#the gold digger has become the dug

[madebysimblr]

Xavier: So since when was Grace living in Uptown? That a recent thing?

Whitney: [groans] Oh it's recent. My mom had been staying with Chance since Dad died. She couldn't be alone, it hurt too much. Absolutely the right call. Cut to a few months ago she announced she'd be moving to Uptown-

Xavier: That's good though, right?

Whitney: In theory, yes. In reality, she's moving in with her two- and yes I said two- incredibly young boyfriends. One of them is 22!!! That's nearly half MY age!!! Needless to say it's a good thing Clive has results for you, because I have a new job for him to do.

.

.

Whitney: Anyway… Ready to see what he found?

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

BBE Sampler 1998 Funk / Disco / Deep House

Here's something I posted about the excellent BBE label yesterday, regarding the second and final volume of their late 90s BBE Sampler series:

BBE really is just one of the greatest labels to ever do it, folks. The London-based outfit has always kept it eclectic since its mid-90s inception, reaching across every continent besides Antarctica to deliver all kinds of music that's tangentially rooted in either jazz, soul, funk, or R&B. And there have been countless genres that have manifested themselves over the years from those genres too, from neo-soul, to future jazz, to broken beat, to disco, to hip hop, to downtempo, to house, to drum n bass, to breakbeat, to trip hop, to electro, and more. BBE releases all of it. They are one of the premier labels for crate diggers, founded by a pair of crate diggers themselves.

And this compilation is formulated just like Vol. 2: it's frontloaded with gobs of brilliant and obscure crate-dug funk-and-disco gold from the 60s through early 80s, and it's capped off with contemporaneous songs that BBE put out itself, with five offerings from their first five 12-inches.

Now, while this is an excellent compilation that shows off the label's prolific crate digging chops, with songs from briefly existing acts like late 70s Hawaiian funk band Lemuria and late 70s Philly disco-funk steel band John Gibbs & The U.S. Steel Orchestra, it's actually the contemporaneous tunes at the end where this album starts to sag. Don't get me wrong, there's a couple great tracks from Aydin the Funki Chile (aka ATFC) (who also appears on Vol. 2) and Brains Unchained, who deliver a difficult-to-pigeonhole bit of midtempo nu-disco-funk, but the other tracks on this final leg of the album aren't as good as the contemporaneous crop on Vol. 2.

Still though, these were early days for BBE. They'd soon get the hang of being a well-equipped two-pronged label, which becomes more apparent in volume two: they could simultaneously celebrate a largely unknown and buried past of absolute gems while also maintaining a deeply eclectic underground spirit to impact the present.

Such a fantastic record label.

Highlights:

Starvue - "Bodyfusion" Ravi Harris and The Prophets - "Ravi's Thing" Family of Eve - "I Wanna Be Loved by You" Lemuria - "Hunk of Heaven" Masta Ace - "Sittin On Chrome (Pitkin Ave. Mix)" John Gibbs and The U.S. Steel Orchestra - "Trinidad" Carlos Garnett - "Mystery of Ages" Joe Washington - "Blueberry Hill" Alan Hawkshaw - "Collect" Aydin the Funki Chile - "Circus '97" Brains Unchained - "Do It Some More"

More BBE posts:

Off-Centre: A Riot On Old Street BBE Sampler Volume Two

[anra-thejourneyman]

A ghost of a border

Historic boundary between Scotland and England defiled and forgotten

ANDY MURRAY

The Herald

Monday 20 October 1997

AT THE WESTERN end of Europe's first artificial frontier an old wheel of dangling perished rubber is colonised by primitive vegetation and a watering can, probably last used in the heyday of Buddy Holly, is all but assimilated into the woodland humus.

Sentimentality had lured me to the jungle here. Home Rule was on the horizon and I wanted to celebrate by tramping along the Scots Dike, where my ancestors had once plundered. Alas, scheduled ancient monument number 294 is but a ghost of the border that was delineated in 1552 - ''the last and fynal lyne of the particion'' of the ''Debatable Land''.

Nearby, Langholmites have symbolically patrolled their burgh boundaries every year for generations to ensure that they have not been encroached. Scotland's least well-known historical monument has been defiled, never mind encroached. Its mutilation is lamentable. This divider of national identities, built by international treaty to pacify a no-man's land once regulated by cut-throats, is vanishing from the topography.

Until the foresters came, the Scots Dike was a fascinatingly significant and very conspicuous earthen rampart running between the River Sark and the River Esk; a memorial to terrain that had once been as turbulent as Hell's Kitchen would become. Between 10 and 12 miles long by three-and-a-half miles at its broadest part, the debatable land was a hotbed of desperados, bounded on the south by the Solway estuary, and in the north by Tarras Moss, which Hugh MacDiarmid would later describe as ''a Bolshevik bog''.

Felonious Grahams and Armstrongs ran this swathe of marshland; bereft of patriotism, these godfathers of rustling and pillage switched their allegiance between England and Scotland by sniffing the wind. In 1542, when defeated Scottish soldiers fled the swamps of the Solway Moss, reivers murdered many of them ''and for the rest took horses, boots and spurs, and any doublets worth taking.''

Charters of the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries put the debatable land in Scotland, but England often occupied it. Eventually, it became neutral territory, a disputed principality ruled by hoodlums. Livestock grazed the fields by day but had to go by nightfall, lest they be pinched by Clym and the Cleugh, Hobbie Noble or Jock o' the side.

In 1543 Henry VIII demanded Canonbie priory, and seven years later the English warden tried to annex the debatable land. His counterpart in Scotland then burned every house or shed in sight.

''All Englishmen and Scottishmen are and shall be free to rob, burn, spoil, slay, murder and destroy all and every such person or persons, their bodies, buildings, goods and cattle as do remain upon any part of the debatable land, without any redress to be made for the same,'' the march wardens proclaimed.

Settlement came in 1552 after the Treaty of Norham Commissioners and a mediator, the French Ambassador, Claude de Laval, met at Edward VI's mansion in the south of England to draw lines on maps. Both the Scotsman and the Englishman wanted the lion's share of the demilitarised zone, but the Frenchman decided on a compromise. A ''greitt cord of gold and silk'' was bought to ''hing the greite seill of the Confirmatioun, upon the treaty.''

In pre-JCB days the men who dug the Scots Dike were probably thirsty by the time they were finished. Two parallel ditches were excavated and the earth was piled up into the middle to form a mound between four and six feet high, and eight to nine feet wide. Diggers started at either end and planned to meet in the centre, but Monty Python-like, they failed to join up by 21ft.

Stones bearing the arms of Scotland and England were erected at either end of this forerunner of the African and US state lines, and eight other sandstone boulders were walloped deep into the bogland. It was the long goodbye for the likes of Ill Drooned Geordie, Wynking Will, Jok Pott the Bastard, Nebless Clem and Buggerback.

Stinkhorns rule now, it is hard to locate some of the lichen-bedecked stones in this untended scrubland. An uprooted birch trespasses in Scotland like an ent out of Lord of the Rings. Fog belongs here, along with damp-loving organisms that grow out of glaury holes. There is something eerie about the sheep that graze in silence in the English glades.

Douglas of Drumlanrig had spearheaded the partition of the debatable land. In Scotland foresters are at work on the estate of his descendant, the Duke of Buccleuch; they cut right up to this ancient dividing line: brushwood sprawls the border, oaks that grew out of the ''fynal particion'' have been reduced to trunks. Several saplings still stand like skinny sentinels. It's like a scene out of Indiana Jones.

You have to zig-zag between Scotland and England to dodge obstacles. A burn gushed out of the gouged dike. Much of the northernmost ditch has been erased, long since colonised for drainage of successive plantations. Fences criss-cross the dike and the lack of stiles indicates a dearth of walkers, as does a rickety bridge that cannot have seen human feet for decades (and, ultimately, the barmaid at the Marchbank Hotel at the end of the line, who tells me I am the first to come in and say I have walked the dike).

A deer darts through debatable land from Scotland into England, where tax may be 3p cheaper. I trudge between ditches, neither in England or Scotland, stateless, in limbo until I get to the next marker stone, which is two-and-a-half-feet proud of the ground next to a decaying jumble of barbed fence posts.

Towards the end of this Krypton Factor hands the ultimate sacrilege: a blue plastic container labelled Teat Dep affixed to a tree - obviously cannibalised as a dispenser of pheasant feed.

Our border is almost obliterated, although the rot set in many years ago. The eastermost stone had long disappeared by the First World War when James Logan Mack, an Edinburgh academic, first recorded the vandalism. Astonishingly, a service railway line had been lain down on top of the dike.

''The method of dealing with the removal of tree trunks was to fasten chains to them, which in turn were attached to a locomotive, and as they were dragged away they tore to its very foundation this precious old relic of the sixteenth century,'' Mack recalled in his book The Border Line in 1924.

''Had its destruction been deliberately encompassed, it could hardly have been done in a more effective manner.''

Mr Denis Male, depute-convener of Dumfries and Galloway Council, has urged the authorities on both sides of the border to consider reinstating the crumbling dike and establishing amenity walkways for tourists. An OS map of the haunts of the Border Reivers is due out, and a clan centre is proposed for Langholm as part of ''Reiver 2000'' to mark the millennium.

''There could be no better way of celebrating the end of a thousand years of marking where Scotland meets England, particularly when devolution is in the pipeline,'' says Mr Male.

I do not envy him his task. I rang Historic Scotland's press office four times, but as I wind up I still wait clarification from north of the dike. South of the dike, English Heritage says it was scheduled as an ancient monument in 1949. The organisation advocates ''good management'' and its spokesman was concerned to hear of dereliction.

The Registrars of Scotland have no recorded title. Theoretically, ownership runs to the middle of the mound, but what mound? Scheduling came too late for this particular part of our national heritage, and dubiety over who owns what in the border scrubland proves that it is still debatable land.

Mr Gareth Lewis, factor of Buccleuch Estates says: ''You would not plant trees along there in this day and age. People did not value such things as the dike last century.

''We have an open access policy, although the dike is not terribly interesting and there is no focus, such as a place where some famous reiver was hanged, which might not endear it to tourists.''

The saddest comment made to me during my research into the annihilation of the most interesting part of the Scotland-England border came from a local worthy. Mr Raymond Kerr said ruefully: ''My feeling is that folk don't care any longer. They would tidy it up quick enough if the Queen was coming.''

Dumfries and Galloway was one of only two parts of Scotland to say no to tax-raising powers for a Scottish parliament. Perhaps the ruination of south-west Scotland/'s own mini-Hadrian's Wall serves such as self-effacing populace right.

[borathae]

“Sometimes dreams hurt more than one could imagine.”

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x f.Reader 

Genre: Angst, Fluff 

Warnings: a bad nightmare, tears, fears of abandonment, but also reassurance and so much love

Wordcount: 1.9k

a/n: Surprise, again ehehe! This is inspired by this lovely anonie’s dream. I just couldn’t shake the idea and had to write it! I hope you like it my pretty anonie! This one’s for you baby 🥺💜

Jungkook's eyes are filled with iciness. It is the kind of iciness you had hoped to never experience and yet here you were. There was warmth in his eyes once, warmth so strong you felt yourself melt just from looking at him. 

But that all changed. Two weeks ago when a nosy reporter dug up your past and published a long and very detailed article about it. The article was a complete success. With Jungkook's status in South Korea and the importance his company has to its economy, the success was expectable and yet it still didn’t prepare you for the shitstorm that followed. 

People called you a dirty whore, a disgusting prostitute, a despicable druggy, a greedy gold digger and yet nothing cut as deep as those who called you "Jeon Jungkook's biggest mistake". That is what really dug deep. A mistake. That is what you were to society. 

A gold digging, dirty prostitute who ruined one of South Korea's most eligible bachelors. 

Jungkook was on your side at first. He told you not to listen to online haters and that they don’t know you as well as he did. But then the calls began. Business calls with all his affiliates and they were all about one topic. Cancellation of their business relationship with him because a prostitute fucker doesn’t deserve their respect or money. 

One by one they dropped him and with each business call the warmth in Jungkook's eyes became less and less until it died out completely. 

Jungkook lifts his gaze and sighs.

"I'm sorry, I really am, but I can’t keep doing this."

"What? Jungkook, w-what does this mean?" 

Jungkook looks away.

"I made sure you would be living comfortably", he slides a pair of keys over the table, "I want you gone tomorrow." 

"Jungkook…" 

You jolt up, gasping for air. It hurts. Your heart hurts so much that you have to hit your chest with your fist. A painful sob shakes through you, your ears are ringing loudly. 

"Oh god no", you press out, curling into a small ball.

Please make it stop. Please, it hurts so much. 

You fall back down, feeling warmth brush your arm. You force your eyes to open and gasp. 

"Jungkook?" your voice is quivering. 

He is sleeping deeply, resting on his back and with his arms by his sides. His hair is ruffled from tossing and turning, his mouth is agape and his pyjama is matching with yours. 

So it was...a dream? It was all a dream? 

"Oh god Bunny", you press out, chasing the comfort of his warm body. You hold onto his arm tightly, soiling the sleeve of his pyjama with your tears, “my Bunny.”

He is here. He is still here. He is here. 

You sob, convulsing in a shake as you squeeze yourself even closer. You never want to let go again. 

"___?" 

Jungkook's sleepy voice forces you to lift your head. He looked tired at first but becomes visibly worried when he sees the state of your face. 

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" he gasps, flipping to his side to look at you better. He cups your cheek, working tirelessly to dry your tears. 

"Jun-Jungkook", you stutter and sob loudly, "Jungkook." 

"Hey, I'm here. What's wrong, my love?" 

"Jungkook", you bury your face in his chest, shuddering in a sob. 

Jungkook cradles you in his strong arms, rocking your bodies back and forth soothingly. He pets your hair, kissing the crown of your head over and over again. 

"It's okay. It’s okay. I'm here ___, I’m here", he whispers in a soothing voice. 

You haven’t felt that heartbroken and alone and helpless in a long time. And yet being in Jungkook's safe embrace and knowing that he still holds you with warmth in his touch and love in his voice, makes you realise that the lie in your dream hasn’t become your truth yet. And that thought calms you down, just as Jungkook's hug does. 

"J-Jungkook", you croak, hiccuping softly. 

"It's alright, I’m here. It's alright", his voice was filled with love and the distinct quiver that he always gets when he cries silently. 

Knowing that he still cries when you cry gives you so much reassurance. So he still loves you. 

"Jungkook I love you", you say with a quivering lower lip, "I love you so much." 

"Oh ___", he exhales shakily, "I love you too. So much." 

You hug him tighter, trying your hardest to regulate your breathing. It becomes an easy task now that Jungkook's familiar scent is cradling you gently. He is still here. It was just a dream and he is still here.

"What happened, my love?" Jungkook asks. 

"Bad dream." 

"Oh no", he gives you a squeeze and kisses your hair, "do you want to share it with me?" 

You lift your head, tearing up the instant you look into his teary eyes. 

"It was s-so terrible", you begin, hiccuping for air every now and then, "t-there was a reporter who, who found out about my past and-" 

You sob. 

Jungkook cries harder and kisses your forehead. 

"-and she wrote an article about me a-and people began to be really mean to me." 

"Oh no, ___ that sounds so terrible", he says and hugs you. 

"But there is, is more." 

"Oh no." 

Your eyes lock. 

"Your reputation became bad because of me a-and all your business partners started to leave you and then y-you couldn’t take it anymore and-"

You sob loudly, convulsing in pain. 

"___", Jungkook whispers shakily, crying with you. Nothing hurts him more than seeing you in pain. 

"-you broke up with me", you choke out before breaking down completely. The wounds feel so fresh, the pain sits so deep, the memory of his cold eyes is as clear as day. It hurts so much. 

"No, oh my god ___, no", Jungkook hugs you so tightly that it becomes hard to breathe, "I would never break up with you. Never ever." 

"Thank you, oh Jungkook, I love you so much. I love you so, so much." 

"I love you too ___. I really, really do." 

For quite some time you cry, seeking comfort in Jungkook's chest. And in return for quite some time Jungkook cries, seeking comfort in your arms. 

Once you lift your head again, the clock shows the beginning of a new hour and Jungkook's features carry exhaustion. You felt exhausted yourself. You had slumbered deeply before the nightmare woke you and didn’t get enough sleep yet. Jungkook did so too, veins still filled with all those helpful sleepy hormones which are currently trying to get him to sleep again. 

And yet neither dares to leave the other in consciousness. So you look at each other, thanking the universe for gifting you with such a perfect partner.

"Why did you dream of something like that? Was it because of yesterday?" Jungkook asks, tracing your features with his fingertips.

You and Jungkook had a small fight last night. It wasn’t even worth mentioning. Just some couple bickering as a result of miscommunication. Basically you and Jungkook had watched a movie when you became tired. So you told Jungkook that you and him should go to bed instead and Jungkook agreed. You shimmied under the blanket with the intent of sleeping while Jungkook shimmied under the blanket with the intent of finishing the movie in bed. You, cranky in tiredness, told him to stop and be quiet. And Jungkook, sensitive in tiredness, saw your words as an attack. So fighting happened. You wanted to convince Jungkook that you weren’t trying to attack him while Jungkook insisted that your words were mean. It ended with you flipping over with a mumbled "whatever, sorry they were mean" before dozing off and Jungkook flipping over with a frown on his face and his brain being sure that you didn’t mean the apology.

