, both taking engineering classes at Virginia. You two became awfully close and were inseparable. You felt in your gut he was it and you thought so too when he introduced you to his uncle Pete, or Mav, his callsign he was given being a pilot in the Navy. He was all the family he had. Bradley always said Mav was like a dad to him growing up. He said he wanted to be just like Mav and his dad. He wanted to fly just like them. You were the happiest girl in the world and nothing could ever change that as long as you had Bradley…..

Isn’t 21 supposed to be fun? You had been so stressed and sad ever since Bradley was deployed. This was his first deployment since being in the Navy. You spent all your days home slumped on the couch binge-watching every show possible to pass the time, but I don’t think you could watch another year worth of TV shows… or maybe you could? Bri, your best friend, and roommate planned for you and a couple of others to go to the Hard Deck to get you out for some fun. So against your will, you went and had some drinks and finally started to let loose and have fun.

Some drinks later, you felt a wave of sickness hit you when you were out at the Hard Deck with your friends. You thought maybe it was the drinking not sitting well with you. You were never really good with holding your liquor. So you excused yourself to the bathroom. You barely made it before you were falling to your knees head in the toilet throwing up everything you had in your stomach. You felt dizzy and began to throw up again. The room was spinning and you just laid up against the wall until everything was still. You finally gathered yourself and made your way to the mirror. You rinsed with some water and wiped your mascara that was now running down your face. You popped in a mint and straightened out your shirt before you went back out to meet with your friends. You tapped on your best friends shoulder and let her know you were going to head home.

Y/n: “Hey girl, I’m not feeling very great.” You let her know, your eyes were still glossy. “I think im going to head home.”

Bri: “Oh no! Are the shots of whiskey catching up with you?” She looked at you concerned. “I can take you, I haven't had anything to drink tonight.” She offered looking around for some water.

She handed you some water and you drank the whole glass. You started to feel unstable. “I’m never drinking like that again.” You thought to yourself.

Y/n: “Please? That would be great! I’m feeling a little dizzy again.” You said starting to sweat.

Bri:”Of course, let me just grab my things.” She said as she turned to grab her purse.

You started to feel weak, you sat on the barstool near you and began to blackout. “Oh my gosh! Y/n!” Was the last thing you heard before you hit the floor.

You woke up on your couch the next morning, smelling like the whisky you had the night before. You were sweating all the alcohol out of your system. Your best friend came over to you with a banana shake and some ibuprofen.

Bri: “Hey sleepyhead. How are you feeling?” She said as she handed you the shake and medicine.

Y/n: “Like a million bucks.” You said as you took the medicine and chugged down the shake. “What happened to me?” You folded your arms and sat back against the couch.

Bri: “You had quite the ride last night. You passed out face first into the barstool next to you, after you asked me to take you home.” She laughed. “How is your head?” She sat at your feet and rubbed your leg.

Y/n: “It feels fine, I had way too much to drink last night.” You put your face in your hands. “Never let me do that again please.” You said In embarrassment.

You looked over to the patio door and saw how bright it was. “What time is it?”

You pulled out your phone and looked at the time, 2 PM. “Great, I missed the opportunity to text Brad before he went to bed.” You threw your phone next to you and laid back again.

Bri stayed quiet for a little bit and bit down on her lip before asking, “Do you think he will actually respond this time?”

Y/n: “He’s working in a completely different place and time zone. I know he will respond when he can.” You smiled weakly knowing its already been 2 weeks and nothing from him. Not even an “I’m here now" email, text, call, messenger bird, something.

More time passed and you started to feel really sad again, you had no energy. You barely were eating and when you did, you would just throw up. You didn’t feel like yourself. You just felt off. You were sad because it had almost been another month and you hadn’t gotten anything from Bradley, you almost started resenting him.

You couldn’t figure out what it was. You two were so happy when he was here, it seemed he had the same feelings you were feeling. But now just the cold shoulder, you were getting nothing. It's like he got what he wanted from you and now he’s done. Like you were his “just in the moment, while he was home” kind of person. You always gave him the benefit of the doubt and would say he’s just getting used to everything with being away, settling in, getting used to the work and the hours. You just wanted to feel better about the situation. You knew Bradley wouldn’t hurt you like that. You always said when he has the time, he will get back to you. But more and more time kept passing. You kept calling/texting/emailing and nothing. You started to think that maybe he changed his number and forgot to tell you.

It’s been 2 1/2 months and still nothing from Bradley. You started to text and call him less. You started to just try to get back to your life before him. At this point you were mad at him, making you wait, putting you constantly into a bad head space; wondering if something bad had happened to him. You were beyond hurt. You were being left in the dark on purpose now.

