#the posts I made just steadily got less and less interest over the spring and summer and I always felt like

[vaguely-concerned]

R-r-r-rewatch thoughts for The Mandalorian S2 Ep2

(or Chapter 10 as they seem resolved to call it)

- can I just express my joy for a moment that in one episode we get peli, the answer to my pleas for female representation in the ‘sketchy middle aged car mechanic’ niche, and a female alien designed with no consideration towards sexiness. (I mean I’m sure there’s someone. There is always someone somewhere on the Internet, is the bitter truth history has shown to us. but it’s not the intention behind the design haha)  

- they do take great pains to deliberately show you boba’s armour several times both in the recap and in the episode itself, so never despair he is very likely still on his way onto our screens once more

- this dude holding the baby hostage wanting specifically the jetpack in exchange is the one (1) break this whole episode gave din lol 

also the Patented Mando Finger Curl of Stress while he talked softly and calmly to not promp this asshole to make a sudden move... the most endearing character tic, I love my space cowboy dad so much 

- fun continuity detail: din is all out of whistling birds now, and you can see it here!

I wonder if he could still use the same mechanism with different ‘ammo’, it’s just not as effective? from the way the armorer spoke whistling birds seem quite rare and it would be an inefficient use of beskar if that’s the only thing it can be loaded with

 - I love how after the last episode, a 50 min epic with a bunch of original trilogy significance and impressive technical achievements and exciting character reveals, I was like ‘yeah okay I suppose that is quite interesting’, and this mess/comedy of inconveniences is the thing that fully makes my brain tip into the obsessive ‘BABY AND DAD SHOW!! BABY AND DAD SHOW!!!!!’ mind state lol

- ah the traditional ‘mando trudging slowly but steadily through the desert’ montage we all love to see (I hope this is going to be a Thing for the second episode of every season from now on) 

Also I assume his suit has some sort of temperature regulation built in and that’s how he didn’t, y’know. die under the blazing desert sun

-

CAT FIGHT CAT FIGHT man I love the jawa. also mando doesn’t even glance over at them, really emphasizing how he’s like. done with this entire day (and it’s all barely even getting started din! i’m sorry)

 yodito’s look in this scene tho... he’s like ‘we’ve Seen some shit lady’ (actually I think he’s staring at ‘dr mandible’ like O___o. it’s been a long day for a lil boy) 

you get to see dr mandible’s cards a few times, so I assume anyone who knows the rules of... sabacc? probably? could figure out beforehand that he was in a bad spot. (the star wars fanbase is one of those where I KNOW the rules exist somewhere, and I know people who know those rules exist too)  

- that sound the baby keeps making -- the ‘boo-a’, sometimes with a p-sound at the end -- if that’s the precursor to him saying any variation whatsoever of ‘dad’ or ‘papa’ or ‘baba’ or even ‘buir’ or anything, I will die. I will sink to the ground in a heap and never get up (the way he keeps seeking out gaze contact with the helmet and seems perfectly satisfied with it too... fasdhfaskdjhl my FEELINGS)

- it seems confirmed in this ep that the mandos who died on nevarro did so while holding off the enemy so the rest(probably especially the children) could get away; some of them appear to have escaped. which I guess is a small relief

- 

frog lady stepping out of the shadows and into our hearts

I like that her firm nod after Peli translates ‘her husband has seen them’ lets us know she understands... basic? is that the common tongue thing in star wars there’s just so many to remember across fandoms lol? perfectly well, even if she can’t speak it. 

- mando might be running low on ammo for the pulse rifle, if the fact that he hasn’t replaced the missing cartridge on his... bandolier belt thingy is any indication

ETA: actually ignore me this has been a thing since the literal first episode of the show my brain just had a hiccup lol

- so baby seems to use a little bit of the force to pull the eggs towards him -- I wonder how often he ‘taps into it’ or if it’s always ‘on’ in the background for him. if so I guess there’s no wonder he’s so hungry (but also... kid you can’t end this lady’s entire family line like that one cat who singlehandedly made extinct a whole species of bird! D:)

- din so rarely gets openly angry, he just gets passive aggressive and grumpy. and that’s probably not the healthiest way to deal with things but I love him

- frog lady reacts so strongly to when din sends the ping when nothing else woke her up, I wonder if she can hear more frequencies than a human

- 

hello darkness my old frieeennnddd

- 

proof nr 1508 that din does not starve this baby you guys, he even has his own little tray just the right size for him! as it happens the baby simply seems to prefer eating things that are... still alive in some capacity. which, uh. maybe they can invest in some form of non-sentient crickets or something for him to hunt down and.... oh dear

- 

Look how they massacred my boy

By the way I finally managed to put into words why the Razor Crest -- and particularly the way it keeps getting beaten to hell and back and patched up again --  is so symbolically important and meaningful to me in this show in this post over here! it’s always a great relief to me when I can finally understand what the hell I’ve been going on about all this time and this was one of those lol

-  honestly if it weren’t for frog lady and (more importantly) the baby I think there’s a slight chance din would’ve gone ‘well I had a good-ish run of it for a while there’ and just let the ice claim him haha   

- “Why don’t you come over here and give me a hand. Make yourself useful” This is the one time in the episode I think he crosses the line into just being a dick for a moment (but noticeably the baby isn’t just a little hurt at this reaction, he’s clearly surprised and confused, which means this really does not happen often. after the time mando’s been having recently I guess a moment’s snappishness is understandable haha. he does follow up right after with being much more responsive and attentive when the baby toddles away from him, so it feels like it’s going to be okay)

also the ‘boo-ap’ sound is there again when he’s trying to get din’s attention. just sayin’ 

when din comes over to see the footprints baby makes a declarative little meep like ‘see??? I did tell you!’ haha

- it is very funny that mando is using all his technology meant to track down dangerous bounties in the grungy depths of the criminal underworld... to find a naked lady just chillin’ in a hot spring 

- 

cue the ‘father is evil?’ memes fsadfda. actually the funniest thing about this moment (apart from the fabulous finger acting) is that din actually snatches a few eggs out of the baby’s reach more subtly right before, and that baby only whines for ALL OF ONE SECOND before he goes to sniff around for other food possibilities fkadfhjkds. from my experience with human children he’s a lot less prone to tantrums. yodito doesn’t get mad, he gets even 

- baby running towards din through the hatching spiderlings like ‘DAD I FUCKED UUUUUUP’, din’s little strangled ‘ngh’ sound as he picks the baby up and watches all the creepy crawlies come out... *chef kiss* impeccable 

(that little ‘ngh’ and the soft shocked ‘ah ah AH!’s from when he goes flying at the beginning of the episode... pedro pascal and his voice work for this character gives me so much life. in some ways din has this sort of dignity and grace and in other ways he uh extremely doesn’t. he gets to be cool but also vulnerable in ways a lot of male main characters don’t and it’s probably why I love him so much) 

btw here is that moment when din moves to hold the baby tightly against him with both hands as the big spider appears, because it gets me right in the heart... it such an instinctive thing of holding on to the dearest thing you’ve got before something bad is about to happen

fdsafhsdakjlfhsdkjlhfsdajhf oh my god the baby is clutching din’s finger with his little hand during the chase!!!! 😭😭😭

this FUCKING SHOW has just WEAPONIZED putting in small details everywhere to convey the love and tenderness and attachment felt by a little muppet doll even where only weirdos like me will frame by frame their way through the video to see it I am so MAD

- frog lady going ‘fuck this’ and bounding along is  e v e r y t h i n g 

- din is an amazing shot, though, he doesn’t seem to miss a single one in this whole scene (then again there’s something to shoot at basically everywhere one can take aim so lol)

-

baby hiding behind/half hugging din’s boot as he tries to get the doors closed hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I can’t breathhhhheeeee 

honestly every single one of the baby’s proximity seeking behaviours in this ep has me on my knees 

- it’s very unfair to play the heroic happy mando music like everything is going to be fine and then have a huge fuck-off spider drop down from the ceiling and break it off mid-tune, the mandalorian, you have trained me in certain ways and now do you betray me??? how can I trust again

- the camera work in the scene with the new republic guys gives such a good sense of the discomfort of being judged from on high by someone or something you can’t really see -- the glare of the lights blocking out everything in the shots from din’s pov makes it feel like a tense interrogation (the new republic dude who is actually dave filoni has such a look of fondness as he watches din tho it’s kind of sweet)

- ...oh no I think baby was actually considering munching on that dismembered spider leg YODITO NO JUST EAT YOUR KRAYT DRAGON BABY

- hngh this is a weird filler episode and it has my entire heart. I suspect we might get some episodes of a more stationary baby between active ones like this -- you can tell a little bit in this episode that especially having him running around fast is quite difficult to have look natural, they likely save that effort up for when it best serves the narrative  

[yehet-about-it]

I Like Me Better | 07 - The Housewarming

~ A Wayv Social Media AU Series ~

< Prev || Series Masterlist || Next >

Synopsis: You’ve just moved into a new apartment with your best friend Yangyang, but you’re immediately faced with a problem: your incredibly noisy upstairs neighbour Xiao Dejun, or to friends, Xiaojun. You spend the first few weeks of your acquaintance hating his guts, but after a sincere apology and a fascinating revelation about his passions and motivations you slowly begin to see past his cold exterior to discover the real him. What will happen as you get closer to this troubled boy and how will those closest to you react?

Themes and Warnings: Swearing, references to drinking/alcohol.

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Word Count: 1.4k

You downed the rest of your drink as you sat on the sofa, watching your friends completing a series of ridiculous dares, including your brother giving an embarrassed looking Winwin a less than scintillating lapdance. You sighed as the deliberately loud music pounded in your head, looking down at your phone. As much fun as you were having, your mind kept drifting to Kun and how he still wasn’t here. It wasn’t that you were overly attached to him, but you’d known him for a long time and he’d been so supportive in helping you find the apartment and with the whole moving process, so celebrating without him there felt somewhat hollow. You also didn’t want him overworking himself. He was incredibly passionate about his work and you knew how much he loved it but sometimes he stayed through the night working and you worried about him. Part of you was also a little mad he was prioritising work over you, but that could be forgiven, eventually. Hopefully he’d be done with work soon and save you from your brother who was now twerking per request of Yangyang who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying Jungwoo’s incredibly embarrassing display of dance skills.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard your brother yelling your name as the next person to do a truth or dare. “Huh?” you questioned, not yet realising you had been chosen to have a turn. “Come on y/n, stop looking so miserable! Truth or dare?” yelled Renjun, giggling next to your brother. Miserable huh? You’d show them. “Hmm, truth!” you declared, feeling a little bolder as the drink you’d just downed started to kick in. Truth was always the riskier option with these guys because they had the uncanny ability of being able to tease you about just about anything, whereas their dares were generally quite tame. “Hmm…” Jungwoo made a show of thinking about his question. “Would you, or would you not, hook up with your neighbour upstairs?” he said with a smirk. Your eyes widened at his question. The absolute cheek of your brother. “What?! Dejun? Why would I want to do that?!” You squeaked. Even though he was relatively attractive, the thought had never crossed your mind, you choosing rather to be preoccupied with holding a grudge against him for his loud music that kept you awake most nights. “You did say he was sort of handsome…” Winwin piped up. You snapped your head to look at him with a scowl. “So? He’s still an asshole,” you said. “You don’t like bad boys then?” Jungwoo said, a smug look plastered across his face. You raised an eyebrow. What kind of question was that? “I don’t know? It’s not like I have a type! Anyway, we agreed – no follow-up questions!” you said, very much done with the topic. “Haha, fiiiine, whatever, now your turn” your brother said, thankfully not pushing you on the matter. “Okay… Winwin…”

You continued on playing the game for a while longer before the group dispersed and you found yourself nonchalantly clearing away various bottles and cans that had been left lying around. You were brushing a can off of a table into your trash bag at the back of the lounge as Yangyang popped up over the back of the couch, clearly about to say something, when you heard shuffling out in the corridor. You had left the front door open for any late arrivals, that mainly consisting of Kun, so you could occasionally hear movement from out in the stairwell down your hall. Since you had had perhaps one too many drinks, your mind instantly went to your absent friend. “Kun!” you exclaimed, rushing towards the door, leaving Yangyang to slouch back down on the couch, the terrible joke he was about to spring on you left unsaid.

You got to the door, trash bag still in hand, only to find three young men arriving on your landing. “Kun?” you called out, before realising the three men were not your dear friend. They looked at you in surprise as you burst through the open door having expected to only find one handsome young man. As you looked them over left to right, you realised one of them was Lucas, the friend of your rude upstairs neighbour, along with two other men you hadn’t seen before. “Oh” you said, disappointed that yet again it wasn’t Kun at your door. Lucas smirked as he saw you emerge into the stairwell. “Sorry… I thought you were someone else” you said, blush rising in your cheeks. “Haha well sorry to disappoint you” Lucas said with a cheeky smile. “Y/n right?” You gulped, nervous to actually talk to Lucas in person for the first time, despite the alcohol in your system. “Uhh yeah! And you would be Lucas?” He nodded. “You having a party or something? “Uh yeah, just a little housewarming thing… You’re going to see Dejun?” you asked. You mentally facepalmed. ‘Why else would they be here?!’ you thought. “Mhm” Lucas hummed in affirmation, nodding. Then he looked at toward the man on his left, who was looking back at him with a curious smirk. “Oh, this is Ten and Hendery” he said gesturing to the men either side of him. “We’re all friends with Dejun,” he explained. “O-oh, nice to meet you, I’m y/n, me and my friend just moved in a couple of weeks ago” you said, shifting on the spot, not noticing the footsteps steadily making their way up the stairs towards you. “So you’re the neighbour we’ve heard so much about?” said the boy to the right of him, apparently called Hendery. “You have?” you questioned, bewildered as to what they might know about you. Clearly those boys had been gossipping, not unlike yourself. You were somewhat saved however, as the person you had been waiting for appeared on your landing.

As Hendery opened his mouth to say something, you noticed your friend as he drew closer to you and your face lit up, excited and thankful he was here. “Kun!” “Hey cute stuff,” Kun smiled softly walking towards you, affectionately wrapping one arm around you before turning to face the three men on your landing. “And who might this be?” he said calmly, smiling at the boys. “Hey” you started, smiling up at him, then turning to the three mysterious men on the landing. “This is Lucas, Ten and Hendery, they’re all friends with Dejun, the neighbour upstairs”. “Ah, cool, pleased to meet you, I’m Kun” he said pleasantly, but almost ingenuinely, you thought, stretching out his arm to shake all of their hands. After shaking hands, an almost awkward silence ensued, and not being comfortable with such instances, you stirred the courage to speak up again. “Well, we should probably get back to the party, everyone’s been waiting for you Kun…” “Ah sure,” he said, giving your shoulder a squeeze. Awkward tension seemed to arise as you waited for a response from the surprisingly attractive group of men gathered on your landing. “Sure, well have a good night y/n” Lucas spoke, alleviating the silence and giving you a nod, before shifting slightly, signalling to the others it was time to move on. “Uhuh. You too,” you hummed as they turned to make their way up the next flight of stairs to Dejun’s flat.