But it wasn’t even worth mentioning anymore. It was just a normal and silly couple fight and it was already forgotten.

"It wasn’t because of yesterday", you say and lower your eyes, "I guess, I’m just scared." 

"Scared of what?" 

"What people will think of me now that you really made us official." 

Jungkook confirmed his relationship with you in a business interview he did. In it he called you his girlfriend, his partner for life and his everything. Up until now the reactions were beyond positive (ignoring the few heartbroken ladies who had hoped for a chance with him and who are calling you a man thief now, but those comments made you chuckle because you indeed snatched the biggest treasure as your man). 

"Well, first of all. Fuck other people because ninety nine percent are complete brainless idiots. And second of all. I would never leave you over some mean online comments." 

"Yeah but what if my past gets exposed? What if you'll lose your business because of me?"

"This isn’t going to happen, trust me." 

"How are so sure?" 

Jungkook cups your cheek, "because information like that has huge blackmail material and knowing how corrupt our country's reporters are, they would knock on our door first before even opening their document." 

"I don't understand." 

"They would come to us, begging for money in exchange for keeping quiet and if they do, my team of lawyers is just one phone call away." 

He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone and smiles tiredly. 

"I'll protect you ___, my lawyers will take care of it and you don’t have to worry. I promise, it was just a bad dream."

"Really?" 

"Yes, really." 

You exhale in relief, touching his face. 

"I adore you so much Jeon Jungkook." 

He blushes.

"I adore you too." 

You feel your cheeks heat up and your gaze lower. You scoot closer, hiding the rest of the world from your view with his chest. 

"Can you please hold me?" you ask shyly. It is not often that you ask to be held, so the request makes you nervous beyond belief. 

"Of course. I'll hold you so, so well", he promises you, closing his arms around you in a safe embrace.

“Thank you so much Jungkook.”

“Don’t thank me, I love holding you.”

“Not just that, but for everything.”

“Everything”, he repeats. 

“Thank you for loving me, I know I’m being very overdramatic right now, but fuck”, you exhale shakily, “seeing you stare at me with cold eyes in my dream just made me realise how priviledged I am to be loved by you. I’ll never take it for granted.” 

Jungkook sniffles, burying his nose in your hair. 

“Don’t say that, I’m the privileged one. I’m this successful, commanding CEO to society but when I’m with you I can be a big softie idiot. I don’t have this with anyone else.”

You laugh softly. 

“You’re not an idiot, just a stupid noodle.”

Jungkook giggles. 

“Even better. I love being your stupid noodle.” 

“Yeah? And I love snacking on that noodle.”

“Oh my god ___ ew no, that was the worst joke you ever made”, he says in a laugh. 

You laugh, nuzzling your nose into his chest.  

Jungkook sighs happily and tightens his arms around you. 

“Try to sleep now, my love. I won’t go anywhere”, he whispers. 

You nod your head, allowing the drowsiness in your brain to take over. It was just a dream. Jungkook is here and he loves you.

[inamatchamood]

Tharntype Ep4 Reaction

Disclaimer: this does not contain any coherent thoughts

- Okay completely off topic but that is such A COOL WHISK what?!

- This man can’t fry an egg but was like yo lemme bake though

- Okay Type walked into this knowing EXACTLY what he wanted and it ain’t cupcakes

- The transition from the hot egg mess to the nicely made cupcakes killed me

- OMG THE LIP WIPING PARALLELS between Leo and Fiat and Tharntype ��

- The transition from bratty ass Fiat to baby Fiat was so quick it gave me whiplash

- Ngl I’m kinda interested in Fiat and Leo’s dynamic, they’re families seem super close which creates an interesting set up for years of pining and yearning, it could explain the blatant fitting which literally neither of them are addressing but back to incoherence

- Okay wth I’m getting diabetes from how sweet Tharn and Type are being, WHO ALLOWED THEM

- Okay Type you need to calm down buddy like you JUST finished

- Okay can we take a hot minute to talk about how business savvy Tharn is like man has so many jobs and businesses, we Stan an entrepreneur

- Also I’m in love with the way Tharn copies Types mannerisms when he’s trying to make fun of him, it’s so cute 🥺

- Okay the way all the talk about the shop has become analogous to talking about the marriage

- IM DYING AT HOW THARN IS BEING ALL I WANT TO BE ABLE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU AND BEING WHOLESOME AND TYPE WITH THIS WHOLE CHEST JUSY WENT “I’m not a cripple” IM DECEASED

- Glad Tharn’s financial philosophy is “make it rain”

- Love how it’s been two whole seconds and Leo is like who is this Fiat but also the way Fiat’s face lit up when he saw Type makes me just AHHHH I can already foresee so much pain for everyone

- Type honey Tharn ain’t the one he falling for

- Leo is 110% over this boys shit lmao

- The shoelace/shoe trope is just so adorable to me I fucking love it

- The Doc really just be lurking outside this building

- I love how Doc dug himself into this hole completely unprompted

- Living for how everyone’s love language on this show is just food

- Holy shit Tharn in his maroon suit though 🔥🔥

- I’m really glad P’Thorn is here speaking for what Type might be thinking because I feel like it’s difficult for Tharn to hear from Type because he loves him so he just shuts off when Type tries to communicate this and Type also has a fear in communicating it as he doesn’t want to hurt Tharn, obviously not a substitute for them actually having the conversation themselves but it’s okay for now

- Okay I understand why they haven’t told anyone in the company Tharn is gay but the annoyance Thorn has for the assistant is just so funny

- This girl really trying her best to marry into this family like damn

- Type really said if this gets to hard I’ll quit and you can be my sugar daddy and honestly RESPECT

- Loving techno being there for type but also supporting tharn WHAT A KING

- The accuracy of finding out some shit on insta that messes up your life is too real

- Have these two lost braincells - Tharn is literally gay what is happening

- Okay why does No tell stories how I tell stories

- Okay Idk if Fiat is playing dumb or ACTUALLY dumb

- Okay domestic tharntype is super adorable and has calmed me down considerably

- This gold digger ass mofo is getting on my damn nerves

- OMG TYPE IS BOUTTA CAUSE SOME SHIT AND I AM SO READY FOR IT

Okay next week gonna be a shit show I will prepare myself

[tommysparker]

Money Ain’t It

Rich Kid!Harrison Osterfield x Reader

A/N: Lol so here’s the random blurb literally no one asked for but @greenorangevioletgrass inspired me so blame her y’all. Anyways, in honor of the Hamilmovie coming out next week there will be a Hamilton related broadway fic being posted with Harry Holland x Fem!Reader so stay tuned for that. I’m so sorry for the delay on literally all my other fics, I’ve been struggling with where to go next on most of my fics but now that summer is here hopefully my writers block will be cured. This has gone on long enough, so I’ll let y’all read the fic and I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Smut(ish), lots of sexual tension, a tiny bit of choking but not really, reader doesn’t want your money haz

You watched him from across the room, the silver ring shining in the moonlight on the balcon as he flaunted about his riches to the blonde draped over his arm. You sipped your drink, nodding to the bartender in thanks before making your way over. 

He saw you coming, and he couldn’t deny the excitement that filled his body while he watched you strut in his direction, hips swaying ever so slightly. He sipped his drink, smiling at the girl on his arm but not really paying attention to what she was saying. No, he had something else on his mind, more specifically someone. 

You’ve been eyeing each other all night, neither daring to say a word but intense, some would even say longing, gazes were enough to show acknowledgement. It was the game, who would crack first? The ongoing competition has been the source of many, many wonderful memories. Passion, banter, pleasure, but not love. That was the one rule.

“Hello Harrison,” You said sweetly, leaning against the doorframe slightly, inwardly grinning when the blonde turned to glare at you for interrupting her, in your opinion, very boring story. 

Harrison took you in, eyes wandering head to toe and he swore you took his breath away every time he saw you, not that he would ever admit it. “Y/n, darling. Glad you could make it.” 

You sauntered over, leaning against the balcony railing but never breaking eye-contact. “How could I miss the biggest Osterfield gala of the year?” You smiled innocently, drinking in his chosen look of the evening. 

The girl, seeing she obviously is not the centre of attention anymore, scoffed and fled back into the party. 

You watched her go from the corner of your eye with a smirk. “So, who’s your friend--?” 

“You look ravishing,” Harrison interrupted, having no interest in talking about the clear gold digger that had been following him around all night. Most women were only interested in him for his inheritance, you, however, were not most women. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” You flirted, hand lightly trailing over the skin exposed by the open buttons. 

The blue-eyed boy hummed, holding your wrist gently and pulling you into his chest. “What do you say we get out of here? Hmm? I can call my limo, have us in my master bedroom in a few minutes,” he dipped his head down, trailing kisses over your neck, “I can dress you up in my finest jewelry, I think you’d look gorgeous in diamonds, don’t you?” 

You bit your lip, tangling your fingers in the dirty blonde’s hair and pulling his head back, eliciting a small groan from the boy. You held his chin in your grasp firmly, walking your fingers up his chest slowly and hooking them under the silver chain hanging around his neck that matched the ring on his finger. 

Harrison watched, breath hitching slightly when he felt you pull him by his necklace into a kiss. Lips collided together, setting off fireworks in each other’s minds. His hands went to your waist, holding you close as if you would disappear. 

Your mouths moulded together, quickly becoming a battle for dominance. Tongues clashed in a fight for victory, while unbeknownst to them, two hearts were slowly stitching together to become one. 

You twisted the chain around your finger, more and more until the cool material pressed into the young boy’s neck. You smiled when he gasped, quickly taking control of the kiss and pushing him against the balcony railing. Pulling away slowly, lipstick slightly smeared but the red colour popping on his pink lips, you pulled him in close. 

He panted softly, a small whimper emitting from his throat at the small restriction around his neck. He bit his lip, the bitter taste of wax touching his taste buds. Eyes falling close, he listened to your soft breathing in his ear, shivering slightly at the words that followed. 

“Money isn’t the only thing that can give you pleasure, my pretty prince.” 

And with that, you released him from your grasp, letting the loose chain fall back against his chest. You planted a kiss on his cheek, knowing full well the print it would have left. Turning on your heel, you disappeared into the room of other rich consumers, never looking back. 

The rich boy was still reeling, his hand subconsciously wrapping around his own neck, feeling the phantom pressure around his throat still. He was about to head back in, taking one last look over the city under the night sky when he felt something in his pocket. 

Slowly, he dug into pants and pulled out a piece of paper, neatly folded with the signature lipstick stain on the front. Harrison opened the note, shaking his head slightly while a smile formed on his face. 

Upstairs. Thirty minutes. Don’t be late. 

Let the games begin. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Should I make a part 2? 👀

All: @greenorangevioletgrass @allegra-writes @soraitmnt @worldoftom @farfromparker @angel-spidey @parkerpeter24 @god-knows-what-am-i-doing​ @the-panwitch @rebekkah4766 @hollandsamor @spideygirl2003 @theactualprincessofeverything

Harrison Osterfield: Lemme know if you wanna be tagged in any future Haz fics :) 

[tszhangherbertlam]

Can Bitcoin create a virtual world?

1)      What is Bitcoin?

Have you ever heard of a story of a man who bought two pizzas using 10,000 Bitcoins? What is Bitcoin then? It is a tradable digital currency. It can be spent globally like real-world money but without the need for converting to different currency between countries (e.g. from $ to £), which is very convenient. But from a country's perspective, the most important power is the issue and control of the currency, they lost those power due to the existence of Bitcoin and they failed to shut it down. Therefore, they do not accept Bitcoin as a currency, only as a financial product, people can hype it but not consume it.

 2)      How was Bitcoin created?

An article called ‘Bitcoin: A peer-to-peer electronic cash system’ was published in 2018 by Satoshi Nakamoto. It perfectly described an advanced virtual currency system. Two months after the article was published, engineers built the system by following the instructions in that article. In 2009, the Bitcoin system was successfully launched.

Like the real-world currency (e.g. gold), Bitcoin was also dug out from the mine, but it is a virtual system. People use computer programs to dig out Bitcoins and the total amount is set to be 21 million (maximum authorised amount). Three factors will influence the digging speed: 1) the production rate of the mine. 2) the speed of the computer. 3) the numbers of diggers. However, the Bitcoin system has been operated for 11 years, most of the Bitcoins have been poached, the production rate of the mine has been dramatically dropped. If you want to join the diggers, it may take you years to dig out your first Bitcoin!

In 2009, when people started to mine Bitcoin, it almost worth nothing, so people use it to buy pizza, and this is the story at the beginning of this blogpost.

 3)      Advantages and disadvantages of Bitcoin.

The advantages of Bitcoin are: firstly, it has a constant value. As mention above, the maximum authorised amount is 21 million Bitcoins, so its value is set from the beginning. Moreover, the value of Bitcoin will not influence by political situations such as wars or social unrests. If wars are happening, the existing cash will be affected e.g. depreciate, the real cash can get lost by falling-off your pocket, but Bitcoin will not, and this leads to the next point: it has a high-level of security. Bitcoin is only a digital currency that exists on the internet, you just need to make sure you do not lose your Bitcoin banking account then you are safe. However, if your account has been stolen or forgotten, you will be unable to find it back. This because Bitcoin is highly digitally encrypted and cannot be cracked or traced, which means that your Bitcoins are gone, for good. Thirdly, low transaction fees. Usually, the transaction activities are free for Bitcoins, if it does, it will still be lower than the real currency since there is no intermediary agent, therefore all the transactions are point-to-point unless you invited a third party to join the transaction e.g. trading platform. From a government’s perspective, it is bad. Because they cannot control and trace the money, then it will be difficult to control their people.

On the other hand, the disadvantages. Firstly, it is easy to lose your account, despite Bitcoins are powerful and secure enough, but that does not mean the Bitcoin trading platforms are secured, due to hacking attacks, causing the trading platform supervisor to temporarily shut down the platform, or even permanently. Secondly, the transactions are not reversible. As they are digitally encrypted, you cannot prove that Bitcoin is yours, unless the seller is nice enough to transfer your Bitcoin back. Thirdly, Bitcoin is easy to be exploited illegally, due to no one is managing the Bitcoins and it cannot be traced, it can easily be used to do illegal things e.g. money laundering and drug-dealing. Lastly and most importantly, the Bitcoin system can be duplicated. is not duplicating the Bitcoin mines, but anyone can follow the instructions on that article to create their own virtual currencies and we do not know which we shall use and use world-widely. IMF (International Monetary Fund) has warned the world that every country needs to issue their own CBDC (Central Bank Digital Currency), which is a traceable and manageable currency, to prevent everyone from using virtual currency and giving up on trust in banks.

 4)      A more futuristic world?

If every country is going to issue their own CBDC, then the world’s currency will be virtualised, cash will be no longer existing. The wealth of the entire world has become an encrypted string of numbers, stored in a bank. One thing we can sure about is that governments must eventually virtualise their money, to get their power back (right of issuing and control of the currency) to control their people. Therefore, we need Fintech to have better management of our money in the bank (refers to my blogpost 1). Moreover, the policing of online transactions will be improved since every virtual currency transaction can be tracked.

Between 2013~2015, the Rockefeller financial group and Rothschild Family have issued their cryptocurrencies: ‘Ethereum’ (ETH) and ‘Ripple’(XRP), to promote the virtual currency market. Many countries have certified these two virtual currencies are safe e.g. Japan. So far, many countries have launched their own cryptocurrency such as China, Singapore, and Senegal, etc.

 5)      Conclusion

To sum up, currency virtualization is inevitable, and it has accelerated the virtualisation of matters. Because money is a representative of matters, only money can purchase physical items. Let us think about this in another way. Combining my blogpost 1, we can use Fintech to pay-off our debts and even make a purchase online, then the item will be delivered to our acquired location, throughout the transaction, we do not use cash for payment, and we do not even need to touch our wallet. The only thing we do is to make a few finger-taps on our mobile screen. By doing so, we only feel the deduction on digital numbers since our money is already transformed into numbers in our bank account. Therefore, in my opinion, this kind of life is virtual, and the world will eventually be virtualised because money has already been virtualised, it is about time.

[timholtorf]

Undertaker class for the wild west campaign setting

This is another class to go with the Divine Gunslinger for the wild west campaign I'll be doing (I'll post the last one in a bit, that one being the Consoler). Again, if anyone wishes to look it over and give some critiques.  @dr-archeville and @feyundead this might be cool to look over for future.  And anyone really.  Use this in your campaigns and play test it, let me know what you think.

Undertaker

A man stands next to a row of coffins on a dusty street in a town in the Cypress Hills Territories. Dressed in black with a white mask, he watches as two gunfighters square off in the street. He cares not which one wins, his only concern is the aftermath. But he must be ready.

An orc woman stands next to a recently dug grave, inspecting the pile of dirt packed above the coffin. With a hooded lantern attached to her staff, she mutters quietly as she spreads salt around the grave.

A elf with an ornately designed white mask stands calmly as a necromancer sends a small horde of undead creatures toward him. With just a thought, the elf destroys the shambling horrors and then begins to advance on the necromancer, his scythe at the ready.

A tiefling holds her staff tightly, the light from the hooded lantern burns brightly like a beacon. He mask seems to meld with her horns as she draws her pistol and fires at the lich advancing on her, knowing her specially poisoned bullets will cut him deep.

