#And then I am going to dedicate the day to the celebration he supposedly plans for then

[atomicengineerdetective]

No one talk to me I just came back from a family vacation to find out my favorite youtuber ever is leaving the platform.

I am devastated.

(I am actually happy for him, he has given me so much happiness for like 8 years. He deserves to let the channel go an enjoy his life. It just hurts, but I'll get over it

I'm so thankful for MatPat and Steph. I Hope every future endeavour or project they take on is successful and that over all they have a happy and fulfilling life with Ollie.💚❤️💛💙)

[causeiwanttoandican]

Harry, Meghan and me: my truth as a royal reporter

I've covered elections and extremism, but nothing compares to the vitriol I've received since I started writing about the Sussexes

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor27 March 2021 • 6:00am

It is probably worth mentioning from the outset that I never, ever, planned to become a royal reporter. I mean, who does? It’s one of those ridiculous jobs most people fall into completely by accident.

I certainly wasn’t coveting the position when I first found out how bonkers the beat could be after covering Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005. Desperate for ‘a line’ on what went on at the reception, journalists were reduced to flagging down passing cars in Windsor High Street and interrogating the likes of Stephen Fry about whether they’d had the salmon or the chicken.

Watergate, this wasn’t.

Yet when my former editor called me into his office shortly afterwards and offered me the royal job ‘because you’re called Camilla and you dress nicely’, who was I to refuse?

Having planned to get married myself that summer, and start a family soon afterwards, I looked to the likes of Jennie Bond and Penny Junor and figured it would be a good patch for a working mother as well as being one I could grow old with. Unlike show business, when celebrities are ‘in’ one minute and ‘out’ the next, the royals would stay the same, making it easier to build – and keep – contacts.

So if you’d told me that 16 years later, I would find myself at the centre of a media storm over a royal interview with Oprah Winfrey, I’d have probably laughed in your face. First of all, only royals like Fergie do interviews with Oprah. And since when did journalists become the story?

Yet as I have experienced since the arrival of Meghan Markle on the royal scene in 2016 – a move that roughly coincided with Twitter doubling its 140-character limitation to 280 – royal reporters like me now find themselves in the line of fire like never before.

We are used to the likes of Kate Adie coming under attack in the Middle East, but now it is the correspondents who write up events like Trooping the Colour and the Royal Windsor Horse Show having to take cover from the keyboard warriors supposedly defending the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s ‘truth’.

Accusations of racism have long been levelled against anyone who has dared to write less than undiluted praise of Harry and Meghan. But even I have been taken aback by the vitriol on social media in the wake of the couple’s televised two-hour talk-a-thon, in which they branded both the Royal family and the British press racist while complaining about their ‘almost unsurvivable’ multimillionaire lives at the hands of the evil monarchy. And all while the rest of the UK were losing their loved ones and livelihoods in a global pandemic.

Having covered Brexit, general elections and stories about Islamic extremism, I’ve grown used to being sprayed with viral vomit on a fairly regular basis, but when you’ve got complete strangers trolling your best friend’s Instagram feed by association? That’s Britney Spears levels of toxic.

Having a hind thicker than a rhino’s, it wasn’t the repeated references to my being ‘a total c—’ that particularly bothered me, nor even the suggestion that I should have my three children put up for adoption. At one point someone even said it would be a good idea for me to drink myself to death like my mother, about whose chronic alcoholism I have written extensively.

No, what really got me was the appalling spelling and grammar. I mean, if you’re going to hurl insults, at least have the decency to get my name right.

Yet in order to understand just how it has come to pass that so-called #SussexSquaders think nothing of branding all royal correspondents ‘white supremacists’ regardless of who they write for, or sending hate mail to our email addresses, offices – and in some cases, even our homes – it’s worth briefly going to back to when I first broke the story that Prince Harry was dating an American actor in the Sunday Express on 31 October 2016. Headlined: ‘Royal world exclusive: Harry’s secret romance with TV star’, the splash revealed how the popular prince was ‘secretly dating a stunning US actress, model and human rights campaigner’.

Despite my now apparently being on a par with the Ku Klux Klan for failing to acknowledge Meghan as the next messiah, it was actually not until the fifteenth paragraph of that original article that the ‘confident and intelligent’ Northwestern University graduate was described as ‘the daughter of an African-American mother and a father of Dutch and Irish descent’.

Call me superficial, but I was genuinely far more interested in the fact that Harry ‘I-come-with-baggage’ Wales was dating a former ‘briefcase girl’ from the US version of Deal or No Deal than the colour of her skin. A ginger prince punching well above his weight? This was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Little did I know then that covering the trials and tribulations of these two lovebirds would turn into such a nightmare.

The online hostility began bubbling up about eight days after that first story, when Harry’s then communications secretary Jason Knauf issued an ‘unprecedented’ statement accusing the media of ‘crossing a line’.

‘His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment’, it read, referencing a ‘smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments’. Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, had apparently been besieged by photographers, while bribes had been offered to Meghan’s ex-boyfriend along with ‘the bombardment of nearly every friend, coworker, and loved one in her life’.

Suffice to say, I did feel a bit guilty. Although I hadn’t written anything remotely racist or sexist, I had started the ball rolling for headlines like the MailOnline’s ‘(Almost) straight outta Compton’ (referencing a song by hip-hop group NWA about gang violence and Meghan’s upbringing in the nearby LA district of Crenshaw), along with her ‘exotic’ DNA (which I subsequently called out, including on This Morning in the wake of ‘Megxit’ in January last year).

Omid Scobie, co-author of Finding Freedom, a highly favourable account of the Sussexes’ departure from the Royal family, written with their cooperation last summer, would later insist that the couple knew the story of their relationship was coming out and were well prepared for it.

I can tell you categorically that they weren’t, since I did not even put a call into Kensington Palace before we went to press for fear of it being leaked. (I did later discuss this with Harry, when I covered his trip to the Caribbean in November 2016, and to be fair he was pretty philosophical, agreeing it would have come out sooner or later. But that was before the former Army Captain decided to well and truly shoot the messenger, latterly telling journalists covering the newly-weds’ tax-payer-funded October 2018 tour of Australia and the south Pacific: ‘Thanks for coming, even though you weren’t invited.’)

The royal press pack is the group of dedicated writers who cover all the official engagements and tours on a rota system, in exchange for not bothering the royals as they go about their private business. It was a shame this ragtag bunch, of which I am an associate member, was never personally introduced to Meghan when the couple got engaged in November 2017.

I still have fond memories of a then Kate Middleton, upon her engagement to Prince William in November 2010, showing me her huge sapphire and diamond ring following a press conference at St James’s Palace with the words, ‘It was William’s mother’s so it is very special.’

I replied that she might want to consider buying ‘one of those expanding accordion style file holders’ to organise all her wedding paperwork. (Reader, I had given birth to my second child less than four months earlier and was still lactating.)

Not meeting Meghan did not stop royal commentators like me writing reams about her being ‘a breath of fresh air’ and telling practically every TV show I appeared on that she was the ‘best thing to have happened to the Royal Family in years’.

As the world followed the joyous news of the Windsors’ resident strip billiards star having finally found ‘the one’, the couple enjoyed overwhelmingly positive press culminating in their fairy-tale wedding in May 2018, which we headlined ‘So in love’ above a picture of the bride and groom kissing. I tweeted the wedding front page, along with the original story breaking the news of their relationship with the words, ‘Job done’. Yet, as Meghan would later point out in a glossy Santa Barbara garden, that was by far the end of the story.

According to the Duchess’s testimony before a global audience of millions, the seeds for their royal departure were actually sown by an article I wrote in November 2018 suggesting she made Kate cry during a bridesmaid’s dress fitting for Princess Charlotte.

Claiming the ‘reverse happened’, the former Suits star railed, ‘A few days before the wedding she was upset about something, pertaining to, yes, the issue was correct, about flower-girl dresses, and it made me cry, and it really hurt my feelings.’

She then went on to criticise the palace for failing to correct the story – suggesting that royal aides had hung her out to dry to protect the Duchess of Cambridge.

All of which left me in a bit of a sticky situation. As I told Phillip Schofield on This Morning the following day, ‘I don’t write things I don’t believe to be true and that haven’t been really well sourced.’

Having seemingly been completely bowled over by Meghan’s version of events, Schofe then went for the jugular: ‘I have to say, though, that’s all addressed in that interview, isn’t it, because she [Meghan] couldn’t understand why nobody stood up for her?’

Yet someone had stood up for her, on that very same This Morning sofa: me.

As I told Phil and Holly on 14 January 2019, as more reports of ‘Duchess Difficult’ started to emerge, ‘I think she [Meghan] is doing really well, she looks amazing, she speaks well. She has played a blinder.’

So you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite understand why Meghan didn’t feel the need to correct this supposedly glaring error once she had her own dedicated head of communications from March 2019 – or indeed when she ‘collaborated’ with Scobie, who concluded in his bestselling hagiography that ‘no one cried’?

Moreover, how did the Duchess know a postnatal Kate wasn’t ‘left in tears’? And if she doesn’t know, what hope has the average troll observing events through the prism of their own deep-rooted insecurities?

It appears the actual truth ceases to matter once sides have been taken in the unedifying Team Meghan versus Team Kate battle that has divided the internet.

Make no mistake, there are abject morons at both extremes spewing the sort of bile that, ironically, makes most of the media coverage of Harry and Meghan look like a 1970s edition of Jackie magazine.

It perhaps didn’t help my case that the day before the interview was aired in the US, I had written a lengthy piece carefully weighing up the evidence behind allegations of ‘outrageous bullying’ that had been levelled against Meghan during what proved to be a miserable 20 months in the Royal family for all concerned.

The messages – to my Twitter feed, my email, my website and official Facebook page – ranged from the threatening, to the typical tropes about media ‘scum’ and the downright bizarre. Some accused me of being in cahoots with Carole Middleton, with whom I have never interacted, unless you count a last-minute Party Pieces purchase in a desperate moment of poor parental planning.

Another frequent barb was questioning why the press wasn’t writing about that ‘pedo’ [sic] Prince Andrew instead – seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one would know about the Duke of York’s links to Jeffrey Epstein if it wasn’t for the acres of coverage devoted to the story by us royal hacks over recent years.

It didn’t matter that I had repeatedly torn the Queen’s second, and, some say, favourite son to pieces for everything from his propensity to take his golf clubs on foreign tours to that disastrous Newsnight interview.

Contrary to the ‘invisible contract’ Harry claims the palace has with the press, royal coverage works roughly like this: good royal deeds = good publicity. Bad royal deeds = bad publicity. We effectively act as a critical friend, working on behalf of a public that rightly expects the royals to take the work – but not themselves – seriously.

So when a royal couple preaches about climate change before taking four private jets in 11 days, it is par for the course for a royal scribe to point out the inconsistency of that message. None of it is ever personal, as evidenced by the fact that practically every member of the monarchy has come in for flak over the years.

If Oprah wasn’t willing to point out the discrepancies in Harry and Meghan’s testimony, surely it is beholden on royal reporters to question how the Duchess had managed to undertake four foreign holidays in the six months after her wedding, in addition to official tours to Italy, Canada, and Amsterdam, as well as embarking on a lengthy honeymoon, if she had ‘turned over’ her passport?

While no one would wish to undermine the extent of her mental health problems, could it really be true that she only left the house twice in four months when she managed to cram in 73 days’ worth of engagements, according to the Court Circular, in the 17 months between her wedding and the couple’s departure to Canada?

And what of the ‘racist’ headlines flashed up during the interview purporting to be from the British press, when more than a third were actually taken from independent blogs and the foreign media? The UK media abides by the Independent Press Standards Organisation’s Code of Conduct ‘to avoid prejudicial or pejorative reference to an individual’s race’, as well as by rigorous defamation laws. And rightly so – the British press doesn’t always get it right. But social media is the Wild West by comparison, publishing vile slurs on a daily basis with impunity.

Some therefore find it strange that such a litigious couple would claim to have been ‘silenced’ when they have made so many complaints, including resorting to legal action, over stories they claim not to have even read. There is something similarly contradictory about a couple accusing the tabloids of lacking self-reflection while refusing to take any blame at all – for anything.

In any normal world, informed writing on such matters would be classed as fair comment, but not, seemingly, on Twitter where those completely lacking any objectivity whatsoever are only too willing to virtue signal and manoeuvre.

As the trolling reached fever pitch in the aftermath of the interview, veteran royal reporter Robert Jobson of the Evening Standard called me. ‘Don’t respond to these freaks,’ he advised. ‘It’s getting nasty out there. Watch your back!’

Yet despite my general sense of bewilderment at the menacing Megbots, I can’t say it didn’t appal me to discover a close friend had received online abuse, purely by dint of being my mate. After discussing the lengths the troll must have gone to to track her down, she asked me, ‘Do you ever worry someone might do something awful to you?’ Er, not until now, no.

Of course it’s upsetting, even for a cynical old-timer like me. Worse still are people who actually know me casting aspersions on my profession on social media. Often these are the same charlatans who would think nothing of sidling up to me for the latest gossip on the Royal family, while publicly pretending that reading any such coverage is completely beneath them.

Most pernicious of all though – not least after Piers Morgan’s departure from Good Morning Britain following a complaint to ITV and Ofcom from the Duchess – is the corrosive effect this whole hullabaloo is having on freedom of speech. When you’ve got a former actor effectively editing a British breakfast show from an £11 million Montecito mansion, what next?

I cannot help but think we are in danger of setting race relations back 30 years if people are seriously suggesting that any criticism of Meghan is racially motivated. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. When Priti Patel was accused of bullying, the very same people who willingly hung the Home Secretary out to dry are now the ones defending Meghan against such claims, saying they have been levelled at her simply because she is ‘a strong woman of colour’.

Of course journalists should take responsibility for everything they report and be held to account for it – but Harry and Meghan do not have a monopoly on the truth simply because the close friend and neighbour who interviewed them in return for £7 million from CBS took what they said as gospel.

If she isn’t willing to probe the disparity between Meghan saying someone questioned the colour of Archie’s skin when she was pregnant, and Harry suggesting it happened before they were even married, then someone must. There’s a name for such scrutiny. It’s called journalism.

The public reserves the right to make up its own mind – with the help of the watchful eye of a free and fair press. But that press can never be free or fair if journalists do not feel they can report without fear or favour. I’m lucky that a lot of the criticism I face is more than balanced out by hugely supportive members of the public and online community who either agree – or respect the right to disagree. Along with the hate mail, I have had many thoughtful and eloquent missives, including those that good naturedly challenge what I have written in the paper or said on TV, which have genuinely given me pause for thought.

I am more than happy to enter into constructive discourse with these correspondents, who are frankly sometimes the only people who keep me on Twitter. I mean, let’s face it, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the bloody thing if this wasn’t my day job.

With the National Union of Journalists this month declaring that harassment and abuse had ‘become normalised’ within the industry, never have members of Britain’s press needed more courage. As Winston Churchill famously said, ‘You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.’

Who would have thought that the preservation of the fundamental freedoms that we hold so dear should partially rest on the shoulders of those who follow around a 94-year-old woman and her family for a living?

If I’d known then what I know now, would I still have written the bridesmaid’s dress story?

Yes – doubtlessly reflecting sisterly sobs all round. But after two decades in this business, I am clear-eyed enough to know this for certain: whatever I had written, it would still have ended in tears.

[systematicmasspoisoning]

Traitor Tubbo

I've seen so many excellent theories as to who the traitor is and I would like to throw my hat into the ring. I see several possible options. Depending on how this is received, this could be part one of a few. Reminder, this is all speculation. I'm analyzing a character here, not the streamer themselves, and in reality no one, especially not these teens and 20-something role players, are genuinely intending to be malicious or calculated. This is a game. But they're playing it, and my heartstrings, so damn well.

My top theory for the traitor? Tubbo.

Traitor Tubbo is definitely a fan favorite, and I'm probably a bit biased. I watch his streams most often and perhaps am overthinking things. But here's my supporting evidence: I think Tubbo has the most motivation because it's been established that Tubbo is underapprecited and underestimated. He's assumed to a yes-man, Tommy's right hand man. Schlatt specifically made him Secretary of State because he knew it would be a kick in the gut to Tommy.

But everyone also knows that shit gets done when Tubbo is on the server. This kid is dedicated. Guess thats what quarantine does to a Minecrafter. He planned the fesitval, helped streamline Pogtopia's potatoes, is an expert in redstone, is draining the ocean and making allies with the Badlands (BBH, Awesamdude, Antfrost, a few others).

Jschlatt said in his speech at the Festival that Tubbo gets things done (only to kill the kid like 10 minutes later :sadface:) and Wilbur said, later, that the planned Manberg Hotel probably won't be built now that Tubbo is (supposedly) on Pogtopia's side. I see parallels to Eret's traitor arc: he was the deus ex machina who saved them in Season 1 from being arrested for drugs, built their walls overnight and was given little credit for it. Wilbur still says to this day, "The walls I built to protect us."

Underappreciation fuels betrayal on this server. And Eret was smart. Overpowered, almost, from all his grinding (some of which he did with Tubbo, for hours on end.) He knew the revolution was 'never meant to be,' that L'Manberg was the losing side. He betrayed for power and kingship. Tubbo has different motivations - he doesn't advocate for violence, so he's said, and he just wants people to get along. He doesn't want a war. So what might he do for peace?

We all know, if we watch old SMP Earth clips and his Among Us streams that he is big brained. He's sometimes malicious and mischievous when he wants to be, as attested by his recent stair pranks. So him being the peaceful, owo baby boi side character isn't necessarily fact. It's a bit. A role, along the lines of Tubee and Big Law. He's much more.

Speaking of the stair prank, so funny, but had the potential to be cruel, too. Anyways, he clearly said that he was watching Tommy's stream, and saw Tommy die to the stairs. Then he pops on the server later and acts clueless to what went down, though he knew, mentioned in his stream earlier that day, that something important was going to happen that day. He turns up while they're discussing traitors, is quick to take control of the conversation and point out that the traitor is likely Wilbur (for being 'technically' on Dream's side, the side of chaos.) Fuel is added to the flames of confusion and infighting.

Playing dumb is one of Tubbo's most popular bits. It farms awes, as Tommy says. People underestimate him and assume he has no reason to lie. Tommy so easily believed him when Tubbo said he had the discs. In the Dream Betrayal stream, Tommy confronts Dream about the location of the discs with Tubbo in the call. The misunderstanding is cleared up. They don't question Tubbo's earlier statements. They also don't question it when Tubbo mentions he has blackmail on Dream. I have no idea what that might be, we can speculate on that all day. But when it comes to the discs, I think Tubbo lost a bargaining chip there. His lie was very thin. But we know he's good at lying (when its actually important) and thinking quick on his feet so I feel like there must be some motivation behind it. I don't know how, but I think the discs will definitely play a part in the coming war.

That same stream, with Dream's betrayal, Wilbur even foreshadowed Traitor Tubbo. He was making a list of their allies on the wall in Pogtopia and, despite his chat screaming at him to include Tubbo, he leaves the kid off the list and dismisses chat's worries. I'm being a little dramatic here, but can you imagine Tubbo coming across that? Seeing himself, once again, left out of the loop, off the list of people they can trust, possibly considered unimportant now that he's filled his role as a spy and had his arc seemingly completed? Back to being a yes man, a footnote in L'manberg's history, the sidekick to the protagonist, a foil who is killed off to fuel the protagonists' need for revenge.

Except, in Minecraft, you don't really die. You're respawned. Tubbo didn't die when he was executed on the day of the festival; a celebration he planned, was proud of, so excited to take part of that he used a dyslexic font to write his speech.

Some notes about the festival.

1. His excitement. He was looking forward to it. I say let him be excited, that's not necessarily suspicious - he worked damn hard on it.

2. But, I have thought about his difficulty choosing a side. He showed interest in blowing up L'Manberg, but then turns on a dime when Tommy says it's bad, and then comes up with a diplomatic response of "I trust your better judgment, Wilbur " There was the added element of peer pressure from Wilbur and Tommy, granted, talking over him and assuming his viewpoint. He's not always a yes man, he stands up to himself with Tommy constantly, but the scene with him on the roof with Tommy and Wilbur shows how little he is kept in the loop. (Him understanding peer pressure likely led to him forgiving Techno so easily. But I also wonder, and others have too, if he forgave Techno.... too easily.)

3. This isn't so much of a point but something that keeps the writer in me up late at night. He was very grateful when Schlatt praised him, probably something he didn't hear often under Wilbur's rule.

4. He said the phrase. In spite of him not advocating for violence, he said the phrase that would trigger an explosion. The choice was in his hands. That is assuming he got Wilbur's DM telling him what to do, but Tubbo had been told by Wilbur to check his DMs and they had been exchanging whispers frequently throughout the stream, Tubbo taking orders from Wilbur to hurry things along. On that note, why a DM? Why didn't he give Tubbo the order through a whisper thru minecraft where we could see the wording? Likely because they use their DMs to push along major plot points and discuss serious matters. This wasn't just an order from Wilbur, the character, this was an order from the streamer who has the most role playing experience and has admitted to being the puppetmaster behind a lot of Tommy and Tubbo's major actions. Tubbo, who has always tried to advocate for peace, supposedly was told a trigger phrase that would blow the place up, and he said it. It was so out of character for him, that I was surprised, and Wilbur was surprised too, from how Tubbo scrambled. So, I don't know - did Tubbo know it was a trigger phrase? What did the DM say?

There was clearly a lot of miscommunication and weird things that day so all of this is speculation. However, from Tubbo' side of the stream, you can see the deliberation when he finished the speech. The pause. The silence, like he was finished, but then Schlatt reminded him (not the real quote) "Anything else?" And then. Tubbo took the leap. To us, the uninformed audience, it seemed he was willing, in that moment, to allow the chaos.

He was given a role of power, and it backfired on him so quick after, but I would like to rewind to the moment Wilbur decided to give Tubbo a deciding role. I knew Tubbo would be playing a big part this season, cause the boy deserves it, but Wilbur putting that decision in the hands of Tubbo? Wow. *Chef's kiss* Wil's reasoning was, if Tubbo wanted to prove he wasn't a yes man, he'd make the decision NOT to pull the trigger.