When they were almost out of sight, Kun’s arm fell from your shoulder to his side as you turned to face him. “You’re late” you said half teasingly, half genuinely irritated, giving him a pouty look. “I know I’m sorry…” he said, pouting back at you. “Work things, you know…” You nodded in understanding. You were a little annoyed, but Kun’s work was important so you found it in yourself to let it go. “Shall we?” Kun continued, holding his hand out as to usher you back inside your apartment. You smiled brightly, glad he was finally here and made your way back into your apartment. “Interesting friends…” he uttered as you led him through the entrance corridor to your party. You shrugged stopping in your tracks to turn behind to look at him. “Oh, I just met them. Actually I thought they were you when I heard them coming up the stairs, I mean, that’s why I went to the door…” you admitted. Kun looked at you and chuckled affectionately. “Well, you were close, I’m here now” he said. “You are,” you said, grinning before taking Kun’s hands in yours and dragging him towards the open area between your living room and kitchen where most of the party seemed to be happening.

“HEY GUYS!! KUN’S HERE!”

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Taglist: @i-can-do-this-all-daaaaayyy @strayteezjinnie @yukine-smx @crybabybomin @lolibaaae @nizhonimoon

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[saedii-gilwraeth-simp]

Another World - TDC Holidays - Day 16

It’s my bisexual right to dress characters in pirate clothes

DAY 16

AU: PIRATES

POV: BILLY

Billy had never seen a scene so weird, although he has a feeling he would get used to it. The scene in question: Pirate Captain Arsinoe hanging upside down on the rigging, fighting one of the bosuns, Pietyr, the latter smiling in grim determination. Arsinoe looked like this was completely comfortable position to fight in and Billy was beginning to regret not running away to become a pirate earlier.

Admittedly, it hadn’t been in his life plan, which had been simple: meet a nice girl that he could love, settle down, utilise his family’s countryside manor and die in his sleep. And then his father had tried to make him marry Christine Hollen, who was nice enough, but deeply in love with his sister. He would have married her out of obligation, but she couldn’t do it and they both would have been miserable, so here he was by the grace of Christine’s ex-girlfriend, captain Arsinoe of the Royal Court.

Billy was immensely confused as to how the two had that kind of relationship in the first place, but neither gave him any information about it so he left it alone.

Arsinoe had made her way off the rigging now and was steadily pushing Pietyr back with smiling teeth, both still laughing as they got non-lethal hits in.

Emilia and Jules, the gunner and quartermaster respectively, were sitting on the deck, yelling support to whoever they were rooting for. Jules thumped her wooden leg on the deck as she yelled for Arsinoe to kick Pietyr’s ass and Emilia, who seems to have an ongoing friendly rivalry with Arsinoe, tells Pietyr he doesn’t get dinner if he doesn’t win.

It was looking like Pietyr would be going hungry tonight as Arsinoe grabs his sword wrist and twirls along the wingspan of his arms. She twirls out, taking his wrist with her, and suddenly Billy is dodging the sword that flies into the post where his head used to be.

Emilia shouts in disdain as Jules jumps up and swings an arm around Arsinoe’s much taller shoulders. Arsinoe hugs her best friend and second back and pokes her tongue out at Emilia.

“Sorry, Renard, maybe you can win your dinner next time,” Pietyr shakes her hand with a humorous smile.

~

Billy had been put on crow’s nest duty that night. He had relieved Mathilde after dinner and it was creeping into the early dawn when he heard someone approaching from the rigging, even though his shift wasn’t over for another few hours.

He was immensely surprised when Arsinoe popped into the crow’s nest, sitting beside him in one fluid motion. She didn’t seem particularly interested in him though, instead resting her head back to look at the stars with a sigh.

“Are you okay?” Billy asked, not sure of what the answer will be. Arsinoe was a master at covering her negative emotions under an easygoing facade. Billy had even heard she had had a knife pulled out of her stomach without interrupting the punchline of a joke she was telling. He wasn’t sure how legit that story was but it wouldn’t surprise him if it was true.

“Fine. How you handling the pirate life?” She said, smiling at him.

“Good. I never thought I would like it as much as I do. I just wish Christine could be free as well,” Billy said, but was tempted to backtrack as he saw Arsinoe frown slightly. “Sorry,” he says, but is waved off by her.

“It’s fine. Christine made her choice not to be here a long time ago. She told me that she was involved with your sister so I gave her contact information for Captain Bree of the Firebreather in case she ever wants to escape. It’s not my job any more to look after her.” Arsinoe picks one of her nails as she speaks and Billy can’t help be curious.

“How’d you two even meet? She doesn’t seem to type to hang out with pirates, no offence,” Billy asks, not expecting much of an answer. Arsinoe sighs.

“Do you know Camille Queen?” Arsinoe asks, and Billy takes a moment to think.

“The one who was a big, famous socialite until she apparently poisoned her youngest daughter?” Arsinoe clicks her tongue.

“Yeah, she’s my mother, and there was no apparently,” Billy stared at her in shock and Arsinoe gave him a wolfish smile, “I left after mum poisoned Kat and sent her to the sanatorium for rehab. Got myself out of there, took to the seas, found a new family, even if they can be a bit prickly. Haven’t been back since.” Billy stares at her, working through the math.

“Have you been a pirate since you were seven?” He asks with an incredulous tone. She just laughs.

“I spent some time with Jules’ family in the ports of Wolf Spring, but that only lasted for less than a year before people decided Jules was bad luck,” Billy looked at her in confusion, “her eyes are a symbol of a curse of insanity. We left after that and have been sailing ever since,” Arsinoe watched the stars and Billy is struck suddenly by young she is, younger than himself even.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Arsinoe waves him off.

“Don’t worry. I’m where I’m meant to be. As is everyone else here. As are you even if you may not feel like it just yet,” Arsinoe said quietly, nudging his shoulder. He didn’t say anything.

They watched the sun rise, neither moving.

TAG LIST: @poisonerrose​, @alwaysbored005​, @nataliaarronn​

[artnerd1123]

A Familiar World

Spring Sirensong  ——————————————

Outings in the seaside town were cold for Seraph’s first months of life. One can imagine her joy when it starts warming up. Of course, warmth isn’t the only thing awaiting her today... 

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

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I wrote this entirely in one day! Wild. I think this is the most productive I’ve been on a chapter since... ever slkjfd Anywho! It’s some fluff with ser, in which she makes some very important friends. Hope y’all enjoy ;3c

                                                    ————

The past handful of months had been... interesting. For one thing, the shop was still in its beta stages. Turns out running a shop is hard for newbies. Evangel struggled to get stock to sell, much less show off her repair abilities. It wasn’t odd that her familiar stepped up. Seraph might not have had much experience in anything, but she was gonna do her darndest to help. While Evangel fretted with displays, Seraph got people to come in and look around. As the tailor worried over fulfilling orders, Seraph got customers to make them. Even while Evangel figured out an organization system for her creations and the shop, Seraph made sure their living space was put together. The kitchen was gonna look nice whether Evangel could cook or not! All in all, Seraph thought they were a good team. A great team! All they really needed was… more progress. More customers. More solid business plans, and less making things up as they went. Evangel was the one handling money. Seraph couldn’t help with the budget yet. She’d get there some day! She was working really hard to make it happen! But there was only so much she could do. After all, she was only five months old. Young even for a familiar. Made sense that she’d take breaks to play around.

Today, a break came in the form of a walk. Seraph was ecstatic to be heading out. Usually, she had to get all bundled up to go outdoors!!! But it was getting warmer. That meant she could slip outside in just a cute little sundress. Evangel might not be happy with warmer weather, but Seraph was loving it. She hummed happily as she skipped along, wings fluttering excitedly behind her.  “Thanks for takin me with you, mama!” she chirped. Her eyes shone in the new spring light. Her first spring!!! She’d never seen so much green before. She couldn’t get enough of it. “It’s so pretty out today!!!” “O-oh… its alright, I guess…” Evangel sighed. “Hopefully there’ll be something good for spring designs…” The sorceress had a clipboard clutched tightly in her hand. One of her special design work ones, if Seraph was remembering right. She was already eager to see the final products. “Maybe there’ll be flowers!!!” Seraph gasped excitedly. She hadn’t seen those growing since October! “Flowers come with spring, right??? You could draw some of those!!! And use them for dresses!!!” “Mmm… maybe…” Evangel fidgeted with her hood, eyes on the sidewalk. “But will floral patterns even be in this year…?” Seraph paused. Seeing mama sad made her sad. Being sad wasn’t fun! She didn’t want any sad on this nice day!!! Time to work some of her newfound magic. She stopped her skipping to reach for Evangel’s hand. She gave her a smile, patting her hand gently. “They will if you like em!” the hybrid said simply. “I know they will, mama! You’re the best at everything when it comes to clothes!!!” “Oh… thats so sweet, ser,” Evangel smiled, waving a hand. “Thank you…” Seraph just beamed back. Yes! There was that smile. It made her happy. It meant she was doing a good job. “You’re welcome!!!” she giggled. “I can’t wait to see what you make!!!” “Well, I’ve got to sketch first!” Evangel chuckled softly. The two continued on in contented silence. Past the shops, past the apartments, past the taverns and restaurants… all the way to the edge of town. Near the end of the main road, Evangel stopped. Seraph stopped too, looking up curiously. “What’s wrong, mama?” she asked. Evangel glanced at her. Sighing, she held out a hand. “We’re going up to the sea cliffs, sweetie,” Evangel reminded her. “They can be very dangerous. Take my hand, alright? That means you stay with me until I say we can stop.” “Oh!!! Right!!!” Seraph nodded eagerly. Her little hoof fit snugly into Evangel’s hand. Hopping from foot to foot, her feathery tail wagged in time with her wings’ excited flapping. “I’m gonna be right here, mama! Don’t worry!” “That��s my little doll,” Evangel smiled. Together, they started off towards the cliffs. Originator and familiar, off to enjoy the view. What more could anyone want?

The sound of laughter and singing joined the crash of waves. Evangel was off in a patch of budding wildflowers, sketching to her heart’s content. She’d told Seraph to go play. As long as she could see her mama, Seraph knew she could go where she wanted. So! She was having fun! Singing nursery rhymes at the top of her lungs was amazing. They echoed all around!!! Tumbling down the incline was just as fun. Her sundress could wash- she wanted to feel the grass and dirt on her skin! The little hybrid giggled to herself as she flopped backwards. Her wings spread wide on the ground, she hummed happily in the sun.  I wonder what other stuff I’ll see in spring, she wondered eagerly. Would she see more animals? More cool monsters? More neighbors? Or- or maybe she could start a garden! Evangel needed flowers to observe, right? And they were so pretty! I should bring some back for her!!! As she scrambled to her feet, though, something caught her attention. A sound. A low, melodic crooning. Like the breeze, or the sound a pan flute makes. But… different. It had this echo to it, swirling the sound into something she’d never heard before. As if the ocean itself were weaving through the air. It froze the little familiar in place. “Wh… what’s…? What’s that…?” she whispered. As she listened, it rose and fell in pitch. She could hear some sort of voice in there. Was this... singing? Her eyes widened in realization. It was singing. Absolutely beautiful singing. She knew immediately that she had to meet the person responsible. She had to. “Is… is someone there?” She called. Nobody answered. The song, however, kept going. Her ears flicked forwards as she looked for the source. It had to be close! How could she hear it so well otherwise? Sure enough, she determined it was coming from the cliffs behind her. So close!!! Her face lit up with joy, and she took a step towards them- -only to stop a moment later. … didn’t mama say the cliffs were dangerous….? Her mind twittered nervously. Seraph glanced over her shoulder. Evangel was still sitting in the patch of wildflowers. Sketching quietly. Back facing her familiar. She didn’t seem to hear the voice at all. Seraph took a peek at the cliff top again. It wasn’t too far away. She could get up there in minutes. And Evangel could still see her from there, right? So, technically… this wouldn’t break any rules. It would be fine to go up there, she thought, turning back to the cliffs. Just this once… Slowly, steadily, Seraph made her way to the cliff top. The song got louder as she approached. Sound and desire drew her forward. The grass went all the way up to the edge. It was a little weird to see it end so abruptly. She stopped before the very edge, of course. No need to stand somewhere so risky. Especially when she didn’t know how to fly.  She settled on her hands and knees, figuring she could take a peek this way. The haunting melody caressed her ears as she leaned forward. Just one peek at the singer… that’s all she wanted… just… one… peek… Seraph gasped loudly. Eyes sparkling, she stared down at the waves below. Something was sitting on the rocks. Or rather, someone. Someone with beautifully shiny fins, and glistening scales. Someone in soft, pretty shades of green and blue. Someone with little spots of pink and yellow along her back, and lovely stripes down her tail. Somehow, seraph knew exactly what she was looking at. A siren. And she was singing. Seraph couldn’t move from the spot. A siren! A real, living, breathing siren! Right there! She’d only seen mention of them in books at the library. The mention of their singing had made her feel warm inside. Like finding someone else who dedicated themself to your passion. Yes, they were dangerous. But she still loved them. She loved them a lot. Evangel had only ever taken home books about clothes, but music- and sirens- had been on Seraph’s mind since she learned how to read. She’d read all she could about them while they were at the library. And now… there was a siren. Right in front of her. She was absolutely spellbound. Setting her head on her hands, Seraph made herself comfortable. She was gonna stay there for as long as she could. The siren, meanwhile, seemed to know she had an audience. She’d sat up straighter, sending her song rolling far along the waves. One can imagine seraph’s sheer delight when a few more sirens surfaced. There were two of them now! No, three- four- five! Five sirens! All of them clustered on the rocks below. A blissful hum drifted from the familiar as they all began to sing. Their sound mixed perfectly… her own private symphony… … were they looking at her? Seraph blinked. Hastily sitting up, she hid herself in her wings. Peeking through her feathers, stared back in shock. They were! The sirens were looking up at her! They were too far away for her to make out expressions, but their song had changed. It was less wandering, and more… inviting. Encouraging. Welcoming. …. Are they… singing to me…? Quiet surprise continued as the sirens gathered closer. They were all such pretty colors, but varying ones, too. Like a bouquet of musical flowers. She just watched as they wove a song together. In the midst of their enchanting tune, the first started singing something new. It took Seraph a minute to recognize. When she did, she jumped a bit. Her nursery rhymes! She was singing her nursery rhymes! That meant- that meant they’d heard her singing up here! A siren is singing my songs to me, she thought, awestruck. A siren and her friends… they’re… they’re singing my songs to me… If heaven could come early, Seraph believed she’d found it. She shut her eyes, smiling softly. Just letting the music and joy wash over her. When the sirens’ song turned inviting again, Seraph found herself drawn to sing. She was small. She hadn’t been around for long. She could only manage to carry a simple tune so far. There were sirens singing down there. But, nonetheless… she let her voice join theirs. Just a little familiar, singing songs with sirens. In the moment… there was nowhere she’d rather be.

But, of course, it could only last so long. 