Who'll have mercy on your soul Undertakers have the thankless job of dealing with the aftermath of death. They tend to the graves, putting the bodies in their final resting place. They are the guardians that ensure the dead do not walk once again.

Each town has their Undertaker. Most citizens fear them, giving them a wide berth as they walk down street. Rightly so, as Undertakers often take on a very dark and foreboding demeanor. Dressed in black with a hooded cloak and a white mask fitted upon their face, their left hand holding fast to the staff that has a hooded lantern attached. A scythe is always nearby.

Even with their dower appearance and the rumours that abound regarding them, Undertakers are the first defense against necromancy and undeath.

Grave digger, grave digger, slowly fill my grave The questions arise, just how did you become an Undertaker. It is a thankless job as you may spend much of your life in solitude. Perhaps it was a family tradition? Maybe you were formerly a Consoler who decided that dealing with the dead and ensuring their final rest was important? Whatever the reason, you are now focused on dealing with the dead and ensuring they stay sleeping in their graves.

Undertakers are solitary figures, as stated before. Each town has their own. And for whatever reason, no two Undertakers work together in one location. Some will wander, and when they come upon a town with an Undertaker, each will be cordial enough and even go out of their way to converse, but to the casual observer they can feel the tension between the two. Undertakers seem to know each other, but never call each other by the same name twice.

Creating an Undertaker

First, Wisdom should be your main ability, followed by Constitution.

Class Features

As an Undertaker you gain the following class features.

Hit Points

Hit Dice: 1d8 per Undertaker level

Hit Points at 1st Level: 8 + Constitution modifier

Hit Points at Higher Levels: 1d8 (or 5) + Constitution modifier per Undertaker level after 1st

Saving throws: Wisdom and Constitution

Proficiencies

Armor: All armours

Weapons: Scythe (two handed), Collapsible one-handed scythe

Tools: Herbalism kit, Alchemist's supplies

Saving Throws: Constitution, Wisdom

Skills: Choose two from Arcana, History, Insight, Medicine, and Religion

Equipment: You start with the following equipment, in addition to the equipment granted by your background:

An Undertaker's mask (a) Herbalism kit or (b) Alchemist's supplies.

Leather armour and either (a) a scythe or (b) one-handed scythe.

(a) Explorer's pack or (b) Priest's pack

A hooded lantern attached to a staff. A book of spells

Table: The Undertaker

Level | Proficiency Bonus | Features | Spell slots per Spell Level

1 | 2 | Tool Proficiencies, Spellcasting | 2 - - - - - - - -

2 | 2 | Turn Undead 3 - - - - - - - -

3 | 2 | - | 4 2 - - - - - - -

4 | 2 | Ability Score Improvement | 4 3 - - - - - - -

5 | 3 | Destroy Undead CR 1/2 or lower | 4 3 2 - - - - - -

6 | 3 | - | 4 3 2 - - - - - -

7 | 3 | Resilient | 4 3 2 1 - - - - -

8 | 3 | Ability Score Increase, Destroy Undead CR 1 or lower | 4 3 2 2 - - - - -

9 | 4 | - | 4 3 2 2 1 - - - -

10 | 4 | Acidic Ammunition | 4 3 2 2 2 - - - -

11 | 4 | Destroy Undead CR 2 or lower | 4 3 2 2 2 1 - - -

12 | 4 | Ability Score Improvement | 4 3 2 2 2 1 - - -

13 | 5 | Bane of Undeath | 4 3 2 2 2 1 1 - -

14 | 5 | Destroy Undead CR 3 or lower | 4 3 2 2 2 1 1 - -

15 | 5 | - | 4 3 2 2 2 1 1 1 -

16 | 5 | Ability Score Improvement | 5 3 2 2 2 1 1 1 -

17 | 6 | Salt the Earth, Destroy Undead CR 4 or lower | 5 4 2 2 2 1 1 1 1

18 | 6 | - | 5 4 3 2 2 1 1 1 1

19 | 6 | Ability Score Improvement | 5 4 3 3 2 2 1 1 1

20 | 6 | Raven's Word | 5 4 3 3 3 2 2 1 1

Spellcasting

Your ability to cast spells is neither arcane nor divine, yet both at the same time. An Undertaker only gains access to a set number of spells and can only cast those spells when access is granted to them. They are as follows:

1st Level Bane, Burning Hands, Cure Wounds, Detect Poison and Disease, Hellish Rebuke

2nd Level Darkness, Darkvision, Protection from Poison, Ray of Enfeeblement

3rd Level Bestow Curse, Mass Healing Word, Remove Curse

4th Level Banishment, Blight, Douglas' Hospice Nurse

5th Level Cloudkill, Douglas' Hospice, Insect Plague

6th Level Disintegrate, Harm

7th Level Finger of Death, Prismatic Spray

8th Level Sunburst

9th Level Power Word Kill

Turn Undead

At 1st level, as an action, you present your hooded lantern and speak a curse censuring the undead. Each undead that can see or hear you within 30 feet of you must make a Wisdom saving throw. If the creature fails its saving throw, it is turned for 1 minute or until it takes any damage.

Destroy Undead

Starting at 5th level, when an undead fails its saving throw against your Turn Undead feature, the creature is instantly destroyed if its challenge rating is at or below a certain threshold, as shown in the Destroy Undead table below. 5th - 1/2 or lower 8th - 1 or lower 11th - 2 or lower 14th - 3 or lower 17th - 4 or lower.

Resilient

At 7th level, the Undertaker is resistant to disease gaining advantage to saving throws.

Acidic Ammunition

At 10th level, the Undertaker may combine their knowledge of alchemy with that of crafting ammunition, creating acidic bullets that do an additional 1d4 acid damage. Crafting these bullets takes the proper material components and gold and may create 20 bullets in one day. At this level, Undertakers must choose between shotgun, musket, pistol or pepperbox. Undertakers also gain proficiency with tinker's tools at this level.

Bane of Undeath

At 13th level, the Undertaker gains advantage on any attack rolls against the undead.

Salt the Earth

At 17th level, the Undertaker may salt the earth around the grave of a recently deceased. This action will prevent the corpse from rising or prevents any necromantic spells to raise the corpse..

Raven's Word

At 20th level the Undertaker may transform into a flock of ravens once per long rest. Those within sight of this transformation must make a Wisdom saving throw to succeed or they are feared until attacked, take damage or can no longer see the Undertaker. In this form, the Undertaker cannot attack, but can move as though flying with a speed of 60 feet.

[stuff-i-likes-blog]

Fanfic/story I want to write #1

In a world where you have a notebook know as a Soul Journal that's connects you with your soul mate telling you of their greatest achievement whether good or bad just a moment that defines them as a person

A girl who on the outside is sweet and gentle appears as if she wouldn't hurt a fly has grown her whole life knowing her soul mate was one of the most deadliest mafia man/women to ever resist in fact they are the leader of the underworld

She has made her adjustments and train all her life to be the perfect mate for her soul mate someone that would stand by them in the dark bloody world they live

Along the way she acquires some intersecting family

A feral women she was an unwanted child from her parents so they abandoned her in the woods to die but she learn to not only survive but to thrive in the wilderness

Internal a small girl came along and won her heart in a planonic bond (her parents burned her soul journal in a punishment when she was young)

A black widow / gold digger who only cared for wealth and how she could use people to get more

She was hurt by the one she loved and it turned her cold to love even if they weren't her soul mate and he had found his she gave him everything and he turned on her in the end

she was broken swearing off any type of love in till she found a girl who all ways smiles and treats other kindly no matter what they do to her

She feel her heat beat for the first time in a long time again in a platonic way

(She found her old soul journal and read it cover to cover)

A whore who murdered her clients she was the result of a married man whoring around with a escorts and her father turned them away in their time of need

She learned to be cold everyone want something from you all they care is how they can uses you

Then she met a girl who would become like a sister to her and she gained many new family member and was shown.What a family is suppose to be

(She eagerly learned to wait for her soul mate she had many 'techniques' she could use on him)

A nazi who only new prejudice and hate he would die for his cAuse never caring who was hurt by his hate

Install he found a reason to live with his new found family

(He found a reason to believe in love and wait for his perfect mate)

A samurai who betrayed his clan after they caused the loss of his family walk around in a haze of rain and sadness ready to end it on.That bridge that night

Inteal he found a sun behind the rain with one young girl with a kind sweet but deadly smile

(He found a reason to live not only his family but his soul mate as well)

A soldier who knew nothing but was her whole life and all it took was one little insistent to end her life's carrie

Now with ptsd and no where to turn what does she do

She found what she would do one day when she interrupt a gang trying to attack a small unassuming girl

She soon found the girl was more than she let on

(She dug deep in her child good trunk and found that old soul journal she hid away long ago after all War was her mistress she had no time for any one else)

What happens when this family find their mate will they mate be able to love them for their demons as they love them

Will they realize early on not to judge a book by it cover with this small happy innocent little family

[blankie-greenie-anon]

Notable stuff from Boueibu HAPPY KISS episode 4

When I was watching the episode on Monday, there was another dude in my class. I was surprised when I came back from the toilet and he was just sitting at the very end of the room. I had to ask him if he was chill with me using the projector, which he was. Since he was there, I couldn’t use the highest volume. What sucked even more was that the video was projected onto only half of the screen. Well, it’s Wednesday. I’ll be watching it on the big screen again.

This episode began with the opening theme, instead of a brief conversation.

Kyoutarou has mastered the art of falling asleep in the bathtub without drowning himself.

The topic of the first-years argument is whether there’s buried treasure on Mt. Binan or not. Taishi is on the side of the former while Ichirou is on the latter.

Taishi outright said that he had a sense of adventure, and that TV ratings prove that there are more like him.

When Taishi attempted to subtly change the topic of the conversation, Ichirou quickly caught on and called him out on it.

Karls seems fond of staying underwater.

Karls was not aware of what the first-years’ argument was about even though he was inside the bath when the episode began. This could mean he was hanging out in the bath while the boys were in school.

Karls thinks one should make gold out of magic than dig it up, hinting that he might have such a power, or it may exist in his world. Either way, he’s still unaware that magic doesn’t exactly exist on Earth.

Kyoutarou woke up from his sleep upon hearing about the treasure on Mt. Binan. He claims that something about the topic snapped him out of his stupor. Technically, hearing outside conversations while you sleep is a form of parasomnia.

Regarding the first-years’ debate, Ryouma and Kyoutarou took neutral sides, but in different ways. Ryouma didn’t want to be involved in the argument whatsoever while Kyoutarou had no problem being a part of it.

Yonekura Kingo was so infuriated by the Defense Club’s conversation that he ran out of the bath, suds and all. When the boys came out, wrapped in towels, Yonekura Kingo had somehow dried off the soap and was fully dressed.

Ichirou attempted to tease Yonekura Kingo, and was embarrassed when he failed.

While watching the telly, Kyoutarou was the only one to take a seat.

According to Yonekura Kingo’s backstory, his father was unavailable throughout his childhood. When he contracted pneumonia, his father was digging in a cave where phone signal could not reach.

Yonekura Kingo’s first words were: “Buried treasure! Hit the motherload!”

Yonekura Kingo has changed schools eight times because he cannot stay back while he lacked another guardian–his mother, who divorced his father.

After hearing Yonekura Kingo’s backstory, Taishi looked sad, holding his hand to his face. Ryouma and Ichirou, on the other hand, looked agonized.

It’s not really specified, but the events of the episode seem to happen in a single day, which means the boys went for a bath and then returned to school.

According to Yonekura Kingo, one should watch television responsibly.

Yonekura Kingo was willing to accept the Edelstein’s offer to become a monster, not that they stated that part out loud.

When Taishi and Ichirou argue, they won’t stop until a solution is found.

Ichirou evidently reacted negatively upon hearing about the time capsules buried in Mt. Binan.

When nervous and/or hiding something, Ichirou visibly trembles.

The time capsules are buried during the graduation of elementary school students and are to be opened once everyone turns twenty.

Apparently, Kyoutarou is normally napping in the afternoon.

Karls was playing with a football as the boys were talking. He said that the boys had a better chance of making people happy at the mountain than in the class.

Karls, in episode one, shows that he can sense when someone was unhappy. In this episode, he doesn’t show any reaction after Yonekura Kingo was transformed into a monster, but encouraged the boys to head to mountains anyway, where they later encountered the monster.

Upon arriving at Mt. Binan, Kyoutarou’s first action was to demand the truth from the TV producer.

The TV producer didn’t believe there was treasure, but couldn’t say it outright. 

Taishi believes in miracles. He’s quite passionate about them.

The TV producer said the show needed more workers and requested some youthful passion from the boys, which Ichirou then refused by saying he had none and added that he doesn’t believe in buried treasure.

Kyoutarou was the first to start digging. His reason: To find gold, get rich, and spend the rest of his life chilling.

Taiju’s family sponsored the shoot. It’s possible that the Unazuki family’s company involves construction work.

Taiju was glad that his company didn’t have to hire more diggers.

Martha was surprised to see the Defense Club actually expending energy on something.

Ata seemed annoyed, believing that the Defense Club had nothing better to do even though they’re working hard.

The first time capsule to be encountered were the first-years. Kyoutarou described it as “Tai-Tai and Chirou’s year.” This could mean Taishi and Ichirou have been together since they were children.

It seems that Nanao is willing to tease people other than Ryouma.

Ryouma excitedly supported Nanao’s sadistic side, despite him usually being on the receiving end of Nanao’s teasing. Perhaps Ryouma was happy that Nanao was teasing someone other than him.

To prevent Ichirou from taking away the time capsule, Taishi grappled him into a bear hug, though his hold wasn’t powerful enough.

Kyoutarou was the one to take out Ichirou’s letter. When Ichirou pounced him, Kyoutarou simply tossed it in the air, which Ryouma enthusiastically caught before getting tackled to the ground by Ichirou. Later Taishi got the letter, by then, Ichirou was too busy holding down Ryouma to stop Taishi.

Ichirou’s letter said he was considered a ‘cheerful idiot’ and was embarrassed by that. He wanted to change his image by middle school. However, he met Nanao, who encouraged him to stay as he was. Ever since then, Ichirou forever and remembered admired Nanao.

Nanao only recalled speaking to a child, but never recognized him as Ichirou. He was also a bit ashamed of himself for embarrassing Ichirou after learning what the latter wrote.

Ichirou intended to find the letter and erase it completely.

As a child, Nanao by unknown means acquired every dark secret of his classmates and addressed them all in his letters. Some weren’t secrets, but literal insults.

Ryouma was aghast that Nanao wrote all those letters, but Ichirou praised him nonetheless.

When flustered, Ichirou reacts more dramatically than Ryouma. The former is prone to blushing, blabbering contradictory phrases, and flapping his arms.

Kyoutarou seems to be the one to encounters all the capsules. Maybe he has sensory powers.

When he encountered the third capsule, Kyoutarou only took one thing out.

Mr. Yonekura dug up a dirty old boot. He called it proof that buried treasure existed.

The Buried Treasure Monster was a dude dressed in only a fundoshi with koban for fingers and a treasure chest for a head. His teeth was also rows of koban and his glasses were still there.

The TV producer was unfazed by the appearance of the monster and ordered the cameraman to keep recording, much to the monster’s chagrin. The producer even wrote about it on social media.

Ryouma says that TV is for people to switch off their brains.

Karls ordered the Defense Club to transform, even though he is fully capable of making them do so without saying anything.

Somehow, Kyoutarou figured out that Yonekura Kingo was just upset that his father was working hard for nothing. So far, Yonekura Kingo has complained about his father being too busy digging for gold to be around his life, being forced to move around so often, and how he hated it when people watch TV irresponsibly and also that the producers simply did whatever they can on TV for ratings. It must have been the mention of television that Kyoutarou realized Yonekura Kingo was upset that these TV producers are exploiting his father’s love for treasure-hunting for ratings.

One of the boys mentioned that they had heard of the story similar to Yonekura Kingo’s somewhere.

Karls told the Happy Kiss to make Yonekura Kingo happy, and then said to Mr. Yonekura to do so, too.

For once, Taiju was clearly angry that things weren’t going the Edelstein’s way.

Furanui displayed another power: Forcing monsters to become more vicious than they actually are.

The monster’s power involves spewing koban at his enemies while laughing manically.

It never seems to occur to the Happy Kiss to literally protect themselves with their powers, though it’s possible that in this episode, they were afraid of hurting the monster.

Karls had to duck once to avoid a flurry of koban.

As usual, Karls finishes things off with the Happy Powder, despite the fact that everything has been recorded live on camera and the TV producer even tweeted about a monster appearing on TV.

The buried treasure on Mt. Binan was a hidden hot spring. The town will work together to make a big bathhouse and the credit shall go to the Yonekura family.

Yonekura Kingo no longer has to move around. He can finally stay in Binan City with his father.

Nanao was the only to catch Kyoutarou sneaking the thing into his pocket.

The thing turned out to be a childhood photo of Kyoutarou, Ryouma and Ata joyfully playing in the dirt.

When asked about his relationship with Ata, Kyoutarou answered that he felt that they were close before. When Ryouma pointed out their relationship has become strained, Kyoutarou seemed confused.

The way it’s said, it’s as though Ryouma wasn’t as involved with Ata as much as Kyoutarou, hence why he only refers to him as ‘Ata-kun.’