But Wilbur also said that Schlatt approved of the speech and would know if Tubbo deviated, putting Tubbo at risk of being caught. He was caught anyway, obviously, but there was a moment there... where Schlatt was giving Tubbo a choice, too. To say the phrase that would prove he was a traitor. Like...Schlatt knew what was planned, and wanted to see what Tubbo would decide. Maybe it was a trigger phrase for something else, not just the bombs.

Point is. Tubbo, technically, saved the day. He was, in physical form, the button. He was the deciding factor for great destruction. He said the phrase, but instead of Manberg being blown, Schlatt moved quickly to trap Tubbo and start a bit that would STOP WILBUR IN HIS TRACKS. The button was never fully pressed. Tubbo's Traitor/Spy Arc was halted, and a diverging plot formed, one where Tubbo is exiled too, trusted again by Pogtopia, and the land isn't blown to smithereens.

As Wilbur has said time and time again, when you introduce a weapon in a story, it has to go off at some point. Traitor Tubbo has been on our minds since the day he was left behind in Manberg and given a position, (once again, might I add, as a right hand man, a loyal lackey. Never the lead.) Has that arc met its completing? Did it go off with a bang?

One possible theory is that, well, no. This has all been premeditated. Not scripted fully, but I feel as though there are strings being pulled by a master who knows how to tell a story.

When he was asked to be a spy, Tubbo's position was nearly revealed time and time again but it was Schlatt who decided he was too bored to continue walking down the tunnels. It was Schlatt who easily accepted Tubbo's blatant lie that he was pregnant and allowed for so much betrayal under his nose.

What I'm saying here is that Schlatt is, in fanfic terms, soft for Tubbo. In a less fluffy way, what I'm suggesting (which has been suggested before) is that Tubbo wasn't a double agent. He was a triple agent.

I've read a lot of fucking books, and when you're a triple agent and one side is getting suspicious of you, what's the greatest length you can go to to prove your loyalty to someone? Die for them. Organize your execution. Throw yourself on top of a bomb.

But like I said. You don't die in Minecraft.

(While I'm on the subject, does anyone find it interesting how Tubbo focused on messaging only Wilbur while Technoblade was on stage, whispering 'i thought he woulded hurt me?' and the like. Wouldn't you, if you were being executed, contact your best friend to get you out of there? Or the clearly stalling 'ally' holding a crossbow to your head? But it wasn't Tommy or Techno that Tubbo needed to convince of his innocence. Its Wilbur who was sus of him.)

I digress. Tubbo didn't die, but he execution=exile and he's living full time with Pogtopia. He's proven his loyalty. When Tubbo is asked if he's a traitor, his best friend quickly jumps to his support and says, something to the effect of, "Schlatt killed him! He couldn't be a traitor!" Suspicion is thrown off him.

He wasn't even there when Dream revealed there was a traitor. He. Played. Dumb.

Meanwhile, streaming on his own, Tubbo is seeking out tridents and OP bows, working on Redstone traps, refusing to get netherite for Tommy, going so far as to trap his friend's house under the guise of a prank, and appearing in TeamSpeak calls to listen in while Tommy was mining gold with Dream (around the time Tommy was pressuring the green bastard to reveal who the traitor is.)

Tubbo has also been building a reputation as someone with bad wifi and a constantly crashing game, so he can conveniently leave situations and not help out when he doesn't wanna. Sidebar: I have to wonder if Tubbo will even stream the day of the war. Schlatt doesn't stream, and neither did the Dream Team when they were villains. It builds up tension and the audience wonders about their motivations. Granted, Eret did stream so his betrayal was a huge surprise, but recently Tubbo has, quite often, made a point of struggling with bad wifi and a game that seems to crash when he's not the one streaming. It wouldn't be too suspicious for him to claim technical difficulties so he can slide under the radar and not have snitches and stream snipers tracing his steps. This is a stretch, but it would be Big Brained to meta game the war.

I've watched a lot of Tubbo's streams lately. It's probably not healthy, and I'm probably connecting dots that aren't there.

But here is my prediction(s) for next week.

Dream said, jokingly, the traitor is Tommy. Despite Tommy's adamance, it may just be possible. He just doesn't know about it yet. Maybe Tubbo talks Tommy into betraying Wilbur. (Wilbur, specifically, and not necessarily their cause, which is not to be exiled and have a not-blown-up L'manberg.) Tommy has said he couldn't be the traitor because he wouldn't betray Tubbo (followed by "Wilbur, too...well...he is a little crazy lately" and you can hear Tubbo in the background making noises of agreement.)

But if betraying Tubbo was no longer a worry? I think, for Tubbo, and for the discs, Tommy would negotiate new terms with Dream. Another end to the war. Another peace treaty. Let's be real, once Tommy switches sides, Pogtopia will crumble. Him and Tubbo are the linchpins.

To continue, Dream supposedly has a contract with Schlatt, and in the stream today, he was leaving banners with a big red X on different properties, like in Tommy's house. Marking territory. He made a point of doing it while Tommy was streaming, following the kid around into the nether and giving shields with the giant red X to supposedly Pogtopian allies (Awesamdude, George.)

Wilbur told Quackity in the Dream Betrayal stream that he worries that Dream's deal with Schlatt is to rescind Manberg's independence. To give power back to Dream. To get Tommy's allyship, Dream may propose instating Tommy as president. Those are Wilbur's predictions. They're not far off the mark. Or maybe I'm just as paranoid as him lol.

I think Dream is trying to manipulate Tommy, but what will the terms be? Presidency? Or Freedom?

I'm not sure that Tommy wants to be president. He likes to play around and while he's shown he can be good at coordination and leadership, (for example, the recent MCC thing where he taught Quackity how to play and they kicked ass,) Wilbur is quite right. Tommy shouldn't be president. Narratively, we all know the server would become....chaos. Okay, that might be kind of fun and he's got good ideas.. I like the kid, and he's grown so much, but he's not "mature enough." Not like Tubbo is, according to Wilbur himself (this is referencing the Stays in The Pit battle). Dream has also said, in the eboy collaboration, that the only Dream SMP player in the video whose stood a chance was Tubbo.

Tubbo has said he doesn't want to be president either, but shit gets done when Tubbo is on. Nature is preserved, giant builds are coordinated, events planned (with cute little digital invites sent to players). The few times that Tubbo has shared his opinion about drama on the server (there's a moment before the Pit that he gives a good speech) he's shown sound logic, great empathy, a willingness to compromise, to have fun and strengthen their community.

There's an old saying, that those who seek power shouldn't have it, and those who don't want the power are the ones who deserve it. If peace wants to be preserved on the SMP, maybe Tubbo should be president, and Tommy should see what it's like to be the right hand man. Or maybe, they will simply run off to a distant jungle base and leave the war to the adults.

My point is, Tubbo is Chekov's gun. Tubbo is the button that hasn't been pushed yet. He may be the deciding factor to change the tide of the war, by changing Tommy's loyalties. Tubbo might not be fully loyal to Schlatt, I could be totally off about the triple agent thing, but he's certainly not loyal to Wilbur. To Dream? We'll have to see. From what we've been shown so far, his loyalty is to himself and to Tommy, and in the end, its usually him and Tommy against the world.

If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. It's fun to speculate. He's just a kid, a smart one granted, and he's having fun; he isn't evil. Unless Evil Tubbo is the next huge arc, the villain of Season 3???? God I would love that. Go feral kiddo.

There are other streamers who are equally over looked and unappreciated and have just as much motivation to be the traitor. Niki is a strong contender, have ya'll heard about the letter she wrote to a mysterious 'friend?' Or, or, what if Philza gets whitelisted? What if there's no shocking traitor at all, just Dream trying to cause division in Pogtopia? What if it's us, the viewers, who were the traitors all along for being dirty snitches? (@rainbowtransform, great theory.)

I'm sure I'll be surprised no matter what the outcome is. But nothing would please me more than to see Tubbo get the spotlight he deserves.

Let me know your thoughts?

[whatwouldyourbiasdo]

Finding Cinderella | Series | Chapter One

Title: Finding Cinderella

Pairings: Donghae x reader,(Primary) Heechul x reader (Secondary), Kyuhyun x reader (Secondary)

Author’s Note: I have been planning this story for a while but have been battling many writers’ blocks in doing so. This story will mainly focus on Donghae and the reader but will have branching stories between Heechul, Kyuhyun and two secondary OC characters.

Sidenote: Yes, this series will include Kangin and Sungmin. This was originally started back when the two of them were still active members and in my heart they will always be members so I will include them wherever I see fit.

Taglist: Make sure to send us a message if you want to be tagged in future updates on this story

It was a week before the big SM Entertainment company party. Although it was a special occasion to celebrate the company’s success to which not only the artists but also the staff was invited, the staff working for the company had to bust their chops off to get everything ready for the big night.

Music had to be arranged; a DJ to run tracks during the night and he had to be the best of the best, equipment had to be ready and in place to ensure no shortcomings throughout the party, building in a karaoke bar for staff and artist alike to sing their hearts out in the name of good fun. A dance floor especially designed for the occasion, each tile placed with precision in a pattern that, when lit up would create special effects like a lake, fireworks or fire. Decorations had to be in order, balloons, strings, posters of every artist signed and invited. Food prepared by the best chefs in Korea to suit everyone’s taste and preference and to show that SM Entertainment was a well off company who left no dime unturned in treating their staff.

“Yes… Yes, of course, I understand that it takes time to prepare all the preferred dishes… Yes, I understand that changing it last minute will cost extra, that will be no problem.”

Park Eunmi was pacing back and forth through the party venue, the light of her Bluetooth headset blinking rapidly as she once again had to deal with last minute changes by the company, having to convey these orders back to the suppliers and dealing with the complaints that it caused. It was one of the downsides of her job as secretary to the board of executives that she has grown to accept over time.

At age eighteen she started interning at the company for half of minimum wage as she was in dire need of money, having to help support her family after her father’s untimely death that left her with her stepmother and twin step-siblings, as well as pay for her enrollment into the Korean National University of Arts. Her father, Park Jinwoo, had supposedly left some money as inheritance, but had apparently signed it off on her stepmother’s name instead, as he believed that it would be safer in an adult’s hands than with the children. Eunmi had no idea if that was truly the case as she had never been allowed to look at the will, but she assumed that it had been decided as such.

Eunmi had always struggled with accepting the new additions to the family. Her mother had died when she was still young and soon after her father met Kwon Seomi, a rather extravagant young woman with twins of her own; a boy named Kwon Seojun and a girl named Kwon Seola.  They were just a year older than Eunmi and to describe them as mischievous was an understatement. It didn’t take long for her father to decide he needed a new mother figure in their lives and married Seomi the following year. Though Seomi never treated Eunmi warmly and motherly, she did her best to tolerate the new additions to the family for the sake of her father who seemed to truly love the new woman in her life.

Seomi never worked a day in her life and spent her days spending Jinwoo’s money for which he worked hard day in and day out. Jinwoo was a talented producer and manager at an entertainment label known as SM Entertainment. Back when he started working for the company, they were just starting their rise in the industry and have long since grown into the company people know, love and sometimes hate today. He had garnered quite a reputation for himself as a respected and praised producer. Unfortunately, when Eunmi had just turned eighteen her father fell ill with an incurable disease and passed away, leaving her in the care of Seomi who reluctantly took care of her as she knew Jinwoo had left most of his inheritance to his favorite and only blood-related daughter but decided not to inform her of the inheritance. Instead, she decided to keep the money for herself to make sure she and her two children could continue to live comfortably while leading Eunmi to believe that they had to turn every dime to make ends meet.

Because Eunmi promised her father to treat Seomi, Seojun and Seola as if they were her real family, she tolerated the unfair treatment they put her through. She endured having to move to the space in the attic as her own room, she endured watching her siblings dress in the newest clothes while she received the hand me downs, believing that because they were older they deserved it first. She endured being looked down upon and left out and finally, she endured having to find a job to pay for her own college degree. She had witnessed Seomi waste money on the twins for an education they threw away like it was worthless and accepted it reluctantly when Seomi told her they couldn’t possibly pay for her enrollment into the National University of Arts.

Deciding that she didn’t want to give up on her dream of becoming a performing artist as her mother, who was a promising young dancer before she settled down for the married life, she decided to take a job to earn some extra money to pay for her enrollment. She applied for a job as an intern at SM Entertainment, stating that she would do anything for less than minimum wage. Feeling sorry for her desperation, as well as acknowledging the fact that she was the daughter of one of their most praised producers, they decided to give her a chance.

Eunmi started doing the jobs no one else wanted to do; get coffee, deliver mail, clean offices, rehearsal spaces and bathrooms, organizing supplies amongst other things. Her dedication didn’t go unnoticed and soon she was promoted to a full-time employee working minimum wage and being rewarded with more honorable tasks such as answering phone calls, arranging the agendas of managers within the company and welcoming guests. And soon she had earned herself enough money to pay for her first term at the university.

But as second term was creeping closer, Seomi’s inheritance well dried up and soon declared that they no longer had enough money to get by. Seeing as she was the only person with a paying job, Seomi guilted Eunmi into giving up her studies and work to support the family. A choice she regretted from the moment she made it, but felt obligated to make as she had promised her father to take care and accept the Kwon family as if they had been blood-related.

Eunmi focused more and more on her job at SM Entertainment and over the years managed to work herself up as secretary to the board of directors, one of the most highly sought after secretary positions within the company. She was directly assisting the current CEO as well as the higher ranked managers who called the shots on any endeavor the company made regarding investments and artistic releases. At the age of twenty-six she had made quite a name for herself for being dedicated and focused, never settling for less than perfect and never handing in a task half-assed.

Her position came with a lot of responsibilities, a lot of stress and required a lot of her free time as she had to be on call at all times. If a scandal broke out, she had to be present to help fix the situation and pull the right strings to cover up that which needed to be covered. If a group released a new song or album, she had to make sure that all the schedules to promote the artist were planned out and greenlit. If a concert had to be planned she had to make sure that the venue and all that involved the concert was arranged to perfection. The only thing she didn’t do was meet and greet with the artist themselves, much to her dismay. It was a job that left her with no social life whatsoever, but she was thankful for the chance she had received and grown to love her job and accomplishments.

“No, we need it on the 25th!” She sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair as her other hand browsed through the list of things she had yet to arrange before the party. “Listen, we are willing to pay extra for the inconvenience if that can speed up the process but if you’re incapable of meeting our demands then I am afraid I will have to take this order elsewhere.” Her tone was demanding and serious, warning the person on the other side that she was not messing around. Her lips curled into a pleased smile as she heard the person stutter at her threat, quickly confirming that they would definitely be able to meet with their demands. After all, there was a lot at stake for a supplier if they refused a client as big as SM Entertainment. “I will forward the payment today, thank you for your cooperation.”

Eunmi pressed the button on her headset to cut the call as she leaned over her clipboard and crossed off the catering on the list of things to arrange. She barely had a moment to breathe when footsteps hurriedly approached her.

“Eunmi-ah! Big problems!”

“Taewoo-ssi.. Calm down,” She frowned as she turned to the taller, somewhat older colleague. His face was screaming panic as sweat was dripping down his brow. “What’s wrong?”

“T-the flowers… The celebrational flower gifts… They got delivered and… and… It’s terrible!”

“They got delivered today?” She frowned, according to their agreement with the supplier and the planning they weren’t supposed to be delivered until the day of the party on the 25th to ensure they were still freshly blooming.

“Yes but that’s not the worst part!” Taewoo continued as he desperately ran his fingers through his messy curls. “They sent us lillies. White lillies.”

“Lilies?! Are they trying to curse us?!” She immediately exclaimed. White lilies were often used for funerals and condolences but never used as a flower gift to congratulate someone.  “I thought we specifically ordered an assortment of orchids and roses!”

“We did, it even said so on the sign off sheet!” He nodded as she handed her the piece of paper.

“Then who signed for this?” Clearly the person who signed for the delivery didn’t check if the goods coincided with what they ordered, much less had the amount of common sense to realize that white lilies were definitely not used for their flower gifts.

“Someone at the front desk did… They were here and signed off when I got there.” He huffed again, unlike Eunmi he was less than compatible with any type of stress thrown his way. He had been in the company longer than Eunmi did and when she first started out he was somewhat of a mentor to her. But as she grew within the company, it was clear that the student surpassed the teacher and Taewoo often relied on her expertise to get through his own assignments. Eunmi didn’t mind as much, she owed a great deal to his supervision and encouragement when she first started out and at least he thanked her greatly after the fact. “Yah… What are we going to do? We’re in trouble… The party is in two days...”

As her brows knitted into a thoughtful frown, she tried to come up with a solution to the issue on hand. Of course they had to contact the supplier and make sure the right flowers would be delivered on the morning of the party, and she was not going to accept anything less than a major compensation for their mistake. As for the flowers they had foolishly accepted; they couldn’t return them to the supplier as they were of no use now that they were decreasing in value and condition.

“Are there any message ribbons attached to the lilies?” Eunmi quickly wondered to which she received a negative answer. “Alright, take the lily gifts and donate them to the nearest funeral hall, I’m sure they’ll be of good use there. Tell them that SM Entertainment sends their regards to all the people who have lost a loved one and that, although there isn’t much we can do for the community, we would like to offer this as a token of understanding and condolence as we want to give those who have lost someone to feel loved as part of the community.”

Taewoo stared at her for a moment, he never understood how she came up with ideas and solutions to their issues right on the spot. For some reason she always knew exactly what to do and how to support her argument. “You’re a genius, you know that? But what about the flower arrangements..?”

“Leave that to me, I’ll make a call to the supplier and demand full reimbursement for their mistake, as well as the flowers we had ordered, or threaten their good name with bad reviews.” Eunmi explained as she scrolled down her list of numbers to find the flower supplier.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side!” Taewoo chuckled before giving her a quick and cheeky salute as he headed off to dispose of the white lilies.

[karliesbuzzcut]

When art really speaks to you, pt. 2: probably just a coincidence but idk

Disclaimer: all these theories are rabbit holes on their own, so trying to explain them in a couple of paragraphs is, automatically, doing them a disservice. Especially since I’m only going to be primarily addressing the part of the theory that focuses on the artist communicating with their public through their work.

Since I’ve already dedicated paragraphs to the introduction in part 1, let’s just jump into it.

Leonardo Da Vinci’s fuckton of theories.

Let’s start with the daddy of all conspiracies. After all, not many can gloat about their reachings becoming a movie starring Tom Hanks.

The thing with Da Vinci’s conspiracies is that there are so many of them, and they range from “maybe this is also a painting made by Da Vinci but he wasn’t credited because of reasons” to ALIENS. Which, I think, shows how different our interpretations of art can be, and how much it depends on an already established worldview.

But the most interesting part isn’t the conclusions, but how people look for clues. For example, just like people say Taylor Swift is obsessed with numbers or oranges (depending who you ask, I guess), Da Vinci was supposedly a big fan of reflections. So, if you want to decode his paintings you must mirror them... and then move then a little bit... there you go, you’ve just found yourself an alien...! Or a daemon...! Or someone wearing a funny hat! And that’s totally what he wanted us to find, right? Why else would he had shown any sort of interest in reflections if he didn’t want us to reflect everything!!

Shakespeare is an illusion... kinda, but yeah.

Personally, I think Kaylors would love to dig into this one. Sure, it doesn’t have many lesbians playing political spies. But it does involve a lot of literature analysis. Just like Kaylors don’t think a heterosexual woman could’ve written Taylor’s songs; some people (referred as anti-Stratfordians, thank you very much) don’t think someone from a lower class could’ve written Shakespeare’s plays. 

Here’s the tea... the very cold tea: because Shakespeare was the son of a glover, anti-Stratfordians say he couldn’t have had the knowledge to write his plays. They, instead, come up with a list of “more suitable” writers that could’ve worked together. But they decided to keep their identities a secret because being a play writer, at that time, wasn’t respectable. Here, we will start noticing a trend with Conspiracy Theories: society, as a whole, can’t handle the truth, only a selected few. That’s where Francis Bacon comes in.

Francis Bacon was a very smart dude. He, also, worked for the state - giving him the credentials to be worthy of writing Shakespeare calibre plays. And also, also, he developed a method to conceal messages in the presentation of a text. To be able to do this, you would need to use two typefaces. Guess what has more than one typeface? Shakespeare’s plays.

I have to say - while I don’t believe either theory we have seen, they are somewhat understandable. We barely know anything about Shakespeare and Da Vinci beyond their work, so it’s normal that people are trying to figure out who they were; what did they believed in; where did they get all of their knowledge. We like theorising about the answers to these questions, knowing we’ll never get a confirmed truth. Not so the case with our next conspiracy...

Lewis Carroll was Jack the Ripper - someone had to be, right?

Now, allow me to fangirl all over this one. It combines my interests for conspiracy theories, true crime and pop-culture.

I’m assuming everyone here knows about Jack the Ripper: a serial killer who murdered at least 5 people (mainly prostitutes) in London, between the years 1888 and 1891. Well, someone looked at this and thought “you know what this murder-mystery is missing? Famous people”. Well, this theory says that the author of Alice in Wonderland did it He was the only celebrity living nearby at the time of the killings, so... 🤷‍♀️

This becomes a case of “I have already made up my mind about this issue, so I’m going to go ahead and search for proof that confirms it”. Authors and, now, internet sleuths went through his books, selected this random-ass excerpt from the nursery version of Alice and decided it was an anagram. And a crappy one at that. Supposedly, if you arrange the letters you get a detailed and gruesome confession. You, however, have to take away some letter and add others. Listen, I’m not an English major, but I’ve heard that’s cheating.

This theory also has that characteristic we mentioned: the “I don’t want to admit it out loud, so I’m going to come up with convoluted ways for my audience to figure it out” - which almost borders on psychotic behaviour. But at least it, somewhat, works with the serial killer narrative, you know? Not very much with Taylor, a woman who simply wants to chill with her girlfriend.

The moon landing was fake and directed by Stanley Kubrick.

I’m not going to dig into the moon landing conspiracy, this post is going to be long enough already. Just know that, when the USA government was planning to fake the whole thing, they had just watched ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ and they were all like “that’s so cool! That’s how we want our fake moon landing to look!” So they contacted its director, Kubrick.

