#;; bad old beggar with nothin to do

[sweettodo]

beggars can’t be choosers.

levi ackerman x reader x eren jaeger.

includes : threesome, cockwarming, edging/denied orgasm, oral, swearing. whole lotta smut, not a lotta plot.

wc : 4k.

synopsis : a promiscuous sequel. eren knows you’re missing levi and him, and he’s gonna help out his desperate little friend to get the captains attention.

✰ a / n ,, thank you for almost 1,000 followers, i love you all ! <33.

The night after it all transpired- you were like a new woman, the unusual smile on your face made the others query your motives when you appeared at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, even on missions.

'What has her so lively?'

You were fulfilled, there was nothing that could top that night- that night was the embodiment of your fantasies. Both your Captain and long time friend, with you right in the middle.

For the most part, your affairs with the two dwelled to be the same, your comrades still unable to tell something had gone down between the three of you. Eren invariably sat next to you; you teased each other just like always and your Captain still treated you like a peon.

Though not even you could disagree to the fact that you were like an addict, just itching to be touched like a pervert, you longed for the littlest bit of attention- per usual. And it was more painful when Eren purposely chose to torment you, little pokes and prods, long hugs and squeezes sent you over the moon, this was a game to him, and he played it good.

You didn't concede this to Eren, but he could tell you had these twisted ideas in your mind without a word needing to be spoken, watching you doze off into space. Whilst your mind was filled with vile notions of that night- at every waking moment of the day- Eren much less thought about that evening with Captain Levi involved, he would rather make his own remembrances with you.

Giving your feelings the time to fester meant nearly dropping to your knees if anyone so little as gave you a high five.

And Eren loves to use this to further his objective, he finds it a good source of entertainment to watch you shiver, or whine because, ‘she doesn’t even hide it, she wants me so bad.’

On one end, Captan Levi was his usual cold self, and you still flirted with him... For the joke.

While on the other end, he liked it- of course, he did, he liked the chivalry enough to drag you into his office and show you how much he liked your trifling behavior.

Whether he liked it or not, he found himself thinking about it too. Not enough to divert his attention on more crucial aspects of his life and job of course, nor did he act on his thoughts.

It was so pitiful, laying in bed looking at your ceiling as you touched yourself- for what felt like hours- feeling both of them filling you up and giving you what you yearned for. The feeling almost too real, and you yearned to feel it again. You needed it again, no matter the cost.

Your mind filled with only Levi Ackerman and Eren Jaeger.

"What are you thinking about?"

Breaking out of your reverie, seeing Connie parking his rear in the dining halls bench, "oh, nothin' just tired." He hums in response, slowly nodding.

"Dreamin’ about me, I hope."

"Only in your wildest dreams, Springer."

Jean, who's sitting beside his friend and throwing a loose arm over his shoulder, "who'd be daydreaming about you?" he cackles, Connie shoving his best friends’ arm off of him and frowning.

"Don't worry Jean, I have enough love for the both of you."

"I don't-"

"You love it though, right, horse face?" peeking a look to your side, the familiar brunette is claiming his seat next to you, grinning at his friend who's flustered and kicking Eren under the table.

Jean struggles to play it cool, rolling his eyes and tossing his hands behind his head, "I already have someone on my mind."

"Shucks, I can't play around with you anymore?" wriggling your eyebrows, devilish smile growing on your face, Jean shakes his head.

"Nope, doesn't work on me anymore."

Connie interjects, "don't listen to em', he's always gonna be a slave for your little flirts."

"Am not!"

"Yeah, you are, everyone knows it."

Armin and Mikasa walk into the arguing, giving each other a side-eye before hesitantly settling at the table, hearing Jean try to defend himself against his friends, "guys, no need to yell so early in the morning." Armin hushes, sighing.

"Jean, you know you love it."

"Even Armin likes it!" Eren laughs, pointing at his best friend, "he won't deny it either!"

Armin smiles cheekily, scratching the back of his head, "we're not talking about myself right now."

You had a skill, almost like it was an art- reeling any man in as you pleased, and they loved it, who wouldn't?

You suck in a corner of your bottom lip, looking down at your lap.

"Why are you be so loud, Eren?"

The table instantly falls mute, heads darting to face the man in charge, "sorry Cap."

"I want you all outside in ten minutes, be on time."

As quick as he comes, he's gone, not looking at you indifferently. 'This was seriously going to be a one-time thing?'

"You look antsy, y/n." Eren leans over to your ear, "what's on your mind?" he asks, you look at him, he knew exactly what was on your mind.

"You know what's on my mind, Eren,” smug look on his lips, patting your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, "don't tease me, Jaeger." You mutter, placing your hand on top of his own to remove it from your leg.

"Y'know, now all of a sudden you don't like it when I touch you because it makes you think of that night, it's obvious."

Your eyes squinting to scowl at him, glancing around to see if anyone had heard what he said; they didn't, all of them either throwing away garbage or talking amongst themselves, "why don't you just stir things up again? You want to, I can tell."

You sit there silently, allowing him to rev up your engine, this was something you craved to feel, he wanted to see you act up, enticing him and his friends, "do what you did before, Captain is bound to give you what you want."

You listened to every word he said, his hand still on your thigh as you closed your legs, squeezing them together as your body throbbed, he was right, and you were desperate, "why don't you go tell him how much you want it?"

You lick your chapped lips, throat bone dry as you're uncomfortably struggling to find words, "Eren," he flashes you a smile, 'she's falling apart with just me looking at her.'

"I can't tell him anything, and you better not either," you grit, eventually gaining some self-control, standing from your seat as he remains in his, "shouldn't we go? Everyone else is gone."

Eren stands, stepping over the bench as he takes a look around, the room was nearly empty, "Levi's gonna be mad at us, maybe he'll even punish you if you're lucky."

You shake your head, "just let me help you," you gaze up at him whilst the two of you follow behind your friends, "I can help you get what you want."

You pondered the offer, "yeah?"

He smiles, "of course," Eren tried to contain himself, even the idea of having you under him made his dick twitch under his belt.

"What do you have in mind?" you spoke, he hummed quietly, "wanna' get me in trouble?"

The tension between the two of you rose, holding your breath as you reached the empty field for sparring, he nodded his head, "of course I do."

You brainstormed, how to get attention from your Captain, but what you didn't know was Eren was already putting his plan into motion, already telling your friends what would land you right in his bed.

Hours later, the time dinner came around, the table was just like the ordinary, chatting and eating after a long day of activities; but unbeknownst to you, Eren was counting the seconds before the Captain would come storming into the room.

During the day, while you sparred with Jean, Eren found himself talking to Connie right in front of the men in charge- both Erwin and Levi listened in as Eren purposely filled Connie's ear with intentions you had. Vile thoughts, Levi and Erwin looking at each other, the Commander blown away, 'yeah, she said to me she wanted Captain to chain her up and everything, torture her, even,’

'Are you serious?' Eren nodded slyly.

‘That’s y/n for you, kinky, isnt she?’ crossing his arms.

'She is one freaky bastard- better not let Captain find out.'

But- to no avail, it was a little too late for that.

"Y/n,"

His voice split through the talkative room in an instant, voice booming as you quickly looked up, swallowing your food, "Eren, Y/n, my office- now."

Connie and Eren exchanged looks and you caught them, "what's that look for?"

"Don't worry about it lets just go."

Levi had already left the dining hall, you walked beside Eren, "what did you do, Eren?"

"Nothing." He defends, shrugging as you inched closer to the familiar wooden door.

Eren stopped in front of the door, he wasted no time, knuckles knocking on the old wood, "calm down, it's all fine."

Letting out a sigh, hearing his voice on the other side of the entrance, the two of you slipping past the doorframe and right into his office, he sat there, arms crossed in his chair, "do you have anything you'd like to say for yourself?"

Before you get the chance to speak, Eren perks up, "what do you mean, Captain?"

"Y/n?"

You choked, throat dry from the awkwardness in the room, "I'm confused on what you mean, sir." Levi scoffed, shaking his head. He was angry, nearly incensed as he watched you shuffle around, your eyes stuck on your feet.

The sound of his chair pushing backward sends shivers up your spine, he stands, "I don't know where to start with either of you."

"Tell him why you did it, y/n."

Your head practically spinning off your shoulders to face the man who stood beside you, "what do you mean, Jaeger?"

Your eyes bulging out of your head, squeezing your fists as you glared at Eren, "say it, cadet."

You looked at Levi in dismay, "I don't know what he's talking about, sir."

"I should've brought Connie in here too for listening to the bullshit you were spewing."

'Bullshit I was spewing?'

"All I was saying was what she told me, Cap."

"Yeah, apparently, y/n."

You meet eyes with your Captain as he's rounding his table, "you want it that bad?"

Avoiding his question, praying for him to step back, feeling weak from his intense glare, sending you into a nervous turmoil.

"Answer me."

You defended yourself, unable to give the boss an answer. Levi was mad, he was beyond humiliated at not only did Erwin hear your perverse ideas, but now big-mouth Connie. And he was fed up- once again- with your behavior.

He’s angrily stepping away from you and opening his bedroom door, "bring her, Jaeger."

Grabbing your wrist, Eren is nearly flinging you into the dimly lit bedroom, stumbling over your feet as the door is clicking shut. You rubbed your wrist, looking at Levi who stands before you, looking up at him.

His strong hands sitting you on the edge of his bed, his finger meeting under your chin and tilting your head up as you stared at him breathlessly, "you want things to be your way, right?"

You nodded, Eren standing next to your Captain, "things won't always go your way, cadet."

You gulped, the restriction growing under his grasp as he slid his hand down your neck, squeezing, "you're lucky I'm even doing this for you, you should be locked up."

Glancing at Eren, who's gradually unhooking his belt, "use this, Captain."

The leather belt being pulled from around Eren's waist and being placed in Levi's hand, he graciously seizes it and pushes you to get up, "lie down and be quiet, understood?"

Before reaching the other side of the bed, your captain is linking the material around your wrists behind your back and using his knee to push you on the bed, your body vulnerable as you can't catch your fall. Knees just barely hanging over the edge of the bed, someone's feet kicking your legs open.

"So I've been on your mind? because it sure seems it."

Digging your head into the sheets, you're nodding, "disgusting."

The weight of the bed plunges in front of your head, fingers entering your hair and pulling you up by the roots, "you think I'll be easy on you this time around?"

You shake your head, "no sir."

With Levi in front of you, Eren is using his foot to slip off your shoes, his hands crawling below your waist, blindly unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down your thighs.

Pushing you onto your back, Levi is sliding off the bed and you're trying to blow your hair out of your face, Eren steps out of the Captains' way, Levi pushing your knees up and placing your feet on the bed, "you've been acting up again, misbehaving won't get you what you want, y/n."

"She probably wanted this to happen again."

You did, you prayed for it to happen again, but you didn't intend to be tied up, unable to do anything, "I didn't ask to be tied up, though," you muttered under your breath, pulling against the material.

Eren laughs, unbuttoning your blouse while your Captain pinned your legs against your stomach, squirming around under his tight grasp.

“You go around and tell everyone how desperate you are,” you feel his thumb slowly press against the sensitive nub concealed by only your thin underwear, “have you been thinking about us fucking you again, y/n?” calculatedly pushing his thumb up and down, applying more pressure while he keeps your leg in a firm grasp against your body.

“It’s disgusting, really.”

He knows you you hate to be teased, Levi knew if he had even given you a taste of what you begged for, you'd become greedy. Eren on the other hand was sadistic, he would tease and tease and tease, that's how he would get off.

You're caught up in the painstaking abuse of his thumb, not giving any thought to the question he had asked you. He stops, looking at you with a bitter glare, “didn't I ask you a question?” you whine, pressing your head deeper into the mattress.

“Yes, Captain- I've been thinking about you fucking me.”

He's gratified by your answer, knowing that the inquiry would humiliate you.

“Dirty- fuckin’ dirty.” He taunts, picking up where he left off. Levi stands beside his subordinate, Eren pressing your other leg up and finding his fingers hooking around the wet fabric, and trying to get a look at your cunt.

Eren moves out of the way, allowing Levi to push your body back farther, he lowers to his knees, leaning against the edge of the bed, “do you enjoy giving me a hard time?”

They never failed to get you under their complete control, your heart beating out of your chest whenever either of them gave you as little as a glance with their lust-filled eyes. It was so incredibly wrong, so immoral, but it was your guys’ thing, this was your little secret.

“You’ve always been such a troublesome girl.”

Weakly, you're shaking your head, trying to keep your breathing under control as his fingers are raking between your sopping folds, spreading them apart with his calloused index and middle finger, admiring your beautiful body. ‘God- if you weren't such a pest.’ Levi pushed those thoughts to the back of his head, you'd always be his little annoying flirt, nothing more- nothing less.

Though both Eren and Levi seemed to enjoy pleasuring you until numb, your captain knew he needed to instill some discipline, he couldn't let himself be seen as a push-over just because he couldn't stop thinking about how you squeezed his cock so perfectly.

The thought of his fingers being knuckle deep inside your pussy brought him close to reaching bliss in his jeans, you didn't even have to touch him.

Curving his fingers up into your tight, textured walls, feeling your heartbeat throb around his two fingers as he made sure to send shock waves throughout your body. The pad of his thumb rubbing deep and slow circles around your clit, each time he hit a nerve your legs twitching, he hit every spot.

Eren stood beside you, loosely pumping his cock in his fist, watching you squirm and cry out, trying to free yourself as your wrists were falling asleep from the weight of your body, “l-let me go, please.”

Levi and Eren dismissed your pleas, trying so desperately to close your legs from the strong thrusts of his fingers, the overstimulation making your back arch, sucking his fingers in for more, and more.

That coil tightening in your stomach was unmistakable, head spinning, moaning out blubbers of swears and incoherent words, “go on, cum.” They know how bad you've been waiting for this, both men knew it needed to happen again, it was sad seeing you feral like a dog looking for any sort of notoriety.

That's all you wanted to hear, selfishly pushing your quivering hips onto his fingers, he knew this would make you furious, Levi was ready to make your night hell.

All of it stopped. His digits pulling out of your clenching hole as he smirked, standing up onto his feet, pulling you farther and farther away from the peak of your climax.

Gasping like a fish out of water, lifting your head to see Levi on his feet, you sobbed, pain filling your body as you were so prepared, so close to releasing, “Captain,” crying, your foot shaking from the awful tension erected in your lower stomach, your pussy mindlessly twitching, trying to make up for lost touch.

He leans towards your face, gripping your jaw, slipping his slick-covered fingers down your tongue, “that's what happens when you aren't good, I'm sure you understand that, right?”

“Yes- sir.”

He pitties you, almost feeling bad for leaving you a mess in your tears and exertion, but Eren, on the other hand, loved it. “If you take good care of Eren, you might get what you want.”

Eren helps you up, keeping your wrists bound as he can now take advantage of your wet throat, “she knows how to take good care of us.” Eren praises, petting your head and peeling the stranded hairs out of your face, “you’ve always been so good to me.”

Levi scoffs, “besides when she's being a tease.”

Your captain unzips his pants, pushing them past his thighs.

Sitting on the bed and leaning his bare back against the bed frame, “come over here.”

Like a feeble idiot, you're bringing your body closer to his, he grabs you by your waist, lifting one leg and yanking you over his lap, Eren gets on the bed, his tip spilling precum, “you're gonna sit still while you help your friend out, yeah?”

Levi prepares his cock by stealing some of your slick and lubricating hmself with it, lifting your hips so he can ease you onto his cock.

Pushing yourself onto his hips only made him annoyed, “don't you dare,” you groan, he keeps you somewhat upright by keeping a hold on Erens belt.

Eren gripping the back of your head, directing your mouth onto his cock, your lips wrapping around his tip whilst looking in his pretty eyes, his thick eyebrows furrowed and twisted from the satisfaction your mouth is endowing his needy cock with.

Your tongue licking the bottom side of his cock as you pressed your throat until it was filled.

He just wants to hear you gag, messy face while your throat tightens around him, adjusting to his size.

Your pussy crying and burning from the lack of movement, your Captain torturing you, whining on Eren’s cock, hoping Levi would just move a little, although you knew better than to attempt anything.

Eren rocking his hips against your throat, spit spilling from your chin as he throat fucks you, Levi sees how good of a job you're doing, rutting his hips into your dripping cunt only once to keep you going- cueing you to hurry and swallow Erens load so you can convince them to fuck you.

Pulling out of your throat, strings of spit connecting to his cock as he stops himself from releasing down your throat.

Levi’s pleased with you, so he wants to reward you, ‘she’s suffered enough,’ he says to himself, fucking you on his cock just how you like it. Letting out whimpers of relief; by the time your Captain had decided to fuck you, the base of his cock had already been soaking from your slick trickling down and onto his pubic bone. Erens hand palming your perky tits, watching them bounce at the hands of you riding him.

Reversing on Levi’s cock meant Eren could see your pretty little face twist up, your mouth stuck open as you looked at the man in front of you, you were so precious- if anything- you deserved him, you deserved his affection, and he wanted to give it to you.

“Cap’ gonna cum,” you're body trying to curl up in a ball as he holds you from plunging forward, the movement of your hips bouncing back and forth on him, your ass slapping on his cock, the sound of skin loud, which he used as encouragement to plant his seed in you. Such a vicious noise as Levi keeps you still, rutting his hips into yours as he's pulling your head back by a handful of your hair. Your body left with shockwaves as he fucks any sort of knowledge, words, and sounds out of you; you're silent, mouth ajar as you're eventually worthy enough to reach your high.

Your head spinning, eyes being surrounded by a warm white as you're clenching around him to suck him in deeper, your holes twitching as you're frozen still from the orgasm erupting from your body.

Levi grunting as he fills you up with his load, thrusting his hips into you to plant his seed as deep as possible into your beaten little cunt.

“That's right, so pretty- I bet that felt good, didn't it?”

“It did- ‘need more, Eren.”

Eren smirks, face glowing with pride, so vulnerable you were, a girl with needs- his girl, and he had all the antidotes for your selfish little troubles. You were always so willing, truly, you were the perfect participant.

“I think I should untie her, what do you think?”

“Go on and do it, I think she deserves it.” a sigh of relief leaving your lungs as you're set free, rubbing your raw wrists while Eren is easing you on your back, his hands caressing every inch of your sore body, gently squeezing when he gets a good handful of your soft flesh. Up your thighs, under, your perfect waist and sides, he wanted it all-and he wanted you at his disposal.

And thankfully, you wanted them all to yourself too.

Eren knew he wouldn't last long, he's been waiting too long for you, so he doesn't spare any seconds, kneading your tits; giving each of them the right amount of attention, rolling your nipple between his fingers, lightly tugging as he's pushing past your little hole, “filled with so much cum already, you like bein’ a cocksleeve? You like being stuffed, huh?”

Nodding, “yes- I love it s’much, love it!”

Levi holds your wrists above your head.

Eyes rolling back, Erens cock drilling into you, your body shaking as he tears another orgasm out of you, you cried and screamed, Levi inserting his two fingers down your throat to shut you up as Hanges room was no more than ten feet away.

You loved it, you loved it so much- you loved being the center of their attention, you adored being their little ragdoll, how they could fuck you into oblivion so mercilessly, yet make sure you get your fix.

His cock knocking into you, hitting your cervix, which sent moans flying out of your throat, gripping his wrist tightly while he held your thigh up around his waist.

You deemed it your job to please them, to take care of them, and they felt the same- it was the implicit rule of this situationship.

Erens trying to instill as much self-control as he can bear to keep, but it's merely no use, he’s slipping, and fast. His cock constantly slamming into your nerves sent you into a spiral, every thrust fucked your eyes to the back of your head, “fuckin’ you stupid huh- I missed this tight cunt.” Eren spits, the sweat from his body dripping onto your sticky body as your pussy goes numb.

“I love your cock- love it s’much Eren,” your beautiful voice could alone bring both men to climax, he uses it as motivation to cum deep into your pussy. Levi wiped the drool from the side of your lip, along with your tears as he watched you.

Eren pulled out, light moans as he shivered, spilling his seed on your stomach, a mantra of your name falling from his tongue as he tried to regain control.