“SERAPH, GET DOWN FROM THERE!” a voice shouted. Seraph startled so badly, she nearly rolled off the cliff. Her wings slapped against the dirt as she scrambled to her feet.  The sirens below her quit singing, hopping off their rock. The familiar let out a cry of dismay as they disappeared under the water. Her new friends! Oh no! Glancing around fearfully, her eyes fell on the source of the yelling. Evangel was running up towards her. From the look on her face, she wasn’t too happy about where her familiar had gone. Seraph’s ears drooped anxiously as she approached. Oh no- mama’s so mad at me, she thought guiltily. “Seraph!” Evangel called again, once she got close enough. “What were you thinking, coming up here?! I told you it was dangerous!” “I-I- um- I-I’m sorry mama- I’m sorry-” seraph stammered, looking anywhere but her originator. She cowered away as Evangel got closer. But Evangel just scooped her up into a hug. A very tight, very worried hug. “Don’t you do that again,” Evangel murmured. “I thought you’d left me. Or fallen over the side. Don’t do that to me.” “I-I won’t, mama,” seraph sniffled, hugging her back. She buried her face in Evangel’s shoulder. “‘M s-sorry…” “I forgive you, sweetie…” Evangel sighed. Turning away from the cliff, the sorceress started back towards the flower patch. “Why did you go up there, anyways? What made you want to do that?” “I… um… h-heard a pretty song…” seraph mumbled. She pulled back to look at Evangel. Guilt was clear on her face. “I w-wanted to see wh-who was singing…” Evangel’s distressed expression seemed to soften at Seraph’s face. Or at least shifted to one of discomfort. “... oh… you mean the… sirens…?” She asked haltingly. Seraph nodded. “... ah.” Evangel shifted Seraph to her hip as they reached the flowers. Crouching down to grab her clipboard, she continued. “Yes, there are sirens by the cliff. But you need not worry. The cliffs are enchanted to keep their strange songs from bewitching people.” Seraph felt her face grow a bit hot. Strange songs? She fidgeted with her paws timidly. “W-well... i thought they were nice…” she whispered. Evangel hesitated a moment. Yeah, that was clear discomfort on her face. Seraph vaguely recalled she made that face a lot. Especially whenever her familiar wasn’t happy. “... mmm… perhaps…” the sorceress admitted. She tucked her clipboard under her free arm. “... did you… really like them…?” She inquired.. Seraph just nodded again shyly. Evangel was silent for a moment. Considering something. “... you know… there’s no harm in coming down to listen, sometimes,” Evangel ventured uncertainly. “As long as you don’t… you know… move too close to the edge…” Seraph’s eyes widened. Was she hearing this right? “S-so… I can come back?” She asked softly. “Hmm… yes. You can,” Evangel nodded. “Just be careful, alright?” Seraph’s face positively lit up. Beaming, she hugged Evangel again. “Thank you so so so much mama!!!” she bleated. “I swear I’ll be careful!!! Really! Cross my heart and everything!!!” Evangel chuckled awkwardly, giving seraph a pat. “Y-yes, well, I’m glad to hear it, but it’ll be later. We have to go get lunch now.” “That’s ok!!! I’m plenty ready for food!” Seraph chirped. She felt like she was riding on a cloud. As long as she could come back to that beautiful singing sometime, she didn’t care what she had to do. She leaned on Evangel happily, humming shreds of sirensong. 

The walk back from the cliffs was filled with quiet music. It may have been the first sirensong of spring, but it was certainly not the last.

[gwydionae]

(Keep My) Back to You

A/N: My second Naruto fic in a month, and it’s even a chapter fic (if I don’t give up and decide it’s fine as a one shot, anyway). 19-year-old me would be proud. 25-year-old me would be appalled. Current me is choosing to revel in the past for a bit. Never enough Naruto and Sasuke friendship fics in the world anyway.

Posted on fanfiction.net >here<.

Teaser: Naruto just wants a friend. Sasuke will never allow himself to have one. But heavy burdens carried by small backs feel lighter when the load is shared with others.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Eventual canon divergence. Rated T for eventual mild language and violence.

Chapter 1: Classmates

"Naruto! You can't afford to not pay attention with as pitiful as your grades are! Now sit up!"

The boy in question couldn't help fidgeting in his seat as their teacher droned on about basic grammar. Learning parts of speech seemed pointless on the best of days - a ninja should care more about a kunai being sharp than whether it's a noun or a verb - so it was no surprise that he couldn't be bothered to listen on a day as important as this. To anyone else, such a cool and cloudy day would seem as dull and ordinary as any other, but this day was special because it had the potential to change everything he'd known for seven lonely years.

Today he was going to do it. Today he was determined to at long last make a friend. And not just any friend. He was stubborn in his selection: Sasuke Uchiha, star of the class who could do no wrong in neither the teachers' nor students' eyes. Sasuke, who could throw shuriken even better than those instructing him and passed all written tests with ease.

Sasuke, who very recently had been found the sole survivor of the Uchiha after the massacre of his entire clan in a single night.

Naruto absently doodled on his paper, his glances up directed less at their teacher and more at the back of the boy in front of him and the symbol of the clan of one displayed there. He may not have understood what it was like to have people he cared about cruelly ripped away, but he more than understood the result. The constant loneliness that came with an empty house left an uncomfortable, hollow feeling in his small chest, a feeling that only grew in strength whenever he saw parents picking up their kids from school or his classmates' lovingly prepared lunches. He found ways to earn attention during the day, usually in the form of scolding or jeering, but it was never enough to ignore the emptiness as he lay curled up in bed at night.

A grin slid across his face. All that was going to change today, he was sure of it. If he had even one person, anyone that he could talk with, eat with, train with, than that uncomfortable feeling would finally go away. He just had to keep an eye out for an opening.

"Get out of the way, Naruto! I'm trying to talk to Sasuke-kun!"

Openings, however, Naruto found to be both plentiful and nonexistent.

While he had of course always known the boy by reputation, now that he was properly trying to start up a conversation with Sasuke, it was obvious that none of his brilliant plans were likely to work. Naruto was eager and optimistic, desperately wanting to simply run up and chatter away. But this seemed to be the very last thing that Sasuke wanted as anytime one of their classmates shoved past Naruto to speak with him, he'd either fix them with an annoyed glare or ignore them outright. Whether the person was offering their sympathies or paying him a compliment didn't seem to matter; the sullen boy did everything he could to distance himself despite the constant crowd.

Having a desire to be alone was something that Naruto simply couldn't make heads or tails of. Being alone was painful. He had thought that, like himself, Sasuke would want the attention he was to never again receive at home. And he could offer not just attention but understanding, understanding of a life without parents or homemade lunches. The two of them would never have to hear the other complain about how unfair their dad was for forcing them to eat vegetables or boast about how their mom had promised to buy them their own katana for their birthday. They could simply enjoy each other's company without worry of any sudden pangs of jealousy or looks of pity.

But after failing all day to try and catch Sasuke in a moment where he was both alone and not shooting death glares at people, Naruto's enthusiasm began to wane. He wouldn't give up hope, of course - just because he hadn't found an opening today didn't mean there wouldn't be one tomorrow - but he'd been so confident that this would be the first night he'd fall asleep knowing that someone out there was looking forward to seeing him when he woke up.

"Ew, don't you have anything else to wear? That shirt is so dirty! You smell! Go sit somewhere else!"

He had one last chance of making that dream become reality. When classes were finally over, Sasuke would head back toward the Uchiha Compound which was tucked away in its own corner of the village, opposite from the homes of his fellow classmates. It'd be the perfect opportunity to face him one-on-one. Maybe he could even coax him into going to Ichiraku's for dinner; he didn't really have enough money to be paying for someone else's meal on top of his own, but what better way to pique a lonely orphan's interest than with free food?

With a plan set, Naruto impatiently tapped his foot as his stare practically bore holes into the clock on the classroom wall, willing it to hurry up. Twenty minutes left. Ten minutes left. Seven, five, two, one minute left...

The teacher finally announced the end of class, and Naruto leapt to his feet with a grin. This was it. He had to keep a close eye on Sasuke who had somehow already attracted a small crowd of admirers wishing him a good night. The farewells went ignored same as all the comments directed at the scowling boy that day as Sasuke steadily made his way toward the exit, Naruto keeping his eyes glued to his retreating back. He was just about to follow him out the door when a stern voice called out to him. The teacher wanted him to stay behind.

"I've taught four-year-olds less pathetic than you."

Naruto protested loudly as he got an earful detailing his latest failing test scores and lack of ability to stay focused in class. Only too late did he realize that his protesting was doing more to stall him further than help him escape, and by the time his teacher was done with him, it'd been almost ten minutes, and Sasuke was no where in sight.

Racing off in the general direction of the Uchiha Compound, Naruto kept his eyes peeled for any signs of a lone kid walking home with a grumpy face and hands shoved in pockets. Seeing no trace of him along the most direct path, with a frustrated huff, he began combing nearby streets in case his target had taken a detour.

"What's that monster planning now? Running around like a maniac - up to no good as usual, I'd bet!"

The sun was already setting by the time Naruto finally decided to give up for the night. Sasuke was surely home by now, and not only did he not know exactly which house was Sasuke's, but he wasn't sure he was quite brave enough to try and talk to the other boy in the midst of a newly made ghost town. He'd have to keep a closer eye out tomorrow for an opening. With a sigh, he began his defeated trudge back to his empty apartment.

It was by pure chance that he saw him. Passing by a still lake at the bottom of a hill off the side of the road, Naruto glanced down, eyes trailing to the end of a short dock where a small, hunched figure sat with his feet dangling over the edge.

The sight of Sasuke caused his excitement to roar back to life, and he struggled to suppress the urge to run down the hill with a cheery greeting. If he had learned anything that day - much to his teacher's chagrin - it was that Sasuke didn't respond well to unwanted chatter, and it was too late to implement his plan of offering to buy dinner. Naruto would have to start slow. He hated holding his tongue; it went against his very nature. But this moment was too big, too important to ruin by repeating everyone else's mistakes.

His mind made up, Naruto purposefully walked down the hill and across the dock, plopping himself on the wooden planks directly behind Sasuke, leaning his back ever so slightly against the other boy's.

He kept his mouth tightly clenched as he felt Sasuke's back stiffen against his own, but if there was a glare directed at him, Naruto didn't see it, and not a single word laced with hostility could be heard. Determined, he sat there in silence, watching clouds and birds fly by as the sun sank lower behind him. It was nice, in a way, he supposed. A bit too quiet for his liking, but he couldn't remember being so close to someone before without them making rude comments or pushing him away. And as the tension left Sasuke's back, Naruto's face lit up with a bright smile. It was a start.

The two boys sat on the dock until the sun had almost completely vanished below the horizon. By this point, Naruto couldn't keep his fidgeting in check any longer. Springing to his feet, he stretched loudly before turning his smile down to his still seated companion who was glancing up at him over his shoulder. Naruto genially gave Sasuke a light pat on the back.

"See you tomorrow, Sasuke!"

Not waiting for a response, he turned to leave with an awkward wave.

"...yeah."

It was amazing how one, small word could cause his chest to lighten. Feeling more alive than he could ever remember feeling before, Naruto ran home at top speed, easily ignoring the offended looks cast his way as he laughed and grinned through the darkened streets. He felt warm as he ate his dinner of cup ramen alone, and the smile was still firmly on his face when he at last snuggled into bed that night.

Maybe, just maybe his plan had worked. Maybe someone would be happy to see him tomorrow. Maybe he had just made his first friend. ____________________________________

"Morning, Sasuke!"

Feeling a familiarly awkward pat on his back, Sasuke glanced over his shoulder to see big, blue eyes and a wide grin leaning over the desk behind him. Normally he'd choose to acknowledge such a greeting with a glare, but he found the annoyance not quite reaching his eyes, and he offered up a stiff nod instead before quickly turning back around.

Naruto had never been someone he'd paid a lot of attention to. He knew of him by reputation, of course. Who didn't? Even the elite ANBU had been witnessed dragging him off to the Hokage's office on occasion. But proving himself to his father had always been Sasuke's primary goal, and therefore he had never had much time or patience to direct toward the kid with the lowest grades in the class. Besides, everyone else did that for him.

"Naruto! Stop bothering him! He doesn't want someone like you touching him, do you, Sasuke-kun?"

And yet somehow, for maybe fifteen whole minutes, Sasuke had managed to feel a sense of calm out on that dock, Naruto's back against his, a silent, firm reminder of the other's presence.

Ever since the night that had so drastically changed his life, every moment, every breath felt like a battle, whether he was awake or fighting off nightmares. He would see splashes of red out of the corner of his eyes, feel his heart pound at shadows, hear his brother's voice on the wind. Combating the fear and despair with determination and anger would work for a time, but as he reached the limit of his endurance, the weight of his guilt and responsibility would crush down on him with far greater force. The war against his threatening tears was nearly always lost when he was alone in his bed.

Sasuke didn't like going home anymore. Much as the constant nagging of his peers got on his nerves, being around them was generally preferable to the deathly stillness the once lively Uchiha Compound now offered. He often stayed out as late as possible, usually to continue his training, dreading the moment he'd once again have to set foot in a large, empty house. The lake had become neutral ground. There was no comfort in sitting there, not really, but the breeze and rippling water had a tendency to lull him into a bit of a trance, hollowing him out just enough to make it home and scrape together a quick meal before a flood of emotions could overwhelm him.

Until yesterday, that is. Yesterday had been different. It was the first time in the week or so since his brother's betrayal that anyone had simply sat with him quietly, simply shared in his existence. The silence that brought no comfort while alone had acted as a soothing balm in another's presence. Why Naruto of all people would cause such a reaction he didn't know. Perhaps it didn't matter who it was. Perhaps anyone could have sat down behind him and stirred the same emotions. Whether that was true or not, Sasuke couldn't deny his longing to return to that feeling of peace.

Abruptly shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the lesson. He couldn't be thinking that way. He had to focus on more important things.

"Wow, Sasuke! You didn't get a single question wrong! Can copy off of you next time? I'm kidding! I'm kidding!"

Dropping the subject completely, however, turned out to be easier said than done. It wasn't unusual that he found himself surrounded by admirers, but he couldn't remember if Naruto had ever been counted among them. He guessed not as everyone else was doing their best to keep the increasingly frustrated looking boy away from their precious Sasuke Uchiha, not allowing him to get too close.

A part of him was relieved at his entourage's behavior. Last night had awakened Sasuke's awareness of the other boy, and now Naruto could only be labeled a distraction. If he wasn't careful, that warm, firm back could tempt him with a false sense of peace, maybe even trust and belonging. But that couldn't happen. He wouldn't allow it to happen.

And yet another part of him cried out for even just fifteen more minutes of that foreign tranquility last night on the dock had given him. He greedily wanted more of the freely offered gift. His heart was ready to betray his head for the smallest drop of water, the quickest gulp of air, the tiniest glimpse of the sun.

But his head had to win. He had to stay focused, for his sake and Naruto's. A drop of water wasn't worth a puddle of blood.