Kyoutarou knows Ata’s number, which was how he sent that photo to him. It’s unusual for a child to have a phone, so the two of them must of been friends up until middle school, where kids would normally be given phones by then.

Ata was so shocked by the photo that he broke his tea cup. He later displayed rage.

In episode two, Ryouma told the first-years that they often visited Kurotama Bath out of habit. Seeing the childhood photo, it’s likely that as children, Kyoutarou, Ryouma, and Ata got dirty every time they played and washed off at Kurotama Bath, creating their habit.

Kyoutarou’s message to Ata was: “This was in the time capsule.” He didn’t say who put it in, meaning it must have been Ata who placed that photo inside without them knowing. Otherwise, Kyoutarou would’ve said he was the one who put it in, or that it was Ryouma

[boonesfarmsangria]

Ben Howard has asked to meet at a small cafe by the Serpentine, in Hyde Park. When I finally find it, I notice it’s near the boat hire and hope the singer wants to talk on water, if only so he can’t avoid my questions or vanish mid-interview.

Ever since Howard, 31, emerged from Devon at the start of the decade with an intimate, folky debut album, Every Kingdom — which surprised everyone by selling 1m copies and bagging him two Brit awards — he has balked at being asked to explain his songs. The few interviews he gives tend to be tetchy. During what appeared to be a mid-tour meltdown in 2015, he walked out on one; in another, he made it clear that other people’s opinions of his music are of no interest to him. “I couldn’t give a f***” were his exact words.

Perhaps that was the old Howard. The one I meet outside the cafe is smiling and smoking, handsome and happy, if perhaps a little nervous. This is the first time he’s discussed his new album, Noonday Dream, a radical departure from both his debut and its rockier, edgier, less commercially successful follow-up, 2014’s I Forget Where We Were, a mere gold-seller.

He insists he hasn’t listened to Noonday Dream in ages — a neat ruse to avoid dissecting its songs, I suspect. When I quote some of its purposely random, poetic lyrics, he just laughs. “They sound different in your Scottish accent,” he shrugs.

In any accent, they’re difficult to decipher. “Door is locked/My gums are bleeding… Clothes are off/My health receding,” he chants on the lushly atmospheric lead track, Nica Libres at Dusk. Like a lot of the songs, it clocks in at around the seven-minute mark, is as hypnotically pretty as it is experimental, and pairs pastoral folk with shimmering psychedelia. Unlike the rest of the album, however, there is a clue to its provenance in its title. A Nica libre is a Nicaraguan cocktail, essentially a rum and Coke, and Howard, it transpires, downed a fair few of them in his time off between albums.

“I came off the last tour with different ambitions,” he says. “I decided that, instead of a musician, I would become a poet. I travelled to Nicaragua, several times, and read a lot of Nicaraguan poetry. I thought I could do it, but what I discovered is that I’m just not very good at it.

“Rhythmically, it’s not unlike writing lyrics. The problem is that melody spoils poetry, and I’m naturally melodic. I went with a guitar, so ultimately I was flawed beforehand. I set myself up for failure.”

There is a twinkle in Howard’s eye when he talks, and I can’t quite tell if he’s joking, although his poetry quest didn’t end there. It took him to other countries — he won’t say where — and ended with him digging up the back garden of his home in Devon. “I dug a hole… I think to meditate in, I’m not sure,” he says. “It was a big old hole. Massive, most of the garden in fact. I didn’t know what I was doing.

“In seeking inspiration, I felt I needed to do something manual. By the end, the hole was 5ft deep in places. I’d say, terraces of 5ft each. I didn’t have a digger, although I did get help at stages. Still, it took quite a while. It looked horrific when I was halfway through.”

So what happened when the hole was finished? “Er, not a lot. I sat in it a bit.” With his band? “Not sure. They came round for a few loose sessions in the house, but I don’t think I even got a song out of all the digging. In the end, I had the hole turfed, which was pretty pointless, as the garden was turfed to begin with.”

Noonday Dream’s unplanned, piecemeal gestation sounds rather like a backpacker’s adventure: presumably ideal for Howard, a classic surfer with a restless, nomadic streak, as much musically as geographically. Post-hole, the house was let out and he is now living in Paris, in an Airbnb.

In Devon, Howard presented his longtime band, now his co-writers, with the fruits of his travels. “A pocket full of half-notes on poems,” he sighs. “They said, ‘This is useless. How do we play to these?’ To be fair, there weren’t many melodies.”

First they decamped to a shed in Cornwall built by his guitarist and co-producer on Noonday Dream, Mickey Smith, a former surf photographer on whose project A Blaze of Feather Howard gigged as a guitarist last year. “The songs changed dramatically in the shed,” says Howard, who spent several weeks living there alone between sessions. “It was an interesting process, being more sedentary than ever. I saw the deer coming back three days before a full moon. I watched the weather move in cycles. So much ticks on in the wild that we don’t think about.

“Oh my God! This is turning into the Bon Iver story. Let’s just say it was an important part of the process — as a general sentiment, a sort of spirit over the songs. And before you ask, no, the shed is not in the lyrics.”

A week was wasted at what sounds like a pricy studio in Biarritz. “We thought we had a record, and after too many drinks decided we’d do our Exile on Main Street,” Howard laughs. “We left with 12 songs. But as I was driving away for a few days’ holiday, listening to them, I realised they were rubbish.”

Only two of them survived: Nica Libres at Dusk and the sensual, string-accompanied Someone in the Doorway, on which Howard’s vocals veer close to spoken-word. Generously, the singer credits their sumptuous sound to the hired help, notably the veteran producer John Cornfield (the Stone Roses, Supergrass, Muse) and the mix engineer Chris Elms.

“Our half-finished parts only became songs when we went to Sawmills studio, in Cornwall, with John,” Howard says. “We arrived with no endgame in mind and just played freely, which I realised I’d missed by being on tour, playing songs the same every night.

“Key was getting Chris for the mix. He’d just done Björk’s Vulnicura, which I loved. He added the shimmer and the sheen, that gorgeous glide. Suddenly the songs were beautiful. Strange, but so beautiful.”

Certainly, Noonday Dream stands a better chance of winning an Ivor Novello, or maybe the Mercury, than of adding to Howard’s Brit awards. Does he care? Not a jot. He needs to keep moving. In fact, those mysterious lyrics could be taken as a travelogue, snapshots from his endless adventures, randomly recalled. I make a final stab at persuading the singer to decode some of them. How about A Boat to an Island on the Wall, the first track teased from the album last month? Has he been on a boat? Where’s the wall?

“No. And I don’t know,” he reveals reluctantly. “There was a picture of a boat to an island on the wall of a cafe I saw somewhere. Grenada, possibly. It made me dream. I love little moments like that, which fill you with wonder. I’m always looking for them.

“Even walking here, through the park, I heard two women singing opera and it was magical. A snapshot of park life in London on an almost sunny morning.” Blimey, Howard really is happy.

The Sunday Times || Interview

[hunty-booboo]

The Social Organization of Gold Mining

The business enterprise of mining varies in line with the form of gold deposit. Whereas alluvial (placer) gold can he labored in  Jewellery Buyers Perth my view or in small groups by washing, panning or shallow-pit surface mining, lode (reef) gold calls for deep shaft mining. If the gold deposit paperwork an underground 'mat', the floor above the deposit is pierced by narrow tubular shafts that can branch out into underground galleries. If the gold deposit takes the form of a linear vein, tubular or square shafts alongside the vein will subsequently merge to form one large open mine. In a few Burkina gold mines, vertical shafts attain a intensity of extra than one hundred m.

Claims in non-commercial gold mines are not usually mounted in writing. A declare is truely staked on a 'first come first served' basis. If all and sundry desires to claim a particular spot right after a discovery, he can also have to literally take a seat on it till a friend or companion brings the gear for running it. Once individual parcels have been dug out for approximately one meter, possession is typically recognized. If there is dispute approximately one pit, the case is introduced earlier than something authority is there-a police or gendarmerie put up, the elected consultant of the gold diggers, or whoever is identified as a mediator by both events, consisting of for instance a senior, experienced gold digger. In the start, man or woman pits are separated via a wall; later, conflicts regularly rise up while someone starts casting off this wall from his aspect of the pit and encroaches on what his neighbor considers as his part. Outbursts of violence can occur at all degrees of a mining cycle, hut once the mine has been there for a few weeks, there could be customary institutions or mechanisms for warfare law.

The owner of a mining pit may also run it himself, or, must he lack the financial approach, lease it to a friend for a hard and fast time period. This may be a brief agreement for one week simplest referred to as tour that confirms bonds between mining entrepreneurs. The owner or leaseholder hires a team of people who work the declare in day and night shifts. Depending at the sort of deposit and the scale of the pit, the crew can include as many as thirty or more people. Each group includes unskilled and professional employees. There isn't any formal schooling, however someone who eventually becomes a professional gold miner usually starts offevolved with unskilled paintings. If he may be very younger and not yet bodily healthy for tougher work, this may include bringing meals to the place of job.

He may additionally then work his way 'up the ladder' through time, workout special sports in the equal or one-of-a-kind mines: scooping groundwater from the shaft with containers, cutting wood for helping beams, getting rid of earth and gravel outdoor the pit, or working inside the pit with sledgehammer, pickaxe, or chisel. If he is finally each professional and dependable, he may additionally end up one of the few group individuals who are entrusted with extracting the maximum treasured portions of ore. With the rare exception of a few women who get dressed and act like men, ladies do no longer generally work inside the mining pits.

In Burkina Faso, French phrases are used for the group participants, consisting of the pit owner patron, the leaseholder gérant, the overseer chef degroupe, the clerk commis, skilled miners tapeurs, unskilled mine rs mancruvres, wood cutters mainteneurs, watchmen gardiens for the pit and the storing place for ore, and someone who brings meals porteur de repas (typically a boy or a woman). In addition to the center group, there are blast men or blacksmiths and others who provide offerings that are reduced in size instantaneous.

The enterprise is accountable for food, garb, refuge, and-in case of coincidence or infection-scientific remedy. He might also offer alcoholic drinks and cigarettes. Until the gold-listening to vein is reached- that could take in to several weeks or even months-the gold diggers do now not acquire a income. Once the pit begins 'producing' they will get a percentage of the ore. After a certain quantity of ore has been collected, the enterprise receives 1/2 of it and the crew is left to percentage the alternative half of. For the most part the pit owners claim the most valuable pieces of ore for themselves, mentioning the overhead prices of strolling the mine to justify their large proportion.

The gold miners can sell their proportion of ore immediately to professional ore buyers, or have it processed and sell the ensuing amount of gold. Most gold miners do now not store ore or gold. This is partially because of their want for coins, partly to keep away from theft. The ore is overwhelmed, floor, and washed in a fenced-in vicinity, the comptoir, by way of people from the neighboring villages who paintings within the mining camps as day workers. Although it's miles ethically prohibited, mercury is used to amalgamate the gold dust. The gold received is bought to the licensed gold buyers who in flip promote it to the C.B.M.P. Or some other advertising organisation. In order to attract and maintain clients, gold traders deliver out mercury without spending a dime, or they deliver credit score to novices to the mine who're then obliged to promote their gold to them. However, a part of the gold is also bought to black marketplace traders. These black market investors both come from the outdoor or they're the identical authentic gold investors who pursue this unlawful interest at night time. Black marketplace traders accumulate customers either by using approaching a gold digger immediately or via 0.33 parties who introduce ability customers to them. Often, those 0.33 parties are the girls who run the stalls in which the ore is processed. These ladies are typically thoroughly knowledgeable about the manufacturing of man or woman mining pits, and they may be acquainted with each gold diggers and gold buyers.

[concussed-to-pieces]

ESC; Part Two

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday ho! Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains rape/attempted rape/vivid allusions to attempted forced sexual activity via pornography, as well as human muzzling of a non-BDSM variety. This gets heavy, so please read safe everyone!]

He had a real name once. He knew he must have at some point. But through the years he’d forgotten it. He was simply Lion now.

…

Elias fidgeted beside the counter, tapping his fingers. With his guitar slung over his shoulder via the strap and his sunglasses firmly in place, he surreptitiously scanned the coffee shop yet again. Probably his fifth time since he walked in.

His gaze kept getting drawn to an older man, maybe early forties. The man sat all alone by the window, his own coffee appearing forgotten beside his laptop. The guy constantly looked up and around, like he was doing something he shouldn’t. It immediately set off warning bells in Elias’ head.

“Pardon me, ma’am.” He said softly when the barista slid his coffee to him. “That guy over there has the look of a man trying to be sneaky. He in here often?”

“Wow, good eye.” The barista snorted. “Yeah, he’s a regular. We're pretty sure he comes in just to watch porn with our wifi. But since he’s not like, actively jerking off or bugging anyone there’s not much we can do about it. He buys a coffee, you know how it is.”

“Much obliged, ma’am.” Elias gave her a quick flash of his smile, taking a sip of his drink as he meandered away from the counter. There was a bulletin board on the wall behind that suspicious man and Elias knew that was always his best bet for finding more traveling shows, circuses and exhibitions. A lot of the mobile carnivals didn’t have websites or calendars to track, so his fieldwork was still important.

The man glanced up at him as he sauntered by, making a scoffing sound when he took in the mass of scarves around Samson’s neck. Elias paid him no mind, perusing the flyers on the wall silently. A few older ones for Heyman’s Delights, when he was still advertising the ‘turned feral’. Elias shuddered. Two for McMahon’s Dog And Pony Show, ‘fun for the whole family!’. Since Vince had sold the remainder of his ferals off to Heyman, the group had focused their efforts elsewhere. One of the bars in town was having a talent night.

Samson turned around to head for the door and froze as he caught sight of the suspicious man’s laptop screen. ‘RESTRAINED FERAL LION PLOWS TINY SLUT!’ screamed the title of the video. Elias forced himself to ignore the video, forced himself to instead commit the site’s name to memory and as he walked by on his way out he slammed the man’s laptop shut. The man looked up to protest and Elias narrowed his eyes, giving the man his nastiest glare and curling his lip in a snarl. Don’t even think about it.

The air from outside was cooler than he anticipated, shocking a little of the blind fury out of his system. Elias pulled his flip phone free of his pocket and started typing.

-Nev I’ve got something.

He sat down on a bench and drank some more of his coffee while he waited for their fearless leader to reply. His fingers tapped the fretboard of his guitar, twanging a string here and there. “Well, gold digger took my money, dipped my heart an’ hands in honey.” Samson began singing quietly, “Snake lady stole my savin’s, don’t go thinkin’ she was havin’ my babies.” He carried on, singing the tune of a disillusioned young man facing the electric chair in July. Nobody ever wanted to hear happy songs, anyhow. It was always Johnny Cash for these people. “You’re young, an’ qualified, got a date with that chair out in late July.”

A man walking with his dog smiled at Elias and Samson smiled back, tipping his head. He had to remember sometimes that most of the ‘regular’ folks weren’t scumbags. There were just an exemplary few in the herd that outdid the rest. His brow furrowed as he thought back on that guy in the coffee shop, rhythm faltering. He checked his phone quickly.

-Send location for pickup Samson.

-Not that simple this time Nev. Will explain when present. Get Mox. See you soon.

Samson got to his feet, dusting himself off and continuing down the sidewalk.

…

Moxley’s eyebrows ended up in his hairline when the name of the website left Elias’ mouth. “Listen man, I know everyone’s got their kinks but-” His protest was cut short by Samson’s blistering glare. “Oh, this ain’t a social visit.”

“No Mox, it’s not.” Elias grumbled while Neville typed.

“They literally just call him Lion.” Neville tugged his glasses down his nose. “What the hell kind of…this is some fucked-up shite.” He pointed to the screen, highlighting a paragraph after a moment. “'Sedated Submissive, Lion knows only to please!’ I’m going t' toss in my mouth.” Neville did look green.

Mox’s own stomach went queasy at the wording. “Sedated?” He asked weakly.

“He’s not a willing participant. That’s fuckin’ revoltin’.” Adrian said bluntly. “They get him out of his mind, muzzle him and restrain him. Can you even fucking imagine how terrifying that is?”

There were a few publicity photos for Lion’s profile, all without a stitch of clothing on the tattooed young man. Just another feral, what does he need to be treated like a human for? Moxley snapped his teeth angrily. Lion had that glazed stare over his stifler of something trapped for too long. “What’s the plan, Nev? I know ya’ got somethin’ brewin’.”

“Bits an’ pieces.” Adrian pushed his glasses back up. “I’ll circle the wagons when I’ve got more information.”

“Let me sponsor this one, yeah?” Mox asked quietly once Elias had departed back to his own trailer. “He’s gonna’ need some delicacy and I’ve dealt with the druggin’ before.” He still had nightmares sometimes, recalling the cloying pull of the substance Vince plied him with to keep his rages under control.

“If you think you’re up for it, Mox.” Neville shrugged. “This whole op is going to need some delicacy. Grab your spiral-bound.” Adrian had a tendency to over-prepare when it came to their data collection, but Mox knew it was either have as much as they could or go in defenseless. So he obediently collected his notebook and flipped it open to an empty page, beginning his usual work of writing down everything that came out of Neville’s mouth.

Regardless of whether it made sense or not. Adrian had a habit of lapsing into his accent a little harder than normal as he rambled (he called it ‘going Geordie’, whatever that meant), so occasionally Mox had to have him repeat things. But when Neville rattled on he claimed his brain worked twice as fast as his mouth, and Moxley had to admit that his smarts hadn’t failed them yet.