With you left fucked out on the bed as they got dressed, almost like a routine- you're left struggling to put your clothes on as Levi is trying to rush the two of you out of his room so he can strip his sheets.

“Don't get caught.” He's warning, seeing the two of you out, you're practically trudging through the corridors with Eren at your side as you feel more of a mixture of your cum soak through your underwear and legs, your jeans getting damp with each step you took.

Right as you neared the bedroom door, thankful to be able to strip yourself of your clothing in only a few minutes, Eren ensures you get to your room safely, but no one is that lucky- are they?

“Whatcha’ guys up to?”

Before catching a glimpse of your face, you're gasping and looking away, Eren turning around to see Connie and Jean, “busy?”

Eren laughs, casually speaking, “does it look like it?” he looks more or less as disheveled as you did, his hair falling from the hair tie, while you looked a mess.

“She looks like she just got hit by a bus.”

Your body barreling over in embarrassment, you find it hard to look at them, Jeans’ eyes doubling in size as he sees the unfamiliar piece of fabric in your hand.

“Is that- your bra?”

[likesomekindofcheese]

Songbird of Jamestown Ch.8 (Samuel Castell x fem! Reader)

Fandom: Jamestown ITV Series

Summary: You are among the English maids in 1619-1620 who have agreed to board ship for the new world in Jamestown, with the intention to marry the men there. You have chosen to find a husband and life of your own and pay back the company, than be pre bought and bound to a random stranger. Life is difficult and you and your friends struggle, but there is a certain recorder who’s willing to help. He’s kind-hearted and handsome ...and has already been pledged to another. You want to be with him...at what risk?

Chapter One //Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four //   Chapter Five//  Chapter Six//   Chapter Seven

Word Count: 7K 

Warnings: attempts at accuracy that aren’t always on point, swearing, drinking, marriage, religion, a bit of bullying, angst that becomes fluff, and steamy parts but nothing explicit.

A/N: Here we are! The wedding chapter woohoo! I hope you all enjoy it!

“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”- Sonnet 116

“We may not be in England anymore, but have a Boleyn in our colony,” you heard him smirk.

The tavern tonight was supposed to be full of people. You shouldn’t have picked out that voice. Of the two dirty-faced men with dark beards leaning close over their beers. Yet as soon as you helped Verity finish another drinking song, you did hear it. As clear as thunder.

Some customers came by to press coins into your hands for the song or wish you luck for your upcoming nuptials. Those seemed deaf. You kept glancing back, wondering what you could even say.

“…Miss Woodbyrg’s fiancée…”

“…her maid, even! We’ll be counting the days until Y/N’s head gets lobbed off…” the shorter one hissed.

“Poor Miss Woodbyrg, one cannot understand her grief…” the taller one acknowledged with a shake of his shaggy head.

“Imagine giving someone like her up!”

“A beauty if there ever was one! And Castell tosses her aside for her former maid! Why would the madman do that?”

“Well, why do you think…one large reason why…who knows what Y/N had between her legs that carried him away…” he joked lasciviously with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Look at her, singing away for tips here like some beggar.”

No, you wanted to interrupt, Verity allowed your singing since her throat is sore. But you dared not and could only nod in silent thanks as a teenage boy pressed a gold coin into your apron pocket.

“That’s the woman Castell chose over Jocelyn. A dirty pub singer over a lady. Y/N’s probably after his money. And he just wants a whore he doesn’t have to pay.”

Bits of tears stung your eyes, you bit back your tongue. You turned away to the side to stare at a wall. Making a scene would not solve anything. They would think even worse of you.

“I thought the man was balless,” he chuckled “reading fairy stories and fawning over babes like a damn woman.”

“Maybe not! Now what’s beneath her dress is all he can think about! She must’ve brought the man out of him!” the man gossiped, gesturing towards you.

The words simmered in your brain so much you hardly noticed an old planter hobbling towards you. His beard was streaked grey and his balding head wrinkled.

“Why, that drinking song I’ve barely heard! Do ye happen to know…”

There were strong footsteps and a broad figure from behind cut in front of you.

“Do not bother the lady, sir!” he said

Nathan Bailey’s dark head cut in front of yours as he walked in front of you and you hid behind him. Samuel had paid him to help guard you at least until the wedding. It was a blessing and a curse. The new bride replacing an old one and needing a soldier accompanying her everywhere probably raised a few eyebrows, you wondered. But he did his job, never asked why, and was a decent young man.

“Oh! I meant nothin’ wrong! I was just moved!” the old man pleaded.

“I was just lost in thought, Nathan! He’s been perfectly respectful!” you cut in.

He turned to you with a huff.

“Alright, but if I see you or any man getting handsy with her, you’ll have ‘em chopped up!” he spat.

You mouthed a thank you to Nathan. He returned to sit by you, nursing his water but always hawk-eyed. Processing what you overheard, the insults piercing your insides, you hardly noticed Verity walking up to you.

“Why, Y/N--looks like you made enough coin to buy France! How about some…what…what is it?”

Her cheerful, freckled face darkened at you looking down at the floor.

“I…I’m just…I heard some…I can’t tell you. Not now…” you said, glancing back at the soldier.

The tavern had plenty of men. And even if it was empty, Nathan was there. You were hardly alone even when you had to use a chamber pot or squat in the woods to relieve yourself. Not when you worked. Especially not when you ate. As badly as you wished to confide in Verity…the soldier could overhear something.

“Oh, Y/N, don’t cry…” she comforted, using a spare cloth to wipe your face.

“Just…some people said…bad…bad things…” you managed to blubber out. You wished you could be strong, but it hurt.

She placed her hands on her hips.

“Oh, pah! Damn them all. You’re a good person, making money honestly, and you said you’re about to be married in two days! Who’s the man?”

“You don’t know?” you gasped.

“Is he decent? If not, I’ll…”

“Well-you…you haven’t heard…anything?” you asked.

“No, not even from you…and there’s been too many weddings here I can hardly keep track!” she said with a shrug.

It was not a secret so why hide it?

Verity stood next to the soldier. Her husband was playing cards excitedly with a large group opposite away.

“Do you know the recorder? He made me an offer of marriage and I accepted.”

“Ha! I knew-you’re far too pretty and far too sweet for any decent man here to turn his head away! But wasn’t he…he was…”?

“He was previously betrothed to… someone else. They decided to end things. Her money was paid already, so there was no debt. So, he asked me to marry him…” you said flatly. And technically, that was the truth.

She nodded in understanding. Perhaps even more than even you could say. Perhaps it was a fading in her eye. But she understood.

“Let me walk you home, dear, at least….” She said, looping her am around yours. “I ain’t scared of the bloody dark, I can walk back here backward without fear. But I can’t have a bride fall on her face she has to keep pretty for the wedding.”

The soldier raised his eyebrow and looked at you.

“That…that would be nice…” you answered.

The next morning, you fought not to nod your head off with Lady Yeardley. Sitting on her table reading as she listened was not too reviving an activity for the morning. You completed a reading of the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. She picked that chapter and had you read aloud the fourth through the eighth verses. Looking up, you thought she would ask you a question for discussion. But it wasn’t a question, it was a phrase.

“Well, speaking of love- my dear...” she said kindly.

A smile broke on your lips. She took the brown bible from your hands.

“Today…today’s my wedding day, ” you finished despite yourself. You could hardly believe the words coming out of your lips.

She then took your palms and guided you to stand up with her.

“I…I’m so nervous, Lady Yeardley!” you confessed.

Was this even the right thing? You felt wrong. Perhaps not the altar was waiting at that church but the guilty nose of adultery. But you could not get the nasty comments of those men last night out of your head. What if they were right?

“I’ve already been married twice and even then I was always nervous at my wedding…” she recalled, taking the bible from your hands. And child! I know you’re afraid but…Castell is a good man, a kind man, you know that?”

You nodded.

“Lady Yeardley…you do not think…you do not think I’m a wicked, bad person, am I?”

“Why, no, not at all…”

“I always feel like I am…I feel like I am doing something wrong…”

“You consented to something sacred, Y/N, how could that ever be wrong?”

Now was the time.

“And I came here wanting a husband, a lord who could provide for me, take care of me. Someone who could protect me the way God protects us. And in turn, I would give him my respect and my…my obedience…” you added hesitantly.

Her eyes beamed. Even if it wasn’t entirely true, it wasn’t entirely false. But most of all, it was everything you knew she would want you to say.

Two can play at that game, Woodbyrg.

“Well, of course, my dear! And you’ve been blessed with the opportunity-there is nothing wrong with that! Quite the opposite in fact!” she cried.

You saw Nathan in the corner, ever diligent. He checked his fingernails for dirt, more interested in those than some silly female chatter.

“Perhaps…we can pray today…since I’m nervous…” you suggested. Now that was entirely true.

“Yes…”

Both of you knelt to the ground. Lady Yeardley asked for a blessing for you and Samuel, as well as a note of thanks for both of you being here in the colony together. It was genuinely sweet of her. Your eyes were closed, but you smiled again.

As soon as an amen was voiced, you got up. It was the morning already. But one other matter was pressing on you too much

Saying your goodbyes just outside, you turned to Nathan and ordered “please go with me to Samuel’s house, now.”

He trotted behind as you picked up your skirt and hurried there. He was puffing to keep up with your sudden speed.

“But- Miss! Miss! Istn’t it-you shouldn’t!” he huffed out.

Knocing eagerly on the door of the short house, you spoke through.

“It’s me! It’s Y/N!”

You heard a slight gasp and a panicked shuffling of feet and closing of doors. Mercy cracked the door, her lily white face face barely sticking out.

“Why Miss Y/L/N! Why are you here? Before it’s time?” she asked chipperly.

“Can…can I speak to him?” you asked.

“Today’s the morning of the wedding! You’ve got a dress and everything to get ready!” she cried

“Mercy, please! I just wish to speak to him! A little!” you begged.

“But miss! It’s bad luck for you to see each other before the wedding! You don’t want that, do you!”

“I don’t need to see him…just speak with him…” you reasoned.

She blinked her eyes, and then turned around. You saw Christopher peak his head in the space too out of curiosity.

“Mercy…could you cover my eyes and Christopher…cover his…that way we can speak?” you asked.

They looked at each other then nodded. Mercy walked you inside and then sat you down. She placed her pale hands from her sides oer yours until all was black. You heard a few footsteps.

“Y/N…what is the matter, darling? Is everything alright?” you heard Samuel ask. Thought the slight laugh in his voice was undeniable. “I haven’t put the check in yet…so you’ll have to wait a little while.”

“Samuel, if I am to do this, I have to know something…what am I to you?”

“Why, why such doubts?”

“There has been…been talk on my character…” you blurted.

“Who has been speaking? I’ll deal with them if need be!”

“No! I was worried if your intentions were…if they’re honest…because they said that…I must have been some, some conquest to you. Am I? Please be honest!”

“Oh, Y/N, I would fight those men if I could but…sweetheart, if I saw you as a conquest, would I consider marrying you? Would I consider using my own tobacco for you if I planned on abandoning you after?”

“…no, you wouldn’t…”

“You’re no prize. Y/N. You’re my light, my friend, my joy, my beloved-you know me better than anyone and you care for me more than anyone I’ve ever met. And I know if I am at that church and I don’t see you walk up to me later today… I don’t know what I’ll even think. And now I feel scared you…you won’t.”

You felt yourself sniffle “Oh Samuel, I’m so sorry! I was just hurt by gossip-can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive…you were hurt and unsure. And there’s been many a poor maid beguiled in the past. You didn’t want to end up becoming one.”

“I wish I could embrace you now.” You said, not caring who was there to hear it.

“We’ll have time for that after. There’s a check I need to give to the governor first…and I have to be at the church after, would you like to join me?” You could hear the smile in his voice

“More than anything else in the world…I will see you later.”

“I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

Mercy pulled your arm up and turned you around while your eyes were still closed. She walked you outside and closed the door. She trotted after you, but saw that the emotion welled up in you had let out. You let out a few tears and covered your hand with your mouth.

“Miss, there’s already a lot to do for today- and there’s something I…Why, miss? What is it? Please don’t cry!”

“Miss, there’s already a lot to do for today- and there’s something I…Why, miss? What is it? Please don’t cry!”

She took a handkerchief from her pocket, you noticed it was white with little strawberries sewn into the middle, You patted your eyes dry. Nathan stood by, quiet and watchful.

“Master Castell will not want you to see you so upset! Especially not today of all days!”

“I…I don’t think I’m upset…not anymore. I’m crying because…I’m happy. I’m happy that I can be sure he…he cares about me.”

“What have people been saying, miss?”

“I…I’ll tell you later. I just have something to ask of you…what is it you were talking about?”

She took your arm, pulling you excitedly to the front of your house. Nathan stayed outside, always keeping a safe, polite distance but his pistol ever by his side.

As you walked inside, you were surprised to see Alice there with pink flowers in her hands.

“Oh, Alice! Th-thank you!” you cheered, accepting the plants.

“I’ve picked them this morning, so they were fresh…” she added proudly.

“This is a precious gift, thank you!”

“Well, I have a gift…but it is not this one…” she teased, her cheeks grew rosier from the happiness shining from her beautiful face.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

She smiled mischievously, “I know it’s not like me to take things without asking…but you did so much for me, when we went on the ship and…and after and with everything…I had to thank you…so I asked for Mercy’s help. I’ve kept the key you gave me.”

“And right glad I did, miss-and it’s most beautiful!” Mercy cut in.

“What is?” you asked.

She stepped aside and gestured to your bed.

When you looked on it, there was your dress. It was your nicest dress. When you packed it, you knew that if, no, when you were married at the colony you would wear it.

But it was different. There were decorative little flowers sewn into the skirt. A few tears and patches were fixed and smoothed out. There was a beautiful, shining material added to the skirt and bits of gold decorations that shone in the light. It did not look like just merely a nice dress for a Sunday church service. It looked like a gown a queen in a fairy tale might wear.

Covering a slight gasp, you embraced the two of them with another hundred thanks for their work.

Mercy tied up your stays and helped you put on a few more petticoats. Alice held it gently open for you to walk in. Once it was slipped over your body and buttoned, you noticed the skirt felt wider, as if you looked like you were floating. You slipped two lace gloves, the only luxury the company gave each woman aboard, Mercy nudged your arm.

“Oh! Please! Please let me do your hair! I’m so good with hair and I’ve had practice!” she begged with wide eyes.

“Why…sure…you can, Mercy! I’m sure you do wonders!” you agreed, settling into the chair.

It had been long since England since any changes were made to your hair. Since first boarding the boat it had grown out some. Mercy was gentle as she tucked in strands, put pins in, and did her best to brush it through and present your hair in a way that was beautiful.

“And these!” she cheered, pulling a few flowers from her pockets and tucking them into the crown of your head securely.

Looking at your reflection in the window, they looked like little jewels. Alice folded her arms and admired it quietly.

“One more right here…I do hope you are not tender-headed, miss….”

She fixed it in a way that flattered your face yet felt soft, free, and romantic. Alice’s eyes went bright as you turned to face her.

“Oh…oh heavens…you look beautiful, Y/N…” Alice said.

“I don’t know if the whole world itself had such a bride!” Mercy declared, folding her arms behind her.

You were on the verge of your next hug when there was a knock on the door. Christopher walked in.

“Ladies…the check has been delivered. In a few minutes, he’ll be ready at the church.” He reminded.

“Yes, but get you gone! You have to be there too!” Alice teased, shooing him away. She waved goodbyre as she left.

“I’ll see you after, Y/N…”

Your heart began to beat hard against your ribs. The time was approaching.

“Mercy…Mercy…thank you- you made this all happen…not to mention all of that cooking!” you recalled.

“I’m only glad you could assist me!” she said.

“I couldn’t let you do all of that by yourself!”

She smiled, sniffing up a few tears herself.

Outside, you heard up a few fiddles and instruments playing in the distance. You knew they always did at weddings. And here they were, almost like an approaching army but not bringing war but bringing joy and expecting not a battle, but the approach of a bride.

“You’re most welcome…Miss…Mistress Y/N…I bet the Master might swoon at the sight of you…”

“I’m feeling dizzy myself…” you confessed.

Taking a deep breath, sudden fears clenched inside your stomach, images and bitter memories flashing in your mind. This was all too perfect. Any minute, something horrible might happen. Something would go wrong.

“Oh miss! Don’t be so troubled! Today is going to be the most heavenly day!” she cheered.

You nodded, returning the strawberry handkerchief to her.

“Yes I will…I’ll try to forget everything…I’m just…nervous. I almost feel like I’m going to die once I step inside that church…” you confided.

“Why, you won’t die! But the master might die of unhappiness if you don’t! You can clutch my hand as we walk…that way you know that today is today!”

She handed you the pink flowers from Alice.

“And I might die of unhappiness if I don’t make myself go too…” you reasoned.

Shaking it aside, trying to slow your breathing, you both walked out. You treaded through a bit of dirt, but you didn’t mind. You kept your eyes forward. There was plenty of a crowd watching. Even if they were running errands about town, they watched. Your gown contrasting with the many drabber colors of ordinary day clothes as if you were a large butterfly. Some ladies even curtsied, and men took off their hats in reverence.

Finally, you saw the church. And a few figures outside the door.

Samuel was there, so was Christopher by his side, patting his back in brotherly congratulations. You felt as if your breathing would stop at the sight of Samuel. He looked incredibly dashing, his cape just over his shoulder, and never more like a prince than today.

When you walked up to the entrance, Mercy slipped out of your arm to go back into the crowd. You took a few soft steps to be by his side.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” he said quietly into your ear as the doors opened.

“Thank you…you as well…”

A few witnesses, Christopher and the Yeardley couple, walked in as everyone else waited outside. Reverend Whitacker stood at the altar. The church had been decorated with a few extra flowers than normal. But oblivious to any unsanctimonious joy, he stared at you both. He was a sour faced man with long gray hair and beady eyes, analyzing you both. And his solemn frown seemed a bit serious for a wedding. Had he heard the rumors in town concerning you? And believed them? You wanted to freeze. You kept walking up and reached the altar.

Whitaker began to read the first rites. Looking down, once your other hand let go of the flowers, you noticed it was shaking. This was all so happy. Too happy almost. But here you were, about to be married to the sweetest, dearest, best of men. You had braved separation from your family, a voyage on a ship, hard work, faced drudgery, heartbreak, and came close to death. It was all overwhelming, and the words and first prayers seemed numb to your ears. You found you were smiling a little, but you wanted to cry again.

You felt Samuel turn his head to see you. His eyes were a little bright and his mouth closed as if trying to keep himself from speaking or anything lest he should cry too. You felt his hand come close and take yours. You accepted it. He felt less tense, as did you.

Samuel leaned forward after a prayer to him.

“If you would mind, minister…I asked you about a passage from the book of Ruth earlier…can it please be read here for the ceremony?” he asked.

“It’s not normal to…”

“Pease, just for this ceremony, I think it would be appropriate for today…” Samuel reasoned.

“If it’s for this ceremony, I will…” He nodded soberly, turning his head down to the bible and flipping the pages.

You turned to face Samuel. As the priest read, you could see him lightly mouthing the words to you. As if he was genuinely saying them to you.

“Entreat me not to leave thee or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people will be my people, and thy God my God.”

A stray tear escaped you. But your smile widened.

Finally, you made vows to love and honor each other. Your voice became stronger with each promise “from this day, until death do us part.”

After a bit of communion with wine and bread, a final prayer was said. You began to breathe in a little deeper. You felt his hands were shaking as well. Both of you let out a deep breath as if you both were holding it in throughout.

“I now pronounce you, man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Samuel leaned forward and kissed you so quickly and deeply you almost got dizzy. Your hands reached up and froze, and then wrapped around, deepening it.

It’s…it’s done! It’s happened! I never knew it would happen. This day I never thought would ever come.

Once you walked out, almost in a trance, the crowds of people were outside. You wondered if they would jeer or throw mud at you for a second.

They applauded. Women in pretty dresses and their hair done in braided buns tossed flower petals from their baskets. Samuel took your hand and raised it up and men cheered for him. Alice even walked up and gave you a large hug.

“Congratulations, Mistress Castell,” she said.