Tonight, you and Bri went out to the Hard Deck to have a couple of drinks. The two of you sat at the bar having conversation with Penny. You all were just having causal conversation and Mav came in and sat down with you. He hugged you and Bri and gave Penny a kiss.

Mav: “Hey Y/n. How have you been with Bradley gone on his deployment?” He said with a loving smile.

Y/n: “I actually am fine.” You said monotoned then pressed your lips together and giving him a small smile.

Mav cocked his head at you and looked a little concerned at the tone of your voice. “Do you get to talk to each other as much as you’d like?” His eyes now narrowed at you and took a sip of his drink Penny had just given to him.

Y/n: “We haven’t talked since he’s left.” You took a deep breath. “He doesn’t respond to any of my calls or texts.” You said now looking down at your drink, counting the ice cubes.

Mav: “Oh I see.” He looked at Penny with wide eyes and she gave him the same look back.

Bri saw their exchanges with each other. “What’s going on, Mav?” She said now eyeing the both of them.

Mav opened his mouth slightly and looked at Penny who now turned around to serve some Pilots that just walked in. “I, uh..” He stopped. “I can’t imagine…he doesn’t have the time. I have a buddy of mine who’s son is out there with him and I talk to him all the time. I don’t really talk to Bradley very much anymore, but my buddy’s son is always out with him during their free time after work.” He started to tap his finger on this glass and looked at you nervously.

Your head shot up to him saying that he LITERALLY has some free time. You furrowed your brows, “Im sorry, what?”

You started to feel it again, the nausea. The over whelming taste of saliva in your mouth. Everything went silent, your ears were ringing and your vision blurry. You weren’t going to make it to the bathroom this time. You ran out the back door to the beach and threw up right then and there. Right on the edge of the deck, barely missing it and into the sand. Mav and Bri came running to you and comforting you as you kept on throwing up. Your knees on the deck, you were hunched over, hands buried in the sand. Bri holding your hair and Mav rubbing your back saying they’ve got you.

Bri and Mav looked at each other very concerned for you. They were comforting you as you kept on heaving and releasing everything you had in your system. Mav covered his face in disbelief. This wasn’t the Bradley he knew, he would never just leave you hanging. He wished he could do more, but at that specific moment in their lives they had no communication.

You were hurt, why was he ignoring you? Why did he want you to hurt? And why were you so damn sick? Wait…you’ve been sick. Shit.

You slowly got up and rubbed your hands together to get the sand off. Bri and Mav looked at you with concern. Bri rubbing your arm and Mav pushing hair out of your face as you looked at them scared.

Mav: “Are you okay?” No response. “Y/n, you okay? You okay?” He said now cupping your cheek.

Y/n: “Can I have some water, Mav? I just- uh need to get this taste out of my mouth…” You said looking at him scared.

Mav: “Yea, of course. I'll go get some.” He went back into the bar to get you some water leaving you and Bri alone.

Bri: “Honey, what’s wrong? You’re really scaring me.” She said brushing our hair behind your ear. “Is everything okay?”

Y/n: “Bri, Ive been so sick. Like sick sick.”

Bri: “Yea we know you can’t handle liquor, y/n.” She cocked her head at you and let out a little chuckle. “It happens to everyone girl. Just let it all -”

You cut her off, “No girl. I’VE BEEN SICK!” You looked down and covered your mouth.

Bri: “No…you don’t mean…” her eyes were wide. She gasped.

Mav: “Here’s your water y/n.” He gave you the water. “Can I get anything else for you, sweetheart?”

You grabbed the water and chugged it. You hugged Mav, “Thank you Mav but we have to go.”

Mav hugged you tight, “Im so sorry Y/n. If you need anything, I’m just a call or text away. No matter the time or place.” He rubbed your arm and hugged you again.

You grabbed Bri’s hand and ran for the car. Bri drove quickly to the nearest store. You were shaking when she came back with the pregnancy test. You were terrified. You’ve drank a couple of times. You haven’t been eating a lot. You hadn’t even thought of being pregnant as a possibility. You were so scared. You weren’t being the best mom you could have been or should have been if you were pregnant. You felt so guilty.

You finally got home and busted through the door and ran to your bathroom. You peed onto the small pink stick and set it face down onto the counter. You threw a tissue over it and didn’t want to see it. You set a timer and paced around your bathroom. Bri was out sitting on your bed waiting for you to come and tell her the result. She gave you your privacy as you waited.