“The producer. A shadowy fuckin' title fer a shadowy prick that apparently makes fucked-up porn.”

Moxley grunted as he wrote that down.

It was well after two in the morning when Adrian pushed himself off the seat by the table and stretched with a loud yawn. “We’ve got him, Mox my lad. He’s as good as ours.” He grinned tiredly. “We’ll talk to Regal in the daylight, get an idea of what we’re dealing with. Maybe he’ll have another miracle cure, eh?”

Mox snorted, getting to his feet. “Yeah, maybe. I dunno’, man. He keeps telling me he’s close to figuring out why he can nuke Elias’ rages but not mine and it’s like, shit old man, prioritize.” Moxley scolded. “He’s gonna’ get behind on the antibiotic doses for the newbies and then we’ll be fucked, stuck with some kid that’s got super lice.”

Adrian chuckled, rubbing his nose against Moxley’s cheek. “Don’t worry about the old monarch. He knows what he’s on about.”

Mox pulled him in the rest of the way for a headbutt, grinning back. “Fucker, you’re in on his shit.”

“Oh, but that’s no secret.” Neville teased. “He's a stubborn old bastard, but he's our stubborn old bastard.”

…

The cement felt nice against his aching head. Cool. Solid. Real, much more real than the way everything shimmered like heat waves in front of his eyes. He groaned, half-wishing that there was something else in his stomach to come back up. Maybe if he got sick on himself again they would leave him be for a little while longer.

His thighs were sore and his wrists hurt, chafe marks still raised and raw on his skin. His throat was so dry from the muzzle that smothered his face in its grip. So it hadn’t been that long that he was unconscious for. He couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad that the dark patches were getting longer but thinner. He kept waking up, waking up with women on top of him, the scent of the cosmetic products they used to conceal his chafing thick like oil in his nose and mouth. Sometimes he wanted to cry, when he came to and couldn’t go back under to hide from the things they did to him.

Sometimes he wanted to rip everyone in the room apart, his chest heaving with fury and hands clenched into fists in his binds while he stared at the ceiling and just waited for it to be over. But those angry days were becoming fewer and fewer. His body wasn’t his own, his brain riddled with fever and drugs persuading him to just lie still, to move his hips and whimper when appropriate.

He was Lion, ‘Sedated Submissive’, those words he didn’t understand that dug into his skin like more needles and choked in his throat like more dry pills. This was who he was. He could grit his teeth, scream and strain while he had his mind, but it wouldn’t do him any good.

The cement felt like it was leeching all the heat out of his skin. He shuddered, getting up off the floor on shaky legs and moving to his cot. His restraints dragged heavily at his arms. Maybe…maybe more sleep would help.

…

Mox crept through the doorway after Neville. “Three seconds,” Neville muttered, staring at his watch. They both waited until the camera reset and then bolted down the hallway. Three seconds didn’t seem like much, but if Neville had done his math right (and of course, Mox had full faith in the notion that he had), it was more than enough to get them around the corner.

“This is a little different from our usual snatch an’ grab, Mox. We are officially cat burglars. So suit up.”

Moxley felt a little silly in his black jeans and turtleneck, but he knew he had to look the part. Plus, according to Neville the camera was old tech, a black and white CCTV kind of thing, so in all black he had a better shot of blending into the gray.

He eased open the first door on his right when they entered a hallway, an empty bedroom meeting his eyes.

“We’ll do a full sweep.” Neville said softly, “The only info we had mentioned a room off a hallway, yeah? You take the right.”

Mox nodded, closing the door and carrying on. Two more bedrooms passed with no incident, though Mox found it weird that they were made to look like they were in totally different houses.

The next door revealed a bedroom that was drastically different from the rest. Red carpet, no windows. Black straps attached to the headboard caught his attention and Mox took a cautious step in, clicking on his small flashlight to get a better look.

The bedspread and sheets were solid black, the fabric coarse and cheap under his touch. A simple video camera was set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed, another one resting on the flimsy bedside table. Mox felt the nausea build in his throat for a minute before he got a grip on himself.

The closet door by the bed was half open and he carefully crept to it, gesturing for Neville to follow him from the hallway. Adrian’s quiet gasp of breath alerted Mox to the fact that he’d noticed what the room was for.

There were stairs in the closet. Wooden stairs that led down, to what appeared to be a basement.

“Bingo.” Neville turned on his own flashlight. “This place seems…huge for one feral.” He pointed out as Mox descended the steps in front of him. “I wonder if their Lion is just a test run? Imagine how useful assholes like us could be in this industry if we were docile.”

“Priorities, old man.” Moxley reminded Adrian. His eyes widened as his flashlight swept over a collection of cells built all in a row like a prison. “Oh. Well then.”

“Sometimes ah’ hate bein’ so fuckin’ smart.” Neville grimaced, his accent thickening. “We need to get that lad out an’ nip this shite in the bud, yeah? I’ll stay by the stairs. Could be our only exit.”

Moxley nodded, creeping forward. All the room had for illumination was one red light, blinking sluggishly at the far end of the cells. His night vision might be good enough to draw from that, but his flashlight made him feel a little safer. Every cell that he passed seemed to be open and empty. He wondered if someone had tipped off the producer, scouring the cells for some motion, some flicker of life.

Then he found the locked cell. Mox’s heart jumped into his mouth but no, no, Neville had picked much harder locks than this one. There was a blanket-covered mass on the cot across the cell and Moxley took a chance. “You awake in there?” He asked quietly, eyes falling on the loop of chain that wound around one of the bars and led beneath the blanket.

The lump under the blanket stirred, raising their head to look at him. Lion’s eyes were a light shade of gray, but they looked eerily white now in the beam of his flashlight.

Mox made a soothing noise in his throat, lowering the flashlight so the other man wouldn’t stare directly at it. Lion responded listlessly with a quiet sound of his own, more of an echo, muffled by the thick piece of leather over his mouth. His gaze held absolutely no interest or curiosity, he just stared because there was something different in front of him. “Nev he’s here.” Mox called, beckoning his partner over. “Get this open, man. He’s all fucked up.”

Neville got to work on the lock, twisting his pick set this way and that with extreme care. Mox wanted to talk to Lion, make sure he was aware that they were there to help, but he knew Neville needed to hear the tumblers so he stayed silent. When the lock clicked open Adrian got to his feet and eased the door to the side. “Lion?” He asked softly. The man under the blanket made a noise of distress, peering out at Neville.

“He’s got one of those stiflers on, Nev. Dunno’ if he’ll bite.” Mox observed. Those pale gray eyes flicked to his face when he spoke. Lion shook his head, metal cuffs around his wrists displayed when he reached up to claw weakly at the muzzle covering his mouth and nose. Moxley took in the raw skin around his wrists, the leather burn marks on his neck and jaw. “Christ.”

“Watch his pupils, he’s fucked up hard on somethin’.” Neville gestured and Lion flinched back after a second, his reaction delayed. “Let’s get him out of his cuffs. Do you understand us, Lion?”

The young man groaned in reply, finally nodding. Mox breathed a sigh of relief. That made things a hell of a lot simpler. Lion held his hands out but he didn’t seem particularly happy or excited. It was just a motion, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Mox, take off that muzzle while I work.” Neville directed, kneeling beside the cot and flipping through a small ring of cuff keys he had on standby.

Moxley moved forward, starting to wrestle with the stiff buckles securing the stifler. He felt Lion’s face press against his shirt and he heard a quiet inhale of breath whistle through the muzzle. “Hey there, you gettin’ all the good smells?” Mox asked gently. “One more second and I’ll have you out. It’s okay.” The leather under his fingers finally loosened, then pulled free. Moxley eased the muzzle off, letting it hang slack around Lion’s neck. “There, I bet that’s a little better.” He continued, watching worriedly as Lion just carried on staring at the floor. “Lion?”

That head of unruly black hair jerked back up, eyes wide in the dim light. Lion seemed to be having a difficult time focusing, looking like he was working overtime just trying to hold his head up.

“We’re getting you out of here, okay? We won’t leave you down here.” Moxley said slowly, hoping Lion could understand him. The whole cell reeked of cleaning chemical smells, Mox knew he was in for a splitting headache if they didn’t leave soon.

“Got it, here we go.” Neville said triumphantly, unsnapping the cuffs. “Alright lad, we’re gonna’ wrap this blanket around ya’ waist. I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring clothes.” He tied the knot on the blanket over Lion’s hip. “Now, neither Mox or I are strong enough to carry ya’ like a princess, but I figure between the two of us we’ll get some locomotion yet. On your feet.” He urged and Lion obeyed, almost collapsing a second later. Mox managed to compensate for the sway, draping Lion’s heavily-tattooed arm over his shoulder and hesitantly laying his hand on the other man’s ribs.

Lion’s skin was clammy, fever-sweat dampening the area under Mox’s touch. His head dropped onto Mox’s shoulder and he slumped, making himself dead weight. “Easy, easy.” Mox soothed, wondering if Lion knew that he wasn’t being dragged out for another…performance. “One foot in front of the other, okay Nev? Just nice and careful.”

“His body temp is all damn wrong.” Neville grunted as they left the cell and headed for the stairs. “Poor fucker.”

…

They weren’t usually this careful. And they never unlocked his restraints without putting his leather cuffs on first. The headache refused to abate. He was pretty sure that regardless of his empty stomach he was about to puke. They had asked if he understood, of course he understood. More work to be done.

The stairway opened up in front of him and that was when he realized where they were bringing him. He struggled. He usually didn’t, they usually dosed him and let everything settle into dark before pulling him up the stairs. But they hadn’t this time. They didn’t even kill his breath. The tall man with the bright eyes had taken the muzzle off.

He found his voice at the top of the stairs, the dark doorway into the fake bedroom yawning like the jaws of a hungry beast.

…

“No!” Lion suddenly exploded. Mox felt kind of dumb for not anticipating that, he’d gotten increasingly squirmy the closer they got to the top of the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, easy.” Mox said firmly, maintaining his grip on the weakly-struggling man. “Easy, shh. Not today. Not ever again, got it?” Lion pushed his face into Mox’s neck, whimpering. Mox felt tears start to soak through his turtleneck. “Not ever again.” He repeated, digging his fingers into that thick mane of hair to keep Lion’s face where it was. “Shh, it’s alright. Nev, I’m maintaining his position. Go open the door.”

Adrian fairly bolted across the room, pausing to yank the memory cards out of both camcorders on his way by. “Confiscatin’ evidence. Dunno’ if they’re in standby mode.” He said to Mox’s unasked question. “Alright, you got him then? That last hallway is gonna’ be the hard part.”

“I need you to move your feet. Don’t look at the bed. Just keep your face tucked into my neck.” Mox continued to enunciate all his words as clearly as possible. Lion finally, finally shuffled forward, hiccupping loudly. “That’s right. We’re just going to the door. Gonna’ get you out of here.” Moxley tried to encourage him and it appeared to be working. Lion just didn’t seem to have much left in his proverbial tank, continuing to sag against Mox and allowing him to move him as he saw fit.

When they hit the edge of the rug was when Lion stopped. The rug in the hallway was a beige color, a stark contrast to the ugly red one in the room. Lion hesitated before taking a step out, his whole body tense enough to snap. Mox released his hold on the young man’s hair, letting him look up. Lion squinted in the light, his eyes obviously having a difficult time adjusting. “Who…” He began, his voice surprisingly deep when he wasn’t in a panic.

“We can explain later. You’re not out the woods yet.” Neville whispered. “I dunno’ if anyone heard ya’ little outburst at the top of the stairs.”

Lion winced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. C’mon.” Mox had rapidly eased into his sponsor role, taking Lion’s hand. The young man clung to his arm like he was drowning, half-hiding his face. “It’s alright. We’ll just keep walking. Be outta’ here in no time.”

“Sorry. M’ stomach…” Lion made a retching noise. “Nothing there.”

“The hell is it always like this for?” Neville griped. “Always with the no food, the shite conditions. What the fuck did any of us do to deserve this?”

“Grew teeth an’ didn’t use ‘em fast enough.” Mox answered bleakly, pausing at the corner of the hallway. “Here we are, now comes the hard part. So. At the end of this hall is freedom. Real, legitimate freedom that you can touch an’ taste, bury your fuckin’ nose in. The only issue is if we don’t make it in three seconds, we’re fucked.” He explained carefully to Lion, who instantly went back to tense. “Now, Nev can help on one side, I’ll take the other, and we’ll make a mad dash for it when he gives the signal. You ready to run?”

Lion nodded slowly.

“Take a couple deep breaths, get yourself centered. I know ya’ in a drug fog. I promise we’re real, tangible things.” Mox watched as Lion appeared to focus, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There ya’ go, s’ little bit better. You’re gonna’ be floatin’ again in a minute but all we need is three measly seconds.”

“Ready?” Neville asked, staring down at his watch. Moxley nodded, his grip tight on Lion’s hip. “In three, two, one.”

Lion’s fingers dug into Mox’s shoulder hard enough to bruise as they made a break for it, the young man obviously in full survival mode. Neville shoved the door open and they burst out into the night, hurrying down the side access steps that resembled an old fire escape.

“ETA minute thirty, we have to get to the safe zone so Samson can come grab us.” Neville whispered, all but pulling Lion along behind him.

“Easy Nev, he’s got no fuckin’ shoes on man.” Mox pointed out, a bit annoyed.

“Can go. Doesn’t matter.” Lion grunted, shaking the hair out of his eyes. He slowed abruptly when he caught sight of the moon, though. She was beautiful tonight, round and brilliant white. Mox wanted to laugh at the expression on Lion’s face. “Oh.” Lion said softly, reaching one hand up as if he could touch it. “Look, look it’s-”

“Yeah, the moon.” Mox’s brow furrowed. “How long has it been since you seen her, buddy?”

“I don’t…I’m not sure.” Lion mumbled.

Mox felt his throat tighten up at how confused the other man sounded. Neville made a noise of disbelief beside him. “Seriously? That’s awful.”

“No windows.” Lion pointed out.

“Never thought I would be lucky to be in a cage outside. But the idea of bein’ stuck inside…” Mox trailed off as Lion pushed away from him, almost toppling over again. “Easy, easy. I know the contact makes you uncomfortable. Just let us help ya’ to the van an’ then we ain’t gotta’ touch you again without ya’ permission, okay?” Lion made a low sound in his throat. “Where can I touch you?”

A huge part of being a sponsor was respecting the boundaries the newly-freed instated, regardless of how silly they seemed. It was about putting the power back in their hands after it had been missing for so long, about easing them into a life that they had direct control over. Numerous individuals had passed through their little organization, Regal setting them up with what they needed to balance things hormonally before they struck out on their own.

“Want to walk by myself.” Lion said determinedly.

“Alright. I’ll be beside you then. If ya’ feel woozy, just lean on me.” Mox stuffed his hands into his pockets, wishing he had his jacket. He quickly fell into step next to the other man, studying the hitch of his gait. He looked like he hadn’t stretched his legs in ages, which was entirely possible.

“Much further?” Lion asked, his steps faltering over the uneven ground. Mox shook his head and Lion clenched his fists, straightening his back stubbornly. “Okay.”

“What a fuckin’ trooper.” Moxley praised, “I promise once we get in that van we’ll bundle you right the hell up. You’ll be the coziest motherfucker this side of New York.”

“Am cold.” Lion admitted. “Sore.”

“You’ll get the once-over from Regal. He’s our doc, he helps all of us out.” Mox was used to having to defang the idea of doctors to new charges. He would call William a pharmacist, but that just tended to confuse. “Get that fog outta' you, huh?”

Lion didn’t reply as they came across the van, Elias ready and waiting with the side door open. “Nice to meet you. Climb on in and we’ll be on our way.” Samson was entertainingly formal, shaking Lion’s hand. He did it with all the new acquisitions, doing his part to drive home the point that they should be treated with dignity.

Lion looked back warily at Mox, who smiled at him. “It’s okay. Want me to get in first?” Lion nodded, moving to the side to let Moxley pull himself up into the van. “See? It’s alright.”

Lion had a little difficulty getting his legs up high enough, the blanket snagging around his thighs. He made a frustrated sound, finally resorting to tipping into the van on his stomach and fumbling his way up into a seat. “My head.” He said by way of explanation, wincing. “Dizzy.”

“It’s totally fine. You can sleep now, okay?” Mox slid the door shut and then tucked a blanket around Lion’s shoulders. Lion almost immediately snuggled his chin down into the soft material, his eyes already heavy. “I’ll be right next to you if you need anything.” He assured, settling onto the floor in between the two middle seats. Lion nodded sleepily.

Mox leaned his forehead against the plastic frame of the seat, yawning.

…

“Look at Mox.” Elias whispered, grinning. The third member of their operation was sound asleep, his face mashed up against the seat next to him while he snored. “He’s gonna’ have a corduroy imprint on his cheek.”

“M’ surprised Lion is sleeping.” Neville mumbled, his eyes fixed on his small laptop screen as he watched the footage he’d taken from the memory cards. “This is terrible stuff, Samson, Jesus Christ. The place was huge too, like a correctional facility.”

“Lofty aspirations?”

“Yeah, let’s fucking hope that’s all they are. Pipe dreams and great goddamn expectations.”