More people, strangers even gave their good wishes. Nearby there was a small band of musicians playing fiddles, drums, flutes, fifes, and you gazed at them, smiling at the joy of the music and all that it brought you.

You felt Samuel gently put a hand on your shoulder as you listened, and then turned around and kissed you again, and you felt yourself smile into it.

“I never knew I could be this happy…” you confessed.

“Neither I…but I love you, my sweeting,” he said cupping your face.

You leaned into it, kissing part of the palm of his hand and grinning. A few flower petals went over you in a flurry and some got into his brown hair.

“You didn’t tell me you would wear flowers today!” you joked, following the wedding party as everyone began to walk.

“I guess I wished to match you!” he replied, he gently took a hand to touch the little flowers in your hair that was Mercy’s touch. In turn, you brushed a few petals off his shoulder and placed them on the top of his head teasingly.

Everyone went over to the tavern. Tables set aside; everyone went quiet once each person received a glass of ale. Governor Yeardley himself handed you and your new husband two each.

“Everyone!” he barked. The party stilled.

He beamed at you two. Glasses with ale were passed around to as many as who could get one.

“Castell is a good man, a man without whom our colony would be lost and dysfunctional. Every day, every event we see him scribbling away in the corner, making sure our history is secure. Y/N is an honest, God-fearing woman. Together are the ideal, perfect couple for our colony.”

“To the health of the Castells and of Virginia!” he declared, drinking deep. The rest of you followed suit.

Mercy and a few of the women began to scramble in and out of the room carrying plates of food. Music picked up as everyone began to feast on the bounty saved for today. You enjoyed eating with Samuel publicly without a sense of shame.

“That verse was beautiful, thank you…Whitaker isn’t always a friendly man…” you said.

He nodded and beamed, “I’ve talked with him a bit before…and I thought with the conversation we had earlier…it felt right to have it in. It’s from the Bible after all.”

People walked up to congratulate the two of you constantly. If you happened to be chewing on bread as someone babbled away, Samuel put a protective hand over you and thanked them for your sake so you could eat your food. Christopher was arriving as Samuel got up from his seat and embraced him happily, the two of them talking deeply with large smiles.

The same musicians began to play some tender ballads. You both enjoyed biting into your wedding cakes, the ones Mercy handed out, made with honey into it and frosted with powdered sugar. Samuel brought your hand to his lips and kissed it.

“I’d like to speak with Farlow and the governor, I’ll be back…”

“I’d like to speak to the Sharrows, I’ll be back as well…” you said, both of you getting up from your chairs.

Once you had wandered, talking with the Sharrows, and a few more people here and there, you found yourself backing into a corner. It seemed as if almost all of the bloody colony had arrived and the air was stuffy with the crowd. It was fading to be the hours of dancing and people began to step away to form a dance floor in a messy oval in the wooden room. Silently, you felt yourself walk backwards. You felt the cool air of evening by your cheek as you got close to the door.

“Congratulations on your marriage…” a voice as low and smooth as honey spoke to you.

“Why th…”

Head turning, your heart stopped at the sight of her.

“Yes. Thank you.” You said to Jocelyn.

Your feet were stuck in place, and a word kept repeating in your head, ‘no no no no, no, no….’ As hard as you tried to plaster a smile on your face, your food began to swirl in your stomach.

“May I ask, what is Samuel doing tomorrow?” she questioned matter-of-factly. “Who is he speaking with?”

Her eyes looked down at your dress in surprise at the work and quality. For once, it was clear from your clothes that you were no longer below her station.

“He’s going to just do his normal work of recording Assembly business. And that’s it. Why should that matter to you?” you said.

“It should. If you do not know what is happening in here, then you’re truly a dull woman. You’ve been married for an hour, you should know these things.”

You shrugged.

“I don’t care to know them.”

“That’s your folly. Give him a smile and be sweet, that’s all you have to do to get a man’s attention…it seemed that and spreading your legs to him worked in your favor, after all. Now you can use it to be useful.” She added with a glance in his direction.

“I have not spread my legs once to him!” you blurted quietly, glancing to make sure no one overheard. You had had enough.

“That’s what everyone thinks now. You’ll have to-might as well be practical with it. But perhaps…you aren’t that good in bed. Well, when a wife can’t satisfy her husband…you know what they say happens, it’s the nature of men…” she said with a wicked smile.

A hundred curses were caught in your throat.

“If that’s all you have to say then I do not need my time wasted, there’s guests I’d like to talk to before the day is over,” You replied a little icily.

There was only so much you could do or say with people surrounding you.

“If you are going to blindly let Farlow, Redwick, and Yeardley destroy everything, your time is being wasted,” Jocelyn said.

She adjusted the hat on top of her head from tipping too far off.

“They aren’t much! And this isn’t a day for politics…it’s a day for feasting and my food is getting cold,” you dismissed, starting to walk away.

She swerved in front of you.

“It’s also about to be a wedding night and if you don’t please him tonight with your pathetic body...”

“Thank you for your kind sentiments,” you interrupted sarcastically. “Now I must leave, farewell.”

As you turned away, deciding it was best to be aggressive, you felt her grip your arm, pulling you in close with an immense strength that you were surprised Jocelyn had in her slender arms. Your stomach dropped and you bit back the urge to yell. Perhaps she was provoking you on purpose. Especially in public on your wedding day.

“I haven’t forgotten. This will not make you any safer. Samuel gave the company the money so you could be his slut. Now no one cares what happens. you’re a dead bitch walking,” she hissed lowly so that only you could hear.

Fear gripped you. Your face dipped down, feeling warm. You could have sworn a head or two turned your way out of the peripheral of your eye.

You released a false laugh, your courage growing, and walked away from her.

“Miss Woodbyrg, what a funny joke!”

She looked stiff as a bust. Her soft, plump lips were growing tight.

“I mean it,” she voiced.

Biting away a frown, you heard the fiddles pick up a quick tune.

“You must excuse me,” you said in an official voice as you could muster. “I’d like to have a dance with my husband.”

Fleeing as far from her as you could, you joined your husbands side on the other half of the room.

Seeing your face, his own turned dark.

“Darling, what is it?” he asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You shook your head, feeling one flower fall off a strand of your hair.

“It’s…it’s just I’m…I’m worried…” you confessed,

“Can you discuss this now?”

“Not with everyone around us…”

“It will be alright but…would you like to dance-would it make you feel better?”

He gave you his open hand. You placed your own hand, blanketed by your lace gloves, in it.

“Y-yes,” you agreed.

You got into lines and danced with the others finding him surprisingly talented. They were simple country dances that everyone knew so as many people could attend the wedding as possible. But you smiled with the movements, the switching of arms and touching of hands as you walked with him in a circle, skirts and the odd cloak floating like a bird’s wing. How couples could line up and run to the ends then run through the lines of people and still be together. Even if there was a mistake or a stepped toe, people smile and chuckled it off. Any worries were replaced with your muscles getting sore from the quick movement.

As the song ended, instead of a last gentlemanly bow as was tradition, you felt Samuel walk to you and place his arms around your body. In an instant, he lifted you up and you started laughing, placing your arms around his shoulders for security as he twirled you around, your skirt billowing. The others smiled at the sight.

“Today, I am the happiest of all men!” he chirruped to them, giving you a sloppy kiss on your cheek as you returned his embrace. It was comforting, enveloping even.

Though you felt yourself sight a little once he let go.

There were so many dances, you weren’t aware your feet were hurting. Or that the sun long past dipped over the horizon.

Mercy picked up her apron and ran to you. In one hand she held a large cup of ale.

“Oh, Miss…. Mistress! No- Mistress Y/L/N! No, not that! Mistress Castell!” she corrected herself.

"It's alright Mercy, I'm new to it myself!" She blinked away tears, rubbing it off with her eyes. Her chest huffed with crying.

"I'm so happy today! So happy! I'm so happy for both of you! How he smiled! I thought he would burst when we walked up to him! I remember how you comforted me-I was the first person you even spoke to here. But now…now you're my mistress after you've been my friend, and my last mistress…she…she’s so… and….and oh! I feel so much!" she cried, letting out pent up tears.

"Have peace Mercy! It's normal to cry! Everything's changing, but for the better this time! Just dance and enjoy yourself!" you cheered.

Returning the strawberry handkerchief, it was your turn to wipe off her sniffling face.

"I have to clean up all the…"

"No, you don't! Just enjoy the party!" you insisted.

"But its ending! See! Everyone's walking out and…you have to…to go home and I have to pick up the mess!" she refused.

Part of you jumped, already with a faint jittery shiver running down you.

"Let's just…finish your drink, let's enjoy today while it lasts and not worry," you suggested.

She drank half of the ale in a large gulp.

"But…you might need some water, too," you added.

People filtered out with bright eyes from dancing and farewells on their lips. 

Samuel walked up to you and linked his arm around yours. Suddenly aware of how close he felt, your breathing quickened. You felt flushed from all the people, excitement, and dancing.

He wished any slightly drunk guest's good night as you finally walked outside into the night. It felt crisp compared to the cramped dancing quarters and you shivered a little. Clutching his arm, you felt yourself become weak at the sight of what was now your door.

"Welcome home, Mistress Castell," he said as he opened it. "Can I carry you in? It's bad luck if you trip when you walk inside."

"Yes, you may."

He scooped you into his arms and carried you past the main room. Looking around, you saw more flowers were on the tables, chest, and desk than what was normal, into your shared room. You could have almost collapsed from the nerves and excitement.

The bed had been decorated with a few spare ribbons tied into bows. Just like people did for weddings back home. You even noticed that there were pink primroses on the chest next to the bed.

As he let you down, both of you stood near each other. His face looked as flushed as your and he placed his hands together in what seemed to be…timidity it looked.

"Have you…have you eaten well? People kept talking to us, I hope you aren't hungry from all of that," he asked.

"I'm stuffed, I can't take another bite…it was all good, though," you said, attempting to break the awkwardness.

"Have you had some water?"

"Yes."

"I have…I have a little bit of wine I've been saving. I thought we could open it to…to celebrate…" he offered.

"Yes, I would like that," you replied.

He hurried out, returning with the bottle and two green glasses. You sat on the edge of the bed and watched as he poured you both a glass. Sitting by your side, you clinked your glasses together in a toast, having your first sip.

"Your house looks wonderful with the flowers" you complimented.

"I did it for you. Well, Mercy did too. We both picked them. She laughed at me picking them."

"You've picked plenty of flowers before..." you gestured to the primroses.

"I thought you would like that touch. Even then I wanted somehow to show you how much I adore you…"

Leaning forward, though wine was still on your breath, you took his hand and kissed it, leaving a small mark on it.

"I hope every day I can show how much I adore you as well…" you said.

He gave you another kiss, trailing over from your mouth to the crook of your neck. You gasped at the feeling. Your hands naturally went to hold onto his arms, but you felt his hands wander to the buttons on the back of your dress, teasing away at them much to your mixed nerves and thrill. But then as he pressed another kiss on a certain spot on your neck you had to let out a laugh.

"Mmph, what is it, Y/N?" he asked quietly.

You replied, "your beard tickles!"

Both of you laughed a little from the released tension.

"It's been itching me since morning," he confessed.  

"I can't take it off, but I can help you with your cloak, can I?" you offered.

Sitting so you could reach it, you unhooked it and set it away.

He undid a few buttons of his doublet then paused.

"And let me help you…first with your hair…" he said.

Nodding, you sat and felt his hands touch it, letting strands free. He took away the flowers, pins, the turns, and tucks. You realized he never saw you with your hair down…and felt the last part fall free. You looked at him, with your hair freely released and everything set aside. His eyes were sweet. He gently took a strand.

"You'll have to get used to it being down all the time, now…" you commented.

"I won't mind at all…would you like to change out of your clothes?" he asked.

"Yes, I think it's time I did."

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you." You had more to remove than he did.

His hand went to the back of your dress and you felt him unbutton it. Slowly, as if he was touching a piece of glass, he removed the dress, then helped you out of your petticoats, and slowly undid your stays, figuring out how to loosen them. The cups of wine were left on the chest, almost entirely drunk. You felt yourself feel warmer with each bit of skin that was slowly being revealed to him. Finally, you felt it loose enough to be taken over your head.

He looked down as you stood before him in your shift, and only your shift. His eyes softened.

"I…I know what you expect of me tonight…" you confessed, jumping right to it.

"I…I…uh, yes. I…I don't expect…expect anything…" he said, his ears going pink.

"Have you…do you have any diseases? You can be honest with me," you pleaded.

"No, I don't," he answered, shaking his head.

He began to undo the buttons of his doublet and removed it, in his white shirt.

"Have you been with anyone?" you asked, placing your hands in your lap.

He froze. His blush increased to his whole face.

"Twice. You will be ashamed of me…"

"You can tell me. Was it anyone here?" you asked.

"No. I was of age and wanted to prove to my brothers that I was a real man. I decided to try a prostitute in Oxford…I got too attached. I saved up to see her second time. I wrote her a few love letters and tried to visit her, and she laughed me away after…I was young and foolish," he recalled.

"You just didn't know…" you commented thoughtfully.

He removed his shoes, stockings, and pants. Now he was also in his shift as you were.

"And you? I know they all boast of the purity of the maids to make wives…but we're alone now, Y/N. You can tell me. Have you been with anyone?" Samuel asked in turn.

You looked him in the eyes, your beloved, and told him honestly about what experience or lack of experience you have had. He was nonjudgmental and nodded in understanding. Jocelyn's words from earlier flashed in your mind.

"I just don't want to…to... to displease you," you said, looking down at your feet.

"You're my wife now, I made vows before God to protect and cherish you. I don't care about being pleased. I just want to tell you that you'll always be safe with me. And you shouldn't be forced to anything. We don't have to do anything tonight." He assured you.

He felt a slight rush of excitement as he went up to kiss you again, feeling butterflies in your body as he did. But you felt an aching further below. You pressed your lips further, tasting the wine. You began to lay down on the bed, feeling it shift with your new weight on it.

He turned his head up and asked "would you…would you like to make love tonight? If you don't want to, I…"

"Yes!" you cried.

"Yes?…are you…"

"It's our wedding night! And…I want you too much…" you replied bluntly, looking in his eyes. Perhaps it wasn't ladylike to admit it. He didn't seem to care. And it was the truth.

You took his hands and led them to your sides. He laid you down softly on top of you, but not his whole weight. You could even feel how badly he wanted you from under his shift.

"Well, if my wife insists, I'll obey…" he smirked.

Letting out another little laugh, you began to kiss him. Your hands began to touch him boldly, you felt his body from the shift-his back, his biceps, his waist, and you felt one of his hands get to your hair. You pressed each other's forehead against each other breathing in deep with the cold rush of each other's breath. Courage made you push him a little bit away. You placed your hands over the tie on the front of your shift that held it together, the last thing hiding your "pathetic" body. You unhooked the front of your shift. His pupils went large once you removed it over your shoulders and let it fall away.

He smiled at you, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Y/N…God, you make my head spin."

As you laid back on the bed with a grin, your heart beating against your ribs so hard that you could hear it through your eardrums, you looked up at him you laid down and he placed one hand on the collar of his shift and joined you.

"Tell me you love me," you voiced nervously.

He took it off and laid on you, cupping your face again.

"I love you…that's everything I can think of right now. I'd say some pretty verses I'd say to you now but…at the sight of you naked I forgot it entirely…"

"I appreciate the thought, my darling," you commented with a smile.

It was a night that was tender. Every physical urge you both suppressed around each other was released in a wave inside of you. Pleasure flooded every inch of you. You forgot the men at the tavern. You forgot the tears from earlier. You even forgot the woman you wanted to forget about most of all. You only knew his name. You cried out his name as a prayer many times that night. And he prayed yours.

Now completely, husband and wife, you both fell asleep in a tangle of each other's arms.

Taglist:  @bluesfortheredj​ (sempai) @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @theworksgaga​ @itscale​ @theoneandonlyeclecticepileptic​ @queenlover05​ @rubystarflight​ @themficsilike​ @namelesslosers​ @itsametaphorgwil​ @grigorlee​@isitstraightvodka  @rhapsodyrecs​  @cxllianmurphy​ @princealfie​

[lu-undy]

Chapter 20 - SBT

Here it is!

"Maurice?" 

The beggar sitting cross-legged on the floor recognised the old, worn-out boots. 

"Ha. I didn't expect you." Maurice raised his head. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

"Need a chat with you." 

"We are having it, go ahead." 

Mundy sat on the dirty ground next to him. 

"I've seen Sanchez and followed him for a few days." He said.

"Found your crocodiles?" 

"Nah." Mundy shook his head and winced. "I didn't. Bloke lives one hell of a normal life. Goes back to visit his mum on Sunday too…" 

"A nice man, huh?" 

"Maurice, please…" Mundy put a hand on his eyes.

"I have information. But I would rather you did not know about it." Maurice admitted.

"Again?" Mundy answered. 

"Mundy…"

"Why this time?" He sighed and his shoulders sank.

"Elsewhere." Maurice stood up and Mundy followed him. 

They walked and went through another house. This time, it wasn't a concealed door beneath a carpet, it was simply the stairs to the cellar. And it took them a few moments to get back to Maurice's hideout, around that same table. 

"So, gonna tell me?" 

Maurice gestured everyone out of the room and Mundy raised a suspicious eyebrow. Something was off. 

"Sit down, Mundy."

"Maurice, we're losin' time, I'd better be on my way to-"

"Sit. Down." Maurice's calm yet tense voice made Mundy obey. 

"What now?" 

The beggar sat opposite Mundy and threw his hat on the table. He frowned and lowered his head.

"Ten years ago." Maurice started.

Mundy frowned. 

"I know what happened ten years ago. I might know what happened better than you." Maurice said. 

"What?" Mundy's teeth were gritted hard. 

"But I won't share what I know with you." Maurice raised his eyes to Mundy. 

"You know who did it?"

Maurice nodded slightly and Mundy felt hot. He removed his hat and his glasses, tossing them on the table. He breathed loud and hard. He splayed a hand on the table and felt the sweat starting to break everywhere. 

"Y-you know .. Really… You know who… Who killed my parents?" 

Mundy's ears were ringing like bells in church on a Sunday morning for mass. He raised his eyes and Maurice nodded again, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. 

"Who?" Mundy asked. 

"I will not tell you." 

"Who." He repeated, and Maurice noticed his hand was shaking on the table. 

"No." 

Mundy pushed himself to stand on his wobbly legs. It wasn't distress. It was rage. 

"You will tell me." 

"No." 

The Aussie walked to Maurice who was still sitting on his chair, and looked down at him. 

"I will not tell-huh?!"

Mundy put his hand on Maurice's shoulder. His stare was black. 

"You. Will." 

"No. If I told you, you would run to get your revenge and die." 

"Who cares." 

"I do. I knew your parents. They wouldn't want you to run and die ridiculously. And given that you don't want to touch a gun ever again-"

"WHO. KILLED. MY. PARENTS?" Mundy roared and clawed in Maurice's shoulder.

"I understand your lust for revenge but believe me, if I told you what happened, you would end up dead." 

Mundy turned on his heels and punched the table violently. Maurice got startled and jumped on his chair as Mundy retrieved his fist with wooden shards and blood trailing along the back of his hand and knuckles. 

"Why tell me this then?" He asked, opening and clenching his fist. The pain in his hand was soothing. It took away from his rage.

"Because it has to do with your alligators." 

Mundy frowned again. 

"What?" 

"This man. Arthur Duchemin. He has your alligators, yes, and as I ran background checks on him, he was the one who…" Maurice gulped down hard. 

"He was the one who burnt the farm…" Mundy whispered and bit his lip. "How do you know that?" 

"The land where your parents’ farm used to lay now belongs to him. He didn't buy it straight away. He had someone else do it first and then bought it off them."

"How can you be sure?" Mundy insisted. 

Maurice went to the door and gave a sharp knock. A man entered the room handcuffed and pushed by two of Maurice's beggars. 

"Make him sit. Good. Now, repeat what you told me to this man." 

The man in handcuffs looked in serious bad shape. Black eyes, skin bruised, he has sweated a lot and  his breath was short. 

"I… I was the one… I bought that land after it had all burnt in that fire. I received the money and instructions and… And I was promised a lot more money if I did what they asked…"

"What did they ask?" Mundy said. 