According to the theory, Kubrick felt really guilty afterwards but he couldn’t say anything about it because he signed an NDA? it would be dangerous, I guess. So he did the same thing Taylor would do decades later: he “spelled it out” for us on his work, under the excuse of “I didn’t explicitly said it, did I? My most intelligent and attractive fans just happened to figure it out for themselves”. 

The movie ‘The Shinning’ has been analysed to shreds. Think ‘Look What You Made Me Do’ music video, but 2 hours and 26 minutes instead. There are many theories about its underlying theme, but we’re only focusing on the moon landing one. The biggest piece of evidence, according to believers, comes from that famous scene in the hallway. Basically, the kid, Danny, is on the floor playing and wearing an Apollo 11 sweater. He stands up = the rocket launches. He walks to Room N.237. Which is almost an anagram for MOON - but actually, a perfect anagram for MORON - I didn’t come up with that joke, I’m just sharing it. Anyway. In the book, the room number is 217 but Kubrick changed it to 237 because there are 237,000 miles between the Earth and the Moon... except that’s not exactly true, but this is their Kissgate, you see? 

“Paul is Dead” aka “the granddaddy of Kaylor is Real”

Now, this is THE conspiracy theory. Kaylors would love to have the amount of evidence this theory has. Give them 50 years, they’ll get there. 

Our story starts in 1966, Paul McCartney dies in a car accident. The British Government panics, “this will drive our teenagers into a massive suicide!” So they cover it up. They find this guy who looks like Paul and hire him to replace the original. 

You might’ve only heard about those stores where pop-stars get their beards. But there’s also a branch that focuses on celebrity look-a-likes.

The rest of The Beatles went along with it (because that’s how these artists seem to operate, they’re always the victims of their circumstances) but they did not like it. So - you guessed it - they used their music, artwork, photo-shoots, etc. to communicate the truth. Faux-Paul might’ve felt a bit awkward about it, but he’s a nice chap and let the other guys work through their grief. 

Kaylors might have agreed on blue being the colour of breaks up and yellow is for Karlie-Sunshine; but the Paul-truthers concluded white is the colour of heaven, jeans are for gravediggers and black for morticians... oh! And not wearing shoes means you’re dead. Taylor being near a door symbolises her leaving the closet; Paul being near an open trunk symbolises him being in a coffin. Is the letter K, for Karlie, surrounding Taylor? Well, there’s a 28IF in the plaques of a car, for Paul being 28 IF he hadn’t died. People hear a phantasmagorical “she” in ‘Call It What You Want’; just like people heard “I buried Paul” in ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’.

If you have never looked up this theory, I seriously recommend it. There are so many parallels with Kaylor. Here’s a 30 minute video, if you’re interested. It summarises the theory neatly while discussing the effects that these, seemingly innocent, conspiracies have on the way we absorb information.

Paul might be dead but 2pac is very much alive.

If I haven’t made it clear by now, I think it’s very deceptive to use a musician’s lyrics to back up your alternate version of events. As confessional as these verses can be, they’re still a form of art. Which, in terms of music lyrics, they need to follow certain parameters, as well as a desired sound. And, as many other forms of art, they might focus a bit more on transmitting a feeling, rather than an accurate portrayal of reality.

Why am I stopping to say all of this now? Well, because this specific theory relies a lot on Tupac’s lyrics.

A bit of context: In 1996, Tupac Shakur was shot 4 times while at a stoplight. He died from his injuries days later. While there are theories, to this day, no one knows who killed him. Unless you believe one of those theories, which claims no one did.

The believers of this theory cite Tupac’s lyrics to argue that he was explicitly telling his fans that he was going to fake his own death. Here are two examples:

I’ve been shot and murdered, can’t tell you how it happened word for word but best believe that n*****’ gonna get what they deserve. - Richie Rich’s N***** Done Change

I heard rumours that I died murdered in cold blood, traumatised pictures of me in my final states — you know mama cried. But that was fiction, some coward got the story twisted - Aint’ Hard 2 Find

Just like anti-Kaylors don’t necessarily oppose the idea of Taylor being gay; I bet the “antis” of this theory aren’t happy Tupac died and weren’t against his existence on the first place. It’s more of an argument about confusing your feelings with facts, just because they can be more comforting or exciting.

“Avril Lavigne is dead”... or “every artist you think is alive is, actually, dead and, the ones you think are dead, aren’t” I guess.

After everything we have seen, this one isn’t that interesting. The real Avril died in 2003, right after her first album. Her record label bought a new one. Proof? She says ‘dead’ in ‘My Happy Ending’, blah, blah. A poor man’s “Paul is Dead”.

I added it, mainly for the lulz, after the last entry, I needed them. But also because it all started with a blog. What’s hilarious is that the guy who created it admitted he only did it to show how gullible people are but, at that point, he had already convinced people about. The conspirators didn’t need him anymore. So they discarded him but not the Theory... which just reminds me a little too much of how TCG, HBH, Jennyboom &co. have been excommunicated from the Church of Kaylor.

Beyonce and Jay Z are members of the sexy sexy Illuminati.

I did not save the best for last. But maybe I’m just biased because the Illuminati theory bores me to death. However, if you allow me a bit of social criticism... remember how the Shakespeare Conspiracy started because a bunch of classicist people didn’t believe a lower class citizen could write such good plays? I think this one has a bit of that. I’d bet my life that this one started when a bunch of white dudes got super uncomfortable by black people being so talented and earning their successful.

What this Conspiracy shows, too, is the amplifying effect the internet has had on the proliferation of such theories. Most of the conspiracies I’ve mentioned were huge... but how were you supposed to communicate your ideas and add to the old ones, before the internet? You could publish a book. Talk about it at parties. And, at some point, there were internet forums but, still, you can’t compare that to how widespread Social Media is nowadays. 

Today, we can watch someone ramble for 2 hours on YouTube about how Beyonce looks like a robot if you watch Single Ladies in reverse; read someone’s dissertation of ‘Apeshit’; or spend all night looking at those pictures where someone has drawn a red circle around anything that resembles a triangle. 

It might look like a lot of evidence but that’s only because there are a lot of people very attached to this theory. Wanting - for whatever reason - for it to be true (perhaps because it would confirm that their fears about the world were well founded). And all those dozens or hundredths of people were working together to form as many patterns as possible.

Unfortunately we are going to keep talking about the Illuminati in Part 3 but also about Taylor, so that should be nice. Because - to the surprise of absolutely no one - there’s a bunch of people who also think they understand Taylor better than the rest. That they have figured out her secret codes and her ultimate message. Only, not all of those theories involve lesbian supermodels, so they aren’t as popular on Tumblr.

[blukrown]

Not Meant To Be - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Also available on AO3

Revelations

Since Tebanam was preoccupied with more meetings the next day, Faris had the idea to use the time to train. Whether that was involving his Hylian studies or his sword, he hadn't much decided. But plans changed when Ralnor, the second eldest prince of Hyrule, had offered to help him with his learning. As Faris was not one to object an offer, he also had a feeling that he would need all the help he could get.

Ralnor was calm, patient and a good teacher. But that was only when Faris compared him to his last one, Tebanam. Either way, the prince's help was much appreciated and when Faris asked him how he could repay him, the blonde Gerudo pushed such an offer aside immediately.

The hours went by, the two men not talking much outside of what was in Faris' curriculum. However, when midday arrived and lunch was delivered, Ralnor took the initiative and spoke to him.

"How is everything treating you then? I know it is a lot, so you can easily tell me of anything that may be bothering you."

"No, I am doing fine," Faris said curtly, "Nothing I cannot handle."

The Gerudo prince did not seem to buy it, his sharp blue eyes squinting ever so slightly as if he could read right through him. "Then what do you think of Jazoh Spegeil? I'm sure that, at least, has been mildly distressful."

From what Faris had heard from Tebanam, Ralnor Dragmire was the smartest out of all the siblings. With a strong intuition and clever ways of getting information, he was supposed to have a strong role to play when Covarog came into his role as king. But it still surprised him that the Hyrulian prince knew of Faris' main reason of grief, then again, it was an obvious presumption to make.

Faris' honest opinion was still one of confusion. Jazoh seemed kind, polite and overall soft-spoken. But there was still something off about him. His almost patronising tone or unimpressed looks he would give him always had Faris feeling rather off-put. But he had not even told Tebanam this. He had been honest about his feelings of jealousy and worry but not that he saw something eerie about the man himself. It was fair to assume he would not say this to Tebanam's brother either. So, he simply said, "He seems . . . alright."

The pause must have told Ralnor something that Faris' words didn't. As he hummed, emptying the last drops of brewed tea into both of their cups.

"The Spegeils is a family with a line that goes for nearly as long as the royal family's. Supposedly, for each monarch, there has been a Spegeil. A conservative voice, whether faint or loud, that was always heard in the council chambers. That is, until around thirty years ago. When our father married our mother." The prince looked to the younger man sitting across from him. Although Faris was stoic in face and in body, even Faris was aware that he was showing a clear interest in what Ralnor had to say next. "The Gerudo were a race greatly antagonised by the council, especially the Spegeils. So, when Princess Zelda told her advisors she was going to marry the supposed arch-enemy of Hyrule . . . Well, we all know how that meeting would have turned out."

Faris could understand the anger that glittered, only for a second, in Ralnor's eyes. Clearly, those prejudices were still lingering, even with the unity of his parent's marriage being as strong as ever.

"The Spegeil family is one of tradition and conservation of the old and supposed 'good' way of life. I will acknowledge that some of their decisions have been of great benefit to the continuing existence of Hyrule. But, once both mother and father were on the throne, unintentionally or not, the Spegeil's voice became nothing but a whisper."

Perhaps Faris was giving too much away by saying it yet he could not restrain his curiosity. Asking the prince, "And what about Jazoh himself? Do you think . . . Do you think he's like that?"

Ralnor sat back in his chair, pondering for a moment before saying, "He wouldn't have been with Tebanam if he was. Being with another man, let alone one of Gerudo blood." Ralnor could tell that this was not quite enough information for Faris to go on. Taking a sip from his teacup, the blonde Gerudo then continued, "I am what allies and adversaries of Hyrule have called the 'dark prince'. I specialise in the more secretive goings-on in Hyrule that the great king himself is best to stay away from. I know the secrets and weaknesses of all who come to be near my brother and my family. This is how I intended to keep them safe."

Faris knew that was very much true. Tebanam had told him as much, that once word got to his family of their relationship, there would be people digging into his past. He was surprised by the caution but seeing what company they were obliged to keep, it made logical sense. And, in spite of Ralnor's sincere tone, his words didn't intimidate Faris. After all, if something of a suspicious nature about him had turned up, Faris felt very much like he would not be sitting in this chair right now.

"For all the knowledge I have, I cannot find anything of a sinister nature relating to Jazoh Spegeil. Nonetheless," Ralnor said, sitting up ever so straighter. "Since he is part of that family, as my brother's bodyguard and more especially as his lover, I ask that you be wary of him."

Faris had much to think about after he met with Ralnor and that was not including his studies. In a way, it felt comforting knowing he was not the only one that was feeling cautious of the nobleman. But it also brought unease.

In spite of all that, Faris did not have much time to dwell on it into the evening. As the celebrations for Queen Zelda's nameday meant joyous celebration for the people of Hyrule. This including the royalty, nobles and servants that resided in Hyrule Castle.

But, as Faris would find out, Zelda's day of birth was not today. It had, in fact, already past. It was then explained to him that the Queen's nameday coincided with the day dedicated for the goddess Hylia. Therefore, to not anger the devout, they moved it to a separate more convenient day later in the year, where everyone could celebrate the day without worry. The labourers had the day off while many pubs and town squares would be loud with raucous cheers and celebration. But that was the common folk's way of enjoying the day.

In the wealthier cases, it was a night to show off their riches before the queen. Expensive gifts, ancient wines and artifacts - whether stolen or inherited - filled up one of the spare castle quarters. All of them addressed to the Queen.

That not including the ball that would occur in the evening. Although not as lavish as some of the other celebrations, it was still one to remember. All the nobles would dress in their finest silks and dance, talk and laugh the night away. All while claiming it as 'celebrating' the Queen's birth.

It was all a bit ridiculous in Faris' opinion. But, he supposed that was what the rich did, he had come to realize. Any excuse for a good time was more than enough for noble and royal Hylians to party the night away. Tebanam was a very clear example of that.

That night, Faris had been given a tailor-made noble garb, much similar to the clothing worn by the Dragmire and nobles of the castle. A deep blue top suited his dark complexion with black pants and matching boots. Golden thread embroidery, surely hand-stitched, decorated the sleeves, chest and back. It reminded Faris partly of the real golden marks that adorned his skin. Although the outfit was very impressive, it only took Faris a few minutes before he felt like he was boiling in all the layers. But the bodyguard stuck with it. Mainly because Tebanam had given him such great praise for how well he looked in it. Commending him with all the compliments under the sun and promising the outfit would not be on his person by night's end.

The festivities were to take place in the great hall with its high ceiling, stained glass windows and extravagant chandeliers. A space very much suited for functions such as these as it had also been used for multiple weddings, funerals and namedays. But to marvel at the architecture of the buildings would then be a disservice to the impressive work the servants had done at decorating the space. Many tables spread around the hall, around two hundred by Faris' moderate estimate. All decked out in tablecloths, multiple sets of cutlery and glasses all for each of the respective seats. Even then there was space for a dance floor and a makeshift ledge where atop a table designated for the Queen and her family would sit. It was all very impressive but by the way Tebanam had seemed so unimpressed, Faris could only wonder what could be more extravagant than this.

The night began with a large and boisterous speech from the Queen's loving husband. Who boasted of his wife's beauty, wisdom and charm. Although not without making a joke that had Zelda blushing furiously as she smacked his side from where she sat. Then there was a speech by her eldest son, Covarog. Who spoke of her kindness, patience and wit. Passing on a few childhood memories of her strict yet cherishing talent with children.

Then came the food. A lot of food. Even for Faris - who ate almost double that of a normal man - was floored by how much kept on coming through the servant entrance doors. Vegetables, meats, sweets and all sorts of mysterious delicacies were abound. Beer, wine and mead filled every cup to the brim and not an empty glass in sight. And a chorus of cutlery cluttered as the guest chopped, cut and chewed the delicious offerings.

Finally, entertainment. First, dancers, swaying, jumping and leaping across the open hall floor. Matching the rhythm of the harps, violins and flutes that echoed in the room. All lead by the youngest princess, Kanisa. Who had arrived just earlier that day from her home up north.

Later, the Queen and King were invited to dance together to the solo musing of a single cello. Soon after, their sons and Kanisa, all joined in with their own partners. Orana remaining in her seat and entertaining her nephews and nieces.

Faris was thankful Tebanam had taught him how to dance, having said that it did not mean he was leaping at the opportunity to join his lover in front of such an audience. But with Tebanam whispering, "Let me show you off," And the encouraging thumbs up from Orana who sat nearby, Faris felt he had to oblige.

It wasn't as bad as he expected, although Faris did at first feel the eyes of all the onlookers, including Jazoh from where he sat with the other council members. But soon enough, all he paid attention to was Tebanam, who he held in his arms. Both men smiling softly as they followed the one dance they both knew around the hall's floor. In spite of stepping on the prince's toes on occasion or mistiming a turn, Faris knew he would remember this moment fondly.

When the music moved on to something a bit more upbeat, the couples pulled apart, which was a silent cue for people to either speak to them or replace them on the dance floor. Although Tebanam and Faris stood close, the bodyguard still found himself losing his prince in the crowd.

Deciding to walk around the border of the hall, intending to search for that bright red head of hair. He came across just the last person he wanted to find.

"Ah, Faris," Jazoh said, acting almost a bit too surprised to see Faris here. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Faris said curtly, almost forgetting his manners before asking, "And you?"

"I'm doing very well, thank you." The nobleman said as a smile curled his lips that made the mole under his eye crinkle. "I have just heard something very interesting, actually. And I would very much like your opinion on it."

Faris frowned, not quite sure what the nobleman was getting at. But lamented to stay where he stood, which seemed enough for the Hyrulian to carry on.

"Well, you see, we all know that you were once a strong and powerful gladiator in the colosseum, correct?" Faris nodded, that much was synonymous with his name at this point. "And you resided in Al-Daida until you met Tebanam, am I right?" What are you playing at? Faris thought bitterly, having a bad feeling that this was going somewhere he did not like. "So then why is it that, if I recall correctly, Al-Daida only allows slaves to participate in the colosseum? As it is seen as being too dangerous for freemen."

Faris felt his teeth clench. His arms instantly crossing over his chest. Trying to keep a steady mind, Faris tried to think of a good answer.

The bodyguard hated anything to do with that time in his past. It was horrible, blood-drenched and scarring. He still woke up every so often in a cold sweat from remembering the horrors of those long days in the boiling hot sun and long nights in the dark whorehouse. His only hope of finding solace in those nightmares being that Tebanam was there to console him.

"I . . ." Faris began, thinking to at least start speaking before anything else.

"Sorry," Jazoh said, not looking much like he meant it. "Was I being rude? Aha, that was not my intention to," Letting out an awkward sort of chuckle. "Is it impolite to ask about you? Tebanam is an important person to me, I just hope he is in the right sort of company."

Faris was not going to accept his apology, in fact, he had the right mind to walk away from this conversation entirely. The right sort of company, Faris felt his stomach clenched at the phrase.

"Sorry to interrupt," A woman's voice broke the stiff tension that had arisen between the two men. Averting their eyes from each other to only glance at the newcomer, they both froze. The woman of the hour, Queen Zelda, stood before them. Dripping with gold from her crown which glimmered on her greying hair to the embroidery at the bottom of her dress, she looked aged yet immaculate. Smiling pleasantly as if she was merely just another person in the crowd. Her attention turned to Faris, "My dear, would you perhaps come walk with me? I can't seem to find my husband."

It was fair to assume neither of the men knew quite what to do or say. So, Zelda, with such ease one could tell she had done it before, took Faris by the arm. "Now, now, don't be shy." She then turned to the startled Spegeil, "It's good to see you, young Jazoh, but we must be on our way." And with that, escorted Faris through the milling crowd.

Faris was not quite sure if he should speak and thank the Queen from saving him or just stay quiet, in fear of somehow offending his partner's mother.

"I hope you don't mind, Faris," Zelda said calmly, not looking to the bodyguard as she walked through the crowd. "But you seemed very much uncomfortable in your talk with the Spegeil boy."

Faris was still trying to find the words to speak. What with Jazoh's comments mere seconds ago and being arm in arm with the Queen of Hyrule, Faris was very much lost for words. Either way, he was impressed she knew of his feelings.

"I raised six children, dear," Zelda said, almost like she could read his mind. Her other arm reaching up to pat Faris' forearm. "I can tell an uncomfortable look from a hundred paces away. Besides, any past lover is better avoiding, anyway."

"Thank you . . ." Faris mustered.

"Not at all," Zelda said, her eyes still facing forwards as she spoke, "I know my Tebanam, dear. That boy is airheaded but he is a good man." For the first time since leaving Jazoh behind, the Queen looked right at the Garai. Her bright blue eyes seeming to read all the distress that hid there. "You have nothing to fear. The Spegeil boy is but a fly, buzzing around the heads of the two of you. So trust me when I say, you're not going anywhere." Looking away, Zelda's eyes lit up. "There he is. And guess who's with him."

Faris looked to see Ganondorf, the king, speaking excitedly to his youngest son. Tebanam, looking just as enthusiastic as his father, was grinning widely.

It turns out, Zelda had been looking for Ganondorf. Faris had only assumed it had been an excuse. Either way, the bodyguard could not help but silently thank the keen-eyed queen as he came to stand near his partner.

"Ah! Faris, there you are!" Tebanam exclaimed. His eyes lighting up even more brightly at the sight of him. "Tell papa about the time we nearly got eaten by that clan of barbaric cannibals in the west! Papa doesn't believe me!"

"Because I could've sworn those dastards had died out before my last reincarnation." Ganondorf defended, his voice booming as he objected to his son's ruling.

"And who's fault is that?" Zelda muttered under her breath so only Faris could hear.

With an encouraging look from Tebanam, Faris expanded on the story. Telling of how the two of them had been hunting for buried treasure in the endless grass fields in the west. When they were snuck up on by the savages as they set up their camp for the night. Managing to escape almost completely unharmed, having to sacrifice the stag they were going to eat for dinner.

Jazoh was silent, calm and collected as he watched the couple across the hall. Both smiling serenely as they spoke to the rulers of Hyrule. Hand in hand, they made the oddest of couples, in Jazoh Spegeil's humble opinion. The sight of the bright, tanned and handsome Tebanam with the dark, silent and brutish Faris had Jazoh in a sour mood as he decided to return to his quarters for the night.

Thinking he may have peace once his eyes looked away from the scene of the two men, he was instead bothered by his own thoughts instead.

Faris' look of shock at Jazoh's revelation had the nobleman almost sure he was correct. That the bodyguard, Tebanam's lover, was once a slave. He was sure of it now more than ever.

That only left more questions to be answered.

Why did Tebanam choose Faris? Out of all the handsome, freemen of all the lands - let alone of higher birth - he chose a roughened slave as his partner. Was he tricked? Bamboozled by some slave trader's sales tactic? Or even seduced? All seemed possible as he remembered where Tebanam had 'met' the slave.

Al-Daida.

For a city that prided itself on the good treatment of its travellers and guests, the slaves that practically ran the city were treated like they weren't even human. The colosseum was one of them, then there was the harsh labour, sex work and mass breeding just to name a few.

Sex work.

The concept lingered in Jazoh's mind all the way to his quarters.

Faris, for all the disbelief Jazoh Spegeil gave him, was a strong, fit and considerably good looking man. Surely, he would have been sold a fair price in any good whorehouse in Al-Daida and that was not even considering if he were to be rented out by royalty or nobility.

The nobleman's bed was waiting for him, set and ready to be slept in. But Jazoh had things to do, thoughts to write and letters to send.

Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

This fic is based on the Zelgan au by @figmentforms including Rinku and Cass

The Zelgan babies, as well as Faris and Jozah, are created by @s-kinnaly

And special thanks to @ridersoftheapocalypse  for writing the main fanfic about Tebanam and Faris, which inspired this fic

I highly recommend you look at their content on this to have a better understanding of the story

[mi1kteaa]

birds & cartoons - hrj

(gif cred: x)

⤷ Most soulmates weren’t given their journals till late teens, so when your soulmate found his filled with doodles and journal entries, an array of questions were to be asked

pairing: Renjun x Female Reader

genre: fluff, soulmate!renjun

warnings: not proofread lol

word count: 4.6 k

oneshot p.l: boop

a/n: okay some um, merry belated christmas! this was supposed to come out yesterday but jskdsd lol that didn’t happen. I found this prompt really cute so big props to the op who thought of it. my layout has changed, as well as this oneshot having pov shifts so hopefully you’ll get the gist, if not sorry i failed lol. happy holidays! maybe enjoy this with some hot cocoa hehe.

“Mommy what’s this?” You ask, eyebrows pointed as you play with the fabric string. Fingers tracing the gold foil engraving that held your name. You look up to your parents who held a similar gold hue in their eyes as they looked down at you.

“It’s a journal honey, for you” You dad chirped in. You looked back down at it, lips pursing at the thought of what you could do with this new journal of yours. You looked back up with bright eyes. Maybe you could trace a few of those birds and princesses from one of your coloring books.

“I can do anything I want with it? Like draw?” You said with sweet honey coating your voice, so sweet that could melt into your parents ears. And so it did. Your mom laughed, placing her hand on top of yours and giving it a squeeze.

“Yes, and maybe,” she pauses, looking up to your dad to take his hand too. “Maybe you could write in it about your feelings and yourself, for you or maybe someone else to read,” she smiled at you. While confused, you were too excited about the new drawings you could make in this new journal. You rushed to your room, running back out to give your parents a quick hug and a thank you before running back in.

Your parents gave a content sigh. Hands still intertwined, they gave each other a small peck on the lips, eyes hopeful. “Her soulmate’s gonna have a fun treat when they open their journal up aren’t they?” Your dad says, letting out a quiet laugh.

“Oh yes, yes they will” your mom smiled as your dad gave another gentle kiss to your mom’s temple.

And your mom was right, he did have fun going through all the entries that were going to be made.

Little six year old you was so excited to start using this journal of yours. When you closed your door shut, you immediately started tearing out some pages from your coloring book. Some princesses, some mythical creatures. Your smile shined bright as the vivid colors came to show, and your tracings were very accurate - well, at least accurate enough for a six year old. It sure made your parents happy to see you enjoying using it so much.

And so went on the next seven years, the journal to be buried in your desk drawer, only to be uncovered again by a prepubescent you. It had stopped with the drawings, and came with the journal entries. Everything was put in there, from your first period, to how your best friend and you had snuck out to hang out at the nearby park. Of course you couldn’t show your parents, but wasn’t that a part of adolescence? It’s okay you told yourself, this journal will just be your little secret with all the inner workings of your new teenage thoughts.

As the years came by, the journal slowly became more structured, a weekly log of how you were, pages dedicated towards your new interest. With now a little less than half of the journal used, it was time to find a new one to embark your new ideas as a growing teen. And with that, the journal was abandoned once again.

“Renjun, I’m sure you’ve heard of soulmates hmm? Perhaps your friends have told you,” his mother had told him. Her hands were behind her back, Renjun trying to peer over.

“Yeah I guess,” Renjun said, turning off the stove to turn fully. He thinks about his friends, Donghyuck and Mark, happy that they had found each other. “Why,” He asked sitting down with his mom.

“Well the way people find each other was not only a chance by fate, there’s something else” his mother lays out this leather journal, with his name engraved in gold. His eyebrows furrow looking back up. “I was waiting till you were at least 17, and now that you’re eighteen, it’s time you’ve ventured to find yours,” Renjun’s mouth goes agape, still very confused.

“Mom I don’t see how this journal will help me find who supposedly is the one,” He laughs jokingly. His mom joins in quickly.

“You’ll see, trust me darling,” His mom slides the leather booklet to him, getting up to kiss his temple and carry on preparing dinner. He took the journal to head to his room. Maybe call Donghyuck about it, maybe open it and doodle a bit. A page in this book wouldn’t hurt would it?

He shut the door, dropping down to his bed. He felt around the leather exterior, fingers flipping through the closed pages. It felt.. lumpy? He undid the fabric latch around the book and opened to the first page. It was a little drawing with this little princess, creatures surrounding it. Confused yet amused; he let out a chuckle once he saw the big initials written in the bottom corner. Eventually, pieces came together as the sketches did, and he laid down flipping through the pages.

A few pages in, the drawings stopped and writing came in. Some stories made him laugh, feel warm, and even sympathetic. One story caught his eye though. He read aloud slowly to himself.

“She had climbed through my window asking me if I wanted to go to the park across from our school. I had said no, but of course knowing Eunjoo for 6 years at this point meant that no would turn into a yes in a matter of minutes. ‘c’mon Y/n, it’s the last few days before we go to high school let’s celebrate’ I didn’t bother fighting, so we climbed out my window but not before going down stairs and taking a few snacks from our pantry. So with that, we found our way from my house to Seoul’s Hangang park. Our flashlight was barely lighting the few meters away from us yet we still made it.” Renjun laughed at the antics you had pulled. He closed the book, resting it on top of his chest.

“Y/n, Y/n, Y/n...” He repeated. The name felt like honey coming off his tongue. It was foreign and new, and to be quite frank he didn’t know what to make of it. He pushed the thought aside, deciding not to dwell on what it meant and ignoring the obvious thought. Instead, he picked up a pen, turning to a new page.

I like what you’ve done to our pages :)

Spring cleaning, oh what a time that was. You’re laid, sprawled on your bed in a starfish pose. You scroll through your social media, looking at everyone on their spring break traveling not being able to relate, as the most exciting part of your break was seeing a stray cat explore your yard. You sat down next to your desk, looking at the mini cupboards, filled to its max. You pull out each bundle, skimming through each seeing what they were. You blindly reach for one, feeling the familiar indent, the metallic feeling contrasting the leather.

Y/n, it read. The smile on your face accompanies all memories that flood your mind. You open the book, one by one reminiscing on the times you opened this book to write your inner thoughts into. You had wondered what happened to the book, the certain stop you put to the journal. Your eyebrows knot on the last page.

I like what you’ve done to our pages :) 

Our? The question of who did this arises. You hadn’t touched this journal since junior high. The dust on the cover proved your parents didn’t. No one had touched it. Still, you bring the book downstairs, your parents cleaning the kitchen. You peek through the separation of the living room and kitchen.

“Mom, Dad?” Your parents head turn, giving a short smile. They prop their cleaning supplies on the counter, walking towards you. “Have you written in this since you gave me?” You ask handing them the open journal. Their gaze towards each other causes your lips to curl, thoughts now muddled.

“No hon,” Your dad says, handing the book back. “But your mom and I might,” This excites you, but not knowing what to make of it. They sit you down on the dining table. A long talk comes your way, about soulmates and connections, and this convoluted story of your parents love story, one that made you in awe and gag all together. At the end, your mom takes your hand and places it on the journal. You smile at your parents, eyes shifting to the journal. Still, there’s a thought, one burning on your tongue.

“If everyone receives there’s later, then why did I get mine so young?” There’s a momentary pause.

“Well, we wanted you to have a sense of freedom with this part of you. Not feeling restricted, even from the start. I guess it gave your soulmate a chance to know you before you let them.” Your mom laughs. There’s another silence, a silence for you to process. “Are you okay sweetie?”

“Yeah, I am,” You say, partially true. The new information mixes clean in with the confusion you had previously felt. “Thanks,” You take the book, holding it to your chest, walking upstairs again.

You sit at your desk, surrounded by the mess you never cleaned up. A pencil is in your hand, unsure of what to write. Do you write an introduction, a who are you, a how are you? You dwindle on the ideas, biting on the plastic of the mechanical. A minute passes by and your hand finally moves even with the uncertainty.

thanks lol, sorry i took up half of our pages, no that was lame. You scribble the note away. Your eraser, has shed half of its shavings before you come up with the most simple tagline you could think of.

thanks haha, i’m y/n, you?

You shut the book shut, feeling tired and hungry. You try to tiptoe through the mess, deciding you’ll take a break from the progress you had made, if any. Flipping the lights off, you go downstairs to get something to eat, planning on coming back up later to check on things.

It was three days later in the early morning the next time Renjun looked at the journal. He had just gotten out of the shower and was getting dressed for school as he propped the journal open on his desk. A weird feeling came when he saw the reply. He hadn’t realized that he doubted that the journal was actually meant to be a connection. Renjun smiled, deep, soft breaths leaving his chest. He finished getting dressed and took a pencil out of his book bag.

i guessed from your old pages lol ~ i’m renjun, he closed the book stuffing it in his bag before heading to school.

He had seen his friends, a smile smothered on his face as he greeted them. The group became concerned, Jeno taking Renjun’s shoulder in his hand. “You good? Since when are you smiling so early?” Renjun’s lips part, but his tongue comes in between to stop the smile.

“I think my mom gave me a way to my soulmate,” he says, laughing. Donghyuck eyes pull up to his, a question seeping through his eyes. “Yeah, she gave me this,” He pulls out the journal, passing it to Donghyuck. “This isn’t violating anything right?”

“I hope not,” Donghyuck, flips through the pages. He laughs, handing it back. “She seem like a keeper,” he says jokingly. “What do you know about her?” 

“All I know is she’s from an area around here, and she’s around our age. Anything from the book,”

“Do you think she goes here?” Chenle asks. Renjun shrugs, not long before the bell rings. They all greet each other goodbye, heading to class. It was homeroom, the teacher sitting at his desk, reading a book. Renjun pulls out all his books, tossing a pencil on top of all of them.

Halfway through the lesson, Renjun feels himself zoning out. His fingers twiddle with the other, and his foot is tapping against the metal leg endlessly. Rather than looking at the board, he feels himself eyeing the notebook with daunting eyes. He pulls the book from the stack he’s made, opening the book. His eyes widen as he looks at the handwriting; the one that did not belong to him and the one with the name that somehow made his heart soften. He still couldn’t figure out why, maybe the whole soulmate thing was a placebo but, he let the feeling subside.

He lifted his hand to write something down, hiding it all on his lap hoping the if the teacher happened to peek, he could say he was taking notes.

I figured, i’m renjun

He looks up, propping his head into his hands wondering if he really was going to get anything out of this lesson. He plays with the string under his desk, mind dulled to the boring lecture his stats teacher was giving. It was only a few minutes that went by before he looks at his notebook again.

well hi renjun :), umm are you home or are you a student like me writing this in class haha

student lol, do you go to smhs? you seem to live nearby coming from your stories (hope im not a creep)

He waited for a bit, and realized that he probably shouldn’t have started with that. But instead of erasing he just kept waiting. His hand went in on impulse, thinking he had already fucked up.

sorry, i just thought that from your stories and-

He felt silly writing all of this down, but his hand stopped when he saw another sentence interfere.

no no you’re good i just almost got caught from mr. moon in bio ~ but yeah i go to smhs

He tittered at the mention of bio, remembering he had him next period. He was technically not on the roster, but his teacher’s assistant for his sophomore period but, he always can think of his carefree demeanor towards his younger second year class. Renjun had a response flash, but uncertainty came, him afraid it was too forward. Even so, he could erase it and it would’ve never happened.

i guess i might catch you outside next period then huh

That weird sting in his stomach came, and he almost instinctively reached for his lower torso. He waited, and waited for what seemed like the rest of the period. The eraser almost hit the paper when he saw the live writing again.

unlikely haha, you wouldn’t even know who you’d be looking for ~ plus we have lunch next you wouldn’t be heading for his block ;)

mmm then ill have to find another way to find more about you then

He felt weird, out of character. He wasn’t used to being so coy, or any bit of flirtatious. He felt wrong in a way, would he have been interested in this girl if he didn’t know they were destined for each other? The bell rung, and he packed his book bag heading out.

Perhaps stopping by the beginning of lunch to help him with his prep wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

You weren’t paying attention to Mr. Moon’s lecture whatsoever, much less even looking at the board. Mr. Moon claims looking at the clock slows down time but it couldn’t mean much since his was broken. You were beyond grateful at the moment for being seated in the back of the classroom. Your notebook was propped behind your backpack, eraser resting between your teeth.

You had heard of Renjun before, only from mutual friends and by off chance of him being brought up. You knew he was a senior, only one grade above you. That he was in a friend group with Chenle, a good friend of yours, and that he really enjoyed being in visual arts, trying his best to stay active in those sort of programs. Which to be honest, only added to the embarrassment of your toddler drawings. 

The bell rung finally, and you decided that on the off chance he came by, you’d leave some tangible hint if he came by. Maybe you were delusional, he couldn’t be this engulfed after one conversation. But the worst that could happen is Mr. Moon finding it and tossing it. 

miss me hehe ~ You scribbled the quick note, leaving it at your desk and walking up to turn in your assignment.

“Hey Mr. Moon, are you prepping today?”

The voice made you grip the sheet just a tad tighter. You set it, down giving Mr. Moon a flat smile, leaving as soon as possible. On your way out, you turned back to greet the him goodbye to see that Renjun had picked up the piece of paper. Your voice hitched, and you skid out of there as fast as you could.

You sat down next to Chenle at lunch, with a red tint in your cheeks and out of breath. He pat your back, afraid you were about to heave out the lunch you haven’t even eaten.

“You good? If you wanted to be first to get lunch, I already got you your plate,”

“Yeah, just kind of sprinted here sorry,” You laughed, pulling out your water bottle and the notebook, opening it among setting it down. 

you suck ~

The rest of the day went by slowly. You had only hoped that you would pass Renjun again. When you passed by, you got a waft of his scent that was made of fresh cotton and lilies. His face was composed of soft features, that could send you into serenity with one glance and one smile. You knew, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Do you tell him? Do you wait for him to find out? But of course the crosswalk wasn’t enough time to figure that out, still the thought lingered as you walked home.

On the other hand, Renjun had walked home with tests from an extra period, courtesy of Mr. Moon and his busy schedule leaving the grading to Renjun. Without much thought, he realized that he got Mr. Moon’s 4th period, your period. He flipped through the pages, pulling out y/n l/n, as well as the ripped sheet paper he had managed to pick up and his notebook. He smiled once he saw that it all matched up before deciding it’d be smart to grade everything first.

Yours came last, and Renjun only smiled more seeing that you did well. He took the notebook in his lap, opening it to your last conversation, picking up his grading pen.

good job on your test, who knew the same girl who described her primary years as a stink hole could be such a smarty pants

Renjun wasn’t sure, but he hoped that your heart would flutter seeing this as much as the butterflies in his stomach did writing it. He was about to shower but wanted to add something. He couldn’t help but stare at the note you had left him. He grabbed a glue stick, and pasted it in, adding something below it.

thanks for this by the way ~ but i can assure you that one day i won’t :)

Seemingly, he didn’t find you. But the conversations kept going; months now actually, the end of the school year coming near. Silly ones, Cute ones, but the ones you cherished deeply were the ones where you endlessly talked about each other for hours. Deep into the night, hidden under your sheets with a flashlight as you scribbled what came to mind. The deeper it had sunken, the more worthy it was to you and you had started saving them into your notes.

Opening those always made you feel warm, reading what he had written only meant for you. Your notes were filled with jokes, and little notes of encouragement, notes that could melt your heart.

i still can’t believe mr. moon assigns those course grids and the fact that you drew an octopus?? 

chenle mentioned your name today ~ i didn’t know you two were friends, but you must have told him about me cause he refuses to let me meet you :(

i hope this isn’t too straight forward but from the little things i know about you (because you refuse to tell me more) i wonder what it would be like if we met. my friends seem so in love, and i wonder about us meeting one day. but im patient, and i know the meet will be worth it.

But this notebook was like clockwork and you were running out of pages. Both of you had started talking between the book, and now you had each others numbers. Tonight was a night of being on the phone, laying in bed just listening to the other. His voice was like honey, and it seeped into your ears every time.

“What are we going to do when we run out of the pages? I like talking to you through that book,”

“Oh? Well I like talking to you there too”

He chuckles through the phone and you feel yourself closing your eyes and sighing. His laugh was so calming, the small one where his voice is low and quiet, the minor crack it has before he stops. “And why is that?”.

It took you a second, trying to piece the words together. “I mean, I don’t know really. I guess th words seem so much more raw written down, it gives a different feeling than you telling me,”

“So I’m getting that you don’t like my voice?”

“No not that,” There’s a pause, you wait not sure how to explain. Instead you hope he picks up the conversation.

“I’m just joking, if anything I just wish I could finally put words to face, your voice to a face,” This is where your mouth closes. You two still hadn’t met officially. “Maybe I’ll get to meet you when our senior formal comes along,”. Chenle had helped keep you under wraps as just another one of his casual friends, and Mr. Moon was smart enough to not let anything slip, which was mainly under school policy but you still thanked whatever God was out there allowing that rule.

“I know, but it’ll come soon, I swear,” You say, hoping to find the courage to build up and meet him. He hums into the phone, a yawn coming. “I should let you go, it’s late and we have school tomorrow. Goodnight Renjun,”

“Alright, we will talk tomorrow okay? Goodnight Y/n,” He drifted off, and you couldn’t help but stay on the line a little longer. His soft exhales made you crack a small smile, one that would transform into a face splitting grin. 

“I don’t even know what’s holding me back, maybe it’s you already make me feel so,” You let out a small laugh, barely above a whisper. Even talking to the dead space that was on Renjun’s side was so comforting, just knowing he was there. “Goodnight Renjun,”. You hung up the line, the smile still spread on your face. Maybe it was because he made your heart leap so much already, you were afraid what it would do when you finally met face to face

It had been a week since your last call with Renjun. No mention of what you had said after he fell asleep came up, there was an ounce of you that hoped he was half awake to hear, but you let that wall inside of you bury it.

Now it was almost time for lunch, your head resting on your back pack, eyes suddenly becoming heavy. You hadn’t even realized that a person had coming in greeting Mr. Moon until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Y/n do you mind helping Renjun with some of AP bio A worksheets, he has more work than usual coming in,” Mr. moon points to Renjun who smiles at you when you look up. You smile nodding at Mr. Moon, as Renjun leads you to one of the lab stations set in the back of the room.

“Okay so we’re just grading second year lab questions, it shouldn’t be too hard,” He says in a quiet tone. You glance, eyes squinted even of his close proximity. “Yeah?” He asks, looking up.

“Yeah,” You purse your lips. He must still not know.. “Yeah,” you repeated, whispering this time. Mid grading, you felt a pair of eyes on you, a rose tint coming onto your face. Your head peeks up to meet a swift movement and Renjun who was looking down.

The lights come on, and you look back to your class who was now waiting for class to end and your teacher who was now sat as his desk. You turn back to Renjun whose head was resting on top of a leather journal with his name embroidered on the front.

“I kinda hoped us meeting wouldn’t be through grading second year students’ worksheets,” he laughed. Your mouth parted and your eyes must have been bulging out of their sockets. Instead of seeming embarrassed, you just laughed. Somehow, you still seemed unnerved around him even after the little mishap. 

“What gave me away?”

“A few things, you running out of here after I found the note, seeing you being the only girl hanging out with Chenle around school, Mr. Moon just saying your name, and the notebook that spilled out of your bookbag,” You looked over to see the book on top of everything, with gold name and all. Your nose scrunched, followed by a nod and a giggle. “Yeah, I think both of us thought it would be more,”

“Romantic? Bigger? Not so sudden?”

“Yeah in a sense,” He bit his lip as his head swung down, hoping not to laugh. “Well, hi Y/n,” He said, pauses and eyes diverted to the wall which only made you laugh.

“Hi Renjun,” You said giggling, the bell ruining the moment. “Do you want to walk me to lunch,” He nodded, taking his things.

The walk was very short lived, both of you had small steps, walking alongside one another in the bunched hallway. You talked, trying to overpower the other students that were also passing by. When you stopped in the lunch courtyard you waved Renjun goodbye when he stopped you by the wrist.

“I know we’ve been talking, but I’d love to get to know you better,” He pauses. “Possibly at our next formal?” You laughed, looking down on your feet, wrist still engulfed by his hand. He shifts his head, eyes wondering.

“We’ll see,”

“C’mon, you’ve left me hanging for awhile now,” He says, tugging on your wrist pulling you closer to him. You just stayed, smiling at each other aimlessly. “I’m taking that as a yes,” He said, starting to walk away, each step with a stride. Your entire face widened, scoffing playfully at his confidence. He turns back, shoulders shrugging, smile spread throughout his face.

“So you met,” Chenle said right next to your ear, you jumping slapping his arm causing him to flinch. “Really?” He said, slinging his arm around your shoulder as you two walked towards your designated table. You opened your book among sitting down to open to a new, and in fact final drawing. A sketch with a bird, and a note.

i didn’t have to meet you to fall for you, everything in this book was enough for me to see ~

the ending was rushed and felt unresolved sorry

check out my other work here

[therealcalicali]

“Ivar, I Have Something To Tell You” Part 2

IMAGINE: TELLING YOUR HUSBAND IVAR, THAT YOU HAVE BEEN SLEEPING WITH ANOTHER MAN, AND IT’S DEEPER THAN JUST SEX.

This story is dedicated to @tephi101 for inspiring me to think beyond the one-off Imagine. Thanks doll. 

Read Part 1 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.” Part 1

Read Part 3 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.” Part 3

Read Part 4 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.” Part 4

Read Part 5 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.” Part 5

Read Part 6 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.” Part 6

Read Part 7 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.” Part 7

Read Part 8 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.” Part 8

Read Part 9 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.” Part 9

Read the Finale Chapter 1 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.”

Read the Finale Chapter 2 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.”

Read the Finale Chapter 3 here: “Ivar, I have something to tell you.”

PART 2 WARNINGS: Murder, Smut, Threats, Forced sex, Violence, Domestic Violence, Angst, Fluff and Cheating 

“My heart will never be mended. I am forlorn and unable to escape the grasp of a monster who holds me captive. If I had the power to free myself from all my torments, I would. But alas, I see that no one can aid me but you. Please, do not leave me to a life such as this. I am free but only in title. Oh, how I wish for the days of being a thrall, when I did not know the depth of sorrow I feel now. Holy Father....if you hear me, your humble servant, I beseech thee in the name of Christ Jesus to give me the strength to endure until you see fit to free me from my situation. Amen.” 