The audio cued up in the middle of a conversation and Neville turned it up a little, pressing his headphones to his ear. “-reasonable, come on. You know how this works--”

“Dun’ want t’.” Lion slurred through his stifler, his head pitching forward until his chin rested on his chest. “Legs hurt.”

“That’s too damn bad, isn’t it. Get makeup in here, it’s still a mess from the last bout.” The producer grumbled. “Its thighs, no shit. Fix it. It can’t rub off on her, either, so seal it.”

Lion struggled as best as he could, the faint click of teeth barely registering on the audio. “Bite you, dun’ touch.”

“If you don’t knock it off you’re gonna’ get knocked off.” The producer threatened. “This belligerent crap isn’t going to help you.”

“Hurts!” Lion yelped as the makeup girl liberally smeared his thighs with concealer. Neville had seen that his thighs were all raw and the idea of pouring thick cosmetics onto open wounds made his own skin crawl.

“We’ll just have to tone down the lighting I guess. Its hopeless.” The producer grabbed Lion’s jaw, growling in his face. “You’re fucking pathetic.”

“Need a break.” Lion begged.

“You can have a break when you’ve fucking earned one. All you do is lay here anyhow.” The producer flicked a finger roughly over the head of Lion’s stiff cock, making the dark-haired man cry out behind the muzzle. “We have two more scenes, two more girls. You’re fine.”

“Hurt.” Lion said desperately. “M’ hurt. Can’t.”

“You’re fine, you know how much I hate liars.”

“Please, I-” The producer quickly put an end to Lion’s mumbling by covering the nose opening in his muzzle. Lion’s chest heaved, eyes going wide in panic.

“No more talking or you’ll get shut up forever. Tell her we're ready. Remember, you idiot, you’re a feral and that means animal noises.” The producer slapped Lion across the face. “And no passing out!”

Lion’s breath wheezed loudly through the muzzle, the young man obviously panicking as a condom was rolled down over his cock. His hands tightened into fists when the woman climbed over him, his whole body gone  rigid.

Lion halfway sat up abruptly, making the woman scream and recoil when his face was suddenly inches from her own. Vomit bubbled thickly out of the bottom of the muzzle and Lion’s shoulders shuddered with his retching.

The producer swore loudly. “Fuck’s sake. Loosen that, don’t want it suffocating on its own vomit. Sorry sweetheart, looks like today’s shoot is cancelled.” He apologized to the woman, who mostly just looked annoyed as she wrapped herself back up in her robe. “You absolute dick. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He berated Lion, who at this point was coughing and hiccupping hard, his face wet with tears. “You cost me this fucking contract and I’ll leave you in your fucking cell for the rest of your pitiful life!”

“Good!” Lion spat, easier to understand with the stifler loosened. “Want that!”

“Yeah I bet you'd love that. I don't have time to deal with you being a dramatic little shit. Get it back in its cage. Cut recording. What a waste of--”

The footage ended with a crackle of static.

“Man, you look like someone just punched you in the stomach. What was that?” Samson asked quietly after a minute.

“None of us have had it easy.” Adrian swallowed hard, closing his laptop carefully. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “It's always something, Elias.”

Elias reached across the center console and squeezed Neville's shoulder comfortingly. “We're doing what we can.”

“I should have known that shite like this would happen. I never thought...druggin' us, usin' us like damn livestock. Some absolute piss-head makin' his money off the trauma. I...It's a lucky thing Regal can get rid of the rages for the most part.” Neville snarled, his accent thick with anger. “Ah'd like to go off on tha' motherfucker, right proper. We can't let Mox see this. He'd go to pieces on us.”

“Look at it this way.” Elias reasoned. “Lion's with us now. All that garbage is behind him. We're going to help. Focus on all the good we can do, not the bad that's already been done. It'll eat you alive.”

“I know you're fuckin' right.” Neville grumbled. “You can't just let me be angry?”

“Hell no, you're stuck on the wrong thing when you get angry and you know it.”

“Bloody impossible.” Neville slumped a little further down in his seat. Elias rumpled his hair out of the tight bun it was in. “Oh piss off.”

“Nope!”

…

Moxley became aware of a strange trend over the days that followed. Lion kept pilfering his leather jacket. Every time Mox would slip out of it for a second, his shadow was there to scoop it up. Which would have been fine, except for the fact that Lion was a bit broader in the shoulders than Mox. So there would be the squeak of stressing leather that would alert him to the fact that someone was wiggling into his coat again.

Baron thought it was the funniest thing, trying his hardest to keep from laughing whenever Lion crept past with the article of clothing. A lot of times Mox would pretend he didn't see the other man, carrying on with his repairs. It seemed like there was always a leak that needed patching in someone's roof, but he supposed that came with the territory of secondhand trailers. At least now he had Baron to help. The taller man had a definite knack for spotting problem areas before they became so.

Mox wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to how quiet Lion was, or how closely he followed him. As Lion's sponsor it certainly made his job a bit easier. Didn't exactly have to go looking for the guy every time Regal demanded to see how his thighs were healing. Moxley did his best to maintain a respectful relationship with Lion, knowing that he walked the razor's edge between friendly and beholden in his line of work. Debts of gratitude weren't really his thing, it just made him feel awkward.

In a way it was a good thing Lion wanted nobody to touch him. Things were simpler when that was removed from the equation. Casual touch was rife in the 'feral' community though, so it took some getting used to.

He still got antsy with William if he was left alone, and sometimes Mox would have to help when it came to that by lurking in the doorway. Lion's thighs became a...well, calling it a problem would imply that it was bad. It wasn't a problem. Mox kind of just wished he could touch sometimes, was all. He wished that Lion didn't flinch every time he had to take his coat back.

Lion would stay up so late at night, obviously not used to any sort of sleep schedule. And without the haze of downers that Mox knew so well, he no longer seemed to feel the urge to dream his life away. Consequently Mox would find him passed out in odd places, usually by one or two in the afternoon. Once he found him on the roof of his trailer and they had a serious discussion about structural integrity and not ruining the waterproof treatment. Then Lion just kind of...jumped down. Mox damn near had a heart attack at that, scolding the black-haired man roundly and realizing halfway in that he was definitely a mother hen. Lion smiled at him and that stopped him dead. “Th' heck is with the grin? You coulda' broke a leg!”

“You're worried.”

“Damn straight I am! You gotta' think before you do things.”

They talked at length sometimes, normally when Mox was trying to sleep. “Moxley?” The question would come quietly through the dark. Mox always knew he could ignore it, but he didn't really want to.

“Yeah 'sup.”

They still weren't sure how long Lion had been where he was. Neville couldn't rustle up any records if he had nothing to type in at the beginning. All searches on the producer turned up frustratingly empty. Lion couldn't even recall his first name, his real name. It felt wrong to call him his feral name but until he settled on another one, Lion it was.

Moxley, while not really granted permission to touch him, was gifted the odd privilege of being allowed to brush his hair. He had seen Lion struggling one day with a hairbrush (Mox had no idea where he'd even gotten it, probably from Regal), the dark-haired man appearing on the verge of tears as he tugged and yanked at his unruly mane. “Hey, lemme' help.” Mox had carefully taken the brush from Lion's hand, hearing the other man sniffle threateningly.

When Baron had come to them he was filthy, his long hair tangled with mats and the vestiges of creepy-crawlies. Needless to say, Mox got very good at brushing. So it was slowly that he started, separating Lion's hair out into smaller sections.

It became a ritual of sorts, one that Lion could have put an end to if he wanted. But no, he continued coming to Mox once or twice a week with his brush. And Mox knew it was dumb for him to feel special, knew it was stupid and a waste of his time and all it did was further a doubtless-forming codependency and...

...and none of these reasons were enough for him to resist the way Lion's eyes looked when he asked for help.

Lion was mostly content to wade and stumble along on his own, stubbornly rebuilding his humanity from the ground up. Regal for the most part salved him and sent him on his way. Maybe he understood a little more than Moxley ever would. Maybe he was just tired of dealing with the rub marks, the scars and bruises from shackles probably commonplace to the pharmaceutical veteran. Lion refused to have his hand held proverbially or literally, refused all but the most clinical of attention. He wanted to be given tasks just like everyone else but Neville was leery of his strength level, worried that he wasn’t fully healed yet.

So Mox would ask him for help with little things. Ask him to pass him a screwdriver. Ask him to toss him some more clothespins. It was silly small stuff but Lion lit up eagerly every time, because it was something to do and he was needed.

…

There was a name that had been on the tip of his tongue for a solid week. He loved how it sounded, repeating it over and over quietly when he was alone. But he knew everyone else would think it was silly.

Maybe…maybe Mox would like it. The light-haired man had mentioned that calling him Lion made him uncomfortable, like he was ‘reinforcing the bad shit that had happened’.

“I’ll be a lot better when you pick a new name for yourself.” Mox admitted.

It had eaten away at him, the search for a real name. Mostly because he wasn’t really sure who he was. Male, sure, but according to Neville that had no bearing on the situation. “Whateva’ name makes you feel happy, we’ll be more than glad to call ya’ that. Boy, girl, don’t matter.”

He would go through lists in his head, lying awake at night while Mox snored in his bunk. Steve was a nice name, simple, but Alex had the sharp letters in it which would be easier to write. He had asked Moxley what he felt about John and Mox got real quiet for a long time, before finally muttering that it “wasn’t right for him.”

But this name wasn’t a common Steve, or a sharp Alex. He said it aloud to Mox and watched the other man’s body language for anything bad. Moxley mostly just seemed confused, then asked him to pass him the new timing belt for the truck he was working on. Which wasn’t exactly the response he’d been going for, but it definitely wasn’t a negative response either.

…

“Mox?”

Moxley groaned, rolling over onto his side to face the bundled-up man on the opposite bunk. “’Sup, Lion?”

“Roman.”

“Yeah man, you said that earlier, what’s it me-”

“I want that to be my name.” Lion interrupted, his brow furrowed like he’d been thinking hard about this. “I like it. I like how it sounds.”

“Well I shoulda’ known you wouldn’t go the conventional route.” Mox propped himself up on one elbow. “If Roman is what you want, it’s what you’ll get. Nice to meet ya’, Roman.” Moxley extended a hand across the trailer for a handshake, which Lion-Roman returned (to his surprise). “Name’s Mox, I do the fixin’ around here. Welcome aboard.”

“I…yeah. My name is Roman.” The excited smile he gave Mox sat odd in Mox’s stomach. “I’m Roman. Hi, I’m Roman.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t wear it out. You’re stuck with it forever.” Moxley warned with a laugh. “Roman.”

“I love it!” Roman didn’t seem to be able to stop smiling. “It’s mine. I have a name. I…I’ll be back.” He flung off his blanket and unlocked the door of the trailer, heading outside. Mox sat up, a little confused as he heard Roman climb onto the roof. “Moon!”

Mox grumbled under his breath, pulling on some pants and stalking to the door. “Jesus Roman, you can’t just go hollerin’ to the moon every time somethin’ happens. Get down from there before ya’ hurt somethin’.” He ordered, trying to keep the grin out of his voice.

‘Roman’ didn’t make him think of all the terrible things that had happened. ‘Roman’ was a fresh start, clean and enthusiastic and currently yelling at the crescent moon.

‘Roman’ was a good name.

Roman dropped to the ground in front of him, a little breathless. “I told the moon.”

“I noticed. So did everyone else.” Mox said wryly. “I’m sure Styles will be over any second now t’ scold ya’ for disturbin’ the peace.”

“Don’t care.” Roman didn’t look like he was ever going to stop smiling.

Mox couldn’t help the little snicker he let out. “Alright, let’s get back inside. S’ fuckin’ freezin’ out here.”

Roman wrapped an arm around Mox’s neck, surprising the hell out of him when he nuzzled his nose against his cheek like Neville would do. “Because we’re friends, just like you and Adrian.” Roman said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Mox coughed. “Roman, Neville does that because he’s a fuckin’ weirdo. You might wanna’ pick a different call sign.”

“Oh.” Roman looked crestfallen and Mox felt a bit guilty. It had obviously taken a lot of guts to reach out like that and of course he shot it out of the sky. He bumped his forehead into Roman’s silently after a moment, displaying his own particular method of showing affection. Roman’s shoulders straightened out and like it was a reflex he full on headbutted Mox, cracking him right in the temple.

“Fuck!” Moxley yelped, taking a step back and holding the side of his face gingerly. “Christ, what gives man?”

“I…” Roman’s confusion was obvious. “…I thought I had to do it as hard as I could?”

“Fuckin’ hell, you really think that was all I had? Get over here you asshole, you’re gonna’ feel the wrath!” As the trailer was rather small, it wasn’t long before Mox had him in a loose headlock, undoing all the hard work he’d put in earlier when brushing.

Roman wound his arm around the back of Mox’s knees, freeing himself from the headlock by lifting Moxley bodily and then plopping him down onto his bed. Roman pinned him there, laughter coming in gasps as he dug his forehead against Moxley’s and rubbed it back and forth vigorously. “Ha! Now you’ll look like you headbutted the carpet.” He said when he pulled back to admire his handiwork.

Mox’s cheeks puffed out momentarily with the effort of stifling his own laughter. “You dope, you got the same mark on your forehead!” He laughed, rubbing his thumb over the red area.

“Kinda’ like the marks Baron makes? On his friend’s neck?” Roman sounded hopeful. “Is that his weird thing?”

On his friend’s neck. “Nah, Baron really likes his friend, so that’s a special thing he only does for them. I-” Roman buried his face in Mox’s neck and bit down, making Moxley snap, “Hey!” His stomach writhed at the way Roman instantly flinched back from his sharp tone. “Shit, sorry. You startled the fuck outta’ me, man. Can’t latch onto a guy like that.” Mox tried to play it off, tried to ignore the sad look that Roman got. “Roman, hey. You can’t just bite people. That’s rude.”

“But you just said…you said Baron did it special for his friend because he really likes them.” Roman pointed out.

“Roman, Baron’s friend also agrees to that beforehand. You don’t get to do something to another person without their permission.”

“Oh.” Roman’s eyes suddenly widened and Mox braced himself for the impact. “Why did…when I was at the other place, they never…” The black-haired man didn’t seem to be able to finish his sentences, sitting back on his haunches. “The…producer.” He finally snarled, his voice gone harsh.

Mox sat up cautiously. “What about him?”

“Never asked me.”

“You weren’t a person to him. Nobody like us is a person to that guy.”

“I am a person. You’re a person, too.” Roman insisted. “And Baron and Neville and Elias.”

“I know that, Ro. You’re more of a person than that fucker could ever imagine.” Mox said fiercely. “You’ve got a name now, a name that shithead never heard. A name he never touched. You ain’t ever been Lion, that’s not who you are. S’ just what they called you.”

Roman’s face was still troubled so Mox took his hand, slowly tightening his grip until Roman responded in kind. The two of them sat there in silence, Roman staring down at their hands and Mox staring at Roman while the other man was deep in thought. “Roman is my name.” Roman finally said softly. “Because I say so.” He raised their joined hands, making eye contact again. “And because you say so.”

“Your opinion is the only one that should matter here, man.”

Roman shook his head. “No. You let it be real. You said it out loud.”

“Hey, Neville told you we’d call you whatever you wanted. Plus, we aren’t assholes.” Mox didn’t really feel that this should be made into a big deal. The way that Roman was looking at him had his skin crawling with nerves and he swallowed hard. “It’s your name. Your body. Your call as far as who does what to you, from the second Neville opened that door. And don’t take any shit from anyone who tries to tell you otherwise.” Mox said gruffly, dropping Roman’s hand after one last squeeze. “Plenty of folks out there will tell you until they’re blue in the face that you shoulda’ stayed put, that you deserved whatever happened t’ ya’ because of who you are. You ever come across anybody like that, you jus’ tell ol’ Moxley. I’ll fix their fuckin’ wagon.”

“You’re a good friend, Mox.” Roman said shakily. He wiped at his eyes after a minute. “M’ sorry, I know it’s late. Just wanted to hear whether you liked my name.”

“That’s a proud as hell name. Tough.” Mox wanted to laugh at how red Roman got. “You don’t even have to grow into it.” He snapped his fingers after a second. “Oh, I keep meanin’ to ask. Why the hell do you steal my jacket?”

“Smells like you.” Roman replied simply. Mox wasn’t really sure what the noise that came out of him was but he was incredibly happy he managed to camouflage it into a sneeze. “Bless you.”

“I just…I uh, I’m gonna’ hit the hay. I’m glad you picked a name, man. Tomorrow you can tell Nev and he’ll get you squared away.”

…

Smells like you. Mox shook his head at himself, trying to keep reading the manual for the solution to the latest mechanical nightmare he’d come across. Through the screen door of the trailer he could catch glimpses of the fire Styles and Samson had built, and faint strains of guitar reached his ears as night fell on the small convoy.

Baron didn’t exactly have a great singing voice, but he definitely made up for his pitch with volume. Mox would have loved to join them, but he was extremely leery of fire. There had been an incident when he was in juvenile housing, a glorified kennel that turned into a firetrap when someone had dropped a cigarette.

He was grateful that his trailer had a microwave. Even the little propane stove made him anxious.

Roman opened the trailer door as Elias started a rousing chorus of ‘Wonderwall’, his face sticky with the remnants of a s’more. “You gonna’ come out?” He asked hopefully. “There’s an open chair.”