"They… They asked me to buy the land and gave me all the paperwork to get the rights to dig there and start the oil mining…"

Mundy growled. 

"You burnt that house to get some bloody oil, huh?" 

"I-I didn't, it wasn't me, I swear!" 

Mundy's step was slow and each time his heels hit the wooden floor, the poor man on the chair felt the shock resonate along his spine. The Aussie's eyes shone viciously as he approached the man who was now trembling on his seat and breathing hard.

Mundy squatted to be at eye-level with him. 

"Now you're gonna listen carefully mate. You're gonna tell me who told you to do all that. All I need is one name. You give it to me, I make sure you get out of here alive and nothin' happens to you." Mundy tilted his head on one side, his eyes piercing through the prisoner's skull. "If you don't want to tell me, I won't let them kill you either."

The prisoner's eyebrows jumped.

"Nah, why would I let them kill you quick and efficient when I can burn you like you did that land, hm?" 

"I-I didn't! I told you! It wasn't me! I swear! Please! Please don't!"

"I will burn you with a tiny, little match. I will let it run everywhere on your skin. It will lick you slowly and I'll make sure you stay alive for days through it."

"What?! You're sick! And I told you! I had nothing to do with that!"

"Name." Mundy repeated. 

"Duchemin, it's Arthur Duchemin…" Mundy closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I-I don't know more, I swear I don't! And I wasn't the one to burn it, he was! He-He said it didn't matter, he said there was nothing there and the oil was super easy to get! He said-"

"Shut your bloody mouth before I change my mind and skin you alive right here, right now." Mundy growled.

Maurice gestured for the man to be taken away and once again, he was alone with Mundy.

"Convinced?" 

"Hm." 

"What are your plans, then? Go to the Queen Victoria again and beat the man to a pulp?"

"I'll kill him." Mundy growled. "But I won't beat him up. I'll take back the 'gators first and bring them to Johnson. Then I'll find him and make him pay." 

"And how do you intend to find them, hm? On your own maybe?" Maurice mocked him. 

"Maurice, you either help me or get out the way, I'll do it on my own." 

"What are you going to do? Follow Sanchez until he finally decides to reveal where your crocodiles are, hm? He won't. They're not in his hands anymore." 

"Shut up and help me!" Mundy lost his patience. He clenched his fist but still couldn't feel the pain on his bloodied hand. 

"I was going to. If you would be so kind as to take a seat." Maurice calmly said. 

Mundy was fuming but he obeyed. 

"What now?" 

"I know where you will find your alligators in a few days. I will tell you where they are on one condition." 

Mundy frowned in determination. 

"You have to take a gun with you, at least." 

"I…" Mundy lowered his head and ruffled his long hair with his trembling fingers. "I can't."

"You have to. They will be armed and I can't let you go there like that." 

Mundy's eyes darted left and right behind his closed eyelids, his eyes screwed shut tightly. If he touched a rifle again, it might all happen again. He will play God, thinking nothing can get to him and then lose it all, lose his parents again. 

No, wait, he couldn't lose them again… He didn't have anything to lose any more, on the contrary, he had everything to earn! He had the name of the person who murdered his parents, who burnt their farm and their land, who took what tied him to Earth away… Mundy couldn't lose it again, he could only enjoy his revenge!

"Roight." When he opened his eyes again, he was another man. "Okay, I get it." He wiped the corners of his dried lips.

"I'll get my rifles back. I'll get all the equipment back. Kukris and all. But you need to tell me everything." He pointed a threatening finger at Maurice. 

"All I can say is that in two days, they will be in hangar 451 on the old quays. That will be a stop on their way to transport them." Maurice said. 

"Good. Very good." 

Maurice raised an eyebrow. 

"You don't want to know where they're taking them…?" 

"I don't care. Why should I?" Mundy answered. "All I want is those alligators sent back to Johnson and Duchemin for me to deal with, the way I want." 

"Hm, maybe. But what if I told you that there is a lot more to gain than a few crocodiles, hm?"

Mundy frowned. 

"What?"

"What if I told you that Duchemin is secretly trying to open his own reserve of animals, species that are on their way to extinction, priceless animals of all kinds?"

"Why?" Mundy asked. 

"He is trying by all means to collect those species and become the single owner of them. Then, the plan would be to sell them to the highest bidder and that's what explains why more and more awfully rich criminals have been pouring here in Oz. Once those people manage to buy them, Duchemin would have secured an awful lot of money and then they would have priceless furs and skins. A win-win deal." 

Mundy frowned. 

"So you're telling me that he also has other animals somewhere?" He asked. 

"Yes. All endangered species, on the verge of extinction."

"Where?" 

"That I don't know." 

Mundy raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 

"For real." Maurice added. "I just know that they will do a stop at that hangar to change drivers and swap trucks."

"Hm. Right. I think I have enough to go now. Thanks." 

Maurice nodded.

"One last thing though." Mundy asked. "Why did you have that bloke who bought my parents' land beaten up that badly?" 

"You are wrong. I didn't have him beaten up. I did that myself." 

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. He had never heard of Maurice getting violent. 

"I told you, I used to know your parents. They were incredibly generous people." Maurice explained. "They used to give me the extra from their farms, a few vegetables, eggs and even sometimes chickens. It helped a lot during winter in particular."

Mundy nodded, his face serious. 

"They… They hated wastin', especially food. Said that some folks were dying of hunger. Would be unfair to throw stuff to rot." 

"They were right." Maurice confirmed.

"As always." 

"You know…" Maurice leaned forward on his chair. "They fought hard to defend their land that day."

Mundy screwed his eyes shut as he collected his hat and glasses back from the table. 

"Your father even used the hunting rifle he had, to defend himself and your mother."

Mundy's eyes nearly popped out of his head, behind his yellow-tinted aviator glasses.

"H-He what…? He hated that thing! Said he'd burn it if he could! He-he…"

"He did try to save your mother." 

Mundy's lips were trembling and he turned to give his back to Maurice while leaning on the table. 

"How d'you know?"

"There is no way your father would not  have fought back." 

"S'ppose so." Mundy walked away and nodding one last time, he exited the room. 

-- Later -- 

"There we go. That bandage will work just fine." 

Mundy disinfected his hand and managed to remove all the shards he could see. He wrapped it in a bandage and exited the van, before entering the shop. 

"Oh hey, pal!" Eddy emerged from the back of his shop. 

"You got a shovel I could borrow?" 

"Man, this is a hunting shop, not a gardenin' one!" 

Mundy raised his eyes from under his hat and Eddy felt that something was different. 

"I'll uh… I'll have a look at the back…" Eddy disappeared and came back with a shovel in his hand. "You're lucky I have this old thing in the back. I can't even remember why it's there… Ha, it might be from that time when - oh."

Mundy had taken it from his hand and exited the shop without adding a word. He put the shovel on the passenger's seat and let his foot lean on the gas pedal confidently. 

He drove for a few hours, during which he saw the sky change colors from blue to pink to dark. When he parked, even the moon didn't shine in the sky. He left the van's yellow front lights on to see, before hopping off, the shovel in his hand. 

Mundy looked around him. He recognised the place. The boulders, the few cacti and the deafening silence. He frowned and made the shovel hit the dusty ground as hard as he was boiling. He dug again and again, only stopping to roll his sleeves up again or push a lock of hair behind his ear. Ah, that hair! 

He put his hand in his pocket and retrieved an old elastic band. The Aussie tied his hair before coming back to digging. The ground was hard and dusty, which made the whole operation very tiring and painful on his hand, but there was a flame that burnt inside of him. 

Clink.

He threw the shovel away and knelt down. Mundy exhumed a large metal box from the ground. He grasped the handle in one hand, he took the shovel in the other and went back inside the van. 

That night, he spent it by the lake again, but he had been busy. After dusting off the old box, he broke the padlock on it with a hit of the shovel's hand. He didn't have the key to that bloody thing. He had chucked it somewhere in the desert, God knew where…! 

Mundy knelt down and took the edge of the lid on his fingertips. He looked at the lake for what felt like the last time, before flipping the large lid open. 

"Christ…" 

Everything was still there. The rifles, the kukris, everything. He had buried them ten years before in the middle of the desert, out of the roads, in a place that he wished he could forget. But no, his brain knew where that cursed box was, that box that had been useless when he had needed it most, that box that reminded him that on the day of his parents' death, Mundy was chasing poachers at the other end of the county, oblivious, ignorant, and carefree, almost happy. While his parents saw their everything disappear in the flames, he was having fun with those infamous rifles. Yeah, fun, anything that wasn't trying to save his parents at that instant was a distraction, fun. 

Mundy let his fingers run on the cold metal of the barrels and he felt the shivers.

Crazed gunman. 

That was what his father had told him. 

Not a crazed gunman, dad. 

Yeah, you go around usin' your gun as if it was a game! 

Mundy sighed. 

"Sorry, dad."

He started to get to work. The rifles needed a good clean, some repairs and upgrades. The kukris needed sharpening, no doubt. The ponytail behind him was loose, he didn't like it. He got another elastic band and tied his hair tighter.

It took him the entire night on the floor, in the back of his van. That, an awful lot of patience. But that was easy to get now that he had a purpose, a goal, something to work towards. 

Mundy yawned. The first few rays of light shone through the van's windows and he saw the black suit from the other day hanging from his bed's rails. The black suit that he hadn't worn since his parents' death.

He drove to town to get a coffee and then straight to Eddy's. 

"I need bullets." 

"What? Why? I thought you-"

"Empty darts, and bullets. Might need a suppressor too."

Eddy's look of surprise and confusion lasted for a few seconds. 

"Mate, I don't have time." 

[theliterateape]

He Served

By Paul Teodo and Tom Myers

“YOU’RE PISSED.” Rosco fidgeted in his seat, eyeing The Buff, who pouted like a child when he heard anything he didn’t like. Rosco added, “Nothing wrong with upper deck.”

“Can’t see shit from here.” Buff crammed half a dog into his mouth, a chunk of grilled onions sticking to his bushy black beard. He licked mustard off his cigarette-stained fingers. “Nose bleeds. A buck a seat. Cheap ass.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Rosco wanted to yank the words back. He knew better. He knew what was coming.

“Fuck you. I served.” Buff glared at his friend. “I ain’t no beggar.”

He did serve. Four years, in country. ‘Nam. Went in at one-eighty pounds. Got back, two years later he weighed three-seventy-four .The name fit.

“Bad shit, leave me alone,” he’d say when Rosco tried to talk to him about it. “And Jenna. How could she?”

Jenna hooked up with a swimmer behind Buff’s back before he enlisted. Buff nearly killed the guy. His old man, a former tackle for the Bears, fixed it: do time or the Army. Buff chose the Army. He wasn’t a gung-ho or ra-ra kinda guy. He needed a legal way to hurt somebody. “Maybe I’ll get to kill someone. Or someone will take me out.” He was sullen, scrambled, and hurting.

“It hurts when they dump you.” Rosco had tried to help.

Buff would look away, suck hard on a Camel, and try to conceal his tears.

Buff finished the dog, took a slug of beer, and asked. “What’s the count?” 

“One and two, Forster’s got his number. Petrocelli’s good, but tonight he’s overmatched. Forster’s dealing. He’ll jam ‘em and K him.”

Buff turned back to Rosco. “I ain’t no beggar.”

“I know, man. Sorry.” 

The two sat perched in the left field upper deck, barely under the roof overhang. Friday night, June 7, 1974. Sox-Boston.

They were roomies. Buff came begging, homeless, about six months after he got back. “I can’t live with the old man.” So they found a cheap walk up, third floor, front window overlooking railroad tracks. Buff slept on the couch while Rosco tossed a mattress on the floor in the tiny bedroom. Rosco knew it wouldn’t be easy. His roomie was no prize before he went in and now he was always ticking, ready to go off. Rosco was working a beer truck with a college degree in his back pocket. Buff had no job and wasn’t looking.

“On the fucking couch again?” Rosco shut the door and threw his coat on a chair. He was covered in sweat, hair matted and greasy, reeking of stale beer, hands cut and swollen. He was a “helper,” not a driver. The driver drove, drank, and stole. The helper crawled into the dank basements of taverns, cases of quarts perched perilously on throbbing shoulders, runaway flats of 24 packs stacked twelve-high on a dolly bumping down the dark narrow flight of stairs, mercilessly yanking at his lower back.

“Leave me alone.”

“What’d you do all day?”

“You ain’t my mother.”

“Rent’s due Friday.”

Buff nodded towards an envelope lying on the coffee table next to a smoldering ashtray.

“What’s that?” Rosco asked.

“My share.”

“You got money?”

“Just made some.” Buff took a drag off the Camel then a big swallow of a long neck. “I got ways.”

“You dealin’?”

Buff kept his eyes fixed on the sixteen-inch black and white Philco, showing the tail end of a stupid game show.

“Are you?” Rosco pressed. He’d had enough shit of his own with the cops not to have a roomie dealing.

“Golf clubs.”

“You don’t golf.”

“The old man’s.”

“Whatayou talkin’ about?”

“His spare set. He won’t notice. I’m good for this month.”

Rosco was right. Petrocelli couldn’t touch Forster and he punched him out easy, no problem.

“What’s that?” Buff pointed to the field, another Camel firmly lodged between two yellow fingers, and another Old Style in his other hand.

“What?” Rosco said, not looking where The Buff was pointing.

“That, down there. First base line.”

“I don’t see nothin’.” Rosco was used to brushing off The Buff when he tended to make big deals out of things that often went unnoticed by others. 

“Look at the size of the schwanz on that horse?” 

“The hot dog guy ain’t got a thumb.”

And “_That guy’s_ Charlie.”

“Smoke,” he said, struggling to stand. “Look.” He pointed with the Camel, ash blowing into Rosco’s face. “Smoke, for fuck sake!” 

He was right. Black smoke billowed from the fist base side concession stand tunnel. Throngs of fans followed, flooding towards the field.

“Jesus, it’s a fire.”

“Who’s up next?” Buff asked, waving the hot dog guy over.

“Who’s up? The place is on fire.” Rosco grabbed him by his tattered Dick Allen jersey.

“Watch it. It’s Richie.”

“It’s rags. Can’t even read the name.”

“MVP.”

“He can play,” Rosco said, a scrap of Richie’s jersey dangling from his hand.

“Watch it! For Christ sake! The jersey.”

“Yeah.” Rosco was ready to leave.

The goggle-eyed inebriate must have been ordered to keep the crowd occupied while the fire department came to size up the situation and possibly even remedy the problem.

“I think Montgomery’s up.” Around ten beers Buff began to jump from thought to thought. “He sucks. Forster will punch him too.”

“The place is on fire. Fuck Montgomery. Let’s get outa here.”

“Ladies and gentleman,” a muffled voice echoed over the field. “We are experiencing a malfunction in the popcorn machine at the first base concourse level. The problem will be rectified soon. Please bear with us during our delay, play will resume shortly.”

“You!” Buff’s boom startled the guy one row up and a couple seats over, who looked like a cross between a bodybuilder and a motorcycle outlaw. “You!” Buff screamed again.

“What the fuck are you doing?”Rosco tried to calm his friend.

Buff waved his tenth Old Style at the guy and growled, “You got the time?”

The guy had a silver chain that dangled from his left front pocket to his right, perfectly outlining his brief-less testicles. He looked at The Buff, smiled, and yanked out a pocket watch the size of a hockey puck from his faded Levis and said, “ten… p.m., fat boy.” His droopy white walrus mustache did a lousy job of concealing his shit-eating grin.

Buff’s eyes flashed. His thick neck tightened, and his fists clenched.

“No, Buff. Not tonight.” Rosco, trying to play counselor to his roommate. 

Buff sighed, took a deep breath, finished the Old Style and waved the beer guy over for another.

“You’ve had enough,” Rosco said, not wanting to have to bail him out again. The cops knew their address by heart.

Buff smiled back at the biker-body builder, flipping the Camel in his direction. “Thanks for the time.” 

“Ten o’clock. Shit, it’s weird isn’t it? A freakin’ fire at the ball park.” Rosco tried to distract his friend.

“Thanks,” Buff said.

Rosco was confused, “For what?” Sometimes around a dozen beers Buff would get apologetic, then morose, stepping back from the edge.

“Everything.” He looked down at his foot grinding the beer soaked peanut shells into the filthy concrete. “Looking after my fat ass. Putting up with my shit. Fronting me the rent. Sox tickets.” He raised his Old Style, “ Everything.”

“Better than Cubs tickets.” Rosco tried to squeeze a smile out of him.

“Fuck the Cubs.” He spit, propelling a wad of green phlegm onto the sticky yellow railing, brown specks of tobacco flecked his teeth.

Buff was back, out from his drunken dangerous spiral.

“Everybody! Let’s sing a song. Let me hear you, a one, a two, a three.” Harry fucking Carey, the biggest drunk and whoremonger in baseball, blasted over the stadium. “When Irish eyes are….” 

The goggle-eyed inebriate must have been ordered to keep the crowd occupied while the fire department came to size up the situation and possibly even remedy the problem.

“Harr-eee, Harr-eee, Harr-eee…,” the crowd roared.

Then the fucking organ, louder than an air raid siren, started up. Nancy Foust, the blonde bombshell organist serenaded the masses. Rosco vaguely recognized the tune. It made him think of his mother, slow, melodic. The old man trying to be cool, slow dancing next to the radio. Smoke Gets In Your Eyes. Corny, stupid, but the drunks in the stands loved it. Even body-builder-biker was swooning with his two hundred-pound honey. 

A fine drizzle began and Nancy hit the next song right on top of the fuckin’ head. Rosco recognized this one right off. He could sing the words: “Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone…” “Fire and Rain.” By the depressed, drug-addicted, nasal droner, James Taylor.

“This is nuts.” Rosco turned to Buff, smoke hanging dark and low over the field.

“We ain’t leavin’. This is history,” he slurred, thick tongued and sleepy. “History.” 

Goose came on and closed the game out. Three up, three down. Sox won 8-6. It was midnight.

Rosco roused The Buff. 

“What!” He awoke throwing punches.

“Game’s over. It’s midnight.”

“Who won?”

“We did. eight to six.”

“Goose come on?”

“Yep, slammed the door.”

“Knew it.” Buff closed his eyes and slunk back into his seat.

“Let’s go. For Chrissake!” Rosco was done.

“Nope.” Buff folded his heavy arms and dug deeper into his undersized seat.

“Midnight! It’s midnight.” Rosco grabbed his friend’s meaty arm.

“Look.” Buff pointed to the smoky sky. “Beautiful, like in ‘Nam.”

“You hate that shit. Brings back memories.”

“Not tonight. I’m with you.”

The sky flared with streaking lights. The heavens boomed. Sulfur filled the air. Midnight and the fireworks had just started.

“Can’t miss this.” Buff settled into his seat and waved over the Old Style man, who was supposed to be shut down for the night. “One for me and one for my buddy.” He pointed at Rosco, generous with his friend’s wallet. The thumbless beer guy popped two and slid them down the seats. “Keep the change,” Buff yelled. The vendor nodded, slipping a few crumpled bills into his pocket.

“Thanks.” The guy yelled back.

Buff slumped back into his green wooden seat. By the time the beer reached them, he was out. 

Balancing two Old Styles, through the haze, Rosco looked down on his war-torn friend, twisted like a contortionist, in a seat not big enough for someone half his size, sound asleep, a Camel dangling from his cracked lips, crusted onions still decorating his black beard.

Rosco let him rest. He needed it. He had served. 

The sky aglow, rockets shooting into the heavens, bombs bursting in air.

Harry, exhorting the crowd with drunken cheers from the loudspeakers.

The stadium lights slowly illuminated the stands. The Buff did not stir.

Finally, all had departed. Now, only the two of them, high up in the left field bleachers.

A buck a seat.

Smoke rested low over the field.

Still his friend did not stir.

He had served. He had served us well.

[berrodarmstrong]

Schism.

Berrod felt as if his face was going to explode.

It was true that he had quite a temper, but recently he had learned to still himself in the face of the many aggravating circumstances and provocations he faced on a daily basis. The not-so-simple ritual of breathing, thinking ahead, and remembering his place had served him well many a time. In that moment, that ritual was experiencing a critical failure.