"That was amazing, Sasuke-kun! Teach me how to do that? Please?"

Everything was so much easier when people wanted to take from Sasuke Uchiha, the heir and idol, rather than give.

Sasuke hurried out of the classroom as soon as they were dismissed, foregoing his usual, lightly traveled route home for one packed with crowds. Glancing back cautiously, a head of bright blonde hair was trying desperately to keep up. He couldn't allow it. He forged ahead, quickening his pace, determined to lose his tail.

Classmates, parents, strangers on the street, all tried to stop him as he passed. He shook off outstretched hands and ignored calls of his name, wondering if such things were giving away his position. He needed to hide. A nearby weapons shop caught his eye, and he quickly ducked inside.

With every ounce of the stealth training that had been drilled into him since he first learned to walk, Sasuke hid amongst a rack of belts and holsters and peered out through the front window. Not a minute had passed when confused blue eyes came into view, straining in all directions to track down where his prey had gone. Sasuke held his breath, but he didn't have to wait long before the zealous boy darted off down the street, leaving the shop behind. A sigh of relief escaped from the nearly cornered target.

Needing to put some distance between them, Sasuke pretended to browse the small shop. The owner's scowl turned into what he must have thought a welcoming smile upon seeing the red and white fan on the young boy's back.

"Uchiha, right? You know, my daughter is around your age. She's a real cutie! Let me introduce you!"

Having no desire to meet a fussy four-year-old, Sasuke blurted out some story about being in a hurry. After a bit more clipped but polite refusing to stay, he ran out the door, heading for the nearest side street. Whether his pursuer saw him or not, he needed to get away from the suffocating crowds.

It took him longer than he would have liked to find the lake. With a sigh, Sasuke walked to the end of the dock, sitting with his feet dangling over the edge as he always did. To the casual observer, the day would have seemed barely different from the last several. But that one difference - that one difference with bright, blonde hair and big, blue eyes - had wedged itself into a corner of Sasuke's brain, forcing him to be aware of it at all times. And he didn't like it.

In a perverse way, he wished he'd seen splashes of red rather than tufts of blonde, heard his brother's voice over that of another little boy's. Death and grief were his past, present, and future, inescapable truths he could never outrun. But Naruto had the choice to remain separate. He didn't have to get in the way, push himself in front of Sasuke, inadvertently creating a seductively short path toward his revenge. No one needed to put themselves there. Sasuke wouldn't let anyone put themselves there.

His brooding thoughts were interrupted by sandaled feet on wooden planks and a small back resting against his own.

Sasuke didn't turn around. If he didn't see who sat behind him, he could imagine it to be anyone, a stranger just passing by and offering some quiet comfort. He could pretend that he was accompanied by an immortal, invisible companion, that he wasn't doomed to be viciously and utterly alone. The silence would soothe him, and he never had to confront its identity.

"It's pretty nice here. Do you come here a lot?"

His back stiffened and shoulders tensed. He ignored the question, heart and mind both imploring the intruder not to break the stillness again. Naruto seemed to realize his mistake as it was another few minutes before he tried a second time.

"What's your favorite food? I love ramen! It tastes so good, and it's nice and hot when it gets all cold out."

Sasuke wasn't even sure he'd ever tried ramen.

"There's a lot of hot food you could eat when it's cold out, idiot."

The words had left his mouth before his brain had a chance to stop them. He'd meant to continue ignoring the other boy, but something about this conversation - if you could call it that - felt off, something that loosened his tongue to a worrying degree.

"I know that, jerk! Ramen's just the best of all of them!"

But then it struck Sasuke just what was so different from every other plea for his attention. There had been no mention of his grades, his skill, his clan; no expectations about how he was supposed to react; no attempts to gain anything aside from the knowledge of what kind of food he preferred. Naruto didn't seem to want anything from the last Uchiha in Konoha, the so-called genius of their class. Only from Sasuke, a seven-year-old orphan.

The two continued to sit in silence as the realization churned Sasuke's stomach. It should have been a pleasant change of pace, being faced with someone who seemed to care little about his status. But he would never be just a boy again. He couldn't. He had to be Sasuke Uchiha, unmatched shinobi, killer of Itachi, patriarch of a nearly extinct clan.

He couldn't want what he feared Naruto would offer.

"Do you wanna go get some? Ramen, I mean. Ichiraku's has the best in the whole village, and it's not too far from here. I can pay for both of us. Whaddya think?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Sasuke found himself looking into a slightly nervous yet excited face. His heart clenched with dread, and he paused briefly before responding.

"Why?"

Safely anchored on this neutral dock, he could allow himself to steal a few minutes of serenity from Naruto. But nothing more. Anything more would be too much. Too dangerous. Too painful. His prayer that it wasn't already was an exercise in futility.

"Well, I - I've always heard that food tastes even better if you eat it with - with a friend."

Sasuke shot to his feet, hoping the trembling in his limbs went unnoticed.

"We're not friends! Now stop following me around, and leave me alone, you loser!"

He hadn't so much as glanced at Naruto before sprinting the entire way to his empty house, panting heavily as he wrenched the front door open, stumbled inside, and slammed it shut behind him. Mechanically removing his sandals and dropping his bag, he shuffled through the house until he was again kneeling in the room where his brother had cut their parents' lives short. He took a shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry. I'll avenge you. I promise I will! But I won't - I can't be like - like him. I can't gain power the way he did! I can't lose anyone else. I'm - I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'll get stronger another way. I promise. I promise! Please. I'm sorry. I'm - I'm sorry..."

It was dark when Sasuke fell into a fitful sleep on the floor, eyes red and puffy. His heart ached, crying out for the companionship he'd been offered as the vast emptiness of the compound constricted around his tiny body. But it didn't matter who the offer came from; not one of the many seeking to take, or Naruto who had only given. He would never accept.

It was impossible to be tempted to kill his best friend for power if there was no one he called friend in the first place. ____________________________________ 

A/N: I can’t for the life of me write a Naruto fic that fits with canon. Thanks, Itachi.

As always, critics and grammar police are appreciated!

Chapter 2 on tumblr >here<.

[theravenshade]

Of Life and Death

Hi! I'm Raven! This is my first writing that I'm posting on here, and I'm really happy with it! I'd like to expand on the little universe I've created here and I really hope you like it!

Beginning of Life

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

Nobunaga walked the world with Anastasia. The highbeing of Earth gushed animatedly over her work, quite proud and eager to show it off to the highbeing of Conquest. While she showed off anything from vast oceans and steep mountains to quaint fields and mysterious forests, Nobunaga simply observed with a keen eye. She had done well, but the world had yet to replicate his vision.

"-llo? Nobunaga?" Anastasia waved her hands before his crimson gaze. They had stopped in a rather beautiful spot, a secluded clearing at the base of a mountain. It was rich in greenery, and the sound of trickling water could be heard from a small waterfall at it's very edge. There were a few flowers dusted about. It wasn't an even sprinkling in any set location, but a clump of hydrangeas did seem to favor the outskirts near the shade. Tall, sturdy trees outlined the hidden oasis with bracken sprinkled throughout. Some of the rocks near the mountain glistened with water and others were home to moss and vine, creeping around to find a comfortable home.

"You have done well, Anastasia." Nobunaga smiled, tilting his head. Anastasia gaped at him, she certainly hadn't expected him to praise her. While she was proud of her work, Nobunaga's face gave off no emotion and it had unsettled her. "Oh uh-" she sputtered. "Well, I put particular effort into this one spot." Nobunaga nodded, once more glancing about the whimsical glade. "I can tell. And this place shall be the birth of Life itself."

Anastasia blinked at Nobunaga as he strode past her and walked until the water reached his waist. What was happening? Confusion swept through her being and she took a step forward, now hyperaware of the abundance, and at the same time lack, of life around her. Of the lush grass underneath her feet, the earthy scent of soil and the swaying of leaves in the wind. What was Nobunaga doing?

Anastasia took another step, planning to get closer when a bright light flared up. She gasped and stumbled backwards, throwing a hand over her eyes in shock. She held it there for a moment in order to adjust to the sudden intrusion into her pupils before slowly lowering it. His hand seemed to glow with the force of fire and something in the water responded in kind. Thrusting his hand into the water, Conquest began to walk backwards, leading from the water the figure of a woman who seemed to glow.

She was beautiful, a small wisp of a woman with hair reminiscent of the sun. She was tan, warm, eyes the color of the sky on a cloudless day, and naked. She was completely naked. Like, super naked. Naked as the day a babe is born, in a way she was.

Anastasia quickly covered her eyes to respect the new Highbeing's privacy, and the new young woman flushed brightly once she realized her own nakedness. Nobunaga waved a hand in her direction and attractive robes materialized over her form.

He went to stand beside Anastasia, admiring the new Highbeing who grabbed fistfulls of her clothing in both curiosity and fear. "Welcome to earth, Rome. Bringer of Life."

Beginning of Death

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

Conquest, Earth, and Life were by themselves for not more than a week before the first two realized that there was a problem. Rome loved her job. Loved her job. She loved it to the point that there were far too many creatures roaming about for the time being, and Anastasia wasn't near finished with her job yet. But there wasn't quite a way to get rid of them. They only multiplied and their numbers never dwindled, Rome could not bear to senselessly part with her creations as she was prone to her emotions and had a rather large heart. Due to this, Nobunaga struggled with his next decision, as neither he nor Anastasia wished to harm the princess in any way.

One day, Nobunaga went to visit Rome and see what else she had come up with. While her frequent creations were currently causing a problem, they were rather interesting. Before he had the chance to properly look for her, she had already found him. "Oh! Nobunaga!" Rome chirped. "There you are! Look at who I made!" She grinned brightly, darting up close and holding out her hands. In them, a quartet of small fuzzy creatures remained still other than the occasional twitching of a round ear or long tail. Nobunaga studied them. Though he would never ever admit it, they were rather cute and reminded him of Rome. He tilted his head when an idea began to take shape.

"And what do you call them?" He brought a finger up to pet them and they wiggled closer. "These are mice." Her eyes glowed, pleased. "I would like to give them to you as a gift." This was no surprise and he should expect nothing less, as Rome had frequently sought Anastasia and himself out in order to gift them a new creature. Her eyes earnestly sought his and any sort of reaction. His face remained still, except for a small smile which never gave anything away much to Anastasia and Rome's distress. "I will take one, any instructions?" His deep voice rumbled as the idea continued to bloom and take shape within his mind. "Just keep it away from the foxes!" Rome smiled before kneeling, and letting them scamper from her palms and into the grass. "No matter what I do, the foxes always seem too fond of chasing them. I'm afraid they'll eat them up!" Nobunaga continued to smile, quite pleased with what he would soon do.

---

Nobunaga excused himself from Rome's company and traveled up the mountain by her birthplace. He climbed up to the water source which fed into her waterfall and walked forward. There was a cave in which a white fox had crafted his den. Nobunaga held the mouse in his hands, looking down at the little thing. She blinked, but lay very still as he closed his hands. His hands grew colder than ice, so cold that if anyone touched them they would not be able to recognize any sign of life. Despite this, the mouse remained unharmed. He kneeled and let go of the small animal, watching as she ran straight for the cave.

He waited. The sun dipped low in the sky, day turned to night, and when feeling a shift of power, Nobunaga stood ready to leave. He strode to the path that would take him back down to earth and looked back. Two pale, golden glowing eyes were peering at him from the dark cave.

When Life met Death

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

The world was dark and Rome had retreated to her clearing for the night. She strung up her hair in a ponytail with a ribbon and began to disrobe to bathe in a nearby hotspring. She knew that Nobunaga and Anastasia would be nowhere nearby, so she could avoid what happened when she was first born. Honestly, a traumatizing experience. Golden eyes followed her form from the shadows.

Rome lowered herself into the warm water and relaxed a moment, humming to herself. She enjoyed quiet moments like these, but had often wondered what it might be like to not be alone as often as she was. It didn't feel right, Anastasia got to work closely with Nobunaga and vice versa. It wasn't fair to be this lonely. This train of thought always upset her, it was as if there was a part of her that was missing. That something was wrong, and the feeling was only amplified by the chill she felt in the air. It was almost electric, and it grew steadily stronger. It made the warmth in her blood respond in kind and call out. Rome sat up and turned around. Blue eyes met Yellow.

She was only startled a moment before relaxing. Those were the eyes of a fox, one of her fondest creations. Rome turned around and leaned on the edge of the spring, holding out her hand and cooing softly to the creature. But what came forward was no animal. Her eyes widened as a tall man with hair of white stalked slowly forward, a foxlike grin on his handsome face. "Well well, what little mouse waits for me here?" She screamed.

---

Rome stalked into Azuchi castle, the stranger following behind with a smug smile seemingly permanently stuck on his face. Anastasia looked up from pouring sake for Nobunaga, quite alarmed. First at the frazzled expression Rome bore since she was not one to be seen without a smile, and second at the mysterious man following behind her. Rome had gotten to creating people? No, not yet. This man was no mortal. Anyone could feel it.

Nobunaga sipped the sake to hide a smile. "Welcome, Rome. You're usually not one for staying in the castle, what brings you to us this evening?" His eyes glimmered, more than suggesting that he knew exactly why. "This-this is a stranger!" Rome spat out, the epitome of stress. "Who is he? Where did he come from! I know I didn't make him! Not only that, but he was watching me while I bathed!" Her words came rapid fire, but Nobunaga was prepared for each and every one of them.

"Rome, Bringer of Life, meet Mitsuhide. Your jobs are quite important and you both shall be working with one another from here on out. He came from your creations, the fox and the mouse." Nobunaga finished his sake before pouring more for all of them. "Come sit, the both of you."

Mitsuhide took a seat, grabbing the cup and bringing it to his lips for a long sip. He had made himself right at home with zero signs of discomfort. Oh this was good, he'd have to get some more of this. He mused silently to himself. Rome followed, albeit more hesitantly, and sat far away from the newcomer. "How will we work together? He is far too cold for creating life." Rome frowned, genuinely confused as to what Nobunaga was thinking. "Not life, princess." Mitsuhide spoke up and the glowing, translucent form of a mouse appeared upon his shoulder. The mouse sent by Nobunaga. "You took her...?" Rome breathed out, chest aching. "No, princess. She was given as a gift." Mitsuhide watched the form of the mouse wander to Rome before vanishing in a fine mist.

The ache in Rome's heart lessened, but she was still wary about working with him and Nobunaga could tell. He hummed, deep in his chest. "I'm afraid you can not get out of working with Mitsuhide, Rome. You must always be able to find each other. I'm afraid I must put in place a preventative measure." Rome seemed to deflate. Mitsuhide was only more entertained. Anastasia was confused. Nobunaga was doing everything he could not to laugh.

---

Rome trailed after Mitsuhide, feet dragging along the ground as they left castle grounds. She stopped walking. Her eyes were stuck to the red thread tied around her finger that led to him. They were stuck together. It wouldn't break, nor would it expand more than roughly 20 feet. Preventative measure... how in the world was that a preventative measure!? A soft sigh escaped her lips. Okay, so Nobunaga must've known she would've tried to avoid him no matter what.