Your prayer left your lips in a choked whisper as your bitter tears fell from your eyes onto the furs beneath you.

______________

You cried yourself to sleep that night, waking up every so often due to the pangs of sorrow that filled your broken heart. The unfortunate day, that had now turned to dusk, was to have been the happiest of your life. You were supposed to be upon a ship headed to your lover and a life full of joy. But as fate would have it, all your plans were dashed in an instant. The happiest day of your life, became the worst you had ever experienced - even when compared to the day your family was captured by the Vikings.

Ivar had not only diverted your plans with his immense power and reach, but he had all your things brought back from the docks. You could do nothing except watch your items, dresses and other belongings be put away in their usual places by thralls. As you stood, dumbfounded, you looked to the floor, almost numb to it all. Finally, you did find the courage to speak.

“Why are you doing this?” You had asked a content Ivar as he sat in a chair near where you stood. "Why do you insist on keeping me here when we are both unhappy?"

Your words cut Ivar almost as deeply as when you had announced that you no longer wished to be married to him and loved another. He knew he wasn't the perfect husband and that his temperament often got the best if him. Yet and still, he could not understand why you kept saying things that hurt him to his soul. To hear you say you were unhappy around him only added to his brokenness. Despite this, he was determined to be the strong person his Father and Mother had taught him to be.

“Because, as I stated already....you are my wife.” He replied. “You belong with me.”

Before he had left you in your chambers - the entrance heavily guarded by four burly men - he made one last comment.

"Remember this Y/N. It is not over! It is not over in the least!"

____________

That was the night before. Now, it was morning and you were outside in the courtyard with workers from Uppsala Temple. As you looked into the still darkened sky, perhaps, looking for your God, the snow fell upon your face. 

Returning your gaze to the women who had been interrogating you on the whereabouts of your lover, you sighed. 

“I have said it once and will say it again. I have nothing to say.” You replied as yet another bucket of cold water was thrown at your person. 

As the freezing cold water hit your face and body, you shivered. This torturous process had been going on for at least two hours if you had calculated properly. You were colder than you had ever been in your entire life and your eyes burned from the salt that had been mixed into the well water. As you looked at your fingers, you noticed that they were beginning to wrinkle from the long exposure to both the water and the outdoor temperature. Still, you knew you had to hold fast. If Ivar thought you were going to simply volunteer the location of your lover, he was sadly mistaken. It was unfortunate that he had already been given your lovers name by fearful thralls. 

Herry Forester - a name Ivar had grown to detest. The raven haired, brown eyed angel whom you loved dearly would not fall into your husband’s grasp if you could help it. Though Ivar now knew his name, he had no idea where to even begin looking for the man. And of course, you refused to reveal his whereabouts, torture or not. 

As you sat, lost in thought, you were doused with another bucket of cold water. The female assistants of the Gyðja that had been summoned, kept fetching water from the well, hoping you would eventually give in. Your drenched skirts and dress clung to you tightly - dripping the excess water onto the ground underneath the chair you sat upon. At first, you thought the Gyðja and her assistants had been sent to harm you, however, once the line of questioning began, you realized what was occurring. Ivar meant to wound you in the only way he knew would hurt the most. It was not enough for him to merely snatch joy from your grasp. He wanted to destroy it permanently. 

Even though you had been married only a year and a half, you knew his temperament too well. If he ever laid eyes upon your Herry, he would no doubt kill him. Now, as you sat in the cold Kattegat air, you tried to maintain your composure after spotting Ivar watching you from his top floor window. You noticed that he had donned his black hooded cloak that you detested. In your eyes, it made him look more sinister than he already was.

He supposedly wore it when he was ‘thinking’ and required solace. Perhaps that is what he was doing as he glared at you from his position. Despite Ivar watching your torment, you raised your neck high, as a gust of freezing wind washed over you, causing you to shiver. Still, you made sure your husband noticed your resolve and determination. You would face anything he could dish out with dignity. Taking notice of your body language, Ivar scowled.

As your focus went back to the ground again, another bucket of cold water was thrown. You were beyond freezing at this point and shivered violently as your teeth began to chatter.

“Woman, your husband does not wish this to continue longer than need be.” A stern and imposing Gyðja Inga said as she stepped forward - her hands solemnly clasped in front of her. “Give us the location of the thrall that defiled your marital bed and we shall desist immediately.” 

You almost laughed at her demand.

“As I have said from the onset, I have nothing to say to you or my ‘husband’ for that matter.” You replied as your body began convulsing from the chill. 

Looking up to the window where Ivar was viewing you all, Gyðja Inga nodded and then looked back to you. She stepped closer and observed your trembling form. You had never been so cold in your life and supposed you would eventually die from the bitterness of the cold. Your face had gone numb long ago along with your fingers. Still, you had to hold your ground.

“It is very improper for a married woman to not only conduct herself as you did, but also hold her tongue when only information is required of her.”  Gyðja Inga said as she looked you over with severe disdain. “Do you realize that most men would have just killed you and remarried?.” 

“If you like....drown me in the well or the river for that matter.” You retorted with determination. “I will never reveal his whereabouts to you or anyone else. Do you hear me? Never!”

Another bucket of cold water was thrown on you before you even finished the last part of your statement. Truly, it was to be a long morning at the rate things were going. Still, you welcomed whatever came. As Ivar watched the exchange, he became enraged. He was not only angered by the fact you still refused to give the man’s location, but also at the fact that you were willing to be tormented for his sake. 

‘All this to protect this so-called Herry?’ Ivar thought to himself.

Why you loved the man so much, he could not comprehend. It made the jealousy that coursed through him, become as bitter as bile. The more you protected this lover the more determined Ivar became to lay hands upon him. He wanted to ‘meet’ the man that you were so enamored with that you not only betrayed him, but attempted to leave Kattegat for. 

“What is the meaning of this?” The stunned and confused voice of Hvitserk rang out as he crossed the courtyard.

Ivar’s brother had arrived at the estate since he was to be one of your winter guests. Being closer to Ivar than his other brothers, he had chosen to spend this time of celebration at your estate. Upon seeing your shivering form and how drained you appeared, Hvitserk did not wait for Gyðja Inga to respond. He immediately removed his furs as he rushed to your side. Placing the furs around you, he yelled to some of his thralls.

“Open the doors!” He shouted as he lifted you into his arms.

The scowl that Hvitserk gave the Gyðja and her assistants was one that communicated ‘try to stop me’.

“Her husba--.”

“Move from my path or I shall kill you on the spot!” Hvitserk hissed as he cradled you in his arms. 

With a condescending smirk, Gyðja Inga stepped aside so that he could pass. Ivar, for his part, said nothing, though he could have. He could have very well demanded that his brother stay out of his affairs, but he allowed you to be carried indoors. Truth be told, half of him was glad that Hvitserk had arrived earlier than expected. It allowed him to not appear weak since he had not ended the interrogation himself.

___________

“Remove all her things and get her under lots of furs.” Hvitserk ordered the thralls as he set you upon the bed in your chamber. He did not know where Ivar was, but at that moment, he did not care. His only concern was you and getting your body warmed up so you did not die from illness. 

“Y/N, look at me.” He said as he knelt in front of you and rubbed your very cold hands.

He nearly pulled his hands back from just how frosty you were but he held on despite how uncomfortable it was to do so.

“They are going to take care of you now.” Hvisterk reassured you with eyes full of remorse as if it was his fault that this all had occurred. “I will go call for a healer but I promise to return as quickly as possible.”

You looked at your brother-in-law and nodded slowly, still trembling from the cold and pain. The pain was due to your body feeling heat again after the extreme cold. Your face, feet and hands felt as if they were receiving millions of tiny cuts as the nerves tried to come alive again.

“Th...th....” You could barely stop chattering long enough to express your gratitude.

“Shush now.” Hvitserk said as he continued rubbing your hands in his. “I just want you to rest. I shall return shortly.”

______

Ivar!” Hvitserk yelled as he went down the corridor towards the Great Hall of his little brother’s estate. “I know you are here!”

As expected, he found his brooding brother sitting upon his chair at the front of the Hall.

“Why must you shout so much?” Ivar coolly asked as he enjoyed his first meal of the day. “It is still early in the morning.”

“Ivar! Are you mad?” A bold Hvitserk demanded as he walked up to his brother and placed a foot on the first step. “Why would you do something like that to Y/N? Even for you, it is cruel.”

Ivar rolled his eyes as he sipped his ale. He was in no mood explain what you had done nor his reaction to it. He wondered if Hvitserk had any inclination of just how absurd his line of questioning was. After all, he had yet to marry. He could not possibly understand the fights that occurred between wives and husbands.

“Y/N has been out of hand as of late.” Ivar bellowed as he replied to his elder brother. “Ever since we returned from raiding, she has changed in numerous ways. I do not expect you to understand but as her husband I will not allow her to treat me with disrespect.”

“So what?” An angry Hvitserk replied. “If she has changed, does that give you warrant to torture and attempt to kill her?”

“I did not try to kill her!” Ivar shouted as he pounded the armrest of his chair with his fist. “If I wanted Y/N dead, she would be!” He added.

Hvitserk shook his head in disbelief at his little brother’s response. He was already disgusted that Ivar had instructed for you to be subjected to such torment. But now, Hvitserk was angered that he was also quite unapologetic about it. Regardless of what Ivar claimed you had done, he felt it was quite unnecessary to treat you so harshly. Without another word, he departed to call for the healer, leaving Ivar to his meal.

__________

As expected, you fell ill. Very, violently ill in fact. The cold had gotten into your system and caused you to become bedridden. Hearing about you illness from Hvitserk, your mother sent your sister Elizabeth back with him to reside with you. Upon her arrival, she requested to be allowed to sleep in your chamber, to which, Ivar surprisingly agreed. 

“Elizabeth, do not fear speaking the truth. Do you suppose you can be of more benefit than these useless healers?” Your husband had asked of your little sister before giving his permission.

“She is my blood so I will do all I can. But, I do not know the will of God Ivar.” She had replied with honesty.

“Fine. Please do the best you can do.”

__________

Using your families knowledge of herbs, Elizabeth nursed you in-between the visits from the healers. There was nothing she required that Ivar did not give her coin or transportation for. Hvitserk spent a great deal of his time by your bedside when he wasn’t in town. He would hold your hand as he regaled you about his day. Even when you were asleep, he would still do so. He supposed that hearing a friendly voice, would comfort you somehow.

Despite all your sister and the healers did, your symptoms were quite severe. You could not keep anything down with the exception of weak broths. Even when Elizabeth had tried to feed you a small portion of honeyed bread, you vomited violently. You kept vomiting until you began expelling pure bile. Your stomach convulsed despite it’s emptiness, causing you great agony.

“I wish to die Lizzy.” You whispered as a thrall wiped your forehead with a cold cloth.

Your cold chills had been replaced by a high fever. Cold or hot, you were miserable either way. The nausea, coughing, body aches, lack of appetite, and other symptoms were enough to make you constantly wish for death.

“I will not listen to such things Y/N.” Your sister chastised, whenever you would speak of death. 

Even when you slept, you would sweat until your gown and furs were drenched. The thralls were constantly changing your clothing and bedding around the clock. The fever eventually caused you to become delirious as you began talking in your sleep each night.

_______

“Where is he.....” You murmured as you tossed and turned. Your sweat beaded forehead dampening your hair. “Get him for me......please.”

As you continued rambling, Elizabeth went for a new dry cloth. The young thrall, who was laid in the bed beside you, tried her best to comfort you by caressing your forehead. Ivar, who was by the open chamber door, overheard your rambling. 

He had been avoiding seeing you. With the exception of speaking beside your bed to the visiting healers, he was never around. He would always leave after hearing of your progress despite your sister asking him to stay. Ivar would excuse himself stating he did not wish to get in the way of your care. But it was a lie. It was guilt that prevented him from staying beside you the way Hvitserk did. If he had not requested such an interrogation method, you would not have fallen ill in the first place. As he entered the room, Ivar glanced at Elizabeth who smiled and beckoned him with her hand. 

Your sister was sweet but she was much too naive. Despite witnessing his numerous outbursts, she still viewed him in a positive light.

“Wh............where....is he?” You murmured with your eyes closed. 

Your words peaked Ivar’s interest. 

Could it be that you were actually asking for him? He made his way to your bedside and sat on the chair Hvitserk typically occupied when he visited you. Placing his crutch against the bed, Ivar hesitated before taking your clammy hand in his gloved one. He was nervous and unsure if he should even be touching you but your sister encouraged him by patting his shoulder before taking her seat. As she returned to her sewing, Ivar rubbed your fingers with his thumb. He smirked to himself slightly when he realized just how small your hands were compared to his. It was an odd observation but one he had never really taken notice of.

“Her.....Herry.......” You mumbled as your head tossed to the right.

Ivar looked down at your hand that was in his. Slowly, he pulled away and allowed your hand to fall back onto the bed. With jaw clenched, he grabbed his crutch and stood.

“Brother, are you leaving already?” Your sister asked as he passed by her. “Please pay no mind to her words. She is suffering from fever.”

“Has...she asked for me?”

Your sister sighed. She wanted to lie and say you had but knew that misleading him would not have been very Christ-like.

“Not as of yet...but--.”

“She does not need me here...so..I will go.” Ivar quickly replied before exiting the bed-chamber.

__________

It took nearly a month but you recovered, thank the Gods or God. Whichever was credited with your recovery by your family and friends. During the entire time, Hvitserk was beyond attentive. Even when you showed your first signs of returning to normal, he was the one that would carry you to the Great Hall for your meals. He would sit across from you and force you to tell him stories from your homeland while you ate. Ivar avoided both of you as much as possible. He attended feasts and returned drunk, only to be escorted to the chamber he had made his own since your attempt to flee Kattegat.

Since today, was your first outing to the marketplace with your servants, Ivar was a bit nervous about seeing you. Hvitserk had asked him to come along but he refused stating he had to finish speaking to his men. It was a speech Ivar could have given any time but it was a good reason to avoid you.

As you made your way across the courtyard, Ivar was impressed by just how beautiful you looked. In fact, no one would have been able to tell you had been ill for such a long time. Your sister had truly fed you well when you were on the mend and you appeared a renewed woman. With a smile upon your face and furs over your shoulders, you walked side-by-side with Elizabeth, as your thralls followed. Hvitserk was already waiting not too far off with the wagon driver who was to escort you all. 

As you laughed at a joke your sister had said, you spotted your husband sat near some of his men. He shifted nervously when your eyes met but still looked at you with hopefulness in his eyes. Even managing to give you a small smile. But, as you passed in front of him, you looked away as to not acknowledge his presence. Ivar could only watch you walk away as he swallowed hard. 

He realized that even the simple courtesies you had once shown him, were now a thing of the past. Swallowing his sorrow as he had done many times as a child, he reflected on his mother Aslaug. Ivar wondered what she, or Ragnar for that matter, would say to comfort him in such a time as this.

______________

The anguished screams of the boatman echoed loudly throughout the secluded tower he was being held in. The man, who had transported your lover to his new homeland had been caught, beaten and dragged to his holding cell by Ivar’s men at the behest of Harald Finehair and Halfdan the Black. After being asked to assist in finding Herry’s location, the visiting brothers went to work quite quickly. As the tortured boatman hung from the stone walls of the of the tower, he begged for his life as Ivar, Halfdan and Harald watched the guards prepare to torture him again.

As Ivar glared at his prisoner, one of his loyal guards used a newly sharpened axe to slice into the boatman’s heavily bruised chest. The screams that emanated from the tortured man were horrid. Undeterred, the guard continued to slice away at his chest and shoulders until the man could take the agony no longer.

“I will tell you everything. Mercy I ask. Mercy!”

Ivar’s eyes perked as he motioned for his guards to step aside. Halfdan and Harald watched with keen interest as he approached the boatman on his crutch.

“Where did my wife pay you to take him?”

“Wessex! She...she paid for him to be taken to Wessex. She said......”

“Go on.” Ivar implored the man, his eyes wide with interest.

“She said despite it being very expensive, she wanted him to be safe. When I had described the kingdom to her, she figured it to be the best option.”

Ivar’s nostrils flared at the words but he composed himself.

“What else?”

“That is all I know. I merely transported him. I did not overhear or find out where he was to settle once we arrived. You have to believe me.”

Ivar cocked his head the side and looked at his friends before looking back at the frightened boatman.

“Do you know who I am?”

The man shook with fear as he nodded slowly. 

“You are a Ragnarsson. Ivar the Boneless.” He managed to say despite being frightened beyond measure.

“That is correct.” Ivar said as he moved closer to the man, his rage now heightened. “Then I suppose you must also know that I do not appreciate you assisting my wife in deceiving me.”

“I...I am sorry Prince Ivar.”

“I highly doubt that. But you will be!” Ivar seethed as he pulled his axe from his waist. 

In rapid succession, he struck the boatman in the head until the bones of his skull gave way. Blood, brain and fragments of bone flew onto Ivar who was now in a blind rage. As his men and friends looked on, your husband continued to hack the boatman only stopping when the man’s body ceased moving. Looking at his handiwork, Ivar seemed pleased that he had utterly obliterated the man’s entire cranium. It was difficult to discern that there had been an actual human head upon the neck once he had finished. Quite bloody from his assault, Ivar sat down and looked at Halfdan and Harald.

“Well, we only know the country he is in. What shall we do now?” He asked of his close friends.

“Despite it being Christian lands, I know some people who can trace him. Give me some time and my people will do their magic.” Harald assured as his brother agreed.

Ivar laughed as he rubbed his head with his axe, quite pleased that he was one step closer to his revenge.

_______________

“Is it not exciting?” Elizabeth asked nearly bouncing in her chair.

Your mother stood from her seat at the dining table and immediately embraced her at the news. Your sister was with child. Hvitserk, Harald, Halfdan, Sigurd and Ubbe all congratulated Jonah who seemed both excited and nervous at the prospect of becoming a father. 

“I am beyond happy for you, Lizzy.” You said as you leaned over and embraced her. You rubbed her small protrusion of a belly that was no more than three months in size, and winked. “Now, I can spoil someone worse than mother spoiled you.”

Ivar, who had been moody the entire night rolled his eyes at your words before congratulating the couple.

“You are a fortunate man Jonah. The Gods seem to have favored you with not only a loving and considerate wife but now, with a child. Elizabeth will make a great mother....better than most women I know.” He said before taking his mead as he stared at you.

Hvitserk eyed Ivar in annoyance. He knew that the last portion was an insult at your expense. Ever since your illness caused by Ivar’s behest, his elder brother had become bolder. 

“And how would you know? Are you now an expert midwife?” Hvitserk asked before taking his mead.

The men all roared into laughter at the question. It was quite a funny quip from someone typically so reserved. Despite the laughter, for some odd reason, Ivar did not reply or make his usual poisonous retort. He shrugged off the comment and continued eating while eyeing you from the corner of his eyes.

“I look forward to you being with child as well Y/N” Your mother stated with a heart full of joy.

The statement had barely left her lips when you burst into fits of laughter. If she had known how absurd the thought of having a child with Ivar was in your mind, she would not have touched the subject. Harald and the other men smirked whilst Ubbe raised an eyebrow at your reaction. Only you and Hvitserk understood why you found the whole idea repugnant, especially after recent events.

“My apologies. I am not laughing at you mother.” You replied as you looked at her. “But I do not want a baby. It may be all good and well for some women, but I have no interest.

“Shut your mouth Y/N or I shall shut it for you!” Ivar sneered through gritted teeth as his hand crashed with a thud onto the table. “I am beyond tired of your new persona and mannerisms. Must I remind you on a regular basis of who I am?” He said as his nostrils flared. His blue eyes became wild with rage as he continued. “I do not wish to hear your voice again for the remainder of the night!”

“So you are my father now?” You asked, quite amused that he felt he could command you as one would a toddler.

“I think I’ve heard enough from you.” Ivar said as his blue eyes focused on Y/C eyes.

Ubbe glanced between you two a moment, whilst the others at the table, kept eating. Your mother was shocked at the manner in which Ivar spoke to you in the presence of guests. Of course she had never liked him, being a Christian and all. However, she had hoped he would have become kinder to you since he had insisted on marrying you in the first place. Why he would demand to have you only to turn around and mistreat you, made no sense to your mother. Hvitserk’s lips tightened as he tried to keep himself from cursing his brother to hell and back. He clenched his horn tightly as he sipped his mead, never taking his eyes off you.

“Alright.” You said as your straightened in your seat. “I will say no more since you prefer to think what you like. I suppose the truth hurts.”

The slap that went across your face was so loud, even the thralls standing around the room stopped their menial tasks to look. Everyone sat up in shock as Ivar’s hand left your cheek. The heavy and powerful hand of your husband sending your head flying to one side briefly. Hvitserk and Sigurd stood immediately whilst your mother begged Ivar’s forgiveness.

When you returned your head to it’s previous position, you felt a warmth flow over your lip. It was then that everyone noticed the blood that was running from your nose to your chin. Indeed, Ivar had slapped you quite viciously. You could even taste the saltiness inside your mouth from the small blood vessels that had broken. Everyone was stunned. Even Ivar seemed surprised by his own reprimand as he watched you slowly wipe the blood with the back of your hand. 

“That is enough, brother.” Sigurd commanded as he stood by Ivar’s chair, looking down upon him.

Surprisingly, despite not typically getting along with Sigurd, Ivar did not argue. He nodded slowly at his command before looking to you again. 

“Please forgive her.” Your mother said as she wrung her hands.

She knew you did not deserve such treatment but you were, after all a foreigner and a Christian. The only thing she could think of to defuse the situation was to appeal to Ivar. After all, as a mother, she simply did not want him to beat you further. Refusing to listen to your mother beseeching the man you considered a monster any further, you stood. The blood continued to run as a thrall handed you a cloth which you placed across your face. Without another word, you left as Ivar stared after you. Hvitserk, of course followed, as everyone else continued the awkward mealtime.

____________

“Y/N!” Hvitserk called out to you in the corridor. “Please wait for me.”