The source of his ire was no less than his master, Ronsen Armstrong. Together they had travelled the dust-blasted landscape of the Fringes and entered the temple carved into the very mountainside by the first monk. The first Fist of Rhalgr. Schism was its name. Berrod had been told tales about it by Master Armstrong himself, but this was the first time he had ever laid eyes upon it – much less stepped inside. It was a dark, cold place, replete with the architectural stylings associated with the old order, including a statue of the Destroyer himself. The two Highlanders did not buy their entry easily; they were made to combat frigid spectres of spirits without rest, given corporeal form in one of the most horrifying fashions – bhoots. Nevertheless, the pair had persevered and their obstacles laid low. Berrod had felt a fresh exhilaration in the victory…until Master Armstrong chose then and there to have words with him on the very topic that would ever be a sore point between them.

“I am glad to be back here again, though my nostalgia is tainted with a sense of disappointment and sadness at its state.” The man’s cold, pale blue eyes seemed to glimmer in the limited stream of light, “In many senses this temple reminds me of you. Strong; a call for nostalgia, a place of hope…now ruined…rife with potential yet bereft of the will to realise it properly.”

Berrod was glad that it was too dark for the absolute crimson at his neck, ears and nose to be visible, though he still imagined that Armstrong felt the heat that radiated from his fury. He stiffened in that awfully telling way that he usually did – and his master saw prey fit for the taking. The fuming Highlander wanted nothing more than to shatter the other man’s jaw with a good swing…but he knew better.

Ronsen Armstrong was already an imposing man by his own right – Berrod was tall among his kin, but Armstrong had the advantage of three ilms over him. While three ilms did not seem like much, combined with thick, corded musculature and damn near unbreakable bones, Ronsen was less of an old man than a golem made flesh. It was true that age had lined him slightly, and faded the red of his hair into a wild, coppery mane…but it had not brought weakness. Not a whit of it. The master knew as much, and so continued on his train of thought.

“You did one thing right, I suppose. You carried things on as I had asked, just in case…though your choice of pupils leaves something to be desired. I’ll admit that there are a few who showed great promise. That there was even one is a boon that a beggar cannot afford to be particular about. I’ll do what I can with them. You can rest and return to your pirate and wood-bloods.”

Berrod must have given something away in his expression; Ronsen’s own face perked with intrigue that tilted his head just slightly. The younger man was only barely able to perceive it through the haze of his ire.

“Ah,” The master hummed, “I’ve struck a nerve. I’ll not apologise for speaking truths, these circumstances are of your own making. We should continue – I want to keep this promise to you at least, before we part ways. You should be honoured that I’m still bothering.”

“Shut up.”

The words had left Berrod’s mouth without thought, and without even a moment for him to consider restraining them. The moment that followed was a deathly silence; Ronsen stopped talking and his entire face froze mid-word, while Berrod himself felt the chill of the cavern nigh snatch the soul from his body. Never before had he spoken thus to his master, and with good reason. Master Armstrong was a relaxed man because he was a powerful man, and that power was shamelessly brought to bear when applying consequences to ill thought-out actions.

Very carefully, the master gave the estranged pupil a chance to retract. “What was that?” The tone feigned a hardness of hearing while still threatening dire retribution in turn.  Berrod, however, had already decided to commit. If he was going to die there he’d die satisfied.

“I said shut up. I’m not a failure because I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to. I’m not weak because I’m not strong as you. I’m not a bad teacher because my students are odd.” He jabbed a finger in Armstrong’s direction, “What I’m worth ain’t for you to measure. Never has been.”

Ronsen stood and listened with a stony calm that usually settled before a mighty storm. His eyes never left Berrod’s – even as the younger man continued to rant.

“You humiliated me in front of them, so much so that I don’t know if they like you very much. That’s not what I care about though. I don’t care about what you say or do to me. The way you’re goin’ now though – they’re gonna be miserable with you and I hate that idea. I hate that you moved from a man who just wanted to make sure that the art lived on to an arrogant old bastard who doesn’t know when to  mind his damn business and let people do what they need to do to grow.” That finger struck out again, “Stop talking about my family, they got nothin’ to do with you. If this is how it’s going to be, then you can choke on your swivin’ promise.”

Berrod was not given a chance to breathe for the next section of his tirade. Ronsen stood before him one moment, still and disdainful. The next, the older monk’s instep was but an ilm from the side of Berrod’s neck, moving with a speed and force quite capable of messy decapitation. He was fast. The younger man had only a fraction of a tick to process all of that and move accordingly.

Ronsen’s leg connected with a hastily presented left forearm, braced with Berrod’s right hand. The student’s feet shifted apart on the stone walkway as the impact sounded as cannon fire in the cavern. Pain exploded through his flesh and bone – which did not snap, for a mercy. Armstrong peered at him without expression, his leg still extended. Berrod suffered only a moment of conflict, but it was a moment that cost him dearly. Several rapid snapping kicks lashed at his guard from that very leg. They assailed him with such intensity that it was all he could do to stay standing and weather the onslaught. His arm felt like it was about to shatter, and his hearing was assaulted by the whipping crack of it – the cavern only served to echo and intensify the din tenfold. There was no choice left for him to retreat and retaliate.

Berrod could at least match Ronsen’s speed, though his left arm was useless for the time being. He blasted back in with a straight thrust toward the older man’s solar plexus, hoping to catch him in the follow through of the kicks. The old man was not so unwise as to leave himself open, however, and managed to turn the charge into a throw. Wrapped hands clutched Berrod at the wrist and belt; Ronsen used his standing leg as a pivot and took his student’s momentum to task. One spin sent Berrod flying toward the foot of the Destroyer’s statue. He rolled roughly along the dusty floor and collided with the pedestal. Spread-eagled and dazed on the floor, there was no hope for him to defend. Ronsen was over him in an instant, and pressed one of his gaiters firmly onto the younger man’s throat. The master glared down at him with unmistakeable killing intent.

“Do you believe those words so fiercely that you’re willing to fight me to defend them?” He asked calmly. The older monk even had the grace to lift his foot a little and allow Berrod a reply. Berrod was not deterred, for the first time he felt a clear sense of purpose – even if it meant that his throat would be crushed for simply declaring it. He believed in himself, he believed in his pupils, and he believed in his path – and so he spoke.

“I believe in ‘em enough to fight and kill you to protect ‘em. I believe in my students, and I’ll protect ‘em with every breath I’ve got left.” The words came out as a bit of a breathless snarl, but they held weight nonetheless. He stared into his master’s eyes with conviction – no anger, no hatred…just purpose.

Ronsen nodded. “I see.” His foot applied pressure once more; Berrod was prepared to struggle to the last. Then…he removed it, and exhaled with an exasperated inflection that made him look twice his age, “It’s about bloody time.”

Poor Berrod was all but sure that he was about to die. While the reprieve was a relief, it did leave him quite flummoxed – too much for proper words, at first. “Buh…?”

The master simply deadpanned at him, then beckoned, “Get up, you look so stupid like that. You finally regrew your damn stones. I’ve been waiting for that since you came the first time. We’re going back outside to climb the rocks and visit the Circles of Answering. Rhalgr knows you need the practice.”

That was all he said; Berrod was only granted the sight of Ronsen’s broad figure traversing the walkway once more toward the cavern’s exit. “Are you gonna train me?” he asked somewhat hoarsely, “I thought I wasn’t your student anymore?”

“You’re not, fool,” Armstrong chided. His back was still to the younger man – though he stopped. “You’re my peer. I’m not going to train you. I’m going to train with you. Hurry up. The sooner we get this started, the sooner I can keep my promise.”

[cyb-by-lang]

OSF AU - All the Little Children (2/?)

Part 2: Wherein tiny thieves discuss the meaning of “turf," have a threatening chat, and throw down a gauntlet.

Sabo didn’t quite know how to break the news to Ace, but it was bad. He waited at the usual spot, pipe leaning against his shoulder and tapping it occasionally as he thought. There had to be a way to explain what was happening, but Sabo still wasn’t sure what they’d do next.

For the last couple of days, all the easy targets around Gray Terminal seemed to have dried up. It wasn’t like the people weren’t around or anything, but nobody Sabo tracked down seemed to have anything worth the effort. Even the swankier-looking people, the ones who stuck around High Town instead of anything closer to the trash heap, seemed to be running out of treasure and didn’t seem to be getting any more even though the trash still came, right on time.

It was like… It was like someone was grabbing all the best targets before Sabo could find them.

And he had some idea who.

“Sabo!” Ace called, making him jump. “There you are.”

Crud. “Hi, Ace.”

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Ace commented as he hauled himself onto Sabo’s vantage point. It wasn’t all that high, but he could see people without being seen as easily, and thus it became their spot. “Get anything good today?”

Sabo shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Again?!” Ace kept his voice down to a dull roar, but his hand tightened around his pipe hard enough that Sabo almost worried he’d bend it. “What is it with this freaking town this week?”

So Ace hadn’t been having any luck either? Good to know, but worrying. At least there was some news, though. It was just still bad. “Ace, I think I know what the problem is.”

“Yeah?” Ace asked, frowning. Still he was listening. “Who do we gotta beat up?”

“There’s more thieves here than just us, now,” Sabo said. “Two other kids like us, but they’re taking all the good targets before either of us can get there. At least, I think it has to be them.”

“Then what’re we waiting for?” Ace smacked his pipe into his other palm. “Let’s go take out the trash.”

Sabo reached over and cuffed him on the shoulder. “No, Ace. We need to know what these kids are like. It’s too dangerous in case they’re like us, and we don’t even know where they hide out when they’re not stealing.”

“Gah, fine,” Ace grumbled, crossing his arms. “We’ll do it the boring way.”

“You asked what we were waiting on, and I answered,” Sabo told him. “Let’s go.”

Sabo and Ace scoured Gray Terminal for the rest of the afternoon, chasing down rumors of other thieves and other kids. Most of the residents they interrogated seemed to think that they were recruiting, but Ace’s death glare discouraged any further questioning from the general crowd of beggars and lowlifes that haunted the place. Sure, these people were mostly ignored by both Ace and Sabo when considering who to rob—since no one ever had anything—but there were a lot of them and everyone got spotted sooner or later. Even some new phantom thieves.

“Brats looking for more brats,” muttered their most recent informant, with Ace’s pipe directly in front of his nose. His eyes were almost hidden under shaggy gray eyebrows, and he was probably pushing something like eighty years old. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Who’re you calling a brat, you bastard?” Ace snapped. “Talk and I won’t make you eat this!”

“Fine, fine!” replied the man, holding his hands up in surrender. “Ask Menma over there! He’s seen your friends!”

“They’re not our friends,” Sabo said, but he dragged Ace off the guy and toward the next one.

“The next one” turned out to be a teenager with creepy red eyes and nasty scars on both sides of his face. He was twice Ace or Sabo’s size, lanky as heck, and looked at both of them like they were scum.

“Whaddya want?” he asked, in a raspy voice not much deeper than theirs.

Sabo took the lead, since Ace would probably just give the guy a concussion. “What do you know about some kids who’ve been stealing stuff all over town?”

“Ain’t I looking at ‘em?” Menma countered, irritated. He fell back into a pile of junk, huddling under a tarp. “Go away, kid. I ain’t got nothin’ to steal.”

Ace slammed his pipe into the ground an inch from the guy’s toes, making him flinch. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you you’re gonna cough up all you know about those kids before I crack your head open.”

Menma stared up at the two of them for a long moment, his eyebrows moving as he considered his options. With Ace there, he didn’t have a lot of them. Menma licked his lips. “What’ll I get if I tell ya?”

“An unbroken skull,” Ace snapped, glaring for all he was worth.

“And we’ll leave you alone,” Sabo said, playing good guard to Ace’s bad one. “We won’t even tell them you told us about them.”

Menma’s eyes darted between them. “Yeah?”

“Unless your info’s shit,” Ace said, just to make his stance clear. “Then I’ll come back and fulfill my promise.”

Menma paled. “Uh, then…” As Ace raised the pipe pointedly, Menma burst out, “FINE! Fine, I’ll tell you. We’re all friends here, right?”

“Sure, buddy,” Ace said, his tone implying the exact opposite.

Menma spilled his guts worse than a sea cucumber. With one last series of threats regarding his head and the breakage thereof from Ace, he and Sabo set off from Gray Terminal and headed into the forests of Mt. Colubo. While Sabo was the expert in the trash heap, the mountains were Ace’s playground more than anyone else’s. If the other thieves were setting up shop in the wilderness and hadn’t been eaten by any of the bigger animals, there were only so many places they could go, and Ace knew all of them.

Afterward, Sabo wondered if thinking like that counted as tempting fate.

“Where did all these traps come from?!” Ace screamed as they barreled down a hill, chased by a falling log the size of a small ship. Freaking tripwires in a forest?

“Just an idea,” Sabo panted, as he dragged Ace to the side to avoid the trap, “but I think we should’ve asked where that guy got his info!”

“You mean that bastard set us up? I’ll go back there and—!”

But whatever Ace would have said was cut off by the sound of another wire snapping. Together, they ducked under a swinging log that crashed through the trees above their heads. Sabo wasn’t sure, but it looked like this trap was designed for hitting taller people. Maybe adults?

“We’ve gotta get out of here first,” Sabo reminded him, sitting up.

But there wasn’t a way out. Every time they tried to escape, a wasp nest would fly out of nowhere and almost hit Ace in the face. Or a pitfall lined with spikes would just appear where Sabo was going to place his foot. Or a quicksand trap would almost swallow them both whole. Or maybe they’d be chased around the forest by giant animals with steaks in front of their faces to keep them running, while surrounded on all sides by poison ivy. And even when that stopped, the paths were lined with brambles and thorns and burrs that stuck to their clothes and hair.

By the end of the gauntlet, both Ace and Sabo were covered in scrapes and sores, their voices were hoarse, and their entire bodies ached with exhaustion. The sun had long since dropped below the horizon, and now it was too dark to see. They couldn’t get off the mountain without possibly running into more traps, but without their eyesight to spot them in time.

“Shit, this was such a bad idea,” Ace muttered as they clambered down into a hollow underneath a tree.

The air smelled like rain, so Sabo knew it was time to find shelter in any form available. He trusted Ace’s judgment in the forest more than his own, and followed.

“My idea wasn’t much better,” Sabo said after a while, in between picking burrs out of his pants and coat. He winced when they caught his fingers, but he knew he couldn’t sleep with things digging into his skin. “I was the one who said we should gather info.”

“And I was the one who kept threatening the guy,” Ace muttered, pausing for just a second to suck on a cut on one of his fingers. “Should’ve figured he’d try to get us killed.”

“Still planning to head back there?” Sabo asked.

“If we get outta here? Yeah.” Ace scowled. “Now I owe him a fight.”

Sabo sighed. “That’s a bad habit you’re getting there…”

“Tch.” Ace spat toward the corner of their little hideout just as the rain started to fall. “I’ll be fine, Sabo. Same as always.”

“Sand Drizzle.”

Both of them whirled on the spot, or tried to, but they were already up to their ankles in sand and the roots weren’t high enough to let either of them stand up or swing their pipes. The sand dragged them out of shelter, moving on its own like it was a snake or a monster of some kind, hoisting both boys up into the air by their feet and swirling around them in a gritty, blinding storm.

Ace spat and swore, his voice muffled by sand getting into his mouth.

Sabo tried to free his feet, but couldn’t bend far enough upward before his arms were pinned to his sides. By the time he could open his eyes without pain, he and Ace were suspended upside-down in cocoons of yellow sand big enough to hide their whole bodies from view, except their faces. When Sabo tried to struggle, he couldn’t move an inch.

“What the hell is this?” Ace shouted, but there was a tremble in his voice that didn’t match anything Sabo had ever heard from him. He wasn’t being loud because he thought it would help, but because he didn’t know what else to do.

A different voice, sounding lower and raspier than Memna’s by a lot, spoke from behind them. “Naruto, what should we do with them?”

“Dunno, gimme a second,” said a voice that was, unfortunately, more familiar.

As Sabo watched and his stomach tried to plummet right out of his body, Menma stepped out from behind a nearby tree and leaned casually against the trunk. “So, having fun with our little obstacle course?”

“Of course we’re not, you backstabbing son of a bitch!” Ace snapped, before Sabo could shout across him.

Menma’s red eyes narrowed and he stalked forward, cloak billowing around him in a way that was suddenly a lot less like a Gray Terminal resident and a lot more like a trained fighter. He stopped when he was within about four feet of Ace, then said, “You leave my mother out of this.”

…What.

Menma leaned back, before Ace could spit in his face. “Anyway, this isn’t even my fault. You’re the ones who got all pissed off over something and started threatening everyone in the trash heap.”

“Did you plan to set us up from the start?” Sabo asked, before Ace could get a word in edgewise.

“Well, sure. Why’d you think I talked to you like this?” Menma asked, gesturing at his entire body.

Sabo blinked. “…What the hell are you talking about?”

“The thieves you were looking for? They’re right here.” With that, Menma disappeared in a huge plume of smoke. In the middle of it, a higher voice cackled, “Gotcha!”

When the smoke cleared, Sabo felt his jaw drop before he realized it. Where Menma had been standing, there was a blond kid a little older than Sabo and Ace were, with spiky hair instead of curls and three whisker-shaped lines on each cheek. Sabo could still see the resemblance between the kid and Menma, in build but not in height, but mostly his brain was stuck on the fact that there’d been a person standing there and now there was a different one, and the first one had just disappeared.  

“I didn’t know what you guys were looking for, but if you were stubborn enough to chase us all over the trash heap, you’d probably take on the death course,” said…this person. The one raspy-voice had called him “Naruto,” right? “And boom. Here we are.”

“I want to know why you were following us,” said the other voice, much closer than before.

As Sabo watched in a kind of horrified fascination, his and Ace’s sand cocoons slowly drifted apart and a creepy-looking kid walked between them to Naruto’s side. When he turned, Sabo saw blood-red hair and flat, blank green eyes surrounded by dark circles. The guy had a completely neutral stance, other than his crossed arms, and he didn’t look like the kind of person who’d blink twice at killing someone.

“Hey, Gaara asked you a question,” Naruto said, putting his hands on his hips. “So ‘fess up.”

“We wouldn’t even be here if you jackasses weren’t stealing everything in Gray Terminal that wasn’t nailed down or on fire!” Ace exploded. “Not everyone can just turn into someone else to do whatever they want! Me and Sabo are getting starved out because you can’t stick to your own freaking beat!”

“…What’s a ‘beat’?” Naruto asked, making a face.

“Turf, territory, whatever the hell you wanna call it,” Ace replied, as the blood ran to his head.

“We can return what we stole from you, just out of pity,” suggested the redhead, still entirely expressionless. “But otherwise? No.”

“They didn’t say they were thieves, Gaara,” Naruto said.

“It was implied,” Gaara replied. His eyes narrowed for a second, then Sabo and Ace’s cocoons started to turn back rightside-up.

“Well, stealing stuff’s a ‘first come, first served’ kinda business.” Naruto shrugged. “And right here and now, we’re stronger than you are.”

Ace audibly ground his teeth.

“So get off our ‘turf,’ kid,” Naruto said. He grinned in a way that was totally not a good thing, showing off a pair of long canines. “Wanna give ‘em a push, Gaara?”

“I have a better idea,” Gaara replied. He clapped his hands together, and the sand exploded off Ace and Sabo and dropped them roughly on their feet.

It didn’t last.

All around them, the ground shook, and then a whole flood of nothing but sand rose out from between individual clumps of earth and blades of grass. Before either of them could react, the sand tripped and swept them along the forest floor. Out past the trees, straight through all the bushes—

And right off the mountain.

[thebearwitchproject]

Grandfather Tales; Wicked John and the Devil

NOTE: If you just want the story of Wicked John and the Devil scroll down past my set up of how I learned Richard Chase’s Grandfather Tales to next set of bold print. If you enjoy sappy memory stories about grandparents keep reading. If you really enjoyed the story and want to read some of my insights and a discussion on why I would probably end up just as “wicked” as Wicked John keep reading after the story. At the very least if you enjoy this folktale and would like to see others like it reblog, like, or comment on this post. I have a wide array of folklore texts in my personal library and enjoy sharing them with others. I would love to work my way through all 24 of the Grandfather Tales the way I have done with Wicked John and the Devil but I will only do so if there seems to be an audience for such work. Constructive criticism, friendly commentary and continued discussion is always welcomed and encouraged!