Mitsuhide turned to face Rome, the tugging on the string indicating that she had stopped. "Why, little mouse, whatever could be the matter?" He asked, slinking over, walking until he stood directly in front of her. "Surely working with me isn't the reason for the dismay plastered all over that pretty face?" He rumbled softly, bringing up a finger to stroke her cheek. Rome subconsciously leaned into his touch. She marvelled at how warm his skin was despite the chill that surrounded him before wrenching herself away. What was she doing? What had gotten into her? The feeling that bloomed theough her chest frightened her and she didn't recognize it. It was strong, and it scared her.

"I just.." Rome trailed off quietly. "Why would you take her?" She murmured, looking down at her bare feet. "I didn't simply take her. She was given as a gift." Mitsuhide replied, observant eyes watching her. "Not from Nobunaga, but from you, Rome. And I will cherish every gift sent from you from here on out." With those words, the ache in Rome's chest finally disappeared.

Life looked up to meet the eyes of Death and knew that everything would be okay. Death looked into the eyes of Life and knew that she was his future.

[teshknowledgenotes]

THE GAMBLER – WILLIAM C REMPEL – NOTES

WHY?

Jay Vasantharajah recommended this book, I read his blog post about it and wanted to learn more.

THOUGHTS 

Crazy how far Kirk got in life financially, just by using leverage, loans and moving his money around avoiding bankruptcy and just being fearless taking out loan after loan and buying more profitable businesses.

Chapter 1

Kirk nurses a small charter air service through cycles of hard times after the war, until selling his company for a windfall fortune. But the gambler decided to bet it all on some kind of capitalist trifecta. Suddenly, he was on business news pages across the country risking huge sums in a puzzling range of eclectic markets. He called it “the leisure industry”.

On the West Coast he moved to control America's oldest commercial airline. In New York and Hollywood he waged a takeover battle for the faltering but fabled MGM Studios. In Las Vegas he built the world's biggest hotel – despite a secret campaign to stop him by rival Howard Hughes, the country's richest man. At the same time, Kirk snatched Bugsy Siegel's Flamingo casino out from under decades of mob control. He mad Elvis Presley a Vegas icon.

Overnight he was a major player in the movie, resorts, and gaming industries. Friends would call him a “deal junkie”, addicted to financial thrills, whether at a craps table or at the negotiating table. Two more times he would build the world's biggest hotel. In business as in gambling, Kirk believed there was no point in placing small bets.

In later years he would shake up the automobile industry with separate takeover bids for each of the Big Three carmakers.

There were no tycoons in Kirk's family tree. His immigrant father an illiterate farmer and fruit peddler, was in constant financial trouble. Kirk learned English and how to brawl growing up in Los Angeles. Eviction was a recurring family predicament. He said he studied in the school of hard knocks. It turned out to be an advanced course in survival and the value of trust, loyalty and hard work.

He avoided press interviews most of his life, making him appear reclusive. He hated being compared to the hermit like Howard Hughes, whom he otherwise admired. Kirk had a thriving social life with celebrity friends and business associates among them Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Tony Curtis. He was often noted in news and gossip columns attending charity and other public events. He double-dated with Cary Grant, and their families vacationed together.

Kirk was soft-spoken and understated with a paralyzing fear of public speaking. Kirk wanted his name on nothing – not on buildings, not on street signs, not even on his personal parking spot at MGM Studios. And Kirk never defaulted on a loan and always regarded his handshake as a binding contract.

Kirk travelled without an entourage. He carried his own bags and drove his own car, typically a Ford Taurus or Jeep Cherokee. He jogged the streets of Beverly Hills and walked to lunches without a bodyguard. He refused comps, personally paying for meals and rooms even at his own hotels. Once after a business trip to New York, Kirk was halfway to La Guardia Airport when he ordered his driver back into the city. He had forgotten to tip the maids at The Pierre Hotel.

He gave away millions to charity and to people in need on the strict condition that his gifts were kept secret. When his donations grew into the tens of millions, he formed a charitable foundation. It gave away more than a billion dollars, much of it to his ancestral homeland after a deadly earthquake. In Armenia, Kirk Kerkorian is regarded as one of the saints, but at his insistence there are no monuments to his lavish generosity.

“Never look back” Kirk liked to counsel. But in the end, he reflected on what mattered most in his life. It was neither his successes nor his disappointments. It was the thrill of the risk. “Life is a big craps game,” he told the Los Angeles Times “I've got to tell you, it's all been fun.”

Chapter 2: The Kid From The Weedpatch

The Kerkorian family's financial collapse and forced relocation to Los Angeles would be among the arliest and most unsettling memories of young Kerkor's life. It also ushered in prolonged periods of uncertainty that would extend more than a decade deep into the Great Depression. Missed rent payments and evictions, sometimes as often as every three months, repeatedly uprooted the family and made the boy a new kid in a new neighbourhood over and over again.

There were lessons to be learned from adapting and re-adapting to sudden changes, unfamiliar surroundings, and frequent disappointments. The bond growing from shared struggles and distress “us against the world” fostered fierce family loyalt and underscored the value of friendships over possessions.

But all the moves were also chances for Kerkor to reinvent himself. A first step was to Americanize his name. In the big city, Kerkor became Kirk. And the farm boy who arrived in Southern California speaking only Armenian had to learn English on the streets of Los Angeles.

By age nine Kirk was hawking the Evening Express on street corners, making about fifty cents a day and turning over pocketfuls of pennies to help support his family. His earliest experience with gambling was pitching pennies and bottle caps with fellow newsies.

Ahron tried to stay in the farm business as a produce broker. For a time he had his own fruit stand near what is now Universal Studios at the intersection of Ventura and Lankershim Boulevards. With another Armenian neighbour he started a produce-hauling business, trucking fruit to the city from the San Joaquin Valley over the Tehachapi Mountains. Kirk's older sibling, sometimes including sister Rose, drove the notoriously steep and winding Ridge Route over the mountains. The family enterprise ended after one summer growing season. The trucks were repossessed.

In his teen years Kirk came to regard his father as a heroic figure. Ahron was the man who had sailed to America in steerage, landed in California without a dime, built that million dollar agriculture empire and then lost it all, but who never stopped working hard and dreaming big. And he managed all the ups and downs despite the handicap of illiteracy, with what Kirk always regarded as “two strikes against him”

With perhaps a mix of pride and chagrin, he would later describe his father as “a big, rough man who didn't take anything from anybody” But Kirk and his father shared an important gambler's trait – a degree of comfort with risk.

One of Ahron's biggest scores came when he cornered the watermelon market in the Imperial Valley east of San Diego. Summer in that desert like area had been uncommonly cool and overcast. Watermelon farmers accustomed to sunny days with temperatures well over one hundred degrees feared cucumber sized crops and financial ruin. Many opted to cut their losses by suspending irrigation and saving on water costs.

Ahron saw opportunity. He scraped together every dollar from his fruit stand business and drove more than two hundred miles to El Centro. He had enough cash to get an audience with just about every farmer in the region. Few could resist. Ahron found as many takers as he had cash for buyouts.

As gambles go, it wasn't like Ahron was shooting craps or wagering on pure chance. He was betting on the weather, something familiar to the farmer from Weedpatch. His was a big risk, but a smart bet. When the sun finally came out in the Imperial Valley, Ahron ended up with truckloads of big, ripe melons in the midst of a region-wide watermelon shortage. His watermelon jackpot was an $18,000 profit, a twenty-first century equivalent of about $250,000.

Flush with cash, the family moved into a bigger house in a better neighbourhood just west of the University of Southern California. Ahron bought a new car, invested in new business opportunities, and saw his small fortune once again ebb steadily away. Frequent family moves resumed all too soon.

Kirk discovered early in those vagabond years that every new neighbourhood and every new schoolyard was likely to be his own personal testing ground. His shy nature and slender build made him an easy target for bullies. But he was also scrappy and determined never to back down, even when the odds and the sizes of his tormentors were against him. Kirk became something of a legend among pals after a beating he suffered one afternoon on his way home from school.

A kid had beaten him up four days in a row. What Kirk noticed, even in defeat, was that each time they fought, the bully was a little less aggressive. What the bully noticed, even in triumph, was that Kirk was getting to be a serious nuisance. For Kirk, the contest was a matter of honour. For the bully, it was increasingly a chore. He was losing heart. Finally, Kirk was the last boy standing. The bully gave up. The fights stopped and they wound up being best of buddies.

Public school held little interest for Kirk and in all the family moves he was falling behind other boys his age academically. He was a bright enough student, but he was bored by the repetition of math. One of his worst subject: geography. To Kirk the world was pretty small. He never travelled outside the two hundred mile stretch of California separating his Los Angeles home from his Fresno birthplace.

Chapter 4: Scraps, Craps, And John Wayne

With the war's end in sight by spring of 1945, the aviators of the RAF Ferry Command were increasingly aware that the end was also near for the extraordinary adventure they had ll shared for the most exciting two years that Kirk, for one, could ever have imagined.

Besides providing an enormous boost to the war effort, in particular Britain's domination of the air, another far-reaching contribution by the Ferry Command was the opening of new air routes for commercial aviation. The so-called polar route was tamed, and years ahead of it's time, thanks to the pioneering experiences of intrepid wartime aviators, Kirk Kerkorian among them.

In the end, many of the Ferry Command pilots lookd for ways to stick together after the war. Some shared dreams of starting their own airline. They would need seed money for such a venture.

Kirk, like several of his buddies, reached into his pocket to ante up a starter fund. The price to get into this game, one thousand dollars each.

Kirk returned to Los Angeles knowing only that he wanted to fly and that he had to be his own boss. In a matter of days, he set up a pilot training school at Vail Field in Montebello, a msall oil town just east of the city. He was a teacher again, specializing in helping licensed pilots obtain instrument ratings as required by commercial airlines.

The booming aviation business needed large numbers of instrument-rated commercial pilots, so Kirk's flight school roster was quickly filled. Within weeks the business was turning a reliable profit. But there was no excitement, no adrenaline rush. The teacher was bored with teaching.

Chapter 5: On A Wing And A Spare Tank

Kirk wanted his own airline his own fleet of planes, his own company. He watched pilots from the Pacific war zone combine fores to launch a cargo service named after their volunteer fighter unit, the Flying Tigers. A similar dream shared by his fellow RAF Ferry Command pilots never got off the ground. But Kirk was still dreaming.

One way he could build capital fast was in the surplus military plane market. The versatile twin-engineer C-47 “Gooney Bird” better known to civilians as the DC-3, was in especially big demand among new and expanding freight haulers from Alaska to South America. Fleets of planes coated in olive drab paint were parked all over Hawaii, stranded at war's end by a fuel range limiting them to island hopping or a maximum of five hundred miles.

Kirk had a plan. He bought seven of the planes stranded in Hawaii each worth at least double its purchase price if he could get it to the U.S. Mainland. And doubled again for any plane he ferried all the way down to Rio de Janeiro. He was figuring on profits that in 2018 dollars ranged from about $90,000 to $250,000 per plane. Kirk was back in ferrying business, this time as a broker of scrapped and surplus planes – gambling on the used aircraft market his own ability to fly just about anything with wings.

Now the only he had to do was get those short-range planes from Honolulu to San Francisco across twenty-four hundred miles of ocean.

Fall 1946, Honolulu, Hawaii. Kirk had paid $12000 for the first C-47 he intended to fly to the mainland. He had more than one customer already waiting. In fact, he had likely customers lined up from Hollywood to Rio to buy just about all hi surplus planes, sight unseen. And this on was a sight, with more than its share of dents and scuffs and that tired military drab paint job. But like the teenager who restored used cars, Kirk figured he could always give it a good steam cleaning and a fresh set of “newer” wheels. Far more critical was expanding the Gooney Bird's fuel range.

Kirk went on to deliver most of his surplus acquisitions personally and without drama. His partnership was with a Brazilian flier in Rio added to his international reputation an an aircraft trader. That is, until Kirk flew down to visit his money. Most of it had disappeared without proper accounting.

It was a hard lesson to learn about sloppy accounting and partnerships with strangers, and the drawbacks of conducting business by the seat of his pants. There wasn't enough cash left over in Brazil to fight about. Kirk walked out “Take it and shove it” he said and returned to California where he went into business with his best friend, his sister Rose Pechuls. She had recently divorced, ending a marriage in which her husband chafed at feeling inadequate compared to Rose's high regard for her brother Kirk.

When a small charter airline at Los Angeles Municipal Airport went on the market in 1947, Kirk and Rose bought it a three-plane fleet with a DC-3, a twin-engine Cessna, and a single engine Beechcraft. Kirk put up most of the $60,000 purchase price after borrowing $15000 from the Montebello branch of Bank Of America. Rose invested an additional $5000 and managed the office.

Chapter 7: Art Of The Junk Deal

Life in the nonscheduled airline business remained filled with uncertainties, many from federal regulations intended to protect competing commercial carriers. The Civil Aeronautics Board(CAB), which once encourage expansion of charter services, came under increasing pressure to crack down on their intrusions into profitable commercial routes.

Kirk figured his run of good luck wasn't going to last indefinitely. He started cashing in some of his chips. Over the next year and a half he sold off some of his biggest planes, including the Californian.

His $100,000 cattle scow went to Northeast Airlines for the remarkable price of $340,000 and that was without the used passenger seats. The inveterate scrap dealer sold those separately. That transaction produced a milestone for the thirty five year old entrepreneur. For the first time, Kirk's annual income broke $100,000. He also learned a lesson: pilots don't make big money, business men do.

With proceeds from his downsizing moves, Kirk was able to pay off his bank loans, buy out sister Rose's interest, and reorganize the company. Business operations were split into two ventures, the charter service and his used plane trade. The trimmed down airline could go dormant periodically, subject to the economy's ebb and flow of the shifting burdens of CAB regulation. But his used plane brokering and bartering business never closed, keeping Kirk especially happy and financially sound. We must've traded sixty planes in those days, he once estimated.

Chapter 8: Gambling On Gambling

A decade after the war, hotel and casino development in Las Vegas was still booming. Old Route 91, the Los Angeles-Las Vegas Highway was now called the Strip, where sprawling new resorts replaced barren sandlots. Seven busy casinos lit up black desert nights, and twice as many more were already in development. As University Of Nevada gaming historian David G. Schwartz described those heady days: “It looked like opening a successful Las Vegas casino was as easy as tripping and hitting the ground”

Everyone wanted in on action from Midwest mobsters to investment managers at the Teamsters Union pension fund, from real estate developers to car dealers, from actors like the Marx Brothers and Pat O'Brien to an aviator like Kirk Kerkorian.

As a gambler himself, Kirk knew better than most the fundamentals of a casino business model: customers come in all day and night to throw money at the owners. And they love doing it... win or lose. Kirk consistently lost more than he won yet visits to Vegas “the best times” of his life. “I was just overwhelmed by the excitement of the town”

He accumulate many friends among casino owners and managers. One of them was Marion Hicks, an energetic L.A. Real estate developer who built the El Cortez Hotel in downtown Las Vegas and then the Thunderbird on the Strip. During his many commutes with Kirk, Hicks had opportunities to share some of his hard earned wisdom.