You were so embarrassed and angry that you refused to stop to speak to the Ragnarsson that you cared about the most. As you hastily made your way into another corridor, Hvitserk finally caught up with you. As quickly as he grabbed your arm, he pulled you into a darkened room. Touched by his concern, you removed the cloth from your face to speak to him.

“I am--.”

In a blink of an eye Hvitserk leaned down and crashed his lips to yours. He did not care about the blood nor Ivar for that matter. As he embraced you tightly, he  lifted you in the process, your feet barely touching the floor. Your heart pounded at the passion within his kiss threatened to leave your breathless. You required no prodding to return his embrace as you kissed him back. Sliding his lips from yours, Hvitserk pinned you against the wall licking your neck, peppering it with kisses and playfully biting your shoulder. Your hands caressed his braided hair as you closed your eyes feeling utterly worshiped and cherished in your brother-in-laws arms.

“H...Hvitty.” You whispered against his lips. “We must stop before someone enters.”

Though you wanted to continue, you knew you had to take care since Ivar or one of the other guests could possibly be searching for you.

“Hvitty, listen..” You said as you gave him a tender peck. “We will continue elsewhere.”

“Where?” He asked placing his forehead to yours. “I will not to let you go unless you name the place.”

“When I go to see my mother tomorrow, we can spend time together.”

“Alright.” He smiled with his forehead still against yours. “You do not know how happy I am right now. I thought for certain you would reject me.” Hvitserk added looking at you with eyes glistening with tears.

You were touched by his candidness and obviously deep devotion. All this time, as the two of you had become close, you never suspected that he cared for you in a romantic sense. You placed both hands on his cheeks as you looked into the blue eyes that admired you so.

 “I will always take care of you Y/N. I promise.” 

With that, Hvitserk pulled you into a tender embrace, caressing your shoulder with his lips every so often.

___________

“You are certain that the information is accurate?” A happy Ivar asked Harald as they walked the town after the evening meal.

“As certain as one could get. Trust me, this is accurate. My Christian spies have never failed me.” Harald replied with a smile. “So what do you wish to do now?”

“I want him here of course!” Ivar replied.

“Back in Kattegat to pay for his crimes.” Harald chuckled. “I agree. It would be much too easy to kill him where he is.”

“So will you do it?”

“Do what?”

“ Will you do me the favor of apprehending him for me personally? I would go but you know that I hate the waters and only journey them when need be.” Ivar said as his mind raced with excitement. 

“Of course! Besides, I have been dying for a little adventure before our next raid anyway.” He smirked. “I also want to see what you will do once you have him in your grasp.”

“Really? So you understand me?” Ivar asked with keen eyes.

“Of course. The man must be taught a lesson. I would do the same if I was in your place.” A thoughtful Harald replied.

“You are a true friend. As is your brother.” Ivar replied shooting Harald a very genuine smile. Something he had not done in a long time to anyone. “Do not worry, I will pay well and even add a boon once you have delivered him into my hands.”

“I want to watch him receive his justice as well.” Harald added with his eyes squinting deviously.

“Of course. After all, I do plan on putting on quite a show.” Ivar assured him.

The two continued their walk, very pleased with the turn of events.

_______

The following day, you began getting ready to visit your mother as planned. Your cheek was still sore and sported a massive bruise, but you were determined to leave the house regardless. Ivar was still residing in his ‘new’ bedchamber, but entered your chamber as you were finishing getting dressed. Taking a seat nearby, he watched as you put on your jewelry. Despite being sat for a long time, Ivar was quiet. It didn’t take long for his presence begin irritatating you. It was like dressing for an audience and you were in no mood to be his entertainment.

“What is the matter?” You asked in a cold tone. “Have you now taken to intimidating me while I dress?”

Ivar sighed and looked away a moment before looking back at you.

“Y/N...I want to ask you something.” He said almost as if he was unsure of what to say next. “Why do you care about that man?” He paused and shifted his crutch as his jaw clenched tightly. It was difficult to recall that you loved another. “What does he have that I cannot give you?” 

You didn’t even turn to look at Ivar. After slapping you and having you tortured, you were in no mood for his woe-is-me antics and expressions.

“What does he have, you ask?” You repeated. “For one thing, he is not you! That is a good start for any man in my opinion.”

Your words made your husband seethe as he eyed you - his rage steadily building.

Instantly, a fuming Ivar reached over and grabbed your arm forcefully, turning you to face him.

“My patience has worn with you Y/N! I will return to our chambers tonight whether it pleases you or not! You will be my wife happily or begrudgingly. Either is fine by me!” He fumed, wide eyed as if he had lost his senses. With his face right in front of yours, his breath labored as he tried to contain his rage. “And you will lay with me, make no mistake about that! I will take no more of your rejection!”

With that, Ivar let go of your arm and grabbed his crutch. He left you alone in the chamber utterly frightened by his intentions. 

_________________

At your mother’s home, you helped arrange her vast array of herbs and homemade potions in the small shop she now used to consult people. Due to the time you healed Hvitserk, as well as other times your families expertise of herbal treatments had been put to use, she was in high demand. So much so, that she no longer helped your sister and brother-in-law on the farm. Your mother now resided in her own place, purchased by Ivar of course, and now treated patients as well as taught others with her vast knowledge.

When your mother had stepped back into the house to check on the thralls preparing the midday meal, you began searching for the herbs you came for. Due to the winter, you could no longer harvest them near your residence any longer but you knew your mother had an ample stockpile.

Wild carrot seed, smart weed leaves, stone seed root, jack in the pulpit root and thistles. You were so pleased as you took ample amounts of each and packed them into your bag.

“Hello beautiful. Are you waiting for someone?” A cheerful Hvitserk said as he entered.

He had waited patiently for the time you had instructed him to arrive. Diverting from his plans to go watch a show with Sigurd and Ubbe, he stood in front of you and leaned down for a kiss.

“My mother could return any moment.” You said as you dodged his lips playfully. “You have to wait.”

Hvitserk gave you a look as if he did not fully wish to comply, however, he accepted your instruction. 

__________________

After you all enjoyed the midday meal, your mother retired to her bedchamber for some rest. She had been caring for people non-stop due to the winter illnesses and needed sleep badly. Hvitserk eyed you with lust as he sat patiently for you to give him a sign that the coast was clear.

After waiting only five minutes after she had left you two alone, Hvitserk took you by the hand and led you to an empty bedchamber. He brought his lips to yours almost immediately as you wrapped your arms around his neck. There was something so enthralling about the quiet Ragnarsson that made your heart race when he was close. His passion was both tender and overwhelming. The way he touched you as if you were the only woman he had ever laid eyes upon, was intensely arousing. Hvitserk brushed his fingers across your lips before taking them again in another kiss. He bit your bottom lip playfully, licked your tongue, caressed you waist and so much more, sending you into a euphoric state of passion.

“I want you to be with me Y/N.” He said after he had broken the kiss.

You still had your arms wrapped around his neck as you looked at him. The thoughts of Herry came flooding into your mind. You loved him so much but knew, you would never see him again. The only consolation was that he at least could live a happy life, even if it wasn’t with you. 

“May I tell you the entire story of what occurred prior to my interrogation?” You asked Hvitserk. 

If you could possibly find some joy, it would be with him. So if your passions were to lead to anything, even it was merely becoming lovers, you wanted to be honest with Hvitserk. That is how much you cared for him.

“Of course.” He replied as he led you by your hand to a bench. 

As the two of you sat down, he continued to hold your hand in his. Even as you spoke, he caressed you, never wavering in his attentiveness. As promised, you indeed divulged everything. From falling in love with Herry prior to Ivar asking for your hand, to the affair and sending him away from Kattegat. Nothing was withheld. You wanted to make certain that if Hvitserk heard anything, it was from your very mouth. God only knew what Ivar would say to make himself look the victim. After mulling over everything you had revealed, the older Ragnarsson smiled at you.

“Forgive me when I say that I am glad you were unable to join him.” He began. “I think the Gods know how much I have longed for you. Though he was your first love, I believe I can make you even happier, if given the opportunity.” Hvitserk added as he searched Y/C eyes. 

You almost cried at his willingness to overlook your shortcomings and sin. As a Christian, you hated how being married to Ivar had caused you to fail in your walk. At least, God was not so cruel as to leave you love-less despite your backsliding. You had Hvitserk and he had you. And that, was better than anything your could have ever hoped for.

__________________

Your chamber door opened with a thud as you sat upon the bed removing your earrings. You had just consumed your herbal tincture and were removing your bracelets. The time with Hvitserk had been lovely and you now wanted to rest and reflect on it. The two of you had spent most of the day talking about your hopes and dreams, even briefly taking a stroll in the forest near your mother’s home. It had been a good day indeed.

Now, here you were, besieged by female thralls who entered unannounced with Ivar not far behind them on his crutch. After asking you to move, three of the women went to work setting new furs upon the bed as you watched. Without a word, the other two thralls began unlacing your gown. 

“What is the meaning of this?” You asked one of the them as she diverted her eyes. “I know how to disrobe myself!”

The oldest thrall glanced at Ivar and then went back to unlacing the intricate waist of your bodice. He was sat in his favorite place, the planning desk near your bed. A thrall removed his shirt for him before pouring out some mead into his horn. As you glared at him, Ivar looked back at you with determination. He peered into your eyes to signal that he meant what he had said to you earlier in the day. 

No matter what, he was determined to lay with you. The months away raiding and the constant refusal since his return had run its course. Tonight, you would return to conducting your wifely duties. As the top layers of your clothing fell to the ground, the thralls asked you to step out of them so they could take them away. You placed your hand over your breasts that were visible through your sheer white voile slip as Ivar eyes traveled over you. He nodded to the older thrall beside him who immediately walked over.

“Come mistress. We have prepared you a warm bath.”

___________

Begrudgingly, you followed the thralls out towards the wash-room. As they spoke to you, you nodded. However, you did not hear a word they said. Your mind was too busy trying to come up with an excuse to divert your husband’s sexual advances. When you finally arrived in the wash-room, you were confused as to why there were two bathing tubs. 

The one filled with warm water was the tub you were made to sit in first. The other, beside it, was still being filled with warm milk and water by two thralls. You then realized you were to be given two baths, the second being the more luxurious one. Despite you insisting that you could bathe yourself, the old thrall instructed the others to bathe you. 

“The master gave precise instructions.” She reassured you as the women continued washing your body. “Please try to relax.”

After you were rinsed down with clear water after the first bath, you were led to the other. It was actually quite nice to sit in the warm milk mixture since it had also been made aromatic by the addition of rose oils. As you closed your eyes, enjoying the lavish bath, you almost forget that Ivar was awaiting you. The thralls however, did not. After allowing you to enjoy yourself a few minutes, the old thrall instructed the women to get you out. You were dried off and dressed in a long blue silken slip that tied on each side, The thin shoulder straps also had to be tied, leaving you with a seductive form as the fabric barely clung to your curves. As for your hair, it was styled in a quick braided up-do by two thralls whilst another applied cosmetics your face. They ensured that they added plenty of kohl to your eyes as per Ivar’s request.

_______________

When you were finally led back to your chamber, Ivar was already in the bed with a fur covering his lower body. He looked at you with an eager smile upon his face as he held out his hand. When you did not move, the old thrall took your hand and placed it in his. 

“You look so beautiful Y/N.” He said before kissing the back of your hand.

The eldest thrall, motioned for the others to depart from the bedchamber, however, she remained. The gray-haired woman took a seat in a chair beside the bed as Ivar pulled you to sit beside him. He immediately yanked one of the shoulder straps bows and then the other, exposing your breasts as you looked straight at the wall. You simply refused to make eye contact with him.  As you felt his rough hands groping your breasts from behind, you closed your eyes. His breath tickled your neck as you felt his heart rate increase.

“Lay down and open your legs.” He whispered in your ear before planting a kiss on your neck. 

“Not so fast Master. You must first prepare your wife if you hope for her to enjoy her time with you.” The old woman commented matter-of-factly.

Did this old woman mean to be there for the duration of your sexual encounter, you wondered. Apparently so since Ivar looked to her and shyly asked what he was to do. The old woman walked over to the bed and removed your slip from you entirely. As you sat naked upon the bed, she pushed your legs open before taking Ivar’s hand and placing it on your mound.

“You must arouse her, like this, young Master.” She said as she took his wrist and began moving it in circular motions against the external lips of your vagina. When she was satisfied that he understood her instruction, she released his wrist and went back to her seat.

As Ivar continued to rub his rough hand against the outside of your vagina, you shuddered as the friction began to arouse you. Your body was betraying you. Immediately, you attempted to move his hand but he was far to strong. Despite holding his wrist with both your hands, Ivar continued to rub your private area before he finally slid two of his fingers into your opening. You closed your eyes as you leaned into his chest, almost resting yourself against him. Grabbing your neck with his other hand, Ivar kissed your neck passionately. 

“No!” You suddenly shouted as you tried to pull out of his arms. 

No matter how good he was making you feel, you still held allot of resentment against him. You could not see yourself allowing him to think you wanted him, that night or any night for that matter. The old woman, surprised at your outburst, tried to calm you.

“Do not be afraid mistress. He is your husband, he loves you.”

“No.” You said again as Ivar still had your neck in his grasp and his face next to your ear. “I do not wish to lay with you.”

Ivar’s eyes darkened. He ordered the old thrall to leave the chamber as he tossed you onto your back. Before you could move, he was on top of you, his weight baring down on you as he opened your legs forcefully.

“I will no longer take your rejection!” Ivar hissed into your ear as he grasped his aroused member and rubbed it against your wet entrance.  

With that, he pushed into you in one swift motion, making your voice catch in your throat. He groaned as he finally felt your warmth clasp tightly around his hard cock. It was a feeling he had missed a great deal. With his arousal as high as it could possibly be, Ivar ended his torment as he began slamming into you with deep rhythmic thrusts. You could only scream and writhe underneath him as he used his cock to punish you. Your husband’s unrestrained pounding was so intense that the sound of your vagina meeting his member echoed throughout the the bed-chamber. You cried out as you felt crushed underneath the weight of his unrestrained passion.

“I....am....going....to.....give....you....a....baby.” Ivar grunted as he plunged into you with each word.

You could only scratch his arms and back as you attempted to free yourself. All of it in vain of course as he kept his pace, moving in and out of your walls that now twitched around his member. As you moaned against your will, Ivar became even more excited and brought his his lips to yours. When you attempted to move away from his kiss, he slapped you and then grasped neck tightly. He again went to claim your lips in his, kissing you with fiery passion, hand tightly squeezing your throat. When his lips left yours, he finally relaxed his grasp allowing you to finally catch your breath as tears ran down the side of your face.

Ivar looked down at where his pelvis met yours and slowed his thrusting as he hovered over you. He grunted as he watched his cock sinking into you over and over. It’s length disappearing into your warm and wet cunt each time.

“Please....stop.” You asked as your moaning became harder to control.

“Fuck!” Ivar suddenly groaned as he returned to slamming into you at frantic pace. 

You could feel yourself nearing an orgasm and were fighting to keep it at bay. However, it was a losing battle as you screamed out when you felt the heat grow in your belly and move to your walls as Ivar relentlessly slammed into you. The sound of flesh hitting flesh once again reverberated in the chamber as your husband felt himself ready to release into you.

“Y/N.” 

Your name was the last thing you heard from Ivar’s lips before his cock began throbbing within you. As he finally released his seed, he continued thrusting as he buried his face into the side of your neck. Holding onto your hips, he kept pounding himself into you as his semen and your wetness provided plenty of lubrication. His movements finally caused you to unravel as your walls convulsed around his unyielding, thrusting cock. As you sobbed in ecstasy, you began bucking your hips up to meet his. Ivar moaned as he met you each time. You felt him dig his fingernails into your hips as he was abruptly overcome by a second orgasm. As he held you close, he slowed. Ivar rocked himself into you gently as yet more of his seed flooded into you. You grasped the furs underneath you as your husband pressed his sweat drenched body against your equally wet frame. As Ivar continued to release himself into you, you trembled underneath him as the last remnant of your orgasm ended. 

______________

The following day, you woke up bright and early to take your bath. You avoided Ivar most of the afternoon due to being angry about him forcing himself upon you. Your body might have betrayed you by responding to his touch but you now had your wits again. If Ivar thought a night of passionate sex was enough to make amends for the way he had treated you for over a year and a half, he was sadly mistaken. At least, you outsmarted him where it mattered. That made you quite happy indeed. His absurd desire to impregnate you would never come to fruition. The herbs that you had taken from your mother’s shop would see to that. On their own, each of the herbs were a powerful contraceptive, but combined into a tincture, they were foolproof.

You smiled to yourself as you sat in the sewing room wondering when Hvitserk would return from seeing Bjorn in the neighboring township. Hopefully, he would not stay late into the evening and be forced to spend the night again. You missed his company and wanted someone around that you actually enjoyed conversing with. As you were busily sewing, you heard the telltale sound of your husband’s feet and crutch upon the wooden floor. He smiled to himself when he spotted you calmly doing your work. Taking a seat, Ivar watched you for roughly five minutes, seemingly content to be in your presence without speaking.

“What is it?” You snapped. “You could not have possibly come here to learn how to sew.” 

Ivar chuckled at your query.

“Of course not.”

“Get your furs. We are going to the docks to see Harald off.” He added.

You nodded as you diverted your eyes from his intense gaze. 

"See him off?” You wondered to yourself. 

But Harald and his brother were to be guests for the remainder of the winter. As were Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvitserk. Where could the man suddenly be headed off to in the middle of a visit?

_________________

At the docks, Ivar sat as you stood beside him. The thralls you had come with shivered as a strong gust of wind blew from the ocean. Ivar, despite the cold, seemed to be in good spirits as he waved to his friend - who was already upon his boat with his crew. As Harald spotted the two of you, he smiled. 

You thought it was a peculiar smile but you smiled back none-the-less.

“Do you not wish to know where he is headed?” Ivar asked as he smiled up at you.

“Where?” You asked not wanting to be drawn into a long conversation with him.

“To Wessex!” 

You instantly snapped your neck to look at Ivar at the mention of the Kingdom. Pleased that his words had gotten the reaction he had hoped for, Ivar said nothing. He only peered into your eyes with a smile upon his face before looking away and smirking to himself. Your horrified expression conveyed that you understood exactly what was going to transpire.

Tagged: @alicedopey @tephi101 @dangerousvikings @lostinthoughtsandfeelings-blog @puddin116 @peaches-seed 

@naaladareia @youcancallmeladyjoker @littletinyblog @tierneygonzalez @hallowed-heathen @rvj5234 @starrmoondaisy @laketaj24 @titty-teetee @deathbyarabbit  @retratosdemarfim

[jewelalto30-blog]

Choice reads for Cubs fans this offseason

I have a confession. I am a voracious reader. No matter how busy my schedule gets, or how much I have going on in a day, when I get into bed at night I need to read at least a chapter of something. Non-fiction, romance, finance books, you name it and it’s sitting on my bookshelf. Baseball books, though, are a particular weakness of mine, I can’t resist them. I have an entire five-shelf unit in my office dedicated solely to baseball books, and surprising no one, quite a few of them have a Cubs theme.

With the offseason upon us, it seems like a good time to pick up a book or two while we wait for pitchers and catchers to report in February. And with the holiday season just around the corner, you might spot a gift idea on this list (even if it’s a gift to yourself).

All images and blurbs courtesy of Amazon, but none of the links are affiliate links. We don’t make any money off of this.

Amazon

The Cubs Way: The Zen of Building the Best Team in Baseball and Breaking the Curse — Tom Verducci

With inside access and reporting, Sports Illustrated senior baseball writer and FOX Sports analyst Tom Verducci reveals how Theo Epstein and Joe Maddon built, led, and inspired the Chicago Cubs team that broke the longest championship drought in sports, chronicling their epic journey to become World Series champions.

It took 108 years, but it really happened. The Chicago Cubs are once again World Series champions.

How did a team composed of unknown, young players and supposedly washed-up veterans come together to break the Curse of the Billy Goat? Tom Verducci, twice named National Sportswriter of the Year and co-writer of The Yankee Years with Joe Torre, will have full access to team president Theo Epstein, manager Joe Maddon, and the players to tell the story of the Cubs’ transformation from perennial underachievers to the best team in baseball.

Beginning with Epstein’s first year with the team in 2011, Verducci will show how Epstein went beyond “Moneyball” thinking to turn around the franchise. Leading the organization with a manual called “The Cubs Way,” he focused on the mental side of the game as much as the physical, emphasizing chemistry as well as statistics.

To accomplish his goal, Epstein needed manager Joe Maddon, an eccentric innovator, as his counterweight on the Cubs’ bench. A man who encourages themed road trips and late-arrival game days to loosen up his team, Maddon mixed New Age thinking with Old School leadership to help his players find their edge.

The Cubs Way takes readers behind the scenes, chronicling how key players like Rizzo, Russell, Lester, and Arrieta were deftly brought into the organization by Epstein and coached by Maddon to outperform expectations. Together, Epstein and Maddon proved that clubhouse culture is as important as on-base-percentage, and that intangible components like personality, vibe, and positive energy are necessary for a team to perform to their fullest potential.

Verducci chronicles the playoff run that culminated in an instant classic Game Seven. He takes a broader look at the history of baseball in Chicago and the almost supernatural element to the team’s repeated loses that kept fans suffering, but also served to strengthen their loyalty.

The Cubs Way is a celebration of an iconic team and its journey to a World Championship that fans and readers will cherish for years to come.

Amazon

The Chicago Cubs: Story of a Curse — Rich Cohen

The New York Times bestselling author of Monsters: The 1985 Chicago Bears and the Wild Heart of Football “knocks it out of the park” (Vanity Fair) in this captivating blend of sports reportage and memoir, exploring the history of the 2016 World Series champions, the Chicago Cubs.

Now A New York Times Bestseller

When Rich Cohen was eight years old, his father took him to see a Cubs game. On the way out of the park, his father asked him to make a promise. “Promise me you will never be a Cubs fan. The Cubs do not win,” he explained, “and because of that, a Cubs fan will have a diminished life determined by low expectations. That team will screw up your life.”