As far back as I can remember I have loved folklore, ghost stories, myths, and legendary tales. A lot of this probably stems from growing up for the most part in my grandmother’s house. I am the oldest grandchild on that side of the family by several years and both of my grandparents were in retirement but the time I came along. My grandparents house was my second home. I rode the same bus to school in the morning from my house as I did to my grandma’s house. They no longer live in that house as after my grandfather had a stroke (and is pushing 93 years old) they could no longer handle the upkeep, steep drive way or two sets of steps to their bedroom. But from the time I was 3 to 8th Grade I rode the bus after school to this house.

I am fortunate that I still have both grandparents on my Dad’s side and even more fortunate for the close relationship I have with my grandma. She taught me to read, write, tell stories, and to use my imagination. My grandma was a school teacher in rural North Carolina. She taught for over 50 years and then turned around and basically taught me for another 10. The thing that I loved most as a child and even today at 30 years of age are her stories. She grew up on a North Carolina tobacco farm during the Great Depression and there are so many stories just from her childhood that that I could write a book. 

Being with her was a constant stream of folklore and stories. Sometimes the stories she told me just recast me in my favorite movie at the time (the plots of both Home Alone and Home Alone II: Lost in New York were definitely ripped off many times. Sorry John Hughes) and sometimes they were stories that she had memorized and told over and over again in her classroom.  I loved her stories so much that they became a way to fight my picky eating habits. When I (as I often did) would leave the veggies on my plate during dinner or the weekly full family Sunday lunch she would entice me to eat them by telling me a story. She would tell the story to up to a point and say “Eat a bean” if I refused it was the end of the story. If i wanted to hear the rest of the story I had to eat my veggies (they were always green beans though, usually canned, and I have my own Green Bean Story that gets laughs when told).  

The most memorable stories she told me all come from a book called Grandfather Tales collection by the great storyteller and folklorist Richard Chase. If you aren’t familiar with his work you then you should definitely check out either Grandfather Tales or his collection Jack Tales. And now I am finally at the point of this rather long-winded post. As I have been researching folklore from the Blue Ridge Mountains to help inform my practice I have found my way back to the stories of my childhood. Stories that I have often told to anyone who would listen long enough to hear my versions. What follows is the full text of one of those stories and one of my favorite from Grandfather Tales. After the text of the actual story at the end of this post will also be some commentary about the story both from my reading of the text and from the notes provided by Chase in the Appendix of Grandfather Tales. So with no further ado, I give you:

Wicked John and the Devil (as retold by Richard Chase in Grandfather Tales)

One time there was an old blacksmith that folks called Wicked John. They say he was right mean: never would join the church, never did go to meetin’.  always laughed about folks gettin’ saved and being baptized and sech. One thing about him, though, mean as he was, he always did treat a stranger right. And one mornin’ a old beggar came along: Crippled up, walkin’ on two sticks, all bent over if rheumatism, look right hungry-like. Stood there in the door, and Wicked John fin’lly hollered at him says, “Come on in! Whyn’t ye come on in and sit down?” So the old beggar he heaved over the doorsill, sat down on it, and they talked a while. Wicked John he kept right on workin’, talkin’ big, and directly he throwed  his hammer down and went to the house. Come back with a big plate of viddles: boiled sweet potato, big chuck of ham-meat, greens, beans, big slice of cake, and a glass of sweet milk. Says, “Here old man! You might make out with these rations- if there's anything here you can eat.”

The old beggar thanked him and started in eatin’, and old John he went on with his work. Well he was a-hammerin’ and around over there, sort of watchin’ the beggar man, and pretty soon he saw him lay that plate and the glass to one side and start to get up. He let them two sticks fall to the ground and commenced straightenin’ up, straightenin’ up, and all the kinks come out of him, till the next thing Wicked John knowed, a big stout-lookin’ man wa r’ared up there in the door: had a long white beard and white hair, white robe right down to  his feet, and a big key in his hand. Old John had done dropped his hammer and was a-standin’ there with his mouth hangin’ open and his eyes popped out. So the old man says to him, says, “Well John, I'm Saint Peter. Yes that's who I am, and once every year to see can I find any decent folks left down here, and the first man treats me right I always give him three wishes. So you can just go ahead now and take your three wishes. Anything you’ve a mind to, you can just wish for it and hit’ll be that-a-way.”

Wicked John looked over there at Saint Peter sort of grinning like he didn't think it was really so, says, well, Peter, you better let me study on in a minute. Three wishes. Lord!”

Looked around, started wishin’ on the first thing popped into his head. He didn't care!

“Well now, I've got a fine old high-back rockin’ chair there by the door, and when I get my work done up I like to sit in my rocker, but, don't you know, every day nearly, blame if there ain't somebody done gone and got there ahead of me- One of these loafers hanging around in here of an evenin’. Makes me mad! And I just wish:- that anybody sits in my old rocker but have to stay there and  rock right on so I let ‘em get up.”

“Aaa Lord- Lemme see now. Well, there's my old sledge hammer. It's them blame boys come in here and get to messin’ with it, take it out there across the road, see how big a rock they can bust, and con-found I don't have to go out there ever’ time I need it and hunt for it wear them feisty boys have done gone and dropped it down there in the grass somewhere. And I jest wish:- that anybody teches my sledge hammer would have to pound with it. And keep right on a-poundin’ till I let ‘em stop.”

Well, Saint Peter he looked kind of sorry like he thought old John was a-wastin’ his wishes pretty bad, but that old blacksmith he was mean, like I said, just didn't care about nothin’ or nobody. Looked around at Saint Peter right mischievious-like, grinned sort of devilish says “Well alright, Now-- I got a fine form Bush just outside the door there, fire book, it's full of red blooms real early in the spring of the year; and I like my old Firethorn, but confound everybody comes here to get their horses shoed, blame If they don't trample all over that bush, back there wagons into it, break it down; and Aaa Lord these highfalutin folks come over the mountain a-fox huntin’. Humph! Fox-huntin’ in red coats!- looks like they jest got to have ridin’ switches ever’ time they pass. And I jest wish: anyboyd teches my fire thorn, it ‘uld catch ‘em and hold ‘em right down in the middle of all them stickers till I let ‘em out.”

Well, Saint Peter he stepped over the door sill and he was gone from there and we could John couldn't tell which way he went in or nothin’.

So that old blacksmith he kept on blacksmithin’ in his blacksmith shop, and it wasn't long till John and his old woman they got to fussin’. Well, she was jawin’ at him and jawin’ at him and he jus jawed right back at her, till fin’lly she told him, says, “The Devil take you anyhow, old man! I jest wish he would!”

So that day the old man was a-workin’ in his shop, look up and there was a little devil a-standin’ in the door, says, “Daddy said he'd take ye now. Said for me to bring you right on back.”

“ All right, son. I'll be ready to go with ye in just a few more licks. Reckon you can let me finish this horseshoe. Come on in. I'll not be a minute or two.”

Well, the little devil he stepped over into the shop, hung around while, and then he went straight and sat down in that old high-backed rocker, but the more he tried to get up the worse that old chair rocked him, till that little devil’s head was just a-goin’ whammity- ban! Against the chairback. And fin’lly he got to beggin’ and hollerin’ for Wicked John to let him go.

“All right. I’ll let ye go if you go on out of here and not bother me no more.”

So the little devil said yes, he'd go, and when the chair quit rocking, he jumped out of it and a whippity cut out the door he flew.

Well, not long after that the old woman she lit into the old man again about somethin’ or other; and they was a-havin’ it! She was just a-fussin’, and he was just a-laughin’ at her, till fin’lly she stomped around, says “I’ll jest tell ye, old man! The Devil can have ye right now for all I care! He shore can! He can send for ye and take ye off from here, and the sooner the better. That’s all there are to it now!”

That day another little devil come to the door of the shop, little bigger’n the first ‘un, says ”Come on old man, Daddy sent me for ye. Said for me not to wait for nothing, bring ye right on back. So come on now, and we'll go.”

“All right son. Yes, indeed. I'm jest about ready. Come in, and I know you'll let me hit a few more licks on this wagon-tire. I'm bound to finish hit ‘fore we start.”

Well, that little devil he come on inside the shop, got to hangin’ around lookin’ at what old John was doing, seen he was havin’ it kind of awkward the way he had to hold on to the wagon-tire and beat it with one hand, says “ Here, old man, you hold it and let me beat it. We got to hurry or Daddy’ll get after me for staying so long.”- Picked up the old sledgehammer laying there on the ground, starting in poundin’.

so we could John he held the wagontire up and turned it where he wanted it fixed, and when it was done he pulled it out from under the hammer between lips, set it against the wall. And when the little devil try to let go of the hammer handle, he just stuck to it and hit a-poundin’ right on. Well, the way the old sledge swang that little devil around in there, a-jerkin’ him up and down with his legs a-flyin’ ever’ which-a-way- hit was a sight in this world! So he got to  beggin’, “Please let me go! Please, sir! Make this thing turn loose of me!”

“All right. I'll let ye go if you get on out of here and don't never come back. Ye hear?”

The little devil said yes, he heard and no, he'd not be back never no more; and then he fell off the hammer-handle and out the door he streaked.

Well, a few days after that the old woman she started raisin’ another racket. They hadn't spoke many words for she r’ared back and stuck her hands on her hips, hollered at him, says, “Old man I just wish the puore- old- Devil himself would come and git ye! I shore do! Now you get on out of here ‘fore I knock you in the head with this stick of firewood!”

So old John he dodged The Stick of wood and laughed at the old lady, and went on out to his shop, and- sure enough, he hadn't any more’n gotten started workin’ ‘fore he looked up and there standin’ in the door with the Old Boy himself, with his horns and his tail and that old cow’s foot of his’n propped up on the sill, says, “COME ON NOW, OLD MAN! AND I AIN’T A-GOIN’ TO TAKE NO FOOLISHNESS OF YE NEITHER!”

“Yes, sir! No, Sir! I’m ready to go, mister, right now. I jest got to finish sharpenin’ this mattick. Promised a man I’d get it done first thing this mornin’. Come on in and sit down.

“NOW! I’LL NOT SIT IN NO CHAIR OF YOUR’N!’

“All right, sir. All right. We’ll be ready to go quicke’n you can turn around if you’d jest give this mattick blade a lick or two while I hold it here. There’s the sledge hammer leanin’ there on the doorsill.”

“NO! I AIN’T GOIN’ TO TECH NO SLEDGE HAMMER!” says the Old Devil. Says, “YOU DONE MADE ME MAD ENOUGH ALREADY, OLD MAN I DIDN’T LIKE A BIT THE WAY YOU DONE MY BOYS, AND I A-TAKIN’ YOU OFF FROM HERE RIGHT NOW. YOU HEARD ME!”

And the old Devil reached in and grabbed Wicked John by the back of his collar, started raggin’ him out. So old John he started in fightin’: punchin, knockin’, beatin’, poundin’, scratchin’ kickin’ bitin’. They had several rounds there just outside the door, made the old Devil awful mad, say, “CONFOUND YE, OLD MAN! I’M GOIN’ TO LICK THE HIDE OFF YOU RIGHT NOW. JEST SEE IF I DON’T-- WHERE’LL I GET ME A SWITCH?”

The old Devil looked around and reached for that bush, and time he touched it, hit grabbed him and wropped around him, jerked him headforemost right down into the middle of that bush where them thornes were the thickest. The old Devil he tried to get loose but the more he thrashed around in there, the worse he got scratched up till fin’lly he just stayed right still, with his legs a-stickin’ out the top of the bush.

“Mister”

“What ye want?”

“Please, sir, let me out of here.”

“All right. I’ll let ye go on one condition:- you, and none of your boys, don’t none ye never come up here a-botherin’ me no more. Ye hear? You promise me that and I might let ye go.”

“Heck yes, I’ll promise,” says the old Devil. “I’ll not come, and I’ll not send nobody neither- not never no more.”

So the bush turned him loose, and sech a kickin’ up dust you never did see. The Old Boy left there and he wasn’t moseyin’ neither.

Well, Wicked John he kept on blacksmithin’ and he wasn’t bothered by o more devils. And after a long time he died and he went on up to the pearly gates. When he got there he knocked, and Saint Peter opened up a little crack, looked out, says, “Ot, it’s you, is it? What ye want?

“Well,” old John told him,”I thought I might stand some little show of gettin’ in up here.”

“You? Why old man, don’t you know we got your record in yonder? I’ll tell ye right now; I was lookin’ at your accounts just the other day; and on the credit side-yes- you have a few entries ‘way up at the top of the page; but on the other side- why man! Hit’s fille up right down to the bottom line. There hain’t a chance in the world of your gettin’ in this place.” And Saint Peter started shuttin’ the gates to.

So old John turned around and down the stairsteps he went. Got down there on the road to hell, a-staggerin’ along with his hand ins his pockets a-whistlin’/ And when he come in sight of the gates of hell, one of them little devils happened to peak out.

“Daddy! O Daddy! Look a-yonder!”

The old Devil come runnin’ and when he saw who it was a-comin’ he hollered out, says, “Bar the door, boys! Bar the door!”

Them little devils grabbed the big gates and slammed ‘em to quick, tuned the key in the lock. So when Wicked John come on up and looked through the bars there stood the old Devil with his young ‘uns crowdin’ around behind him just a-tremblin’.

“Uh-unh!” the old Devil says. “Get on away from here now! No, indeed, you ain’t comin’ in! I’ll not have ye! Don’t ye come no closter! You just turn around right there now, and put off from here.”

Wicked John studied a minute, says, “Well con-found! I don’t know what’n the nation to do now. Saint Peter wouldn’t let me in up yonder, and here you’ve done locked me out. Why, I don’t know where to go!”

So the Devil he looked around, grabbed him up a set of tongs, reached in the furnance, and got holt on a hot coal. Handed it out the bars, says, “Here old man, you jest take this chunk of fire, and go on somewhere else, and start you a hell of your own.

Old John he took it; and they tell me that if you go down to the Great Dismal Swamps, you can kook out of a night and see a little bob of light a-movin’ along out there. And some folks call it the Jacky-my-latern and some call it the will-o’-the-whisp- but I reckon you know now who it is.

If you feel like reading some of how I engage with the text feel free to keep reading below. What started as a simple post morphed into an almost essay length discussion of the story that I would love to discuss with other readers. Also see the end of this post for some information about future plans to do more posts like this one in the future.

There are quite a few elements to this story that makes it such an entertaining tale and it’s no surprise that it’s one of the earlier story in Chase’s collection. Grandfather Tales its self is made up of 24 different stories and like Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales or Boccaccio’s Decameron uses a framing narrative to tell the stories. The book is written as though a Grandfather is telling all of these stories to Chase (an outsider) and his grandchildren on an Appalachian Old Christmas Eve (or Twelfth Night Eve). There are no Scrooges, sugar plum fairies, or twelve little reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh in these tales. They are stories out of the Appalachian landscape, with an Appalachain voice. Which brings me to the first thing I love about this story ( and the others in the book) the dialect of how the stories are written. 

As former actor and student of theatre dialect work is some of the most fun work to do and when I tell these stories I lay it on thick. It’s hard not to. It is engrained in the story. It’s what makes telling them so fun. I always joke with my husband (also a native North Carolinian and a far better actor than I ever was) that you can tell when we are talking to our grandmothers on the phone because the accent that we worked hard to neutralize for stage comes out as soon as we start talking with them. My grandma can pick out someone from her childhood county out of a crowd just by the way they talk. She calls it the Person County accent. (There is also a Person County Song that is fond of singing if prompted.) I love the way that Chase writes the dialect into the text. Some of my favorite words used in this story are fin’lly not finally, the use of jest for just, shore for sure. I also just adore the comic book level quality onomatopoeia phrases whimmyity-bang and wippity-cut describing just how fast the little devils run away from Wicked John’s tricks.

Getting into the story itself I am really taken of how this story handles the folkloric Devil as trickster trope present in a lot of Southern folktales. Though the Devil (or Old Boy) could fill in a trickster role in this tale Wicked John out-tricks the trickiest trickster of them all.  There are plenty of other stories about the Devil being outwitted or bested by a mortal in Souther folklore, but for me this one is up there with Johnny and his fiddle. Its truly an epic reversal that the Devil gets tricked in such a way by someone living a pretty mundane life as a blacksmith.

Is Wicked John Really All That Wicked?

Now the text doesn't provide us with a lot of information about Wicked John and how he got that nickname. It does tell us that he: “never would join the church, never did go to meetin’.  Always laughed about folks gettin’ saved and being baptized and sech.” Now if making fun of people who go to church, or who are “saved-again” Christians is a crime for which one can earn the nickname “Wicked” then I defenitley qualify for that title as well. But this does tell us a lot about the culture that is telling us this story. One steeped in religion and superstition. But whats even more curious is how even though he is a “Wicked” man in the public eye the text paints him as very hospitable. He opens his house to a stranger and feeds him without question and this seems to have been common practice for John. Full scale wars have been fought and epic poems have been written as a result of betrayals in hospitality (yes I am looking at you The Illiad and not the dumpster fire that is the film Troy but I digress)  How is John “wicked” when he is known for his hospitable nature? I guess his wife would have some words to say about that, and as we see with his devilish visitors his hospitality only extends so far...

One could argue that the three wishes that are granted to him by Saint Peter (according to the notes his transforming visitor is sometimes Saint Patrick instead) are testaments to his wicked ways and even question just how hospitable John truly is but hear me out. John seems to be a rather hard working man. He’s a blacksmith, like I can’t think of a more backbreaking, labor intensive, or hotter premodern era job than being a blacksmith. He works all day swinging a heavy sledge hammer, getting things red hot and using all of his energy to do so. All of the thing he requests for wishes really go back to his work.  They are pretty simple wishes in fact. He doesn’t wish for riches, immortality, a less naggy wife ( I know, I know, I am certainly not thrilled with the way that the story portrays John’s wife or their marriage either. But come on she's the one who throws a stick of firewood at him even if he did do something that deserved a tongue lashing from her.) He simply wishes to be able to enjoy things THAT ARE ALREADY HIS! At the end of a long day’s work in his workshop John just wants to sit in his antique rocking chair, but no. He has to wish for his chair to be bewitch because people come over and sit down in his favorite antique chair WITHOUT PERMISSION. Then they don’t offer him his own damn chair when he is done with work for the day. I certainly understand this gripe. I often want to sit on my sofa or armchair after a long day at work and I certainly don’t always feel like entertaning uninvited guests, especially when I have been working in a hot workshop all day! I would probably wish for the same thing if I was in John’s shoes. 

Now I can totally understand if you think the rocking chair situation is a bit extreme. You might be saying “But what about John being so hospitable? How is not letting people sit in a rocking chair being a good host?” But I in no way blame John for his second wish. John wishes for his sledge hammer to be bewitched so the neighborhood kids will stop stealing it from the shop and throwing it outside or using it with out permission. I TOTALLY GET why he makes a wish for a magic sledge hammer. 

Having worked in costume shops off and on for around 11 years I know I get infuriated when I step away from the sewing machine I am using at the moment for a quick break and come back to it being rethreaded in a completely different color. It’s a pretty quick fix for me, but still its a headache I rather not deal with. Now imagine if you will you’re a blacksmith, after a grueling day of labor you close up your shop for the day, put away your tools, get things set up for work the next morning. You go home, (more than likely in this case next door) and don’t want to think about work for a few hours. That’s completely understandable! What would you do if the neighborhood kids STEAL YOUR FUCKING TOOLS, TRY AND CRUSH ROCKS WITH THEM AND THEN LEAVE THEM OUTSIDE FOR YOU TO HAVE TO FIND ON YOUR OWN? You can't say you blame John for making this wish. I certainly don’t

Now John’s final wish for his fire thorn bush seems at first glance kind of a thrown away opportunity for improving his life in a more meaningful way but lets pick this a part. The reason John wishes for his bush to fight back is because people of a higher socio-economic bracket keep a) breaking off and stealing switches, aka branches off his property and b) his clients keep running over or trampling the bush. Again I find John completely justified in his wish. 