“Can’t. Gotta’ figure this out.” Mox grunted, staring at the same page he’d read backwards and forwards for the past twenty minutes.

“Please?”

“Ro, m’ busy. And I don’t do fires. Ever.”

Roman shut the door behind him, wiping the marshmallow off his chin as an afterthought. “What?”

“I said I don’t do fires?” Mox raised an eyebrow. “What, Elias didn’t tell you my deep dark secret? M’ scared of fire.”

“You’re scared of something?”

“Yes Roman, I am afraid of something.”

“But-” Roman gestured vaguely with his hands. “You’re so brave, though!”

Mox couldn’t help the little huff of laughter that escaped him. “I ain’t nothing like that. Somebody lied to you.”

“No, I’ve seen it.” Roman insisted. “Like the other day when the motor was still running in that truck and you just kind of stuck your-”

“You’re confusing stupid with brave. Common issue. See, Neville is brave. He’s brave because he’s smart and quick and quiet.” Mox pointed at the Band-Aid covering the busted-up area on his hand. “I am stupid.”

“Would a stupid person have pulled me out of that cellar hole?” Roman asked testily.

“Well that’s more of a morals question, Ro, we were definitely breaking and entering-”

“Mox.”

“A dumb person absolutely would have done it, man. Would a dumb person have succeeded, is the question you oughta’ ask.” Mox put down the manual, looking up at Roman. “If that dumb person is directed by Neville? Shit, he can take near any rotten situation and turn it into an advantage. If that dumb person is me? I stop at nothin’. Fuck that hell or high water shit. I’m useful in this group because I’m stupid. I embrace that talent, Ro.”

“You’re brave.” Roman repeated stubbornly. “Bravest person I know.”

“You say such nice shit.” Moxley scoffed with a grin.

“I’m scared of something.” Roman said hesitantly. “I…I mean if you can be scared of stuff, I can too, right?”

“Fear is healthy and natural. S’long as you don’t let it rule you, obviously.” Mox opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again. “If you…ever needed to talk to someone about what you’re scared of, you know I’m here.” He offered finally. “No judgement zone, Ro. I don’t even care if you think it’s dumb.”

“M’ scared of people touching me.” Roman mumbled, twisting the hem of his shirt. “I don’t…scared of…I’m scared of people touching me when I’m, um...”

“When your clothes are off?” Mox supplied. Roman nodded quickly. “That’s kinda’ to be expected, man. You got manhandled and you never want that shit to happen again.” Mox willed his jaw to loosen. It had gone tense when he thought about what Roman must have endured.

“I’m all messed up though. In my head. Because I want…I want to. But I’m scared.” Roman seemed frustrated.

“You want people to touch you…naked.” Mox said slowly, his stomach lurching at the idea.

“I want one person to touch me naked.” Roman corrected, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I…”

“It was always girls. He only let girls have me. I don’t know if that has anything to do with it.” Mox’s hands clenched down onto the bunk under him. “Sometimes he would flick me on the tip of my…he’d flick me with his fingers.” Roman just kept talking. “If I didn’t cooperate he’d cover my nose so I couldn’t breathe.”

“Roman, please, Jesus Christ.” Mox said weakly. “You shoved your face into my neck an’ started fuckin’ cryin’ when we came up those stairs. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that some terrible shit’s happened to you.”

“I want you to touch me.” Roman said, his voice faltering a little. “I want…I trust you. I want to know if I’m broken or not. I mean, it’s alright if I am, I’ll figure it out. I just want to know.”

“You want me to…”

“I want you to touch me all over and I want…I want to see what happens.”

“I can tell you what’ll happen, man.” Mox got to his feet, brushing off his jeans. “But if it’ll make you feel better, if it’ll help you? Yeah, I’ll touch you without ya’ clothes on. Pretty sure I’m getting the better end of this deal, anyhow.” He tried to joke, the humor falling flat when Roman hurriedly yanked his shirt over his head. “Hey, hey. Be gentle to y’self. You’re safe here.”

“Don’t want to waste your time, I know you’ve got the thing.” Roman nodded at the manual. “Have to fix problems.”

“Shh, that ain’t a priority. It’s alright.” Mox carefully laid his hands on top of Roman’s to still them, the young man already heading for his zipper. “So clothes-off one-o-one here, first rule is if you ain’t into it, clothes stay on. Simple. Easy to remember.” He murmured. “Second rule is ask first. ‘Can I’ or ‘may I’ always goes better than ‘I’m going to’. Can I unzip your pants?” Mox asked softly.

Roman’s mouth was a little slack, his eyes a little wider than before. “Y-Yeah.” He gulped.

Mox slid down the zipper. He watched with quiet fascination as Roman’s torso trembled from a shaky breath. “May I touch?” Mox flattened his palm on Roman’s chest when the other man nodded rapidly, just feeling the way Roman tried to keep his breathing under control. “Hey, I’m not gonna’ cut you off. Breathe regular.” He instructed. Roman looked guilty and Mox began tracing the lines inked on his chest. “No no, none of that. Just breathe. Nice and easy.”

“Want to.” Roman arched a little and Mox’s fingers trailed over his nipple. “Oh.”

That was a noise that would make anyone curious. “Like that?” Mox asked, lazily circling his index finger around Roman’s nipple, which began to harden from the attention. “Is that good?”

“Oh God, jeez, I-” Roman fumbled for his words, settling on a simple, “No one’s ever…not there.”

Moxley huffed out an annoyed noise. “’Course not. It’s never been about you, right?” He ducked his head to carefully lick the area, encouraged by fingers slowly working their way into his hair and Roman muttering oh God oh God over and over. Mox took it as a compliment. “Where do you want me to touch you next?” He pulled his mouth away to ask, walking his fingers over Roman’s other pectoral.

“Huh?” Roman asked dazedly. “Oh! Oh. Sorry. I um, I…this is so strange.” His hands continued to stroke through Moxley’s hair absently. “How do you make it so good?”

“I ask. And I only use my teeth when people beg for ‘em.” Mox’s hands moved down to touch Roman’s hips while he kept his mouth busy. “What do you want me to do?”

“I…oh.” Roman covered Mox’s hands, his face suddenly serious. “I almost forgot.” He said sheepishly.

“Hey, we don’t have to go any further than this.” Mox assured him. “I ain’t here for me, so don’t worry about stoppin’.”

“I know.” Roman tugged his pants over his hips, letting them settle around his thighs. “More? Please?”

“Much as you want.” Mox replied quietly. “Can I touch you? Through your boxers. I ain’t got to touch your skin if you don’t want me to just yet.” He slid his palm down the expanse of Roman’s stomach, chuckling a little when Roman sighed. “Touchin’ doesn’t have to be frantic. And it doesn’t have to lead t’ anythin’. When you say stop, it stops.”

“You can touch me. No…no flicking, please.” Roman mumbled, biting his lip and making another noise when Mox smoothed his hands down his sides. “Y-Yeah, mm, good.”

“I like when you talk.” Mox whispered, easing his palm over the front of Roman's boxer briefs. “When was the last time you touched yourself?”

“I um...” Roman was clearly, endearingly flustered.

“How do you touch yourself? Can you show me what you like?” Mox asked gently. Roman went silent, his fingers twitching nervously. “Roman? Do I need to stop?”

“No, no. I just...I mean, no one's ever asked me that. Dunno' what to say.” Roman shrugged, grimacing.

“O-kay.” Moxley said slowly, running his thumb down the curve of Roman's cock beneath his boxers. Roman put his hands on Mox's shoulders, exhaling hard into the air between them. Mox felt like he might be a little overdressed for the situation but the last thing he wanted was to scare Roman off.

Roman bumped their foreheads together and moaned, jumping slightly when Mox rolled one of his nipples between his fingers. “Ah, God, yes, that-” He pleaded, “More, touch me I--fuck-”

“Look at you, God.” Mox murmured, a little awestruck at the way Roman bucked his cock clumsily into his hand, practically rubbing himself off. “You like that? Y' like when I stay still an' you can just hump up against my fingers?”

“Make my stomach feel funny when you say stuff like that.” Roman groaned and Mox felt like someone had cranked the heat up.

“Yeah? So I shouldn't talk about how I want you t' rub yourself on my thigh until you come? Shouldn't say that, because it makes your belly drop out? I shouldn't talk about how I wanna' tease your chest until you're achin' for me to touch you, dick all stiff and leakin' on your stomach? Shouldn't talk about that?” He asked, his words tripping out in an excited rush.

“Fuck.” Roman whimpered, his fingers digging into Mox's shoulders and pulling him in tight against him so he could tuck his face into the other man's neck. “Mox, Mox, please-”

“You can bite me if you want to.” Mox offered.

Roman looked up, gray eyes wide. “But you said-”

“For special friends. Because I really like you.” Mox grinned. “You're lettin' me touch you all over. S' only fair.”

“I want to, I want to, Mox, are you sure I can?” Roman was half-asking, half-begging, his mouth already open over Moxley's neck.

“All yours, Ro.” Roman's tongue tasted the area momentarily before his teeth crushed down and Moxley had to choke back a satisfied grunt. “Yes, fuck, Roman-” He growled.

“I'm-” Roman's whole body went tight and Mox wasn't sure he'd ever been this satisfied by someone else getting off in his entire life. Roman's moans were stifled by his skin, the frantic bucks of his hips dissolving him into a quivering mess and then Roman kissed him abruptly, mouth hot on his own. “Oh! Shit, I...sorry.” The black-haired man gasped, pulling back. “Should have asked, sorry.”

“I am not complaining.” Mox panted, “Hi Roman, I'm Mox, and I am fuckin' here for this shit.”

…

He managed to convince Mox to come out and sit by the fire, now almost burned out. Baron had apparently decimated a bag of marshmallows all by himself, his friend beside him looking decidedly stickier than they had before.

“Look at you!” Elias praised Moxley, smiling broadly as the light-haired man settled warily into the folding chair. Once he pulled it a little ways back, of course. Roman sat on the ground between Mox's legs, having promised to keep him safe from the fire. “And of course, ever present Roman. I've got a song for you, man.” Samson tinkered with the instrument on his lap for a second, humming a few bars. “Me, and my shadow, walking down the avenue...” He crooned slowly, strumming away. “There's no one here but me, me and my shadow...”

Roman eased back against Moxley and felt careful fingers lace into his hair, stroking over his scalp. Without intending to, his eyes drifted shut. He fell asleep there, wrapped in the warm sensation of Moxley's body solid against his own and those fingers, gently rubbing.

“There's no one here but me and my shadow...”

Part Three

[hauntedhistorycolorado]

Cheesman Park of Denver

The pavilion at Cheesman Park, photo from Pixabay, courtesy of the CU Indepedent

A foggy day in Cheesman park, photo by RJ Sangosti, courtesy of the Denver Post

Historical background

Today, Cheesman Park is a well-tended public park in central Denver, surrounded by some of the oldest mansions in the city. Close to downtown and Capitol Hill, the pavilion at Cheesman is a common location for political rallies and is a popular gathering spot for Denver’s gay community. On warm days, the park is often filled with families, couples, runners, and picnickers. And it’s common knowledge among locals that just below the grass rest thousands of corpses.

Cheesman Park was originally Denver’s foremost pioneer cemetery. In 1859, one year after the City of Denver’s inception, the location was chosen by city founder William Larimer, according to records I found on the Denver Public Library’s website, based on a site where local Native Americans observed death rites. At the same time, it was about two miles away from the city, and the original plans were for a peaceful, garden-like cemetery. However, the cemetery quickly became unsightly and overgrown. Cattle began to graze there, and local legend says that people even began homesteading on the land.

The old cemetery at Cheesman Park, courtesy of the Denver Post

Typical of wild-west cities of the time, Denver was filled with disease and violent crime, and the cemetery quickly began to fill. A common account of the first burial tells the story of John Stoefel, who shot and killed his brother-in-law Arthur Biengraff over a bag of gold dust, only to be hung from a cottonwood tre at the intersection of 10th and Cherry Creek streets. They were then buried in the same casket, trapped together for eternity. Contrary to this, a deeper dig into cemetery records shows that this is a sensationalized version of the cemetery’s history, and that John Steofel and Arthur Biengraff were actually the third burial in Prospect Hill; the first being Abraham Kay, who was killed by a sudden infection at age 26 in 1859 and the second being a teenager called B. Marywall, who was thrown from a horse. After local outlaw John O’Neal was shot outside of a saloon for being a “cheat” and buried in Prospect Hill, the cemetery gained a reputation as being the final resting place of Denver’s “criminals and paupers.” Cemetery records after this are slim; no death records other than headstones were kept, many of which were made of wood, if they existed at all.

Scan from From The Grave by Linda Wommack

In 1872, Congress decreed the site of Prospect Hill federal land, having been deeded to the government in an 1860 treaty with the Arapahoe Indians, and it was sold to the City of Denver with the provision that it always serve as a cemetery.

Prospect Hill was renamed City Cemetery in 1873, by which point it had become so dilapidated that residents preferred to bury their loved ones in the new, much more well-kept garden cemetery, Riverside. The founding of Riverside and its more stately appearance only served to increase the degenerate population in City Cemetery. Though, it should be said that people of all types were, in actuality, interred there. The current location of the Denver Botanic Gardens sits on the former site of the consecrated ground of the Catholic portion of the cemetery, known as Calvary, and there were segregated cemetery areas throughout the current Cheesman Park neighborhood, also including a Jewish cemetery, plots for various societies and organizations like the Freemasons, a plot for Chinese immigrants, and others. The poor and criminal residents were commonly buried on the outskirts of the cemetery, with those closer to the middle class filling in the center.

By the 1880s, Denver had expanded closer to City Cemetery and talk began between Congress and the City of Denver to reclassify the area as a park, for two reasons. 1) The locals didn’t want to live near a cemetery, and 2) they definitely didn’t want to live next to an ugly, desert cemetery filled with the lowest members of Denver’s population. On January 25, 1890, Congress acceded to Colorado Senator Henry Teller and the land was declared Congress Park.

Now, onto the fun:

In 1893, bodies began to be moved to Riverside. At first, loved ones of those interred were given 90 days to have bodies relocated, but very few were moved during this time, and the waiting period stretched out into years. So few of the bodies were claimed, that eventually the task of moving the bodies was contracted out to undertaker Edward P McGovern, at the agreed-upon price of $1.90 per casket removal (around $54.33 today). Only days into the mass exhumation, word of scandal reached local journalists

On Saturday, March 19, 1893, a front page story ran in the Denver Republican, headlined “THE WORK OF GHOULS! HUMAN BODIES TORN TO PIECES And All for the Purpose of Plundering the Public Treasury... Bodies Taken From Their Resting Places in the City Cemetery, Distributed Each Among Three Boxes, Carted Off to Riverside and Charged as Three ‘Bodies’”

So, McGovern and his workers were accused of hacking up bodies and distributing them into multiple child-size caskets as a way to overcharge the city and make more money. First hand accounts also tell of graverobbing. Apparently, workers were also seen removing jewelry and other personal effects from the graves.

Headline from The Denver Republican, March 19, 1893. Courtesy of the Denver Public Library archive.

A selection from the article is as follows:

“The work of removing the unclaimed bodies has now been in progress four days. During that time 491 ‘bodies’ have been boxed up and carted away, at least those are figures given by John E. Wood, Mr. McGilvray’s recent appointee to the Health department, and receipted for by A. Forsythe, the superintendent for Riverside cemetery.

Anyone who visits the scene of the disinterment at the old city cemetery and glances at the number of graves opened and coffins exposed will be somewhat puzzled to tell where all those ‘bodies’ came from.

A short visit to the cemetery yesterday accounted for the mystery.

Out of one grave, where only a single coffin was visible, three of the forty-two-inch boxes were filled. Into the first box some bones were cavalierly tossed by a workman. He then pulled another box to the edge of the grave, and into this he tossed one bone, some earth, and a portion of the coffin. After this the son of toil rested awhile. The graves on each side of him were being excavated by other workmen, and he evidently did not care to move, so he called for another box.

At this juncture a man came along with a pot of paint and brush and numbered and lettered the two boxes already filled from he single grave. John E. Wood, the representative of the Health department, also came up. When he saw the third box he asked the man in the grave what it was for. ‘Oh, I guess there’s another one here,’ said the grave-digger, as he threw a shovelful of earth into the box. Mr. Wood looked into the grave, said ‘Humph,’ and walked away. Another shovelful of earth and some crumbled wood was then thrown into the box, the ‘remains’ were disinfected, the lid fastened on and the ‘body’ of ‘274, B. H.,’ shipped to Riverside.”

Immediately after the article ran, McGovern was fired and the project was terminated when the Health Commissioner began an investigation. A new contractor was never hired, and the park project was put on hold. The cemetery was fenced off, and many of the graves remained open. Eventually, the park project was finished. Many of the oldest trees in Cheesman Park today were planted int the open ground of unearthed graves. The park was renamed after Walter S Cheesman in 1907 when his widow came forward with a donation of funds to build a pavilion in an effort to beautify the park. Another nearby park still holds the name of Congress.