A million thoughts ran through your head. “Ive only had sex once. Jesus Christ, y/n… THAT’S ALL IT TAKES!” You said to yourself in a loud whisper. You were pacing up and down your bathroom. “C’mon hurry up you damn thing.” You stood at the counter watching the timer count down. You tapped your fingers on the counter top. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” You took a deep breath and cover your face as you leaned against the cold wall behind you. Then finally your timer went off. You took your hands slowly off of your face and just stared at the tissue that was hiding your fate. You slowly walked over and stopped the timer on your phone.

Those two minutes were the longest two minutes of your life. You pulled the tissue off of the test and dropped it on the floor next to you. You were shaking as you picked up the test. You flipped it over and it revealed the two little pink lines. You gasped. “Holy shit….” You were frozen. You couldn’t breathe. All you could hear was your heart pounding in your ears. You put your hand up to your mouth and looked at yourself in the mirror. You started to sob. At first quietly. Then you gasped louder and the tears running down your face. You couldn’t catch your breath. You were terrified. Bri came running in to comfort you. You sat in her embrace the whole night in the bathroom crying. What were you going to do? How were you going to do this? How were you going to raise his child?

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Thank you all for your support! Please like and reblog if you're ready for the next part! 🫣 I can't wait to share it with you all! Thank you so much! Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list bessssties! ❤️

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davidnajewiczphotography · 5 months

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Building façade - Whiskey Row, Louisville KY, some local history

The stretch of Renaissance Revival buildings located on Main Street in Louisville, Kentucky is locally known as Whiskey Row. From 1850 through Prohibition, Whiskey Row became the trading center for all spirits distilled in Pennsylvania, Virginia, Kentucky and West Virginia. Whiskey from upriver was warehoused and blended with Kentucky whiskey on its way downriver to New Orleans.

#photographers on tumblr #original photography #street photography #kentucky #architecture #whiskey #historic architecture #louisville

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viadescioism · 6 months

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Kicking and knocking:

"Kicking and Knocking," also known as "Knockin," "Knock boxing," or "yuna onse," is a little-known but historically significant African-American martial art. Its roots trace back to the era of slavery in the United States, particularly in South Carolina and Virginia.

"Knocking" in this context refers to a specific technique resembling a charging headbutt, reminiscent of African cattle, producing a distinct "knock" sound upon impact. Although related, knocking and kicking were often distinct practices within the art form.

Music and acrobatic movements were integral to "Kicking and Knocking," making it inseparable from dance. It was traditionally performed within black communities to the rhythm of drums, clapping, or reed pipes known as "quills." This art form likely has connections to other African martial arts like Engolo, and shares similarities with capoeira and danmyé ladjia.

"The Sabbath is not regarded by a large number of the slaves as a day of rest. They have no schools to go to; no moral nor religious instruction at all in many localities where there are hundreds of slaves. Hence they resort to some kind of amusement. Those who make no profession of religion, resort to the woods in large numbers on that day to gamble, fight, get drunk, and break the Sabbath. This is often encouraged by slaveholders. When they wish to have a little sport of that kind, they go among the slaves and give them whiskey, to see them dance, "pat juber," sing and pay on the banjo. Then get them to wrestling, fighting, jumping, running foot races, and butting each other like sheep. This is urged on by giving them whiskey; making bets on them; laying chips on one slave's head, and daring another to tip it off with his hand; and if he tipped it off, it would be called an insult, and cause a fight. Before fighting, the parties choose their seconds to stand by them while fighting; a ring or a circle is formed to fight in, and no one is allowed to enter the ring while they are fighting, but their seconds, and the white gentlemen. They are not allowed to fight a duel, nor to use weapons of any kind. The blows are made by kicking, knocking, and butting with their heads; they grab each other by their ears, and jam their heads together like sheep. If they are likely to hurt each other very bad, their masters would rap them with their walking canes, and make them stop. After fighting they make friends, shake hands, and take a dram together, and there is no more of it." - Henry Bibb, 1849

Henry Bibb, born to a white father and a slave mother in Shelby County, Kentucky, in 1815, and was held in slavery in Kentucky, Louisiana, and in present-day Arkansas. In 1837, he escaped through Ohio and Michigan into Canada.

#martial arts #black history #Kicking and Knocking

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nomilkinmyteaplease · 1 month

Text

The Terror's favourite things

[Verse 1]

Meat in a can and a good mid-day mass,

Wind in my face and sailors not dropping my spyglass,

Gardens full of blooming gaywings,