When it’s all said and done all of John wishes relate back to work in a way and at the end of his long workday John simply wants to enjoy rocking in his chair, people not to fuck with his tools and get to enjoy his favorite shrubbery. Simple requests. If all of this makes John a “wicked” man, then maybe I am just as guilty of being “wicked” myself.

 Before wrapping this post up I want to highlight a few more things that I find really interesting about this story. They aren’t super integral to the stories plot but they are common among folktales and I just want to point them out. The text’s use of three, the story’s myth like ending and a few of the notes about the text by Chase. It’s really easy to notice all the use of threes several times in this story. You have the three wishes, three enchanted tools, three visiting devils and by the end of the story the three other worldly realms ( heaven, hell and The Great Dismal Swamp) and as we all know the use of three is pretty common in these types of stories (The Three Little Pigs, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Three Billy Goats Gruff, etc.) but its always useful to call attention to things. I am also taken by how the story ends. You don’t realize to the end of the tale that not only are you getting a trickster tale but at the end you are getting a explanatory myth/legend for unexplained phenomena in the Great Dismal Swamp. It’s a pretty clever explanation and rather unexpected. 

Finally there are just a few notes from the book’s Appendix I want to bring attention to. This story like all the stories in this collection are retold by Chase after collecting them from storytellers through out the North Carolina and Virginia stretch of the Appalachian Mountains. This particular story was told to Chase by several different folks across the region.  A mother and daughter from Charlottesville VA (my current hometown) and another person farther west in Bristol, VA. Chase also notes that in other tellings of the story John is referred to as Jack, he is sometimes characterized as a drunk and in some versions he is a shoemaker and not a blacksmith. Also according to the notes the fire thorn bush in question is a Japan Quince (Cydonia Japonica). 

This post is certainly longer than I planned it to be but there is so much to pull out of this story, it’s why I chose it to write about. I would would love to hear your comments, interpretations and feelings about the story.  All of the stories in Chase’s work were collected from the Scots-Irish/ English colonists and their descendants that settled this part of the Appalachians but I would be fascinated to hear other versions of this story that  may approach it from a different cultural lens or landscape.  I know have defentielty adapted it a few ways myself when I have told it to an audience. 

I am thinking about working my way through all 24 stories in Grandfather Tales in a similar fashion as I have this one. If you found this post (essay really) useful in anyway please feel free to reblog it, like it, comment or send me an ask or PM. The more response I get to this post the more likely I will be to working my way through the whole book and there are some really great stories to share. 

At the very least I am planning to share and analyze at least three more of my favorite stories from Grandfather Tales, the chilling jump-scare tale Chunk O’Meat, The Weekend at Bernie’s-esque Old Drye Frye and my absolutely favorite story to tell any time I can get a captive audience Gallymanders.

[alexjester]

Worst things about the West midlands.

Full of unfriendly, judgemental cunts who think their shit doesn't stink and will try whatever they can to rob you, unfriendliest place in the UK by miles

Avoid places like Ladywood, Shard End, Perry Barr, Lozells, Handsworth. All those areas have been ruined by Labour Party MPs and Birmingham City's Labour Council. Those areas are known to have gangs, high unemployment, welfare dependency, poor schools, housing and health services. Ladywood is an area known for having the highest number fatherless families on welfare. So if you like single mothers with 5+ children, then Ladywood is the place to be.

Too many beggars! I was begged three times by different people each time in multiple places in the city centre! I was even begged in M&S in the train station! Far too many ugly looking flats that accumulate Birmingham's skyline, too many immigrants, tired looking buildings, the accents are quite dreadful, the list goes on...

I've travelled extensively all over Curling Turd Island U.K and once again it just goes to show that you can polish a turd, but in B'Ham only in places!! First impression's when I fell off the train at the labyrinthine maze that is Moor Street Station was how warped everyone looked, especially in and around Pidgeon 'Ole Park. Must of been years of abuse at the hands of vile tasting tap water (filtered from the canal of dead things and chemical waste, no doubt). Tapwater that just makes you fart and shit all day long without no sign of giving up (Aston). Also how unadulteratedly dangerous and awful the pavements and roads are here and how badly planned "Sloppy Second's" is on the whole. A big no no for visitor's/guests. Everything in this binned off, trolleyed country is only in car-distance, as per usual, and OMG what an infested shit'ole - rat's, wasps everywhere, ant's nests, aliens from outer space and Zombie's everywhere!! Progress is so slow in B'ham, is Sloppy Seconds therefore by dinosaurs? The main urban sprawl High Streets are caked with Zombie's walking up and down all day with their hand's out, looking for something (for nothing) -the nanny-stater's have the wrong shit-trousers on all day with only dick-pence to offer anyone. I want to get out!

The accent. Is it even English? I thought Ozzy Osbourne's speech was incomprehensible because it was affected by years of drug abuse...until I moved to Birmingham.

All the lads speak like Benny from Crossroads and the girls are goddam hideous and go out sat night with all their fat on show, fat thighs in mini skirts, love handles bulging over waistlines and massive arses in tight clothing - not a good look. Brums have no class or etiquite

OMG where do I start - driving there is hell, brum accent makes anyone u speak to appear as thick as shit, hardly anyone has a proper job an loads on the dole, very dirty, chavs chavs and more chavs, pigeon shit all over the place, beggars, whores and pimps at every corner. Basically an ugly uninspiring city inhabited by unemployed losers.

what exactly is there about birmingham to make one jealous - this is obviously a joke - go to manchester, edinburgh, london, bristol instead.

Birmingham actually is the Second City. It didn't gain that name through through no reason at all. Don't believe otherwise. Mancs are just jealous that Brum got the name before they did. This is one of the worst things about Birmingham. Or should that be about Manchester? Hrrrm.

Being the victim of homophobic verbal abuse on the train into the station when I'd been enjoying myself previously in the modern and enlightened city that is Manchester. Well done you two prats/bigots - you must feel really clever- I just feel sorry for you.

erdington high street oh what a joy to walk down there on a saturday after the alkies and bag heads have finished with it . it reminds me of the thriller video except a 100 times more paranoid.and the bromford estate ive seen better estates in the third world.cheesy kevs chavy daves and sharons with the standard " ennit " nosestud ,saxo drivers,bmw innit drivers,and them divs who wear coats on hot days with there farahs on and a key chain and greased hair who aint had the ride in years..

it is full of windowlickers

Manchester IS the second city. Brummies and their surrounding counties that use the city need to come out of denial and actually look at the facts. Birmingham is a disgrace: right wing, old fashioned and very very unfriendly.

unfriendly people, with an old school culture all of their own - most of the midlands is like this - with the exception of nottingham

Dreary, dull city in the middle of three old school, old fashioned counties, unfriendly people, junkies, lack of fashion sense and grooming.

Teen Culture ( A unch of Weemo Teeny Boppers dancing to Panic! At the Disco and the fucking Kooks.

sty andrews. a piss poor imitation of legoland

crowds, ignorance

lots an lots of pigeons that wait til ur a few inches away before flyin in ur face lol

public transport

Kings Heath High Street: More nutters per metre then Bedlam on a full moon.

The people - rude, ignorant, arrogant, unfriendly, cocky ... not nice. I hardly speak to them, as I hate the accent as well. Black Country accent IS totally different - better, as we don't have extended vowels that go on forever !!!!!!!!!!

The Brummies - arrogant, ignorant, rude, impatient & think they're better than anyone else 'cause they live in Britain's 2nd city. Erdington - what an area, never realised such bad areas existed. At least I never have to go out with my hair brushed, otherwise they all stare. The homeless people - why so many & where do they go when the change shift at Snow Hill ?

More Area more "chav's" and/or "Gansta's"

homeless, someone please look after them., they need our help

few idiots

Chavscum and 'PUNK' wannabes will always be the worst. Yes, Birmingham is still quite dirty, but most of the dirty dirty bits have been filtered out, unlike Manchester... ughh.

rain!

Birmingham is crap. Traffic congestion means it takes forever to get anywhere, and it's a nightmare getting a taxi home from town. The place has no character, and Brummies moan constantly. Everything here is mainstream, and there is no real alternative culture. The people who like the place are those who haven't lived anywhere else. Believe me, are much better places to be.

I'm amazed at the positive things I read here. Believe me the only people who like Birmingham are those who have never lived anywhere else and consequently don't know any better. It takes forever to get anywhere because of the congestion, and poor public transport, most of it is ugly in the extreme, and everyone moans constantly. Unless you are utterly mainstream, it's just plain dull.

My beautiful DMR hardtail getting stolen - theiving chavs!!!

i have to disagree with kingstanding being one of the nicer areas in birmingham, i should know, i live there

the slowly tightening grip of the cheese extreme that rules the Broad Street night life - lets hope it shoots itself in the foot and peeps start to drift away from the flock in search of fresher, hipper beats!

The modern Christmas tree outside St Martins Church (in the Bull Ring). A traditional tree would have been more appropriate

Plastic Paddy Pubs, Corporate Pubs. Deafening bands with little or no talent and deaf soundmen. The Jam House - load of bollocks prices run by conmen - Jools should be ashamed! Look what they did to Ronnie Scotts!

Being from a place where your accent is constantly being mistaken for the black country accent (its a completly differrent dialect and place, arghhh) and people who think that Manchester is the 2nd city when its bloody well not!!!

too much violence, street robbery, and smackheads.

Kevins and sharons!!!!!

er....Trans?

Dont worry about there being a selfridges in the Bull Ring Centre - there is gonna be a Bear Factory store there - definately a good shop to go to for everyone!

The homeless people on Broad Street

Overcrowding, congestion and too much concrete

Hip Hop, d&b, alternative scene isn't that good - it's all about Broad Street. Homeless people - it seems to me loads of them have better trainers than me and are just plain rude if you don't have any money to give them!

New Street Station and the Palasades.

birmingham lives in the shadow of london too much, but shouldn't! it may be our second city in size but difinetly not in heart!!!

The problem is someones bound to get shot up at the bloody ice rink my brother nearly did.

there seems to be a good amount of style-conscious people in birmingham but having said that, there are (young) people who expect to be taken seriously whilst wearing their adidas poppers tucked into their nike socks and sporting flourescent orange trainers. (all i have to say about them is 'no'. no no no no no no no.) despite the fact that theres a lot of inter-racial and inter-faith tolerance and acceptance in birmingham, there is some amount of discrimination, although not just racism - but the culprits are the ones who wear their tracksuit trousers tucked into their socks, so you've got to ask yourself whether or not they can help themselves, really......

the victorian terraces, burberry cap sporting fools, woodsurfing wankers, goths and freaks( their parents hate them and they blame everyone else), the oasis market, plankriders, skateboarders, jitters, er anythin else to call this fraternity?? oh yeah, tossers. i think thats it. and that man (you know who you are, lakvir of halesowen college) who cracked one off on the number 9 bus in broad daylight, then unloaded in his bag. dirty bastard.

THE WANABES FROM SOLIHULL THINKIN THERE GOOD WEN THERE NOT! AND LOOKIN AT THE REAL SKATERS LIKE THERE NOTHIN WEN WE REALLY ARE.

pigs

The rubbish that constantly litters the streets, other places

Birmingham is the worst City you can ever dream of living in. I was born in Birmingham and have spent years trying to shake of the misery of Brummiedom. Fights, lads, slappers, concrete, abuse, sexism, racism - need I go on?

Far too many aggressive beggars who are blatantly not homeless and are all mashed off their tits and out looking for cash for their next bag of smack, dodgy geezers in hoods hanging around at night, The Rotunda - it's just goddamn ugly, Travel West Midlands... "bus every 6 minutes" (or more like, "4 buses within 3 minutes, once an hour") - totally unreliable and totally bollocks, too many identically-clothed (Rockport & Kickers) Shazza and Kev gangs (fuck off you no-hopers), the city centre is always being dug up for some unknown reason, people smoking on buses (despite the large "�500 fine" signs, which TWM never enforce), high likelihood of robbery at night in some areas (be very careful and always stay aware of who is around you!)

too many OSP's telling you to be quiet!

bham's known for pocket pickin and druggies and rcism but realy if you keep youre self to youre self its not realy that bad!

where do i start. Theres no country side, everywhere u look u see tarmac and metal. The people are ignorant and no one ever says thanku 2 the bus driver, which really annoys me. Sutton area is full of psychos and people openingly smoke weed on the bus - which then makes the driver get high.Need i say more.

Beggars. If you're shopping, watch your handbags (girls) and wallets (guys).

Kevs and shazzas (townies), crap local radio, kevs, busses are always late, shazzas, broad street (if u like alt music) did i mention the kevs?

it's a big grey concrete mess not pretty, the high street shops like o neill and virgin are expensive

Our terrible spelling.

Birmingham is very dirty, especially Bordesley Green, where I work. Think before you drop litter!

modernisation redevelopment of city not complete till at least 2006 utter chaos street closures etc.

Nothing, birmingham's brilliant, OK maybe too many cars

Kevs! Pack them all up and send them back to Slutton Coldfield where they spawned from. In fact, the whole of Slutton seems like a giant conspiracy at times to undermine Birmingham's healthy anti-Kev attitude. Incidentally, anyone from down around Hodge Hill and Ward End keep your eye on Star City...the Kev Migration seems to be moving in that direction... Anti-Sk8ing-Coppers who confisk8 your board!!!

the chewing gum on the pavement. Street beggars wearing brand new nikes! (???)

it's a pig ugly place

Its lack of individuality sometimes annoys me. Broad Street could be great, but its been bitten by the Chain Pub & Restaurant Bug. I want unique places!! Manchester and London do it - why not Brum!

Traffic jams on the M6!!! They put LA to shame.

Aston V#��@!!!! Apologies to all who have the misfortune to visit the collection of sheds called V#��@ Park, if the council was full of bluenoses the place would be turned into housing.

The annoying Ben Sherman/Hackett/Rockport shirted scum yes you!

Pubs stop serving at 22:50 at the weekend??? But that is England all over The crappy public transport system

The TERRIBLE, DISGUSTING, and downright FRIGHTENING mess of roads and subways and dereliction that is the Bull Ring. The area around the Arcadian, with the gay village and Chinatown, is great but the roads and subways and ramps in between that area and the city square are horrible. Really scary. No thought to pedestrians at all.

People are a bit too "uptight" and need to lighten up, lay back , an' feel them warm rays of heaven on them pasty faces. Maybe have a little glass o' somethin' an' smile a little.,....yooo know whut aah mean!!!!

People who have this Solihull mentality whereby they they keep diassociating Handsworth from Handsworth Wood - both together (I've lived in both) are far more scenic/exciting/historically valuable than some other areas of the city I won't embarrass by naming!! If you're still not convinced, try this - THERE'S NO MORNING RUSH HOUR!!! (We Northsiders spend far less of our ives sitting in our cars / on buses)

The street cleaner at the library. Looks like an elf. Calls you a cunt when you don't do a single thing. Deliberately trashes your bag by pouring water over it. Also very paranoid, he believes that there is a camera hidden in a security light (there is definitely not)

TWM, total rip off of a bus company.

Perry Barr. Its bad. Its worse than bad. Its fucking awful.

Sutton snobs and the University district - well run down.

architecture. neglect of some areas (Digbeth in town has mucho potential town planners). having to listen to prats from completely inferior towns whitter on about crappy brum, when they haven't been there, or never explored when they were.

The buses, operated by Travel West Midlands, which are cack. They don't give change which is as primitive in the sphere of public transport as it is possible to get, and a constant source of annoyance.

Living, or hanging out anywhere near Bournville - the place has no pubs at all due to it being built by the Quaker family that owned Cadburys.

The subways and underpasses. Some are very frightening to walk through alone. Thankfully Birmingham is being 'redesigned' at the moment and it is improving by the day.

The nightlife. It's a bit dead really.

The worst thing? Most of the suburbs. Whilst the City has spent a lot of money and effort into redesigning the Centre for the post-industrial age, most routes out of the city are scattered with dilapidated ex-factories and buildings; some of the residential areas (such as Handsworth or Handsworth Wood) are frightening to be in at night.

Moronic southerners who think Birmingham's a northern shitehole somewhere near Manchester. Wrong - it's a midlands semi-paradise with trees somewhere near Stratford.

Villa fans.

Wost thing about Brum: some of the office blocks are SO gross. Bring 'em down. Good news is that next year the Bull Ring will be bulldozed and replaced by a 300 million development which will boast the only branch of Selfridges outside London. The accent is a pain in the arse, and makes even the most intelligent person sound as thick as shit.

Brum hasn't had a medium sized music venue since the Hummingbird closed down 5 years ago, forcing bands to play in Wolverhampton or Leicester. This seriously hampers local talent (no, not bloody Ocean Colour Scene)and Brum is crying out for a "scene" of some description PLEASE!! The suburbs need some urgent cosmetic attention too and local transport could do with an overhaul s!

Traffic Wardens

The young fisher lads obsession with their fast cars is brain numbing. A quality night out for them consists of driving your fast car round and round the town centre, climaxing in pulling in next to some other young things in their cars in the Balmoor Cemetery carpark. And you can bet they're not there to place flowers on poor old Granny's grave.

Accent, traffic, no one knowing where B'ham is.

Can be a bit scary at night, especially for people from out of town.

lycra clad no hopers

Man U Fans, Blues Fans.

Seriously deranged people appearing on a regular basis, care in the community in action in Birmingham obviously.

The accent.

Private Hire drivers - mostly 'Care in the community' releasees from All Saint's Hospital.

[exquisitelyeco]

Bartemaus....

I was thinking the other day about the story in the bible, in John, chapter 9. Where Jesus healed a man born blind.

In the story Bartemaus, is then dragged before the Sanhedrin, and questioned about whether he is blind or not! His parents leave him in the shit, cos they don't want to get chucked out of church...(Yup, know it's not called a church, but that's a shorter word, so get over it!😂) It's a beautiful story. 😊But one that is filled with pain that made me really angry for Barty. 😡😡In the beginning at least.... but the more I pondered on it, the more I started to SEE...... 😂So. This is what I thought:

Barty is born blind, and mum and dad make him beg for a living. No benefits there then........It's bad enough being blind without being made to beg (Listening, Teresa?)

Jesus comes along with his disciples and sees Barty begging. Peter, who has such wonderful tact, said in poor Barty's hearing 'Was this his sin or his parents sin, that meant he was punished and born blind?' Well done Pete. Really helpful. Jesus replies 'Nope. Not mum, or dad, not even Bart. But so Gods glory can be seen through him. Now that sucks. Born blind so God can be glorified? God, that wasn't nice. Which is an understatement. What a swine.

So then,..! THEN........Jesus SPITS on some mud and rubs it on Barty's eyes and says 'Go wash in the pool of Siloam. Well, that's a bit obvious J. He has mud on his eyes......so J doesn't just heal him....like he did with others...and say 'Be healed'.....No, He spits and RUBS it on his eyes, WITH mud. Lovely. Hope no dogs had been near that mud.....Does it say J helps him to the pool? Nope. Leaves Bart to stumble there himself, with muddy eyes. I bet people thought he had been more blind than usual......

Bartemaus washed his eyes and he can see! He walks round looking at stuff....well you would wouldn't you....if you'd been blind and now you wasn't...don't moan about my GRAMMAR, I don't care!

So everyone who had seen him beg, for YEARS, then question, 'Is that old Barty?' Now they have obviously become blind.....'Yup, 'Tis I' said Bart. Well not quite like that, but you get my drift.... but they didn't believe him....clearly a case of SERIOUS denial going on......So they drag him off to the police. No, sorry, they don't...they drag him off to the priests, who ARE the police....furgatively speaking...literally as well, they liked stones....worked THAT one out guys? A little riddle to keep you on your toes.....

They announce 'This, we think is Bart. But as he is not blind, we are not sure....he might have had a secret twin...'I do' said Bart, ....'his name is Lartfast...'.....No, I lie. He didn't, and he doesn't......

So the priests ask him, or rather, demand petulantly, 'Is you Bart? The one we give our half pennies too, if we find them on the ground, cos we are Torys and your a beggar? They were not Torys, but you see the resemblance.....