Cheesman Park, arial view 1940s-1950s, courtesy of the Denver Public Library

Bodies continued to be moved into the 20th century, with the Hebrew burial ground being relocated in 1923 and the bodies at the Catholic Calvary cemetery moved in the 1950s. However, it is estimated that betwen 2,000 and 3,000 corpses still remain under the park. Bones continue to be uncovered. Wooden caskets that were buried while the cemetery was in use have collapsed underground and are said to be responsible for the depressions in the earth all over the park, the majority of these being concentrated on the North-West side, near the playground. As the soil shifts, heavier rocks and other objects sink, while lighter objects, like bones, begin to rise. Human remains are often dug up by dogs playing in the park. Corpses found in Cheesman are often well-preserved, occasionally mummified, due to the dry climate.

In 2010, four skeletons were uncovered by a construction crew doing irrigation work. One of these had risen until it was only a few feet below the surface and was found close to a sidewalk. Then Denver Parks and Rec spokeswoman, Jill McGranahan, had this to say about the incident:

“Many of the bodies left in Prospect Cemetery were those of paupers and criminals. Unfortunately, there is no way of knowing or even finding out who they are or if they have existing relatives. We told them [the construction crew] of Cheesman’s past and that coming upon skeletons was a real possibility. They all agree that it was still unsettling the first time. As one of our workers stated, he arrives after the sun is up and leaves before it goes down, so he doesn’t take any chances.”

Skeleton uncovered in Cheesman Park, 2010, courtesy of the Denver Post

The hauntings of the Cheesman Park neighborhood

Stories of hauntings in Cheesman Park, the Botanic Gardens, and the surrounding homes are still wildly popular among locals. Mansions in the area are said to have provided inspiration for ‘80s horror films Poltergeist and The Changeling (stories surrounding these homes in particular are difficult to pin down on any factual basis). The most commonly reported incidents in the park include: cold spots, sudden feelings of dread or anger, and disembodied voices. Full-bodied apparitions have also been sighted, and are sometimes said to communicate directly with the living. According to local legend, those who walk through the cemetery on a foggy night have experienced views of phantom headstones, as though they have been transported back in time to Prospect Hill.

Paranormal investigation teams visiting the park have experienced EMF (electromagnetic field) spikes, as well as lights flickering, rapidly spinning compass needles, EVPs (electronic voice phenomenon), photographic anomalies (orbs, light, apparitions), cold or sickly feelings, and the sensation of being touched.

CLICK HERE FOR GHOST STORIES SURROUNDING CHEESMAN PARK.

Reflective commentary

A common theory in paranormal investigation is that spirits tend to remain on Earth where ever they suffered the most in life, and due to that, cemeteries are not usually the most spiritually active places. However, it is also said that defilement of bodies, particularly those buried on consecrated ground, can lead to spiritual activity. The relocation of the graves from Prospect Hill, and the way many of the bodies were split across several caskets, and the lack of marked graves for those who remain, is said to contribute to the high level of spiritual activity still in Cheesman Park today.

My friend Martha and I visited Cheesman Park in fall of 2019 both during the day and after nightfall. Neither of us experienced what we could suspect as spiritual activity.

Martha records while I try to pick up EMF readings, photo taken by me (on the GoPro), November 2019

Cheesman Park is an interesting case, not only because of its wild history, but also because of its contemporary function as several public parks, a popular tourist attraction, and the stateliest homes in Denver. The oldest and largest homes in any city are likely to attract rumors of hauntings, and I have no doubt that many of the homes in the Cheesman Park neighborhood would still have stories of hauntings attached to them even without the history of Prospect Hill attached to them. This combination of the “haunted house” trope with the “cemetery” trope shows how types of stories of hauntings and come together, and the history of the park shows us how and why these stories can develop. As public space, the Cheesman Park neighborhood is in a unique position to be constantly interacting with the modern world; new ghost stories of Cheesman Park are always developing, keeping a close relationship with the contemporary locals and the underlying history. Its influence of pop culture is also singular - a shining example of how the history of ghost stories can change and perpetuate the cultural lexicon of the liminal and strange.

CLICK HERE FOR ALL FIELD NOTES AND SOURCES FOR THIS LOCATION.

[metaldetectingtips-blog]

Beach Metal Detecting Tips

We have a bunch of great beach metal detecting tips to get you started in the right direction and finding more when metal detecting on a beach. Follow this and you should start finding some great stuff in no time.

Make sure you have the right beach metal detecting equipment. Beach metal detecting is different to relic hunting or park metal detecting in that you need different tools to do the job properly. For park metal detecting a small hand digger tool is best, for relic hunting you need a relic hunting shovel. But for beach metal detecting, if you intend to metal detect on sandy beaches you will need a sand scoop. There are a couple of different types of sand scoops to consider. Firstly there is the hand scoop.

This is a small unobtrusive scoop that you would use by kneeling down on the sand and scooping out the sand until you find your target. This works well on soft, dry sand but can be hard on compacted wet sand. It can also be hard on the knees if you are often kneeling down on sand, your knees can become raw. Imagine kneeling down on sandpaper for a while and you will get the idea. Also, if you keep having to stoop low to retrieve your targets you might find that your back can get sore. On the plus side though, hand scoops are relatively inexpensive. The other type of scoop to consider is a long handled sand scoop.

The benefit of one of these types of scoops is that you won’t need to kneel down very often, saving your knees and back. You use them by inserting the scoop into the sand behind the target you want to dig and then pushing your foot against the back of the sand scoop and scooping out a wad of sand where you think the target is. These scoops are great if you intend to use your metal detector in the water, you can retrieve your targets without ever going under water yourself. However the downside of the long handled beach metal detecting sand scoop is that they can be quite expensive. Elsewhere on the metal detecting tips website we have already discussed how to select the best metal detector in our metal detector buying guide for what kind of metal detecting you intend to do, however it is worth touching on a few things again in relation to beach metal detecting.

If you intend to use your metal detector in the water you will need waterproof capabilities. Some metal detectors have coils that can be used in shallow water as long as you don’t get the control box wet. Other metal detectors can be used entirely under water. Make sure that you fully understand your metal detectors waterproof capabilities before you take it anywhere near water. If you are new to metal detecting and haven’t yet chosen a metal detectorthen be sure to check out our metal detector buyers guide to help you choose the metal detector that best fits your needs.

So now you have your metal detector and scoop you are ready to hit the beaches to start beach metal detecting. Firstly you need to check and make sure that you can legally metal detect there. Do you have permission? Do you need to ask for permission or is it a public beach that doesn’t need any permission to metal detect? It’s vital that you know this information before you start detecting to ensure that you are allowed to metal detect so that you can relax and enjoy your beach treasure hunting without having to look over your shoulder throughout your metal detecting trip. Another of our beach metal detecting tips is pretty simple. Be courteous to other beach users! No doubt the beach that you intend to use your beach metal detector on will have a lot of visitors. If not then it should have, because you are going to be looking for the stuff that people drop! But we’ll get to that part soon enough. The points we are getting to here is that if you are beach metal detecting then watch out for other people using the beach. Don’t be a nuisance. Keep a respectable distance from people who are sunbathing or spread out sleeping. You really don’t want accusations made against you so it’s best to err on the side of caution and give people their space.

If you see people playing beach volleyball, throwing a Frisbee or a ball around then keep away from them.

Also don’t leave holes uncovered. Treat a beach as you would any other metal detecting permission. Always, always fill the holes that you have dug. Also, just as importantly always remove any trash or dangerous items that you find, such as glass, nails, sharp pieces of metal etc. No doubt curious beach goers will be inquisitive and you will get people asking you about what you are doing. Be friendly; Show them your junk pouch and that you have removed glass etc. You’ll get a good reputation and you’ll be less likely to attract negativity from other beach users. Negativity can happen, I’ve seen YouTube videos that make me cringe with guys leaving junk on the surface, not filling their holes and getting in between people who are lying on the beach. These kinds of things will attract trouble, so be friendly, courteous and smart and you’ll have a much better beach metal detecting experience. Another idea if you intend to do beach metal detecting on busy beaches is to simply pick times to metal detect when the beach isn’t busy. Go early morning, or later in the evening, or on week days instead of weekends. You will probably have a better beach metal detecting experience if you have less people around. Speaking of other beach users, that leads me on to another beach metal detecting tip that many people may not consider, but I have heard this happen to beach metal detectorists far too often. Be careful showing people that you don’t know your good finds, particularly if you find rings, watches or jewellery. I have heard terrible stories of beach metal detectorists that have excitedly shown people a great find that they have just had such as a nice gold ring or necklace only to be approached by a friend of the person they just showed it to claiming ownership of said gold ring. That leaves the metal detectorist in a quandary. Where they know that the person who has approached them claiming ownership is not telling them the truth and is unethically trying to profit from them, but the beach metal detector user has found something that clearly belongs to another person and cannot prove that the other person is lying to them. It’s better to keep quiet about those kinds of finds, you don’t want to risk being threatened to hand things over or even worse assaulted by someone who is not telling you the truth. However I do advocate trying to find the owner of a valuable jewelry item whenever possible. You can search local lost and found listings, or contact local Police if you have found something that you think someone is looking for. It is always best to do the honest and ethical thing. So where on the beach should you start beach metal detecting? Well it just so happens we have metal detecting tips that might help you with that! Look for places on the beach to use your beach metal detector where you know people may lose things. Sounds pretty simple right? Well, yes it really is. Look for the places that people play beach volleyball. Is there a beach volleyball court? If no one is using it then scan it with your beach metal detector. When you have people diving around after the ball then they’ll often lose rings, earrings, necklaces etc. Take your time and search those areas well. Also, look for the places where people sit or lay on the beach.

I have a friend who is a former enforcement officer in areas that included popular beaches and he said he lost count of the number of times people have approached him saying that they took their jewelry off and placed it on the corner of their towel, only to forget about it until the end of the day and pick up and shake their towels free of sand, sending their rings flying too. So search places where you have seen people lay towels down. You might make a nice find! Another great beach metal detecting tip is to think about when is the best time to go beach metal detecting. Consider going detecting on Monday mornings straight after a long hot weekend when you know a lot of people would have been using the beach. Also consider going beach metal detecting after holiday weekends when you know all of the beaches will have been packed.

Also consider beach metal detecting at the end of a hot summer season. Use your local knowledge of busy periods to maximize your find rates Beach metal detecting can be a lot of fun, especially if you are prepared and plan your hunts properly. We hope that our beach metal detecting tips have been useful to you and that they may have sparked some ideas for you and that you can implement some of these beach detecting tips in your own beach hunts on your local beaches. Let us know if you have your own tips you think are worth sharing to the metal detecting community. We would be happy to publish articles, letters, videos etc. So let us know what you think! Until next time, Happy Beach Hunting!  

[kingstonjael]

“Things He Will Not Find In My Vagina” So it’s the day before Thanksgiving and I could blog about avoiding toxic family members or how not to be sad on holidays (if they are not your thing) but it’s still freakin HUMP DAY and I just have to honor that! Time to get sexually ignorant! 🤣 Like cockroaches that the exterminator missed…exes always seem to pop up during the holidays. 😩 It is one thing if it’s the ex you still love and want to work things out with but it’s a total other thing if they are exes who think you still want them because you are single. To them I say…no sir. Nobody wants you! Take that mess somewhere else! ✌🏾 Today’s blog is dedicated to those exes we want to get right…quick. I’m going to say some of the things many of you have wanted to say but hesitate for fear of it falling on deaf ears or from fear of looking like a psycho bitch. Of course, here at Kingston Expressions I am not afraid to go there! 🙌🏽 Here are the top 10 things my exes will not find in my vagina this holiday season: 10. HE WILL NOT FIND HIS MAMA IN MY VAGINA! For all the mamas’ boys out there….you will not find remnants of your mama in my vagina. That means that I don’t want to hear shit about how she cooks your meals, STILL cleans up after you, cuts your meat up for you, AND warms up the breast milk just right for you! Bro, you will find none of these things in my vagina! I’m not your mama and don’t want to be! Take your pacifier sucking self back to mama because ain’t shit for you here in my vagina!!! You don’t need a girl…you need a fucking nanny! ✌🏾 9. HE WILL NOT FIND HIS EX GIRL IN MY VAGINA! I’m really sorry she did a number on you but I just dug deep and looked between my clit and my asshole and guess what I did not find?! That bitch of an ex of yours! 😳 She was never in one flap of my luscious inner walls! I think you are lost and made a wrong turn because the foundation of my vagina is made up of passion, pleasure, loyalty, trust, and an eruption of ecstasy fit for a king. Only little boys are looking for their exes in other women! Take that mess and the hurt you brought with you somewhere else! ✌🏾 8. HE WILL NOT FIND HIS BALLS IN MY VAGINA! I am a strong black woman who is not without flaws. Love you hard I will. Support you I will. But I will be damned if I have to play hide and go seek with your balls in my own vagina! Yuck! So turned off right now! Be a man and have your word be your bond without me constantly having to remind you that you are not keeping your commitments! 🙌🏽 Mean what you say and let your actions support your words! Please do not blow smoke up my ass! My vagina will not tolerate such behavior! While the vagina is very flexible…it will not house your balls! ✌🏾 7. HE WILL NOT FIND FINANCIAL SECURITY IN MY VAGINA! With all this talk of gold diggers from men who “ain’t got a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out of” but front like they do…I’m gonna need to remind y’all that in 2017 women are doing it for themselves! We would like a rock not a damn anchor! If my stock is going to go down rolling with you…just keep it fucking moving! Yes you mister 500 baby mamas! My coins are not for them nor you! If you are looking for a come up…get up and get a job! You want to be the king of a castle? Well then make a king’s wage and maintain that castle! ✌🏾And stop driving your girlfriend’s car! Scrub! ✌🏾✌🏾✌🏾 6. HE WILL NOT FIND FREE PUSSY IN MY VAGINA! I’m tired of telling y’all men that pussy always costs! It may not be a monetary cost but there is a cost unless you are fucking a woman who does not know her worth or suffered from temporary insanity (I’ve been there)! 😳 If you can’t afford to take your lady on dates, then you can’t afford to fuck! 🙌🏽 It’s that fucking simple! “No romance without finance!” If you are a good man who use to do right but fell on hard times…a good woman will keep the pussy warm for you for a short and limited time while you get your shit together! 💜 A bad woman will dip out on you the day you cashed your last check! 😩✌🏾5. HE WILL NOT FIND HIS SELF ESTEEM IN MY VAGINA! A woman should encourage her man on his journey in life but it is not her job to constantly tell him how great he is!!! I dated a guy once that no matter how much I reassured him that he was a good person and great to me…his insecurities blocked us from progressing every step of the way! Women have to deal with so much that men don’t…that it becomes freaking exhausting to have to reassure ourselves and our men every day! We are raising children, excelling in our careers, and trying to keep positive self esteem as society tries to beat us down. It’s just too much to have to hold ourselves together and our men 24/7. Sometimes we need reassurance and support! Sometimes we need a break! Sometimes we need that kind word! A good woman will always support her man! Thus, he should be just as strong to support her on whatever she needs. If her man isn’t confident in himself….how can she trust in their future? ✌🏾 4. HE WILL NOT FIND A WEAK WOMAN IN MY VAGINA! If you want a woman that requires nothing of you…by all means please pass me and my vagina by! ✌🏾 I require a lot from my friends and family so why would I not require a lot from the man in my life?! And I never ask for things that I do not possess myself. If you want an equal strong enough to pick you up when you fall…I’m your woman. But if not…keep it moving because my vagina is anything but weak! 🙌🏽 3. HE WILL NOT FIND HE OWNS MY VAGINA! I don’t care if we are married or just dating…my vagina belongs solely to me! I may joke around and say she’s yours but let’s be real…my vagina goes where I go! She eats and sleeps when I do! My vagina keeps only my secrets and she is strong enough to shelter me from any storm! 🙌🏽 You could be husband number one or husband number nine (if I’m on my Elizabeth Taylor game)….my vagina still only belongs to me. Her loyalty and depth are only for me. You are just temporarily being housed there but there is no amount of mortgage in the world that you can pay that would make you her full owner! My vagina is PRICELESS! 🙌🏽 2. HE WILL NOT FIND AN ENDING IN MY VAGINA! My vagina is the giver of life. She has the power to birth even after years of being barren. In her lies the hopes and dreams of many nations. Only she can carry on generations. Even when she takes her last breath…her legacy lives on! 🙌🏽 You see there is no ending in my vagina. Only a beginning. Full of promise. Full of hope. That’s the stock my vagina is made of. She breathes life! 💜 1. HE WILL NOT FIND A TEMPORARY HOME IN MY VAGINA AS HE PREPARES HIMSELF FOR ANOTHER WOMAN! This shit really fucks me up! A good woman puts in the time and energy to upgrade a man only for him to leave her for some basic bitch that had better timing than her. 😩✌🏾🔪 You will not use my vagina as a temporary home where you learn how to love, trust, and be patient with someone else. For even if you settle with that basic bitch…you will realize that she never did the work yet reaped all the “benefits.” She won’t be built to weather you in any storm! Only I can do that because I truly loved you and stayed with you during difficult times. I stayed even when I had no good reason to stay. That’s how deep my love once ran for you. Always remember that vagina will haunt you for all the days of your life if you forsake me. To prevent this all from happening, I am shutting down any training camps. Find another temporary home and get at me when you are whole, confident, mature, and sure of what you want….for I am anything but basic! Never forget that my pussy is very calculated. You see if you don’t do right by me…my vagina will take all of her super human powers and move on to a man more deserving! ✌🏾 ~KJM saying “mi pum pum bring life” in my sister, Brenda’s voice on Hump Day! Lol.