Banks in the 1940's and 1950's did not make loans to casinos for anything least of all to fund shortfalls at the cashier's cage. To cover the huge payout, Hicks and Jones turned to Lansky, “the mob's accountant”. In return for a briefcase full of cash, Lansky extracted a significant share of casino ownership and a job for his brother. Jake Lanksy not only got an executive's title but also the casino's best place to park his black Cadillac, just outside the Thunderbird offices.

Hicks introduced his dancer to Kirk at the casino bar. They were very different. He was a financially comfortable divorce in his mid thirties, she was never married and barely ld enough to rink. He was intense but shy, she was an outgoing, confident performer with a touch of blunt spoken candor like Kirk's sister Rose. He was deeply tanned with black hair, she was pale and fair-haired. So, of course they fell in love. After a two year romance, Kirk took out a marriage license in Los Angeles County and set a wedding date. Kirk was thirty seven and Jean was twenty three.

As Kirk once again was feeling lucky in love, he tried to extend that streak into business, this time the gambling business. A surge in new casino openings promised to make 1955 the biggest year ever for Las Vegas expansion. Some friends were offering to let Kirk buy in to one of thew new ones, he could own a percentage of the Dunes.

Originally envisioned as the Middle Eastern themed Araby, the Dunes opened beneath a roof mounted and lighted thirty five foot fibre glass figure of a sultan. It was on prime property kitty-corner across the Strip from the Flamingo. It boasted the widest stage in town, room for forty chorus girls, and the country's biggest swimming pool. What it didn't have, apparently, was experienced casino management and seasoned resort staff.

The timing was unfortunate, too. Four other hotel casinos opened within a matter of weeks, with two more in advanced stages of development. There was a glut in the making. Life Magazine published a cover story questioning whether Las Vegas was growing too fast.

All the new resort operations struggled that summer. Still, Kirk submitted an application to state gaming regulators seeking approval to buy 3 percent of the Dunes. He was wiling to pay up to $150,000. He listed himself as an airplane dealer and easily passed regulatory review. After an investigation, Kirk was authorized to buy his first casino point (a one percentage share) for $50,000. But the business was too far gone to be salvaged by his late investment.

It's timing is everything this deal had nothing going for it. “They were in such bad shape” Kirk later conceded.

The Dunes managed to stay open (unlike some others), but it went through a rapid series of ownership changes that left Kirk's equity share absolutely worthless. The good news for Kirk was that he lost only $50,000. But it was a bitter lesson. “I learned then not to invest in a business I didn't run”

Chapter 10: A Crapshooter's Dream

Los Angeles Air Service had expanded to operate out of Burbank and Los Angeles and adopted a new name – Trans International Airlines (TIA), reflecting its more ambitious global intentions

Kirk's latest brainchild was a big, bold, and risky plan that could make or break his charter business stakes perversely big enough to excite the small business owner. With commercial airlines all switching their fleets to jetliners, Kirk wanted his to be the first supplemental service to own one. He wanted to buy a state-of-the-art four-engine jet-propelled DC-8. And for that he needed at least $5 million.

It turned out to be an especially difficult challenge to buy a perfectly fine prop plane on the glutted used plane market for a million to a million and a half. That was more easily in Tran International Airline's range. It net annually profits hovered around a quarter of a million dollars. But TIA's corporate value was far from sufficient to secure a loan in the stratospheric neighbourhood of $5 million.

Commercial banks were particularly leery  of edging out on any limb with supplemental air carriers for fear the CAB might abruptly change its rules and shut down a profitable route or service. Regulators had done just that to TIA's California-Hawaii service the year before.

Kirk was getting signals from just about everyone that he might be out of his league, that even if his idea was sound, it was not financially feasible given his limited resources. So, he was out meeting people, testing the market, shopping for cash, riding out to visit Harold Roth at his Long Island residence near Hewlett Bay Park with Charlie The Blade.

Roth owned a tool making firm ran an East Coast vending machine empire that sprawled to St.Louis, and made loans through a corporate entity called Valley Commercial Corporation. Some of those loans were shady, as were some of his friends and clientele. One of those Tourine a.k.a. The Blade, a.k.a. Charles White, Kirk's friendly and well connected Bookie.

In arranging the meeting with Kirk, Tourine made it clear to Roth what mattered most: “He's a very good friend of mine” The emphasis was less on business than on personal favours. “He's a very nice guy. I like him a lot” he told the vending machine executive. So Roth opened his door, shook hands with Kirk, and invited him to make his pitch.

The key to Kirk's grand plan was to go all in with TIA as a defense contractor. Since 1959 when the company landed its first government bid, ferrying U.S. Soldiers and their families to North Africa, military business had become a steady and reliable source of revenue. But that wouldn't last if TIA had to compete with jets moving troops and cargo twice as fast as his prop planes.

Kirk also reasoned that if his company was the first supplemental airline with jets, he could sew up all the government business he could possibly handle and take a giant leap ahead of his competitors.

It wasn't exactly a crap shoot, but it was a crapshooter's dream a big risk for a big payout. But Kirk wasn't taking a wild guess or betting on chance. He knew the business. He saw the expansion of U.S. Military bases in and around the Pacific. And he was confident that future demand for troops and cargo would translate into strong returns on investment.

Roth listened to Kirk's enthusiastic assessment. Tourine was right. Kirk was a very nice guy. But Roth wasn't sure Valley Commercial could handle such a big investment. And across the coffee table, Kirk wasn't sure he wanted anything to with Valley Commercial and whatever came with it.

Kirk headed back to California determined to defy the odds and parlay his numerous advantages with people he knew and trusted in the more traditional banking and aviation worlds.

It was the right move. Back home Kirk's reputation was gold plated. His track record running Trans International, or LAAS for nearly two decades was the envy of the aviation business. His credit was flawless. He had a loyal friend at the Bank Of America. And he had a smart, ambitious idea.

His first stop was Walter Sharp at the Bank of America branch in Montebello a Kerkorian fan since Kirk's Vail Field flight school days. Sharp said he would try to get his main office to go for a loan up to $2 million. It was no sure thing. It was an amount well beyond a branch manager's independent authorization.

With that request pending, Kirk drove out to Long Beach to look at a plane. He had learned that Douglas Aircraft Company was refurbishing a used jetliner, the very first DC-8 fuselage that came off the assembly line back in 1958. It was being upgraded with more powerful engines and reconfigure for passenger and cargo service as a Model 50 Jet Trader. Kirk wanted that plane.

He arranged to pitch his idea to Douglas executive Jackson R. McGowan, a familiar face to Kirk. They knew each other casually, having a negotiated a couple of DC-3 deals in the past when McGowan was a Douglas vice president for sales. He was now vice president and general manager of the entire aircraft division where DC-8's were built.

McGowan was skeptical. A supplemental air service paying five million for a jet? Was he serious? But he knew Kirk's reputation. He knew his credit history. He knew his track record. And Kirk's quiet, controlled excitement describing his plans for the Jet Trader made sense. It got McGowan excited, too. There was even an escape hatch, a Plan B. If government contracts were slow or failed to materialize, Kirk could lease the plane to a commercial carrier. The Douglas exec agreed with Kirk, it was a good bet. And he wanted a piece of it.

McGowan crafted a special deal for Fuselage No. 1, the upgraded Jet Trader. Kirk came up with some cash. Bank Of America came through with the loan of about $2 million. And Douglas Aircraft Company financed the balance, an unprecedented move at the same time of about three million dollars.

On his signature alone, Kirk had assumed a personal debt load of nearly five million dollars. Default would wipe out everything he had built. Failure would give him a taste of his father's desperation back in those final days at Weedpatch. But Kirk the gambling aviation executive was going all in.

The Jet Trader deal closed in June and Kirk moved quickly. He turned to Glenn A. Cramer, a sales executive at Lockheed and leading figure in the postwar charter business, and lured him over to TIA, making him the president of the company. Cramer's mandate was to keep the meter running on their DC-8, keep it making money.

The big jet's first steady work was flying high priority military loads from Travis Air Foce Base in Northern California to Guam. More contracts followed. And just like Kirk envisioned, TIA was scooping up the cream of new defense contracts. In its first partial year of operation, the Jet Trader was single handedly propelled TIA from earnings of a quarter million dollars to $1.1 million. The company's net value surged into the multi-millions of dollars.

Chapter 11: His First Million

Sherwood Harry Egbert, the president of Studebaker Corporation, had flown out from South Bend, Indiana, to make a deal. He was an athletic, six foot four man on a mission, and in a hurry, to save his company through diversification. Studebaker already had a stylish new car called the Avanti and new investments in makers of a commercial ice cream refrigerator and other small appliances. Now Egbert and the board wanted Tran International Airlines.

Egbert came prepared to make concessions. Kirk was a classic self-made entrepreneur who ran his own company. He wasn't going to relish having a boss. Egbert assured him that Studebaker wanted Kirk to continue running the air service. Kirk would be corporate vice president and the president of Trans International, a Studebaker subsidiary. Kirk's poker face disclosed nothing.

Egbert said that Kirk would receive more than 120,000 shares of Studebaker stock, then valued at about $8.25 per share. The deal would make Kirk a millionaire, at least on paper. Egbert agreed to a proviso that if stock prices sagged more shares would be added to guarantee Kirk's sale price at a floor no lower than $950,000. Studebaker also would compensate Kirk with additional annual shares for managing the operations.

Kirk had everything he wanted, plus his first million dollars and a new Avanti. The total deal was worth about $10 million.

After receiving nearly a million dollars in stock from Studebaker at the end of the year in 1962, Kirk turned around and invested most of that fresh income $960,00 on eighty acres of sand and brush. The property was a potentially prime location near the Dunes and across the strip from the Flamingo.

Jay Sarno the maestro behind upscale motel developments from Georgia to California, already had financing lined up through personal friendships with Teamsters Union now needed to win over Kirk Kerkorian, the Strip's newest landowner.

They met over dinner, Jay Sarno wanted to build the greatest hotel-casino in the world. Kirk was intrigued but unconvinced. His ill-fated Dunes investment had coincided with the end of a Las Vegas building boom that had remained stalled for nearly a decade. Not only was Sarno daring to end that development drought, but he also proposed to do so with an ultra luxury project that was unlike anything seen before on the Strip.

Kirk eventually agreed to final conditions. His long term lease would be subordinated to the Teamsters pension fund loan. Sarno and Jacobson would pay a relatively modest monthly lease of $15,000. Kirk would receive 15% of casino profits and have access to his own two bedroom suite in the new hotel.

It would seem that Kirk was violating his first rule of business, to invest only in ventures he controlled, but he was finally gambling again on the business of gambling.

PART II THE MAKING OF A BILLIONAIRE

Trans International Airlines now with a pair of DC-8 Jet Traders, two Constellations and assorted other planes in its relatively small fleet, was barely known outside the aviation industry. Still it was well run. Profits and revenue were steadily growing. And it paid its bills. In April 1965, TIA stock went on the market and investors yawned. It didn't move for weeks.

What fainlly started moving the stock were Kirk's Armenian connections. Kirk had already been getting a lot of press attention in the pages of Mason's California Courier. The airline owning Armenian may as well have owned a fleet of flying carpets. To the Courier's readers Kirk was an Armenian celebrity nearly on a par with J.C. Agajanian, the race car owner and designer whose team had two years earlier won it's third Indianapolis 500. The Armenian community invested in to TIA, in a matter of months, Kirk had paid off the $2 million bank loan iwth which he had bought back TIA from Studebaker. Kirk himself was now sitting on stock worth more than $66 million a vast fortune by any measure. And no on one was more surprised than he was.

Kirk was ready to take full control of his very own Vegas hotel and casino. He hadn't shared the news with anyone but his close friend Shoofey and his most intimate insiders. He asked Las Vegas sun publisher Hank Greenspun to take a ride around town with him. It became a tour of hotel building sites. The tour ended on Paradise Road by the convention center. Kirk was going to change the face of Las Vegas and he wanted his friend the newspaperman to know what was coming. A month laster the news was a headline: "$30 Million Vegas Hotel Near Convention Center"

According to published accounts, Kirk had paid $5 million cash for about sixty-five acres. He planned to break ground on the city's tallest high rise hotel project later in 1967. The casino would feature the largest gaming floor in Nevada. The hotel would have fifteen hundred guest rooms, making it the world's biggest at the time. Hotel guests would have access to an adjacent country club and eighteen-hole golf course then under development. And at $30 millions, Kirk's International Hotel would eclipse Caesars Palace. Kirk launched a tender offer in the morning. His bid: $35 each for a million shares of MGM Studios. His goal: management contro.

  What Kirk saw in a tired old MGM with its run of box office losers was something beyond the view of most investors. He saw hidden value. With a market price wallowing around $25 a share, investors were missing hundreds of millions in existing value, not even considering any turnaround potential. Kirk and Bautzer figured the company's actual value to be closer to $400 million or about $69 a share. What they saw was MGM's vast library of classic films, Gone With The Wind, Singin' In The Rain, The Wizard Of Oz. The company owned music publishers, a record company, overseas studios and tens of millions of dollars in real estate.

And there was the pricess cache of it's legendary name. For many, MGM spelled class, as in old Holywood glamour, gowns and tuxedos, klieg lights and red carpets. What was Leo The Lion worth? No one had ever imagined putting a price on the MGM logo. Not until Kirk Kerkorian.

Kirk would rely on a consortium of European banks to receive loans to make the MGM buy. MGM was Kirk's company to save. He controlled nearly 40% of MGM stock - 40% of Gone With The Wind, 40% of Leo the Lion.

  After getting various loans paid off, paid down or renegotiated, Kirk was once again building up cash reserves in 1971, topped by the summer sale of his last million shares of stock in International Leisure. Even MGM was accumulating cash rather than bleeding it, not so much from making movies as from moving real estate. The company sold off another piece of its back lot earlier in the year for $20 million. Movie production costs had been slashed. And the box office flop rate of recent film releases had been improved from 70 percent duds to 50 percent. Presiden Aubrey was predicting MGM's best revenue numbers in many years.

  Things looked sufficiently promising to Kirk that earlier in October he had convened a private meeting of his closest advisers and MGM executives for a strategic brainstorming session. How could the studio survive and thrive making movies in an entertainment market dominated by free consumer programs on television? How could its hedge its bets? Where could it go for a more reliable, steady, and growing stream of revenue?