Cohen became not just a Cubs fan but one of the biggest Cubs fans in the world. In this book, he captures the story of the team, its players and crazy days. Billy Sunday and Ernie Banks, Three Finger Brown and Ryne Sandberg, Bill Buckner, the Bartman Ball, Kris Bryant, Anthony Rizzo―the early dominance followed by a 107 year trek across the wilderness. It’s all here, in The Chicago Cubs: Story of a Curse―not just what happened, but what it felt like and what it meant.

Featuring extensive interviews with players, owners, and coaches, this mix of memoir, reporting, history, and baseball theology―forty years in the making―has never been written because it never could be. Only with the 2016 World Series can the true arc of the story finally be understood.

Amazon

The Chicago Tribune Book of the Chicago Cubs: A Decade-by-Decade History — Chicago Tribune Staff

The Chicago Tribune Book of the Chicago Cubs is a decade-by-decade look at one of baseball’s most beloved if hard-luck teams, starting with the franchise’s beginnings in 1876 as the Chicago White Stockings and ending with the triumphant 2016 World Series championship.

For more than a century, the Chicago Tribune has documented every Cubs season through original reporting, photography, and box scores. For the first time, this mountain of Cubs history has been mined and curated by the paper’s sports department into a single one-of-a-kind volume. Each era in Cubs history includes its own timeline, profiles of key players and coaches, and feature stories that highlight it all, from the heavy hitters to the no-hitters to the one-hit wonders.

And of course, you can’t talk about the Cubs without talking about Wrigley Field. In this book, readers will find a complete history of that most sacred of American stadiums, where Hack Wilson batted in 191 runs—still the major-league record—in 1930, where Sammy Sosa earned the moniker “Slammin’ Sammy,” and where fans congregated, even when the team was on the road, throughout its scintillating championship run.

The award-winning journalists, photographers, and editors of the Chicago Tribune have produced a comprehensive collector’s item that every Cubs fan will love.

Amazon

Murphy’s Ticket — Brad Herzog

[Ashley’s note: including a kids’ book might seem silly, but I’m a sucker for good art and a cute story, and this just looks so sweet]

For 108 years, fans of Chicago Cubs baseball suffered every playofff season, with mishap after mishap each being traced back to 1945 when a friendly goat was kicked out of a World Series game. But the 2016 season felt different. Would this finally be the year that the Billy Goat Curse was reversed? Author Brad Herzog tells the story of the curse’s origin and follows the Cubs right through that fateful November night in 2016 when the Cubbies could finally fly the “W.”

Amazon

The Plan: Epstein, Maddon, and the Audacious Blueprint for a Cubs Dynasty — David Kaplan

On October 12, 2011, Theo Epstein became the new Chicago Cubs president of baseball operations, flipping a switch on the lovable-loser franchise and initiating a plan to accomplish in Chicago what he’d succeeded in as general manager of the Boston Red Sox: ending a World Series drought. It would require a complete team tear-down and turnover, a new farm system foundation of young talent which Epstein and Cubs GM Jed Hoyer gradually added to with gutsy trades and timely signings. After years of rebuilding, Epstein’s crystalline vision has been unquestionably realized in the form of one of the most exciting and talented teams in baseball, led by heavyweights like Anthony Rizzo and Kris Bryant as well as visionaries like manager Joe Maddon. In The Plan, David Kaplan of CSN Chicago and ESPN Radio goes behind the scenes with the Cubs and their front office, walking the steps of their captivating rise to becoming 2016 World Series champions. Featuring exclusive interviews with Epstein, owner Tom Ricketts, and other team insiders, this is the definitive account of a new era on the North Side.

Amazon

Teammate: My Journey in Baseball and a World Series for the Ages — David Ross

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

USA TODAY BESTSELLER

Packed with “compelling inside stories” (Chicago Tribune), Teammate is the inspiring memoir from “Grandpa Rossy,” the veteran catcher who became the heart and soul of the 2016 Chicago Cubs championship team.

In 2016 the Cubs snapped a 108-year curse, winning the World Series in a history-making, seven-game series against the Cleveland Indians. Of the many storylines to Chicago’s fairytale season, one stood out: the late-career renaissance of David Ross, the 39-year-old catcher who had played back-up for 13 of his 15 pro seasons.

Beyond Ross’s remarkably strong play, he became the ultimate positive force in the Cubs locker room, mentoring and motivating his fellow players, some of them nearly twenty years his junior. Thanks to Cubs Kris Bryant and Anthony Rizzo, “Grandpa Rossy” became a social media sensation. No one, however, could have predicted that Ross’s home run in his final career at bat would help seal the Cubs championship.

Now, in Teammate, Ross shares the inspiring story of his life in baseball, framed by the events of that unforgettable November night.

Amazon

A Season for the Ages: How the 2016 Chicago Cubs Brought a World Series Championship to the North Side — Al Yellon

[Ashley’s note: Al didn’t ask me to include this, but writing a book is HARD work, and doing it on top of running a website is even harder. Grab this one if you haven’t already.]

No doubt, you’ve heard about the Cubs’ decades-long run of futility. They hadn’t won a pennant in seventy-one years or a World Series in a record 108 years. To the frustration of Cubs fans everywhere, the team often missed chances with soul-crushing defeats.

But after a complete teardown that resulted in a 100-loss season in 2012, Theo Epstein and his baseball staff reversed that with the Cubs of 2016, a team that was not only supremely talented, but cared nothing for all the media narratives of losing. They did things during the regular season that no Cubs club had done in more than a century, including earning the most wins for the franchise since 1910. The club went on to defeat the San Francisco Giants and Los Angeles Dodgers in the National League playoffs before beating the Cleveland Indians to win the World Series.

Anthony Rizzo, MVP candidate Kris Bryant, Jake Arrieta, Jon Lester, manager Joe Maddon, and fan favorites like Javier Baez and David Ross are the heroes of the 2016 Cubs’ story. Told by Al Yellon, managing editor of SB Nation’s Bleed Cubbie Blue, A Season to Remember chronicles not only the 2016 Cubs’ rise to the top of the baseball heap, but the team’s—and the fans’—long journey to get there.

So there you go, a good stack of Cubs-themed reads to keep you busy in between qualifying offers and free agent signing news. Enjoy!

Source: https://www.bleedcubbieblue.com/2018/11/3/18049622/chicago-cubs-book-recommendations-christmas-gift-ideas

[talkcarol17-blog]

Choice reads for Cubs fans this offseason

I have a confession. I am a voracious reader. No matter how busy my schedule gets, or how much I have going on in a day, when I get into bed at night I need to read at least a chapter of something. Non-fiction, romance, finance books, you name it and it’s sitting on my bookshelf. Baseball books, though, are a particular weakness of mine, I can’t resist them. I have an entire five-shelf unit in my office dedicated solely to baseball books, and surprising no one, quite a few of them have a Cubs theme.

With the offseason upon us, it seems like a good time to pick up a book or two while we wait for pitchers and catchers to report in February. And with the holiday season just around the corner, you might spot a gift idea on this list (even if it’s a gift to yourself).

All images and blurbs courtesy of Amazon, but none of the links are affiliate links. We don’t make any money off of this.

Amazon

The Cubs Way: The Zen of Building the Best Team in Baseball and Breaking the Curse — Tom Verducci

With inside access and reporting, Sports Illustrated senior baseball writer and FOX Sports analyst Tom Verducci reveals how Theo Epstein and Joe Maddon built, led, and inspired the Chicago Cubs team that broke the longest championship drought in sports, chronicling their epic journey to become World Series champions.

It took 108 years, but it really happened. The Chicago Cubs are once again World Series champions.

How did a team composed of unknown, young players and supposedly washed-up veterans come together to break the Curse of the Billy Goat? Tom Verducci, twice named National Sportswriter of the Year and co-writer of The Yankee Years with Joe Torre, will have full access to team president Theo Epstein, manager Joe Maddon, and the players to tell the story of the Cubs’ transformation from perennial underachievers to the best team in baseball.

Beginning with Epstein’s first year with the team in 2011, Verducci will show how Epstein went beyond “Moneyball” thinking to turn around the franchise. Leading the organization with a manual called “The Cubs Way,” he focused on the mental side of the game as much as the physical, emphasizing chemistry as well as statistics.

To accomplish his goal, Epstein needed manager Joe Maddon, an eccentric innovator, as his counterweight on the Cubs’ bench. A man who encourages themed road trips and late-arrival game days to loosen up his team, Maddon mixed New Age thinking with Old School leadership to help his players find their edge.

The Cubs Way takes readers behind the scenes, chronicling how key players like Rizzo, Russell, Lester, and Arrieta were deftly brought into the organization by Epstein and coached by Maddon to outperform expectations. Together, Epstein and Maddon proved that clubhouse culture is as important as on-base-percentage, and that intangible components like personality, vibe, and positive energy are necessary for a team to perform to their fullest potential.

Verducci chronicles the playoff run that culminated in an instant classic Game Seven. He takes a broader look at the history of baseball in Chicago and the almost supernatural element to the team’s repeated loses that kept fans suffering, but also served to strengthen their loyalty.

The Cubs Way is a celebration of an iconic team and its journey to a World Championship that fans and readers will cherish for years to come.

Amazon

The Chicago Cubs: Story of a Curse — Rich Cohen

The New York Times bestselling author of Monsters: The 1985 Chicago Bears and the Wild Heart of Football “knocks it out of the park” (Vanity Fair) in this captivating blend of sports reportage and memoir, exploring the history of the 2016 World Series champions, the Chicago Cubs.

Now A New York Times Bestseller

When Rich Cohen was eight years old, his father took him to see a Cubs game. On the way out of the park, his father asked him to make a promise. “Promise me you will never be a Cubs fan. The Cubs do not win,” he explained, “and because of that, a Cubs fan will have a diminished life determined by low expectations. That team will screw up your life.”

Cohen became not just a Cubs fan but one of the biggest Cubs fans in the world. In this book, he captures the story of the team, its players and crazy days. Billy Sunday and Ernie Banks, Three Finger Brown and Ryne Sandberg, Bill Buckner, the Bartman Ball, Kris Bryant, Anthony Rizzo―the early dominance followed by a 107 year trek across the wilderness. It’s all here, in The Chicago Cubs: Story of a Curse―not just what happened, but what it felt like and what it meant.

Featuring extensive interviews with players, owners, and coaches, this mix of memoir, reporting, history, and baseball theology―forty years in the making―has never been written because it never could be. Only with the 2016 World Series can the true arc of the story finally be understood.

Amazon

The Chicago Tribune Book of the Chicago Cubs: A Decade-by-Decade History — Chicago Tribune Staff

The Chicago Tribune Book of the Chicago Cubs is a decade-by-decade look at one of baseball’s most beloved if hard-luck teams, starting with the franchise’s beginnings in 1876 as the Chicago White Stockings and ending with the triumphant 2016 World Series championship.

For more than a century, the Chicago Tribune has documented every Cubs season through original reporting, photography, and box scores. For the first time, this mountain of Cubs history has been mined and curated by the paper’s sports department into a single one-of-a-kind volume. Each era in Cubs history includes its own timeline, profiles of key players and coaches, and feature stories that highlight it all, from the heavy hitters to the no-hitters to the one-hit wonders.

And of course, you can’t talk about the Cubs without talking about Wrigley Field. In this book, readers will find a complete history of that most sacred of American stadiums, where Hack Wilson batted in 191 runs—still the major-league record—in 1930, where Sammy Sosa earned the moniker “Slammin’ Sammy,” and where fans congregated, even when the team was on the road, throughout its scintillating championship run.

The award-winning journalists, photographers, and editors of the Chicago Tribune have produced a comprehensive collector’s item that every Cubs fan will love.

Amazon

Murphy’s Ticket — Brad Herzog

[Ashley’s note: including a kids’ book might seem silly, but I’m a sucker for good art and a cute story, and this just looks so sweet]

For 108 years, fans of Chicago Cubs baseball suffered every playofff season, with mishap after mishap each being traced back to 1945 when a friendly goat was kicked out of a World Series game. But the 2016 season felt different. Would this finally be the year that the Billy Goat Curse was reversed? Author Brad Herzog tells the story of the curse’s origin and follows the Cubs right through that fateful November night in 2016 when the Cubbies could finally fly the “W.”

Amazon

The Plan: Epstein, Maddon, and the Audacious Blueprint for a Cubs Dynasty — David Kaplan

On October 12, 2011, Theo Epstein became the new Chicago Cubs president of baseball operations, flipping a switch on the lovable-loser franchise and initiating a plan to accomplish in Chicago what he’d succeeded in as general manager of the Boston Red Sox: ending a World Series drought. It would require a complete team tear-down and turnover, a new farm system foundation of young talent which Epstein and Cubs GM Jed Hoyer gradually added to with gutsy trades and timely signings. After years of rebuilding, Epstein’s crystalline vision has been unquestionably realized in the form of one of the most exciting and talented teams in baseball, led by heavyweights like Anthony Rizzo and Kris Bryant as well as visionaries like manager Joe Maddon. In The Plan, David Kaplan of CSN Chicago and ESPN Radio goes behind the scenes with the Cubs and their front office, walking the steps of their captivating rise to becoming 2016 World Series champions. Featuring exclusive interviews with Epstein, owner Tom Ricketts, and other team insiders, this is the definitive account of a new era on the North Side.

Amazon

Teammate: My Journey in Baseball and a World Series for the Ages — David Ross

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

USA TODAY BESTSELLER

Packed with “compelling inside stories” (Chicago Tribune), Teammate is the inspiring memoir from “Grandpa Rossy,” the veteran catcher who became the heart and soul of the 2016 Chicago Cubs championship team.

In 2016 the Cubs snapped a 108-year curse, winning the World Series in a history-making, seven-game series against the Cleveland Indians. Of the many storylines to Chicago’s fairytale season, one stood out: the late-career renaissance of David Ross, the 39-year-old catcher who had played back-up for 13 of his 15 pro seasons.

Beyond Ross’s remarkably strong play, he became the ultimate positive force in the Cubs locker room, mentoring and motivating his fellow players, some of them nearly twenty years his junior. Thanks to Cubs Kris Bryant and Anthony Rizzo, “Grandpa Rossy” became a social media sensation. No one, however, could have predicted that Ross’s home run in his final career at bat would help seal the Cubs championship.

Now, in Teammate, Ross shares the inspiring story of his life in baseball, framed by the events of that unforgettable November night.

Amazon

A Season for the Ages: How the 2016 Chicago Cubs Brought a World Series Championship to the North Side — Al Yellon

[Ashley’s note: Al didn’t ask me to include this, but writing a book is HARD work, and doing it on top of running a website is even harder. Grab this one if you haven’t already.]

No doubt, you’ve heard about the Cubs’ decades-long run of futility. They hadn’t won a pennant in seventy-one years or a World Series in a record 108 years. To the frustration of Cubs fans everywhere, the team often missed chances with soul-crushing defeats.

But after a complete teardown that resulted in a 100-loss season in 2012, Theo Epstein and his baseball staff reversed that with the Cubs of 2016, a team that was not only supremely talented, but cared nothing for all the media narratives of losing. They did things during the regular season that no Cubs club had done in more than a century, including earning the most wins for the franchise since 1910. The club went on to defeat the San Francisco Giants and Los Angeles Dodgers in the National League playoffs before beating the Cleveland Indians to win the World Series.

Anthony Rizzo, MVP candidate Kris Bryant, Jake Arrieta, Jon Lester, manager Joe Maddon, and fan favorites like Javier Baez and David Ross are the heroes of the 2016 Cubs’ story. Told by Al Yellon, managing editor of SB Nation’s Bleed Cubbie Blue, A Season to Remember chronicles not only the 2016 Cubs’ rise to the top of the baseball heap, but the team’s—and the fans’—long journey to get there.

So there you go, a good stack of Cubs-themed reads to keep you busy in between qualifying offers and free agent signing news. Enjoy!

Source: https://www.bleedcubbieblue.com/2018/11/3/18049622/chicago-cubs-book-recommendations-christmas-gift-ideas

[noramoya]

Was Michael Jackson Really Facing Financial Difficulties ?! " We are told that the KING OF POP was actually penniless by the time of his ‘death’. Is this true or not? We heard stories from his nanny that he had no money left. In fact, she even states that she had to lend him money. We are also told that he was so desperate for money that he signed the contract for the 50 concerts. Then we are told that it was the stress from these concerts that Michael Jackson could not handle, and this led to his ‘death’. Up until now, what you read and heard is what Michael Jackson wants you to believe. The truth is far from it… Michael Jackson owned the Beatles catalogue. Michael Jackson purchased this in 1984-85, for $40 million. At the time, he was only 26 years old. This meant that he would earn 50% of the royalties from the Beatles songs since he owned the publishing rights. This catalogue contained 4,000 songs. In 1995, Michael Jackson sold 250 Beatles songs to Sony Corporation for $95 million. He still owns rights to 3,750 songs. It has been said that Michael Jackson owns 50% share in Sony-ATV Music Publishing Catalogue, which is estimated to be at $US1.5 billion and $US2 billion. Just having ownership of this generated $US13-20 million in profit, on a yearly basis. Michael Jackson also owns the Mijac Music Publishing catalogue, that is worth at around $US 100 million. Of course the value of this one sky-rocketed with all the sales of his albums following the hoax death. His estate is worth $500 million. When Martin Bashir asked Michael Jackson how much he was worth – this was in 2003, Michael Jackson reluctantly said he ws worth beyond 1 billion US dollars. The Beatles catalogue that Michael Jackson owns is pegged at $US 4-5 billion. Album sales of Bad (1989, $US 125 million), Dangerous (1992, $US 67 million), HIStory (1996, $US 55 million) and Blood On The Dance Floor (1998, $US 12 million) I did some further research, and came up with some extremely interesting information that has NOT surfaced anywhere else on the internet – at least not until now. Not even a few days after the ‘death’ of Michael Jackson, Joe Jackson appeared at the BET Awards. You can read about that in my previous post. During an interview, Joe Jackson plugged ‘Ranch Records’. As another forum reader mentioned, the name is Ranch Records – ie. Neverland Ranch! Extremely interesting…coincidence? I think NOT! Here is what Joe Jackson’s partner Marshall Thompson had to say about Ranch Records: “It’s driven by Blu-ray technology, and that’s his next step.” HIS next step? Whose next step? Joe Jackson was never an investor…he did create the Jackson 5 partially, but thats about it. So WHOSE next step is it? Sounds like a huge slip of tongue by Marshall Thompson. Initially, I did not think much of Ranch Records or the slip-of-tongue by Marshall Thompson. Not until I did some research on the aliases that Michael Jackson supposedly used to obtain drugs and visit doctors. Remember, you are reading this here first. Paul Farance is the alias Michael Jackson used. In reality, the name refers to Paul France – CEO of Fantastic One. Fantastic One is a media company that uses new technologies. Prior to this, Paul France launched Asia Business News in 1993, which eventually merged with CNBC to create CNBC Asia in 1998. In Paul France’s own words: “”I have been very closely associated with Internet developments and have felt that the true value of new media has been held back by bandwidth restraints.Now that broadband is coming on stream I am genuinely excited about the potential for this revolution.Through its parent companies,FantasticOne has the technology and the experience in content delivery to truly make this revolution of Digital Broadband Multimedia come about.” Omar Arnold is another alias Michael Jackson used. Who is Omar Arnold? In reality, he is the CEO and owner of Quantum Sales & Technology Incorporated. Its even located in California – very convenient. Its a company that deals with Audio Systems. They even support organizations that promote music programs in schools across the USA. Jimmy Nicholas was another one of Michael Jackson’s alias. Jimmy Nicholas is actually the vice president of business development for MokaFive, a technology based organization. He has a track record of working win operations and finance, and has background in developing partnerships for venture software companies. Prior to this, he worked with TriplePoint Capital, where he was responsible for venture transactions with parters of the firm. Along with a lot of other experience in venture firms, he was also the CEO of Oxford Media Corporation – which was dedicated for providing digital video technology. In 2000, Media reports indicate that Michael Jackson invested several million dollars in HollywoodTicket.com, which was a firm that wanted to maximize internet technology. Unfortunately, this start-up firm that did not perform so well initially and there are reports that it changed its company direction. Brian Singleton, Michael Jackson’s alias is actually the Chief Creative Producer and Officer of Attention Span Media. This company is also conveniently located in Los Angeles, and Brian has worked with the entertainment industry via production of various sitcoms, was a News Producer of KHIZ TV and now is focusing upon New Media. Peter Midani was the alias Michael Jackson used – but actually referred to Peter Madonia. Since 2006, he has been the Chief Operating Officer of the Rockefeller Foundation, and oversees human and financial resources, information technology, facilities and such. Prior to this, he was the Chief of Staff to New York City Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg – who paid a tribute to Michael Jackson. Interestingly, Bloomberg announced on July 7th 2009 that he wanted to help the slumped media industry, by creating 8,000 jobs. How? By creating partnerships between traditional and digital media, and attracting foreign investments by media companies. They would also create fellowships for training with venture firms. Not only this, but a World Congress of Children was hosted at Neverland in April 1995, where in addition to other supporters, Michael Jackson’s Heal The World Foundation, the Rockefeller Foundation was a sponsor. The other aliases were names of friends, his children, other celebrities, or his staff. As you can see, there is the very strong possibility that the aliases that Michael Jackson used were those of people that he knew. From the list above, they all happened to be leading individuals associated with media and technology industries. Prior evidence indicates that Michael Jackson was an investor of start-up companies associated with technology. Not only that, but surprisingly Ranch Records is also focusing on supporting new media technologies. Contrary to the impression that has been portrayed of Michael Jackson being a lavish spender and not familiar with finances, I strongly believe that he is a very apt business minded individual. It has even been reported that part of his intention to wed Lisa Marie was to purchase rights over Elvis Presley’s catalogue. Moreover, Michael Jackson has even stated in his interviews that Salvation Army is an excellent store and often had nice merchandise. This was said in the 1980’s, when Michael Jackson was already a millionaire. Moreover, despite supposedly having problems with his father, he lived at home with his parents even in his mid-twenties. We are talking about a millionaire here, who was already internationally recognized. He did not go around blowing money like the pop stars today. Rather, he lived very cautiously. He did become a big spender in the 1990’s, but that is from our perspective, and not that of a man worth beyond 1 billion dollars. So why the facade of showing a poor Michael Jackson to the world? His songs lyrics speak louder then anything else about this. All the allegations, court cases, being sued, having to settle cases out of court, shutting the mouths of people, etc. cost him a lot. Naturally, he was worried about what would become of his finances. His reaction was to liquidate most of his funds and assets, write them off as expenses and move them into foreign bank accounts and investments. There are even reports that he wanted to open resorts in Dubai as well as Asia, and perhaps these even materialized. Some of his funds were used to purchase stocks and invest into media technology based venture firms, as you can see from above, but obviously not under his real name. Perhaps if the company structure and share holders were ever available to the general public, we could possibly locate the alias that Michael Jackson used to invest. Moreover, Michael Jackson even fired his close business managers and advisors and hired Dr. Tohme in 2005. This is when reports about Michael Jackson’s financial crisis began to emerge, as well as reports of him being ill. Odd right? The King of Pop was not facing financial distress, that was an image for us to believe in. At the moment, he continues to receive royalties from the enormous sales of his albums, enjoy the funds that he liquidated and sent away to offshore accounts, as well as continuing to invest into venture firms based on technology and media. All this while not having to pay a single dime to any of his on-going court cases, loans, other ‘debt’ that he had accrued. In one of his interviews, Michael Jackson mentioned that he is not stupid, and that stupid people don’t get this far – which is very true indeed. To pull of this hoax and having planned all the minute details needs a brilliant mind while having calculated all the gains requires a brilliant mind – that of Michael Jackson. "

[tauers-go-dutch]

Israel for the New Year!