'Yup, ''tis I' say's Barty. 'No it's not.' They say. Your blind!' 'Nope, you are, said Bart. I can see you are! I mean, I had my suspicions, but now I can see you I know.....' Not really, he just said ''twas him'......

So this went back and forth, the priests getting all het up and cross. So they insist on mum and dad being dragged into it, to answer for their son. 'Close the shop? On Sabbath? Sorry, we didn't mean that. We don't open then, cos we know it's not allowed.....we just do it in secret.....' Sorry, I added that bit for Embroidery, so you get the FEEL of this....- Sabbath is HOLY, you do NOTHIN,' if your fence blows over into someone's else's garden, leave it. If your house catches fire, call the insurance on Monday......if your dog craps in the house...sorry....

So not only was Bart claiming to see, he had actually been healed on the Sabbath! 'Couldn't you wait till Monday? Fiend!' Who dared to heal you and on the Sabbath, rude, uncouth git!

'Jesus did.....' said Barty. OMGoodness. That went down like a ton of bricks. Jesus! Oops naughty uhuh word! They turn to mum and dad..'Is this your son? Was he born blind?'

'You know he was and he is! What's wrong with you? Blind?' They say....well, no they don't actually. They do much worse. Cos they know that the Jesus club will be kicked out of such a pretty building, if they say anything nice about Him......seriously, The temple at Jerusalem was the world centre for Jewish worship. A big deal... but even so, priorities a bit shit here.... really....Do they stick up for him? Nope. Leave him in the crap. ' HE IS OUR SON, WE KNOW HE WAS BORN BLIND (You'd hope so.......if they hadnt noticed that, it was a problem....) they didn't shout either, sorry. That was caps lock.....'But he is old enough,' they say, 'He can answer for himself......' well, that's nice. Thanks parents....feel really loved right now...So the priests AGAIN ask....not cap lock...emphasis.....'I've told you.' said Bart.

'How can Jesus heal him?' the priests fume. 'He is a sinner. He does stuff on Sabbath!' So are you guys right now, arguing, dragging people out to see you....bit hypocritical don't you think.... And then other priests argue....'Well, he must be able too, Bart can see! Unless he is pretending! Na, he didn't stumble like he usually does....'

'Who healed you?' They demand. Barty is a bit fed up now. 'For God sake, I just told you! Deaf as well as blind? What's wrong with you! Ahhhh, I know! You want to become his disciples too!

Well THAT put the cat firmly amount the pigeons.....'Your a SINNER, steeped in sin....Born in sin....' (So are you guys, pointing the finger, aren't we somewhat?) They froth at the mouth, 'How DARE you question us!'......Bit rude really....'WE are followers of Moses law. Who is this Jesus...He doesn't even obey the Sabbath...you could have at least stumbled till Monday....it's bad enough you dare to beg....we only let you off cos you must be Hungry....'

And they chucked him out of church.

So born blind, just for Gods sake, literally. Made to beg by mum and dad, even though they have a booming shop business (They didn't, well, I don't think so...I have no idea, Just exaggerating........) J comes along, SPITS and put mud on poor Bartys face, his friends think he is a doppelgänger..or has a secret twin...dragged to the police, questioned for hours, mum and dad don't bail him out... not that he was ON bail, but I bet it felt like it....they leave him in the crap, so they can go to a pretty building once a week......So kicked out, probably bruised and scratched, the priests had a habit of being nasty to anyone who mentioned they liked J, let alone dare to suggest they become followers, Bart is having a very bad day......

Then Jesus hunts him out. Bit rude. Doesn't help him in church, waits till he is booted out. Then doesn't ask about his bruises or say sorry about the abuse he has just had....says something really weird.....'Do you know the Son of Man?' WHAaaaaaat? So Bart said 'Is he a car salesman.....sorry... He didn't, I got carried away.....No...He said 'Who is he Lord, that I may believe in him?....'

'It's me.'

'Oh, really? That's nice!' No, he actually said 'I believe Lord.'

Some other priests, who had gone undercover and had come to see if Bart was tricking the benefits system, and was faking it, trying to claim PIP....STOP it, Nicola! This is SERIOUS....sorry....Some priests followed, and Jesus said, ' I have come into the world to judge the world, so that those who are blind can see, and those who can see become blind.....' nice....

'Do you mean we are blind? They ask.

'What do you think?' He said. No actually he said, 'Because you claim to see you are guilty' or words to that effect...What on earth was He on about?

Well, I think He was talking about the fact they saw Barty. They knew him. They KNEW he was blind. They saw he could now see. But they were too pig headed to believe it..So they acted blind. Furgertively ..can't spell it sorry.....and spiritually blind literally. They put their law of hardness, not caring this poor guy has had a life time of blindness, and expect him to wait till the shops open the next day. Would you? If it was me, I'd been asking first thing that morning! They were not astounded at a blind man seeing, but angry and hardened their hearts, choosing to be blind, rather than believe this. Let alone acknowledge the man Bartemaus told them did it. They hated Him, they hated the miracle and they hated Barty. But they loved their blindness.

They knew the law of Moses, but they did not allow either grace or mercy. By doing so they showed they were blind. They quoted rules but did not make allowances for need. Made themselves look holy and righteous outside, but inside, were, as Jesus Himself said 'Full of dead mans bones' What does that mean? It means they saw a blind man, and they left him there. They knew all the wisdom of the Torah and the Prophets (The Torah is the first five books of the bible, basically, the Jews hold that as their bible.) If they had truly read the law of Moses, what they would have known is 'The person is more important than the rules.' Like the Witch in Narnia. They only knew the deep magic, not bothering to study the deeper magic still, the mercy of the heart.

They did not love their neighbor, they loved themselves. Looking at and condemning others sin, whilst neglecting to look at their own. As Jesus tried to tell them, 'It is not what goes into a mans mouth that makes him unclean, but what comes of of it.' They even condemned plucking the head of grain and eating it, if you were hungry, but had not washed your hands. Go hungry, until you've washed, was their rule. Is that love? Is that mercy? That was what both the Torah and the Prophets tried to teach them, but they refused to listen. They used words and laws for power, ambition, gain and judgement, not mercy, grace and kindness. Like the story of the Good Samaritan, although this was a parable or made up story, there were so many real ones, as well as Bartemaus, also the story of the man with the withered hand, Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead. So many, many miracles and they neither believed or understood them. The planks in their own eyes were so huge, they had become blind. Not physically, but spiritually.

So Barty. Was he bitter at finding out he had been born blind, just so Gods glory could be manifest? (Thanks, Peter.....) was he upset mum and dad betrayed him and watched him get beaten up and chucked out of church, to save their own skin? Was he pissed that God spat on his eyes, rubbed mud on them and left him to go to a pond and wash it off? Did he hit him for it? Nope. He loved a Him for it. He was SO thankful. That is an understatement. He didn't care about a stupid building. He didn't care about the priests and their 'holy' position and what it meant in those days, and still does today. He stuck up for Jesus and got beaten, but he still didn't care. All he cared about was, falling at the feet of a man he didn't know, but who had healed him. That's all he could SEE. Get it? His eyes, spiritually, emotionally and physically were OPEN!

And, WOW, that WAS Glory to God! What glory! What a man! There are no words...well there were, I just wrote them...but you get what I mean, so quiet! What a man. I love Bartemaus. I admire him more than words could say. More than that. That glory he gave to God was truly awesome. I hope I could be like that. I'd probably want to kick Gods bum, as well as Peters......stamp, shout, spew bitterness and hate out for the fact He left me that way. Accuse Him of being a selfish, sadistic swine. But Barty. He SAW how it really was. He didn't care he had BEEN blind, he only cared he could now see. In so many more ways than before.

Seeing is a journey. For all of us. I am literally partially blind. I don't like it. But learning to really see, is spiritual. As I have done my journey more with God, I have realised how blind I really am. Not in my eyes, though that is important. But in something so much more important. In my heart. In my mind. In my emotions. And the grace of God helps us see more and more clearly the things which REALLY matter, the state of the heart on its journey towards eternity. Thank God He does! I am a blind, arrogant brute without that grace. But by submitting to God, allowing Him to expose my blindness, which the priests refused to do, that gives God Glory! And it gives me sight, hope, peace and so much more.

Barty knew where his treasure was. Not down here. Not a pretty church building, that within 70 years would be raised to the ground...his treasure was spiritual, in heaven. He knew who his saviour, healer and redeemer was. And he didn't care who else know it. Mum and dad did. And they would have most probably left him blind, so they could go to church. To look at the flowers and lick the priests bums. But Barty, he didn't care the consequences, only that Jesus had SEEN him and helped him SEE!

Sometimes I don't understand why. But I know now, Bartemaus didn't either. But you know what? He didn't care about that. And like Barty, I am going to work on not caring about that too.

Thankyou Bartemaus. You are one amazing man. I am looking forward to seeing you.

[putdownfatsdomino]

MASTER POST: Song of The Day 2016

Every SONG OF THE DAY post of 2016:

01/01/2016: Natalie Cole - "Our Love Is Here To Stay" (Audio Video)

01/11/2016: David Bowie "Heroes"

01/17/2016: Dr. Dog - "Bring My Baby Back"

01/22/2016: Murals - "Long Bridge"

01/27/2016: Kanye West ft. Ty Dolla Sigh & Kendrick Lamar - "Real Friends/No More Parties In LA"

01/28/2016: St. Lucia - "Love Somebody" (Official Audio Video)

01/29/2016: Kehlani x WSTRN - "In2" (Remix)

01/30/2016: Quilt -"Eliot St."

01/31/2016: Anderson .Paak - "Come Down"

02/01/2016: Whitney - "No Woman"

02/02/2016: Sunflower Bean - "Easier Said"

02/07/2016: King - "Mister Chameleon"

02/08/2016: Sheer Mag - "Fan The Flames"

02/09/2016: Mabel - "My Boy My Town" (Official Video)

02/10/2016: Daudi Matsiko - "Sandwiches"

02/11/2016: Majid Jordan - "Make It Work"

02/12/2016: King - "The Greatist" (Official Video)

02/14/2016: The Lumineers - "Ophelia"

02/15/2016: Lucy Dacus - "Strange Torpedo"

02/16/2016: Twin River - "Antony"

02/17/2016: Twin Peaks - "Walk To The One You Love"

02/18/2016: D?WN - "Not Above That"

02/19/2016: Jay Prince - "Heights"

02/20/2016: Katy B ft. KAYTRANADA - "Honey"

02/21/2016: Ben Rector - "Dance With Me Baby"

03/03/2016: Danny! - "Constellations" (Official Video)

03/04/2016: Mayer Hawthorne - "Cosmic Love"

03/05/2016: Follin - "Roxy"

03/06/2016: Viola Beach - "Swings & Waterslides"

03/07/2016: Salt Cathedral - "No Ordinary Man"

03/08/2016: Goldwash - "Malady"

03/09/2016: Moon Taxi - "All Day All Night"

03/10/2016: Phases - "Cooler"

03/12/2016: Givers - "Record High, Record Low"

03/13/2016: Muddy Magnolias - "It Ain't Easy"

03/14/2016: Powers - "Hot"

03/15/2016: Run The Jewels ft. Diane Coffee - "Crown"

03/16/2016: The Royal Concept - "Fashion" (Official Lyric Video)

03/17/2016: Bleached - "Sour Candy"

03/18/2016: Zayn - "BeFoUr" (Official Audio Video)

03/19/2016: The Arcs - "Watch Your Step" (Vinyl OST - Official Audio Video)

03/20/2016: The Pierces ft. The Lonesome Fire - "The Chain" (Fleetwood Mac cover - Live at the Roaming Roots Revue - Video)

04/09/2016: Palace Winter - "Soft Machine"

04/10/2016: Japanese Breakfast - "The Woman That Loves You"

04/11/2016: RJD2 - "Peace Of What"

04/12/2016: Anna Of The North - "Baby"

04/13/2016: Pumarosa - "Cecile"

04/14/2016: Yumi Zouma - "Keep It Close To Me"

04/15/2016: Haerts - "Wings"

04/16/2016: The War On Drugs - "Touch Of Grey" (Grateful Dead cover - Official Audio Video)

04/17/2016: Primal Scream ft. Sky Ferreira - "Where The Light Gets In" (Official Video)

04/18/2016: Bishop Briggs - "River"

04/19/2016: Bettye Swann - "(My Heart Is) Closed For The Season" (Audio Video)

04/20/2016: Lucy Dacus - "I Don't Want To Be Funny Anymore"

04/21/2016: BB Diamond - "Instinct"

04/22/2016: Prince - "I Would Die 4 U" (Audio Video)

04/23/2016: Knox Hamilton - "Barely Missed You"

04/24/2016: The National - "Morning Dew" (Grateful Dead cover - Official Audio Video)

05/05/2016: New Madrid - "Knots"

05/06/2016: Ardyn - "Over The River"

05/07/2016: Boys - "All My Friends"

05/20/2016: Red Hot Chili Peppers - "Dark Necessities" (Official Audio Video)

05/21/2016: Amber Arcades - "Fading Lines" (Official Video)

05/22/2016: Sam Wills - "Light On Me"

05/23/2016: Few Bits - "Summer Sun"

05/24/2016: Geographer - "Falling Apart"

05/25/2016: On An On - "Icon Love"

05/27/2016: The Strokes - "Drag Queen"

05/28/2016: The Strokes - "Oblivius"

05/29/2016: The Strokes - "Threat Of Joy"

05/30/2016: Shura - "What's It Gonna Be?"

05/31/2016: Nassau - "Desert Blues"

06/01/2016: Joey Purp ft. Chance The Rapper - "GIRLS"

06/02/2016: Swimming Tapes - "Set The Fire"

06/03/2016: Yumi Zouma - "Short Truth"

06/09/2016: Rosemary Fairweather - "Chemicals"

06/10/2016: Nao - "Girlfriend"

06/11/2016: Ryley Walker - "The Halfwit In Me"

06/12/2016: Jay Som - "I Think You’re Alright"

06/13/2016: Cool Ghouls - "Sundial"

06/19/2016: Puro Instinct - "Peccavi"

06/22/2016: Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats - “I Need Never Get Old”

06/24/2016: BADBADNOTGOOD ft. Sam Herring - "Time Moves Slow"

06/25/2016: Tame Impala - "The Less I Know The Better"

06/25/2016: TEN FÉ - "Elodie"

06/26/2016: Frightened Rabbit - "Get Out" (Live on KEXP - Video)

06/27/2016: Kopecky - "Talk To Me"

06/28/2016: Stephen Kellogg - "Always Gonna Want You (North)" (Official Audio Video)

06/29/2016: The Strokes - "Threat Of Joy" (Official Video)

07/31/2016: Whyte Horses - "Promise I Do"

08/01/2016: The Lemon Twigs - "These Words"

08/02/2016: LVL UP - "Pain"

08/04/2016: D I A N A: "Slipping Away"

08/05/2016: Drugdealer ft. Weyes Blood - "Suddenly"

08/06/2016: Warpaint - "New Song" (Official Audio Video)

08/07/2016: Silent Jay & Jace XL - "Tides"

08/08/2016: Morgan Delt - "I Dont Wanna See What’s Happening Outside"

08/09/2016: Brasstracks ft. Roses Gabor - "Get Your Way"

08/24/2016: Dan Dromeda ft. The Recurring Dream - "Neon Nights in Tokyo"

08/28/2016: Florence + The Machine - "Wish That You Were Here" (Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children OST - Official Audio Video)

08/29/2016: Flock of Dimes - "Everything is Happening Today"

08/30/2016: Redspencer - "Fuss"

08/31/2016: Leagues - "Lost It All"

09/06/2016: THE RADIO DEPT. - "Swedish Guns"

09/07/2016: Few Bits - "Sweet Warrior"

09/08/2016: Doe Paoro ft. Adam Rhodes - "The Wind"

09/09/2016: Dylan LeBlanc - "Easy Way Out"

09/10/2016: Givers - "Blinking"

09/11/2016: Kings of Leon - "Waste A Moment" (Official Audio Video)

09/12/2016: Bat For Lashes - "Gypsy" (Fleetwood Mac cover - The End of The Road Festival ‘16 - Live Video)

09/13/2016: CRX - "Ways To Fake It" (Official Audio Video)

09/14/2016: Molly Burch - "Downhearted"

09/15/2016: Motel Radio - "Phasing Out"

09/24/2016: Kings of Leon - "WALLS" (Official Video)

09/26/2016: Leagues - "Carry Each Other"

09/27/2016: Epsilona - "When You’re Ready"

10/06/2016: Kings of Leon - "Around The World" (Official AudioVideo)

10/07/2016: Temples - "Certainty"

10/08/2016: Quay Dash - "Shades On Top Down"

10/09/2016: Slow Hollows - "Softer"

10/10/2016: Few Bits - "Big Sparks"

10/11/2016: Many Voices Speak - "Video Child"

10/12/2016: Kuroma - "Tennessee Walker"

10/13/2016: Haills - "Raven"

10/14/2016: Mona - "In The Middle" (Official AudioVideo)

10/15/2016: Harlea - "Miss Me"

10/16/2016: Kuroma - "Perfect Girl"

10/17/2016: Sundara Karma - "Loveblood"

10/18/2016: Haills - "Burn"

10/19/2016: The Beaches - "Give It Up"

10/20/2016: Young the Giant - "Silvertongue"

10/21/2016: grandson - "Bills"

10/22/2016: Highly Suspect - "My Name Is Human"

10/23/2016: The Chain Gang Of 1974 - "I Still Wonder"

10/24/2016: Joy Room - "Late at Night"

10/25/2016: Nightly - "XO"

10/26/2016: Sylvan Esso - "Radio"

10/27/2016: Declan Mckenna - "Isombard"

10/28/2016: Cape Cub - "All I Need"

10/29/2016: Moons Of Mars - "Take It Easy"

10/30/2016: Frightened Rabbit - "I Wish I Was Sober"

10/31/2016: Two Door Cinema Club - "Bad Decisions"

11/01/2016: The Aces - "Stuck"

11/02/2016: The Griswolds - "Out Of My Head"

11/03/2016: Knox Hamilton - "Washed Up Together"

11/04/2016: Arkells - "My Heart’s Always Yours"

11/05/2016: MAINLAND - "Beggars"

11/06/2016: Goldroom - "Lying To You"

11/07/2016: The Academic - "Mixtape 2003"

11/08/2016: DOROTHY - "Missile"

11/09/2016: Thaddeus Anna Greene - "In Vein"

11/10/2016: AM!R - "Dirty Whispers"

11/11/2016: Vanessa White ft. Illa J - "Low Key"

11/12/2016: Votaries - "Succumb"

11/13/2016: Kehlani ft. Little Simz - "Table"

11/14/2016: Cloud Nothings - "Modern Act"

11/15/2016: The Mary Onettes - "Juna"

11/16/2016: Soft Hair - "Relaxed Lizard"

11/17/2016: Saba ft. Noname - "Church/Liquor Store"

11/18/2016: Communions - "Got To Be Free"

11/19/2016: CRX - “Broken Bones" (Official Audio Video)

11/20/2016: K.flay - "Blood In The Cut"

11/20/2016: K.flay - "Blood In The Cut"

11/21/2016: Lewis Del Mar - "Live That Long"

11/22/2016: Julie Byrne - "Natural Blue"

11/23/2016: Persona La Ave X Baraka - "Believe"

11/24/2016: Alex Izenberg - "To Move On"

11/25/2016: D I A N A - "Confession"

12/02/2016: Kingdom ft. Syd - "Nothin"

12/03/2016: Crumb - "So Tired"

12/04/2016: Slumbers - "Battle"

12/05/2016: The Courtneys - "Silver Velvet"

12/06/2016: Redspencer - "Ride It Out"

12/07/2016: Joyce Wrice & Kay Franklin - "Rocket Science"

12/08/2016: Redspencer - "Rainbows"

12/09/2016: John Legend ft. Brittany Howard - “Darkness and Light” (Official Audio Video)

12/10/2016: Ingrid Michaelson - "Light Me Up"

12/11/2016: Kehlani - "Advice"

12/12/2016: The Molochs - "You And Me"

12/13/2016: Moon Duo - "Creepin"