Kirk had an idea: modified diversification of sorts. Combine the movie side of the entertainment business with the gaming side. This could be achieved if MGM borrowed about $75 million and built its own grand new Las Vegas hotel and casino. Fill it with movie memorabilia. Name the rooms, restaurants, and menu items after the stars. And call it the MGM Grand Hotel, after the 1933 classic Grand Hotel featuring Greta Garbo telling the world "I want to be alone" MGM, the film studio was going to build the hotel, own it, and operate it as a subsidiary. It would need stockholder approval, but that was never in doubt. Kirk owned 40% and was buying additional shares. MGM would take on debt for construction costs through debentures, interest bearing unsecured bonds. Unlike public offerings of stock, debenture funding would not dilute share values. The hotel would be ubilt on prime Strip-fronting property, sixteen acres already occupied on the then defunct Bonanza Hotel at the same intersection shared by Caesars Palace, the Dunes, and the Flamingo. Kirk owned the Bonanza, so MGM would pay him about $5 million, based on an independent appraisal. MGM would also purchase and adjacent twenty-six acres for $1.75 million making room for another big Kerkorian foorprint in Vegas gaming.

  The MGM Grand would be even bigger than Kirk's International Hotel. For the second time in a couple of years, he was launching construction of the world's biggest resort hotel, twenty six floors with more than two thousand rooms, a casino 140 years long with more than a thousand slot machines, ninety blackjack tables, and ten oversized craps tables, and trimmed with real imported Italian marble and genuine crystal chandeliers.

Kirk failed at gaining a major ownership of Columbia Pictures. The sale of Kirk's Columbia Pictures stock marked a rare caputaliation at that stage in his investing history. But iwas by no financial measure a failure. Kirk had purhcased the stock at an average price per share of $17.50. Columbia Pictures bought it back at a $20 markup for $37.50. Kirk's failure to take over the Columbia studio had resulted in a fifty net profit of $75.6 million. With all that cash in his pocket, he went shopping again for another movie studio.

[therealmikegolay]

project flow state q&a

still the dumbest thing i’ve done. this month, anyway.

if you missed the initial post, here you go. please help where you can!

meanwhile: you have questions (at least one of you). i have answers (of course i do).

why did you do this?

excellent question. the shortest possible answer is: i like, and respond well to, structure and projects. covid-19 has thrown the world for a loop. many of the things we’ve taken for granted in our lives are, at the moment, simply no longer safely possible. i’d been looking for ways to stay motivated in my personal life, but also keep myself and my family out of harm’s way. normally i’d be knee-deep in mountain bike race season this time of year. racing is not happening for the most part in north america this season, and speaking personally, i’ve decided that i won’t participate in mass gathering events, even if they do occur, until a covid-19 vaccine is available (there are several immune compromised people in my family, first and foremost, and further, i am simply unwilling to be a transmission vector in my community and beyond - i don’t think we should be mass-start racing or gathering in large groups, even outside, to be clear). so we have challenges like this one to keep us reaching. i wanted to do it alone, no support. 

i confided my intentions to only a very few: my wife and daughter (they were not thrilled), a close friend (i wondered aloud about the possibility that i might be able to complete the goal on a slack DM - the place where most bad ideas are born, these days), and my longtime coach, al donahue (he was excited?). i wanted to make sure i did the thing. i didn’t want to talk about doing the thing, or get overloaded with input about how or why i should or shouldn’t do the thing. less talk, more do.

so i started putting together a plan. 

and then things got [even] worse in america. george floyd, breonna taylor, ahmaud arbery… a country consumed by shock, anger and protest. a lot of us went necessarily silent, became introspective, listened, tried to become allies, demonstrated for change however we could. more or less concurrently, a continued wave of infection and federal inaction overtook our country.

as i took a look around, it became clear to me that, while in some respects i still just wanted to ride my bike out of self-preservation if nothing else, at the same time, i thought it might be possible to raise awareness and direct attention back toward those who were and are still fighting the good fight, as well as toward those in need (sometimes these are the same people). that’s what this project became, as it evolved. (you can still help.)

why didn’t you list black lives matter in the charitable section of your first post?

this was the toughest call that i made during the last two months preparing all facets of this project. first, i 100% support black lives matter. hup united, my longtime team, have been vocally and visibly supportive of the movement. we’ve raised funds through organized [socially distanced] rides. several of us have launched personal project fundraisers designed to benefit black communities. i’ve personally donated to the movement and did my own DIYBLM ride. i’ve tried, and continue to strive, to be an advocate for people of color in my community.

in the end, i concluded that adding black lives matter to a personal bike project unnecessarily diluted the message of the black lives matter movement. it stands on its own and i didn’t want to diminish its importance by attaching it to this particular effort. 

in my mind, covid-19 and systemic racism are the two biggest issues my country faces (along with voter rights), and the overlap between the two (or three), along with the fact that covid affects communities of color at much higher rates than white populations, is heartbreaking and must be addressed. i just didn’t think a white guy going up and down a hill on a bike was the right way to shine that particular spotlight, right now. i’ll continue to listen, learn, support and encourage feedback.

did you train for this thing?

i. did? [hangs head in shame]

what does training look like for something like this?

a lot of long-ish rides at low-end endurance heart rate and lots of muscular endurance around lactate threshold, basically. a couple of easy days per week, and hopefully a fun ride mixed in (around tempo). i had a pretty strong aerobic base going in, from lots of skimo training over the winter, and fairly structured, largely aerobic (vs. anaerobic) efforts (cycling, running and hiking) in the spring. i also did a ton of trail building and landscaping around the house, which is pure suffering, along with the same somewhat minimal core work i [try to] always do. sucks getting old.

i didn’t do any 12-hour rides. that’s not necessary, practical, or smart (for me). save the juice for the party punchbowl, am i right? i did a number of endurance-pace mountain bike rides in the 3-5 hour range - basically my weekend - leading into project day. 

the basic idea: i needed to concentrate training in the zone allowing me to meter out a practical effort that would get me through 10-15 hours on the bike. that meant the low end of endurance heart rate, for me. i paid almost zero attention to power output, other than to set ceilings for “this is going too hard.” efforts over threshold will tank an endurance attempt like this one, so keeping those in check was key.

i wasn’t going to be successful just winging it. i’m marginally talented, at my very best.

did you concentrate on anything in particular during the ride? how did you stay focused? did you stay focused?

the single most important thing on something like this (for me) was hydration/nutrition. that was the key point coach al impressed upon me during our first conversation about an attempt, and was something i practiced during training rides. if you get in a hole in either of these areas on a very long effort, you’re sunk. period. you can’t recover. i did not want to be defeated due to not taking care of myself. i’d put a lot of time into this thing and didn’t want to make stupid mistakes. i had a cooler full of water bottles at a small aid station at the lap turnaround point at the bottom of the circuit. i made myself drink a bottle an hour. drinking was only possible (for me) on the uphill. if i hadn’t finished a bottle within the hour while riding, i finished it at the aid station. in the end, i consumed 13 bottles of water (with skratch electrolyte) and a recovery drink after (it took me about an hour to get it down). the water consumption actually turned out to be more than i needed in order to replace sweat, but i don’t have regrets (i love to pee, it’s great). i had a staggered schedule for consuming food, which consisted of clif bloks, skratch bars, bananas, peanut butter sandwiches, and rice cakes. i ended up eating a little less than i’d planned, but still managed to get through most of it.

the second most important thing was not going too hard. i watched heart rate, not really like a hawk, but i kept an eye on it, again, just trying to stay below a ceiling (i have a weird heart: low maximum, narrow working range, resulting in lower numbers for given efforts than most athletes my age). i had to be honest in terms of logistics in order to maximize the chances of a successful outcome. it was very, very difficult to get my head around what it was going to take to be on the bike for 10+ hours. there are riders who make a practice of rides like that. i’m not really one of them. six hour races are the max length i’ve ever done, and i think i might have done an eight-hour ride once. two- to four-hour races (or shorter, shorter is fine) are more my speed. this was not a race. this was not a race effort. i did a couple of test “hours” on the track prior to the attempt where i tried to benchmark how many laps i could comfortably do in an hour at low-end endurance heart rate (7 laps). then i had to take that number and factor in how many i could do… over the space of… 10-15 hours (the fastest i figured i could go, to the longest period of time i figured i’d be capable). that turned out to be 5-6 laps per hour, with a brief break each hour (moving time was 11:43:22 when i shut off the garmin - meaning i lost about an hour and 15 minutes eating, drinking and peeing). that meant a 13-14 hour day, which was kind of crushing to consider, at the outset. i’d loved to have gone faster, but i knew it wasn’t going to be possible (for me) to complete the overall goal if i just went hahdah dyude. one interesting thing in terms of heart rate is that i saw mine steadily drop in the last four hours of the ride, which al told me would happen. i’m used to shorter, 2-4-hour efforts, where heart rate increases with fatigue. but then you, you know, stop, after 2-4 hours. i wasn’t going to be stopping. in the last four hours of the attempt i started to see my heart rate slowly but steadily decrease from the ceiling i’d been hitting on the climb, even though i was still pedalling at the same cadence and rough power as before. at one point i got down to 108bpm, which was crazy. it came back up a little in the last hour but was still comparatively low. 

the third most important thing was simply wanting to see this through. 177’-ish vertical feet isn’t much. it was, at times, somewhere between mildly to incredibly disconcerting to see just how slowly the laps added up in terms of overall ascent. if you’re a data person, i imagine you could work yourself into a lather just worrying about pace and averages and various. i tried to do the opposite, as much as possible. noisy brain = no good. i did the first hour in the dark and felt fine (lotta toad activity!). i did the second hour as the sun rose and felt the same. i was in my head a lot during those early several laps, and at around the second hour i did briefly consider just how incredibly stupid it was to be riding 1.4 miles over and over and over. then i hit 3k’ overall ascent, and it occurred to me that i was 25% done, which somehow brightened my outlook. and then 4k’. 33%. 8k’, 66%, was pretty huge. i knew i could do it, barring mechanical or complete breakdown. at 2k’ ascent to go i knew i had it in the bag, but was not thrilled to be out there for much longer. the last two hours were hard. i just wanted to be done. the after work crowd was starting to show up on the trails and, god love them all, i just wanted to be out of there and out of everyone’s way. i was happy to simply be finished. i got through this by not thinking much, and just pedalling, which was what i’d hoped would happen, and why i named the thing project flow state. i think i basically got there.

how hard did you go uphill? how steep is the track?

not very hard, at all. for the last couple of hours (hour 11-ish+) i switched into my little ring (i still run a double! i’m a relic!) on the steepest section of the up track, just to spin and save my legs from a little torque where possible. the uphill portion is about 5-6% grade. it never gets steeper than 7%, other than a very short section gaining the hayfield near the bottom.

how fast did you go downhill?

not very fast. at all. for a long attempt like this one, the best possible thing you could do to save energy is just… go downhill and not pedal. at all. that’s almost, but not quite, possible on the flow trail, if you stay off the brakes, which… i don’t. i was concerned about getting a little too loose and being a little too tired over 12 hours or whatever, so i rode very conservatively all day. the fastest i went, for reference, was a little less than half as fast as the top 10 KOMs on the downhill segment (which is insane - so damn fast). it’s not a particularly technical track, but there are frequently riders on it, there are trees, there are ways to screw it up. i just wanted to get down every lap without incident, and concentrate on recovery. i tried not to pedal wherever possible.

why did you choose this segment instead of something less stupid?

during the attempt i saw a few friends on the trails (sorry we didn’t chat more, folks, i still feel bad), one of whom asked why i hadn’t used a segment with more vertical gain, which would have made so much more sense (i don’t disagree). 

the truth is that there’s a continuing trail above the flow trail that would have roughly doubled the vertical ascent per lap. i told the friend mentioned above that i’d later explain why i didn’t use that segment, which is one i’ve ridden hundreds of times and is one i frequently use for dirt threshold intervals (it’s also a very popular downhill grand tour of the area, from the top). here goes. 

while there’s more vertical to gain going higher, there are some distinct disadvantages to that long segment, which i’ll work through from the bottom up. first, there’s a short, blind corner above the lap turnaround that i used. second, there’s a fairly long, not-very-technical-but-you-still-don’t-want-to-fall-off-of-it bog bridge that comes quickly thereafter, frequently the site of 2-way traffic and foot-downs. third, there’s a road crossing with a blind curve about 50 feet up the road on the rider’s left, with a fair amount of vehicular traffic, often traveling well above the speed limit. fourth, there’s a fairly steep, 2-way, primarily downhill trail to the top that sees a ton of rider and occasional foot traffic. starting at my aid station at the bottom of the valley, i’d have had to do about 30 laps of this circuit, in all, to get to 12k’ total (there are also a few sections where you actually lose elevation; gains are efficient, losses are not). so, for that particular route, which again, i’ve ridden many, many times, i’d have had to navigate blind corners, cross a bog bridge [fatigued] 60 times, cross a road 60 times, and most importantly, navigate a 2-way downhill with traffic potential 60 times, with covid-19 a concern all the while. the weight of worry alone on something like this almost guarantees failure (for me). i could have just done the top portion, set up an aid station on the road, i suppose, but that upper segment (which is actually a little less elevation gain - at ~150′ - than the circuit i chose) just isn’t what i had in mind, is significantly steeper and blind in sections, and wasn’t optimal for lots of reasons. so i had definitely considered it, talked with al about it, but it wasn’t right, for me. if any of you wanna try it, let me know how it goes.

what i knew i wanted to do was stay as local as possible (we live near the start of the circuit i chose), ensure safety in terms of traffic (hardly anyone rides down the up track i used at this point, and the flow creek trail is downhill only) and make setup and teardown of the aid station as easy as possible, because tired, coming and going. i feel like the circuit i chose ticked all of those boxes. there is one other trail in the area that would have been slightly more efficient for the goal overall (still, only giving me 2′ additional feet per lap in elevation over the circuit i used), but it would have been nearly impossible to stage an aid station without the help of a small army (i didn’t want to rely on external support), the descent is far more technical and consequential than i was willing to accept on a long day (it still would have been 40 laps), and there would have been significantly more traffic.

so that’s why i made the decisions on the circuit, despite the short lap. in the end, you go with what you have at your disposal. and that’s what i think about that.

how did it feel to hit the goal?

on brand. pretty empty. 

i wish i was kidding. and i wish i could have felt joy. but i was just relieved to be done, and i wanted to get down safely, and get my crap out of there. and that’s what i did. my wife was probably happier than i was, according to our texts. i will say that, immediately, i was super stoked to have this out of the way and not have to think about it anymore.

did you have any problems?

i had a minor but noticeable drivetrain issue going into this event that i was frankly too busy to diagnose. it got worse during the day and became a cause for concern. i’m pretty sure it’s a freehub or hub bearing death, in process. i need to get it fixed. someday. soon.

i worried about my wrists. i wore wrist supports in the last six hours. i think they probably helped. no other issues really, other than feeling a little bloated from all of the water. my arms got a little bit crampy toward the end.

and one other thing i’ll cover elsewhere, eventually.

what was the hardest part?

waiting. i was ready to go late-june. i wanted to get it done before fourth of july weekend. i’d drawn a circle on the calendar around june 30-july 2, latest. i was not going to do the thing on a holiday, on a weekend, or during crap weather. i felt ready to go on the week of june 29, and then… so much rain. so, so, so much rain. it wasn’t going to do to ride wet trails, on some of the most frequented singletrack in the state, no less (please stay off wet trails!). and it wasn’t going to do to ride this thing with throngs of people out there. so i waited. until a monday, which was odd, as that’s typically an easy day for me on the bike. i got up at 2am, left the house at 3am, was set up by 3:30am, and started at 3:45am. there wasn’t any point in waiting any longer.

in terms of perceived exertion, this was less physically difficult than i imagined it might be. it was hard, but nowhere near terrible. the hardest part was just watching the numbers slowly, very, very slowly, accumulate.

were there any surprises?

i saw a weasel sniffing around near my aid station. it didn’t seem to notice me until i said, “hey weasel.” this was the best part of the day.

should i try this project?

i don’t recommend it.

thanks for reading, and again, please keep an eye out for one another.