When we arrived at the airport for our trip to Israel, we endured more intense security than we’ve ever experienced. Flying the Israeli airline, El Al, requires going through a security check before you are even allowed to check into your flight. We had to go through a separate security line (with several armed guards), had our bags completely emptied and repacked while answering a series of questions regarding our intentions in Israel, all before receiving our boarding passes to go through regular security. Given the state of affairs in the country, we were not surprised. More intrigued I guess, and I thought it was worth noting.

We arrived in Tel Aviv on the evening of Dec. 27, and hopped on a taxi van straight to Jerusalem. The next morning we hopped on a tour bus to take us to Masada, an ancient village built by the Jews on top of a big mesa in order to defend themselves against Roman conquerors. *Spoiler alert: The Jews committed mass suicide when the Romans arrived in 73 AD. The village was really well preserved, and I really enjoyed learning about its history. Jews still use Masada today for Shabbat.

We hopped back on the tour bus and headed over to Ein Gedi, which is a nature reserve built around one of the only fresh water sources in the area. It was a beautiful area with several waterfalls. We hiked up to the top, seeing lots of hyraxes and even few ibexes. You get a great view of the Dead Sea from the top of the hike, and that’s where we were headed next!

I passed by this waterfall on the way up, but had a discuss with 9-year-old me on the way back down. I decided I might regret it forever if I didn’t get in and play for a few minutes.    :) :) 

The water was surprisingly warm! 

Dead Sea in the background 

Of course we were bummed that it wasn’t a bit warmer at the Dead Sea, but it did turn out to be warm enough! We brought our suits, and spent about 20 minutes floating in the waves. We even gave each other mud baths. (It was around 63 degrees Fahrenheit, if I remember correctly.) One of my favorite experiences ever, and I would absolutely make a point to go back. We had drinks on the beach while watching members of the nearby kibbutz work on building new beach cabins for the resort before heading back to Jerusalem. Back in the city, we found a take-out falafel stand and had the best food of our lives, falafel and shawarma laffas.

The next day we went on a walking tour of Old Jerusalem. If I thought I could even remember a quarter of the cool things we saw/discussed, I would absolutely love to share them with you. The tour we took covered general history of the city, with no Christian/Jewish/Islamic slant. The city is divided into quarters, and we visited the Christian, Jewish, and Islamic quarters. The Armenian quarter is not open to the public. We saw the oldest Christian church in the old city, a Greek orthodox church built in the 5th century and dedicated to St. John the Baptist. Supposedly his skull was found in the church, and a fragment is on display inside.  We visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which is also historically and religiously significant.

From Wikipedia, because lord knows I’d screw up the history: “The church contains, according to traditions dating back at least to the fourth century, the two holiest sites in Christianity: the site where Jesus of Nazareth was crucified,[1] known as "Calvary" or "Golgotha", and Jesus's empty tomb, where he is said to have been buried and resurrected.[2] The tomb is enclosed by the 18th-century shrine, called the Edicule (Aedicule).”

We did not wait in the ridiculously long line to see the tomb, but our guide explained how archaeologists have found new facts that align with the possibility that it could be Jesus’ body/remains inside. We also stopped at the stone slab where Jesus’ body was supposedly laid in preparation for burial. According to our guide, and the nearby gift shop selling religious relics, touching items on this slab is the quickest way to create a holy relic. Also according to our guide, “of course this isn’t the exact slab, as the church has had to put slabs on top in order to preserve the original. However, the church believes that the holy spirit works its way up.” Relatedly, my lucky travel turtle is now a holy relic. The entire city is built up higher than it was in ancient times, and we saw certain spots dedicated to the structures/walls that remain below the current city.

The Garden of Olives where Jesus waited 

St. John The Baptist’s skull fragment

Church of the Holy Sepulchre

This ancient wall was revealed following the destruction and rebuilding of the Jewish quarter 

Ancient walls beneath the current city

We then went to the see the Western Wall. It is separated for men and women, and you have to wait in a long security line to reach it. I wrote a short note/wish and placed it between the bricks. It was nearly impossible to reach the wall itself, as so many women were there, sitting in chairs with their knees up against the wall, hands spread out, heads bowed, many in tears. I didn’t stay long, as I wanted to be respectful of those there for spiritual reasons.

Several boys were having their Bar Mitzvahs at the wall, so the women in the family had to stand on the other side of the wall on stools and chairs to watch.

The old city is built on Mount Moriah

Western Wall and Temple Mount, which is now an Islamic Mosque. Non-Muslims are allowed in on certain days, at certain times, and only through that bridge you see in the photo. 

The men’s side of the wall

The women’s side of the wall

not an unusual sight in Israel. 

Supposedly the site where Jesus leaned against the wall on his final walk. Note the shirt next to me. There was a shop not a foot away from the spot. This was in the Islamic quarter. Though the city is built on top of the old city, this square was supposedly moved up and inserted into the new walls. 

In the Islamic quarter. The walls were decorated in celebration of one of the residents’ recent trip to Mecca. 

Our tour ended with a trip to the Holocaust Museum. Unfortunately we didn’t have nearly enough time to really experience it, and it was extra packed, due to it being the time of year for Birthright trips. However, it was a very impressive museum, with beautiful architecture and landscaping. Every tree planted around the museum is dedicated to a non-Jewish individual who helped save Jews during the Holocaust.

We may have ended the day back at the same falafel/shawarma place, with very, very happy bellies.

Street art outside the biggest street market in Jerusalem

Accurate representation of how much I love Mediterranean food! 

The next morning we got up and hopped on a bus to go to Jordan, but that deserves its own post, so I’ll skip ahead and wrap up with our day in Tel Aviv.

We were on a tour bus at midnight on New Year’s Eve, and finally arrived in Tel Aviv at about 2 am on New Year’s Day. Exhausted, we weren’t too bummed that we weren’t celebrating somewhere more exciting.

We didn’t have any real plans for Tel Aviv, we just spent the day checking out the city. We walked along the beach, ate more delicious food, and wandered through a few street markets. The next day we had enough time for breakfast and to visit a new indoor market. The indoor market was amazing—similar to Foodhallen here in Amsterdam, but bigger and with even more delicious, more affordable food. Tel Aviv was a beautiful city and I would happily go back, perhaps when it is warm enough to enjoy the beach a bit more.

A small reminder of home at our hotel

My third sea in as many days! 

Check back for some Jordan coverage, which might have been my favorite part of the trip. Regardless, this entire trip has been my favorite by far, and was a wonderful break from the European cities we have been frequenting.

Tot ziens!

[itsiotrecords-blog]

http://ift.tt/2v4myaM

To be fair, not every celebrity on this list ended up choosing their final resting place, but in spite of that, they are, to be sure, strange and/or incredible places all the same. Below is a diverse list of TV writers, novelists, actors, martial artists, musicians, fathers of musicians, royalty, journalists, businesswomen, and the creator of likely the biggest entertainment company in the world, if not at least the best known entertainment company in the world. Each of these men and women— and one special dog— have either been made the lady of the lake, been given a gigantic new prescription for their glasses, stolen a man’s heart… literally, snorted or been smoked, traveled to outer space (or at the very least been blasted across the desert), and have appeared dead on screen… not to say they simply looked dead on screen, but the last anyone saw of them, they were on screen, and actually dead. So here are fifteen weird places celebrities have found themselves in death.

#1 The Game Of Death True, Bruce Lee‘s actual final resting place is in Seattle’s Lakeview Cemetery, where thousands of people go to visit him and his son, Brandon Lee (buried alongside his father), but there is a creepier, much more exploitative resting place of sorts for this martial arts master. Dying, shortly before the famed Enter The Dragon hit the box office, Bruce Lee appeared in several other films, post-mortem. Surely this is not an unusual occurrence, with partially shot films continuing production with stunt doubles, or just cutting with the footage they have, like in Brandon Lee’s final film The Crow, but there is something more sinister behind Bruce Lee’s final shots as a film star. The Game of Death, famous for the yellow jumpsuit that Uma Thurman similarly wears in Kill Bill, and for the epic fight between Lee and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, got away with using actual shots of Lee’s corpse, from funeral footage, being cut into the film. So if one is ever looking for Bruce’s final film resting place, one need only watch Game of Death.

#2 The Field Where Music Died Buried in the Lubbock Cemetery in Texas, one might not know of Buddy Holly’s final resting place for all of the commotion over the Clear Lake, Iowa memorial, looking over the site of the infamous crash that killed Ritchie Valens, Big Bopper, and Buddy Holly, on February 3, 1959— the day the music died. Along the sorrowful site, which includes an engraved guitar and record memorial, there is a gigantic tribute to Buddy Holly by way of his signature glasses. If one didn’t know any better, one might think that Buddy Holly wasn’t buried elsewhere at all, but left no remains in the crash and therefore had erected an enormous structure to remind people of the significance of his poor eyesight. Smack dab in the middle of farmer’s fields, one has to wonder if this symbol of tragedy is not taking up valuable real estate for the continued growth of that “American Dream” so readily believed in circa 1959.

#3 Princess Diana’s Monumental Memorial Park Buried in an Althorp estate in Northamptonshire, Princess Diana has become the mythical Lady of the Lake. Her resting place is on an island in Round Oval Lake, in a gigantic park (that the general public is allowed to visit one day out of every year), dedicated to the, for some reason, still adored face of the royal family circa the nineteen nineties. It’s not all that weird to have a resting place in a park, but in a park that people can visit only once every year; an enormous park, dedicated solely to her, with its own lake, riddled with ducks and four, specially placed black swans, topped off with an almost palace-like Grecian structure overlooking the island resting place from the mainland of the park… If not weird, it is at least a bit overzealous, to understate the enormity of the memorial. The royal family has not had any great significance since before the Great War, and Diana of all, was loathed by the majority of the royal family when she married into it anyway. Seems a bit weird.

#4 George Harrison Takes A Dip In The Ganges  Once described as “liquid love of life”, the Ganges is a supposedly mystical river in India where good karma flows through the bodies of those who bathe in its waters; a gift from the almighty, graced upon believers and skeptics alike. Never quite escaping the Hare Krishna phase of the Beatles’ legacy, like the rest of his band mates had after the LSD wore off, George Harrison, after being cremated by the friendly folks at Hollywood Forever (facilitators of perhaps the most frequently visited cemetery in the world), was taken to the sacred river, and cast about its waters, as well as at Allahabad, where the Ganges and two other holy rivers converge. The Hindu belief is that spreading one’s ashes about holy waters aids in the process of releasing the soul from one’s body, and escaping reincarnation, to make the final journey to Heaven. Who knows where Harrison is now, besides mingled with the ashes of many others, but My Sweet Lord, he did go peacefully.

#5 Blasted Across The Desert One of the most famous funerals of the twenty first century, to be sure, after taking care of the planning, taking interviews about how his funeral would be carried out and how his remains would be disposed of, and then finally setting the phone down after chatting with his wife and blowing his brains out with a .45, while she was still on the line, Hunter S. Thompson ended his life, but not the significance of it. Shortly after his death, actor and good friend of Thompson’s, Johnny Depp set out to foot the bill for the great tower, atop which sat a double-thumbed fist, holding onto a button of peyote, and through which a cannon would fire the famed journalist’s ashes. With a fabulous fireworks display of red, white, and blue, Hunter’s remains went out the very same way he did: with a bang! The unfortunate missing part of the above video is the moment where, as the cloud of smoke and ash billows over the cheering crowd, one of the onlookers tells his friends to “breathe deep… breathe deep!”; so badly did he want Thompson to be a part of them.

#6 You Know I Snorted My Father, Right? Alright, so this isn’t a celebrity resting place by any direct means, in that Keith Richards has not yet, however surprisingly, been found dead. That being said, this is still the case of a celebrity resting place because while his father was no celebrity, Keith certainly is, and he is now, himself, at least partially, the resting place of his father. “I opened my dad’s ashes and some of them blew out over the table, just because of the suction of the lid, you know what I mean? I looked at my dad’s ashes down there and— what am I gonna do? ‘Do I desecrate them with a dustbin and broom?’ So I wet me finger and I shoved a little bit of Dad up me hooter.” That’s right! Keith Richards snorted his father with, upon further elaboration in an interview, a bit of cocaine because let’s be honest, if you’re already a drug fiend, and you’re already putting your father up there, you may as well get a fix at the same time. Not having snorted the entirety of his father’s ashes, Richards put the rest “round an oak tree, which is coming up a treat.” So a celebrity resting place in a sense, Keith Richards continues to boggle minds.

#7 Just About As Ugly As Ichabod Crane… Making it all the way to the ripe old age of eighty seven (well past ripe in her case), Leona Helmsley was once as big a mogul in the business world as Donald Trump, if not even bigger. Instead of bankrupting herself so many times as Trump, she was caught evading taxes, since “Only the little people pay taxes” according to her view of the world. This billionaire, dubbed “The Queen of Mean” for her incredibly bitchy persona, Helmsley only served twenty one months of her sixteen year sentence, paid her seven million dollars in fines, and had her employees do her pot-prison community service for her. Amazingly not dying of a heart attack at her sentencing in trial, she did eventually suffer from heart failure, leaving twelve million to her dog, and nothing for her grandchildren. Where would such a monster end up? Well, many likely wishing her headless, and absolutely more hideous to look at than Ichabod Crane, Helmsley was laid to rest in Sleepy Hollow, in a 1.4 million dollar mausoleum. It’s doubtful that Washington Irving ever expected such a hideous creature to truly come to the little township North of New York City.

#8 In The Vault, Like So Many Classics What’s weird about this one, is how very not weird it is. The lavish, luxurious Marilyn Monroe, known the world over by men and women alike (and known very well by a number of famous men), after all of her flash and pizzazz, was laid to rest in the Westwood Memorial Park Cemetery, and while she is accompanied by some greats like Dean Martin, Peter Falk, and Frank Zappa, it does seem like a less than lavish way to go, being stuck in a wall of vaults, surrounded by other corpses of former glory. That being said, Monroe’s presence along the crypt wall has certainly raised the price of real estate there, causing a bidding war that jacked the price of the vault above her to a staggering 4.6 million dollars. Surely many wanted to be on top of Marilyn in her time, but in death it seems a steep price to pay for such an honour. All the same, visitors to the site adorn the vault with well-plied, lipstick kisses, which makes one wonder… were there that many women who really loved her, or are there that many men willing to make a last impression?

#9 Shelley & Her Lover’s Heart It’s not so much the resting place here, as it is what is in the resting place. Famed author Mary Shelley (author of Frankenstein), was buried in St. Peter’s Church in Bournemouth, U.K., way back in 1851. Nothing weird about that. What is weird, however, is what Mary took with her when she died. Having drowned many years before Mary’s death, the famed poet Percy Shelley was cremated… all but his heart turned to ash. Unscathed (speculating calcification from TB saving it from the flames), the heart was turned to Mary, who kept it with her in a silk shroud. Unfortunately here is where the story deviates, depending on who is telling it, but the story once went that, wrapped in paper, Percy’s heart was placed in the casket with Mary Shelley. Unfortunately this incredibly romantic story turns out to be a poetic fantasy as the poet’s heart was interred with his son’s body, wrapped in the pages of Adonais (one of Percy’s last poems) in the family vault. So in a sense, his heart was reunited with his wife, but not until some time after her death.

#10 Sewn Into A Pillow After an incredible number of years, toting around a jar of ecstasy pills, snorting cocaine off any surface possible, and indulging in a big breakfast of anti-depressants, it’s no wonder that Michael Hutchence of INXS fame was found dead, hanging behind the main door of his hotel room. Whether auto-erotic or not, Hutchence died of asphyxiation, and thus ended an incredible career of excess. After very publicly and dramatically accusing ex-husband Bob Geldof of murdering Hutchence, and declaring that she would dye her prospective wedding dress black for Michael’s funeral, love Paula Yates attempted suicide, hooked up with a heroine addict in rehab, then fought for the ashes of Hutchence. Split between three urns: one for his mother and father respectively, and one for Paula, Hutchence was morbidly carried around everywhere that Yates went, until she finally sewed his ashes into a Gucci pillow of hers, so that she could still sleep with him. And who knows: maybe some of the prozac, booze, cocaine, and prescription meds are still in the ashes to help comfort her. As for the rest of poor Hutchence, he remains in his mother’s home, and in the ocean blue in the Sydney harbour in Australia.

#11 To Infinity And Beyond Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry, as well as, eventually, actor James Doohan (Scotty), had the journey of a lifetime, after their deaths, continuing as they did in their work lives: among the stars. Celestis, a company that capitalizes on the grieving families of the deceased, offers the chance for the dead to “experience” space travel. Of course services are given on a sliding scale starting from “missions” to space that then return to Earth ($1,295), to Earth orbitals ($4,995), to Lunar orbitals ($12,500), and finally journeys to deep space ($12,500). Again, these prices are all “starting from”, so the more money you pay, the more fun your loved one’s ashes will likely have in space. Regardless of the ridiculously priced comfort people pay for in terms of grieving, there is certainly no better way for the likes of Roddenberry (his wife also) and Doohan to go than out into deep space, where they spent so much of their lives pretending to be. Though one might wonder what becomes of all of this space junk (especially to those in orbit), since what goes up, must eventually come down, as society has learned one too many times with satellites, and the like.

#12 There’s No Place Like Hollywood… The lovable Terry (Toto), was a Cairn terrier, with a not-so-original name, likely based simply on her breed. That’s right, HER breed. Born at the outset of World War II, and dying shortly after its end in 1945, Terry had performed in nearly a dozen movies with Shirley Temple, Spencer Tracy and, of course, the tragic Judy Garland. After her death, Terry was buried behind owner Carl Spitz’s property, where a number of other four-legged stars were laid to rest (Spitz being one of the forerunners for animal training in Hollywood). During the expansion of the Ventura Freeway, the property was purchased, and the burial grounds were destroyed, and one can only hope that the pet cemetery haunts motorists to this day on the massive freeway. Regardless of the fact that Terry’s remains were disturbed, and covered over with concrete, she remains immortalized as her most famous, male persona with an erected monument to Toto in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery.

#13 Give Me To The Highest Bidder Novelist, screenwriter, playwright, and actor Truman Capote, one of America’s most celebrated (especially for the renowned Breakfast At Tiffany’s), is perhaps one of the first deceased celebrities to be able to claim (if he were alive) to have had his remains sold off. Yup, Capote, after his death, was given to best friend Joanne Carson (Johnny Carson‘s ex-wife). Carson died only last year, and plenty of items went up for auction, including the remains of Truman Capote, packed neatly away in a beautifully carved Japanese box. Not wanting to merely sit on the shelf in death, it seems Capote will be getting his wishes, as the successful bidder for his ashes intends to travel with him, for sure. After his cremation in 1984, Truman was valued at $6000, but just last year was sold at auction for $45,000! A number of other Capote items went on the block as well ranging from clothing, to ice skates, and even prescription bottles that Carson had for some reason, that left the auction for $5000. Always living large, it seems that Truman Capote is still worth quite a bit to people, and will not find some new home in the arms of an anonymous bidder.

#14 Tupac Got Smoked… Literally Tupac‘s remains went just as Tupac himself did: he was smoked. Granted, when Tupac died it was because he was smoked by bullets in a drive-by shooting, but this grandiose hip-hop artist, riding with Death Row Records run by the absolutely, certifiably insane Suge Knight, was hit four times: twice in the chest, once in the arm, and once in the thigh, as he stood out the sunroof of the car he was in. The crime still remains unsolved, and while Notorious B.I.G. was accused of being involved in the shooting, he denied everything, swore he was in the studio recording that night, and was himself, a year later, shot and killed in a drive-by shooting. Dealing with the thug life, as well as the drug life, it’s no wonder that Tupac Shakur, upon being cremated, was partially divvied up among friends, rolled up with some primo ganja, and smoked. Made ever closer to his friends, Tupac went out in both the thug life and the drug life, smoked both ways in the end.

#15 A New Meaning To Disney’s Frozen Resting in the Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery, it is indeed very sad to learn that the claim that Walt Disney was cryogenically frozen is in fact false. How perfect would that have been? That being said, the reason that there are so many claims about Walt being frozen is because of the claims of Bob Nelson, president of the California Cryogenics Society. Before Disney died, rather quickly, of lung cancer, it is claimed that he was in discussion with Nelson about wanting to be preserved until such a time that he might be cured, and then continue to live on (in spite of how shady the workings of cryonics are, even to this date, never mind how they were in 1966). Realistically, Walt Disney Sr. was cremated, and not frozen, no matter how perfect that would have been for Disney today, given all of the hype, even still, over Disney’s Frozen. I suppose we’ll just have to “Let It Go”.

Source: TheRichest