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

for the catholic tell me meme, i dare you to answer ALL OF THEM!

Tell me about a rosary you have

I have a rosary that I got on Etsy made of rhodonite beads (the Massachusetts state gemstone!) with some soil from Thérèse of Lisieux’s grave embedded in the Hail Holy Queen medal. I’m reasonably confident that the person who made the rosary sold it in a way that complied with the canon against selling relics; it was the same price as non-relic rosaries from the same Etsy. I recognize that it’s still a little dicey and if I were shopping for a rosary now I’d get a less ~problematic~ one, but as it stands, I have it and I love it very much.

Tell me about a rosary you don’t have 

My first rosary was one of several minor bits of religious paraphernalia that I swiped from an Anglo-Catholic church in New Jersey when I was living there as a teenager–not quite the embryonic stage of my faith journey, but quite possibly the embryonic stage of my moral development. It was simple black plastic held together with little metal eyelets and eventually I lost it or it broke, so I don’t have it any more.

Tell me why you picked your confirmation Saint

Already answered!

Tell me your vocation story

I’ve gone back and forth on my vocation a lot, but…I think I’ve finally figured out that I actually am called to marriage and children. I know I’m not even close to ready for that right now, and yet I still can’t wait. I pray for my future wife as oft as I remember to.

Tell me about your profound encounter with Christ

I actually just told you about this via PM, but here’s my conversion story, for my followers:

When I was in my early teens (see above, with the Anglo-Catholic church in New Jersey), I developed a habit of going to Christmas and Easter services at this church because I was going through a teaboo phase after getting really into the James Herriot novels. One Christmas Eve, I had this really strong desire to go up for Communion. The service booklet said something along the lines of “All baptized Christians who believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist may receive Holy Communion.” I decided “[guess I’ll die shrug] guess I’ll believe in Real Presence”, I went up for Communion, and I’ve never looked back. Even though I’ve left Anglicanism and am bound to accept Rome’s determinations about the invalidity of its orders and thus of its Communion, that encounter is still deeply meaningful to me.

Tell me about a lesson God has to keep teaching you

I’m not good at patience or at trusting authority, even/especially Church authority. God has to keep hammering both into my head, generally by putting me in frustrating or disorienting situations.

Tell me how Mama Mary has influenced your life

So much! I say the Hail Mary multiple times a day and the Memorare is always the last thing I say before going to sleep at night. The fruits of this have been a greater awareness of my own sins but also more compassion and gentleness towards both myself and others. People who knew me four or five, or even two or three, years ago and knew how harsh and emotionally rigid I was back then will (I hope) be able to tell you that I’m a lot more easygoing now.

Tell me about your family’s reaction to your conversion

Both of my parents are lapsed Catholics, lapsed since well before I was born, and both of them still seem sort of confused, but generally accepting. They’ve both tried going to Mass with me since I converted, but didn’t really seem to get the appeal (and, in my mom’s case, seemed to actively refuse to get the appeal). pray for them?

My extended family has more or less just gone with the flow with every life decision I’ve made for about a decade now, probably because I’ve yet to self-destruct quite as spectacularly as some of my cousins have.

Tell me about your friends’ reaction to your conversion

My friends’ reactions have been all over the place, from fear that this would make me turn away from them out of newfound homophobia to generalized acceptance and happiness for me to taking my conversion as an opportunity to reacquaint themselves with the Church too and everything in between.

Tell me about a priest who has had an impact on your spiritual life

Already answered!

Tell me about a sister who has had an impact on your spiritual life

Sister R____ was somebody who used to hang around my undergrad college’s Newman Center around 2010-2011, when I was just starting there. She was the first person to get me to start thinking seriously about Catholicism as a religious possibility, although there’s a lot we’d probably disagree on now. She moved abruptly at some point in 2011 and I lost touch with her.

Tell me about a private devotion you practice

I try to say the Rosary as often as I can, and (on your advice!) I’m going to start saying the St. Michael Chaplet. Pretty #basic, I know. I’d also like to start keeping a Mary garden if/when I can.

Tell me when you gave your life to God

tbh that’s still a work in progress. I like to think I’m getting better at giving myself to Him, but I’m still not sure I’m quite there yet.

Tell me about when you lost a relationship because of your faith

There’s an online friend I’d had since about 2009 to whom I’ve recently become almost completely unable talk to due to moral beliefs (especially about her very active sex life; nothing against her for this, it was just that after a certain point we started to have unaccountable difficulty talking about other subjects) that slowly but steadily diverged. That wouldn’t be so bad had it not been for our other interests also diverging; we just don’t have much in common any more, and my faith shifting my moral attitudes is part of that.

There’s also a good friend from high school–we “dated” for a few months in the spring semester of our sophomore year, back in the early-teenage dirtbag golden days that I can’t seem to stop bringing up in this post–with whom I lost contact when my family moved out of New Jersey in 2013 and with whom I’m sort of wary of trying to get in touch again for similar reasons (afaik minus the sex). I’m sure we still have interests in common, but she was already a little put off by how much I talked about religion before I was Catholic.

Tell me about a time Jesus answered your prayers

I prayed for my mother’s life last year when she was deathly ill. She’s recovered a lot since then, although it’s not clear if she’ll ever be quite the same again.

Tell me about a time the Holy Spirit moved through you

I’m not sure how to recognize this happening when it does, sorry.

Tell me about a time you saw God in your suffering

I see God in my suffering at this very moment tbh #millennialcatholicculture

Tell me about a time God said no to your prayer

I had a relationship that I was really committed to and prayed for all the time but that turned really unhealthy. Eventually God had to say (through the woman I was dating) no, this isn’t good for either of you and I’m not going to prop it up. And, sure enough, we’ve since turned out to work much better as friends.

Catholic Tell Me

[sour--strawberries]

Under the Sea, part 1

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

universe: The Little Mermaid AU, Disney version

summary: In an underwater kingdom, a young prince finds love on the surface. It won't be an easy love and first obstacle shows up quickly.

length: 1 714 words

warning: more of a Tony and Rhodey bro!otp fic, Stony romance hinted

inspiration: this prompt and The Little Mermaid

a/n: I heard that school year started for some of you, so I bring a fic to brighten your week! Please excuse the awkward summary, I am just very tired, but wanted to post it today. As always, feedback, comments, likes and reblogs are welcomed and loved!

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

Under the Sea, part 1 (part 2, part 3)

“Calm tides to you, Prince Anthony."

“Calm tides to you as well."

The gold colored seaweed curtain silently draped back over the entrance to his bedroom. The bright orb above was disappearing from the sky, darkening the water and marking another day in the underwater kingdom. Tony swam slowly through his bedroom, up to the desk made of coral and looked into the polished surface of a seashell, seeing his reflection. He pulled a face at the prince he saw inside and started to put aside the decorative seashell necklace he wore on his torso during the daytime, which was the heaviest piece of jewelry on him and indicated his royal status. He left the coral bracelets on his wrists and around the tip of his red tail, not wanting to waste any more time. Well, not too much time, at least.

One more thing needed fixing. He picked up a pinkish flower that was growing around the seashell and squeezed the slimy contents out on his palms and rubbed it along his hair. It was the only effective thing to keep his unruly hair in place and prevent it from floating around his head. After all, he had to look presentable at any time. Taking a last glance at his own reflection and after giving an approving nod of the person he saw inside, he took off, swimming through the window to the garden below, trying to not cause too much water disturbance with his tail. He didn't want to alarm the guards, but it was hard to keep the excitement in. It was a tricky way, but Tony knew the surroundings, and soon made it to the fence, not risking swimming above it to remain unspotted, but making his way under it, in an earlier dug tunnel.

"Ugh," Tony grunted when he almost got stuck in the middle. It was getting increasingly difficult to pull his tail out, but he blamed it on the sand moving around him, and not on the double portions of algae. Finally, he was free and shook himself from the sand, swimming faster, his tail hitting the water with force. He counted the coral rocks on his way, remembering that he had to take a left turn at the fifth one. From there, it was the straight way until he reached the Kelp Forest. His heart beat faster when he saw the bright green seaweeds, hoping that he wasn't too late. From this point, all he had to do was to swim up and wait.

Maybe he got too hopeful and optimistic too quickly and, because of that, less careful, and when he was swimming past the seaweeds, he almost screamed when something strongly pulled on his tail and arm. Feeling panic ringing in his head, Tony looked to the back and saw that tall seaweed got tangled into the coral bracelets on his wrist and tail, keeping him in place.

"Oooh, glowing medusas…" Tony cursed, not having time for such kind of play. He tried to wriggle out, but instead, the kelps were pulling him even deeper. "Let go!"

"Well, who do we have here?"

Tony wheezed in fear but calmed down when he recognized the person circling him, and smiled brightly at them.

"Little prince lost the way to his bedroom?" a dark-skinned merman with gray tail asked, swimming around the trapped person.

"Very funny, Rhodes," Tony rolled his eyes, trying to entangle himself. "Can you help me?"

"Not until you explain yourself," Rhodey demanded, voice changing from teasing to stern. He stopped in front of Tony with crossed arms and watched his friend struggle to get out. Tony didn't look eager on talking, so Rhodey decided that it was up to him to start the conversation. "You sneak out every evening. During the day you barely know what is going around you. You sing to yourself and have secrets from me. What is going on?"

"Nothing is going on, Angel Fish," Tony replied, hissing in frustration when he still couldn't get out. "Gah! Will you help me or not?"

"Not until you tell me why you sneaked out."

Finally, Tony looked at Rhodey. Like, really looked. His friend had a stone face, but there was a lot of worry in his eyes. Genuine worry. And Tony would love to tell him. Just he had a feeling his friend wouldn't understand. No one would understand. So, Tony did the only thing he could, and mimicked a puff fish, blowing his cheeks out in a move that meant he won't say a thing.

Rhodey only raised eyebrows at his childish friend. One would think that they were grown up mermen, but noo. Tony had to be difficult. Fine, Rhodey could be difficult too.

"You leave me no choice, Tones," he warned, before swimming away and disappearing into the kelp forest.

At first, Tony thought that Rhodey left him and went to alarm the guards and his father about the prince being in the middle of the sea instead of in his bedroom. But it wasn't like Rhodey to be a tattle tale. Tony felt that it was back to him to get free, so he resumed his struggle, hoping to either break the seaweed or the stupid bracelets he should have taken off in the first place.

"GYAAAH!!" Tony screeched, when something soft and feathery touched his back, going down his spine. He flopped around and his eyes widened when he saw Rhodey holding a long stripe of kelp in his hand, the seaweed rocking gently.

"Last chance to tell me," Rhodey said, pointing the kelp in his friend's direction, wiggling it in warning.

That wasn't fair. Tony frantically tried to pull himself away, but it was no use. "You wouldn't dare," he hissed, screeching more when Rhodey brushed the kelp around his midriff, almost jumping into the kelp forest.

"Oh, I wouldn't?" Rhodey asked, steadily moving the long seaweed, letting the short fronds brush his friend's back, sides and stomach.

It wasn't long until Tony cracked, twirling around himself and trying to push the kelp away with his free hand. "STHAHAHAHAP!!" he yelled out, between the frantic laughter, going crazy when the soft, feathery like fronds teased his skin. The kelp was thick and had fronds all over its length and Tony was under a constant, ticklish attack.

"Not until you tell me where you are going each night," Rhodey reminded his conditions, trying to stay stern and not laugh at his friend's demise. It was so very easy, and he barely had to put any effort into the action, as Tony kept twisting around, the kelp making its way to all the right spots mainly because of the frantic wiggling.

"HAHAHA!!" Tony almost flattened himself against the sea bed when a particularly long stroke brushed his whole back, but that was a terrible idea and it would just leave his front all exposed and practically defenseless. Maybe he had a better one. "I am ahahahahaha the future kihihihihing!! Hahahaha!! I comahahahand you to stoop!"

"I am not doing anything, your highness," Rhodey replied, telling the truth. At this point, it was Tony who didn't notice that he was himself twisting around the kelp, while Rhodey only held it, maybe sometimes guiding it at sensitive spots, but not tickling on his own.

It was hard to say for how long the 'interrogation' between friends would last, and who would give up first when it was interrupted by a huge shadow slowly passing over them. Rhodey dropped the kelp out of surprise and snapped his head up, fearing that Tony's trashing attracted sharks, and prince or not, sharks didn't listen to anyone. It was not a shark, but far, far above his head, on the surface, he saw a giant dark shape moving slowly and ominously.

That was far worse than sharks. It was that vessel that carried two legs, who barged into the sea, throwing nets and invading their kingdom, robbing everything they could reach.

"Tony, we have to get out from here," Rhodey whispered, his heart hammering. No matter what happens, two legs can't know about them. They can't get the prince. "TONY!!" Rhodey yelled, seeing a red, gleaming tail spring past him, cutting the water and heading for the surface, dragging long strands of kelp with him. "GET BACK HERE!" he rushed after his friends, just to fall flat on his face and swallow sand. "Son of an urchin!” Rhodey spat out, seeing a long kelp tied around his fins, holding him back, undoubtedly Tony's work. He started to wrestle with the seaweed, watching Tony becoming smaller and smaller—-

"Hey, what is going on here?"

Rhodey heard a female voice and saw a sting ray swimming closer to him, looking with interest at the scene.

"Thank Neptune you're here!" Rhodey shouted, seeing his and Tony's shared friend. "You need to help me get out, Tony's has gone mad---"

"Oooh, that's quite a knot," the sting ray said in approval, looking at the trapped gray tail. "So? Who did this to you? Who was the brave soul that managed to catch the future Captain of Prince's private guards?”

"That is what I am trying to tell you! Tony did this and now he is swimming to the surface--"

"To the surface?!" the sting ray shrilled in excitement and did a barrel, the unique gold and black stripes shining on her back. "Is he going to meet with that Captain of the boat? The dreamy one, with broad shoulders, golden hair and eyes like the sea after a storm?"

Rhodey's mouth fell open in shock. "What?! Janet, you knew?!"

"Knew about what?" Janet asked in all innocence.

He didn't have time for this. Forcefully, Rhodey swam forward, ripping the kelp out of the sand, and going after Tony. His both friends were clearly insane and it was his job to keep Tony out of trouble.

"Heey, wait for me!" Janet reminded, not able to swim as fast as mermaids and going after both of them at her own pace. She didn't want to miss a thing.

----

--> next part

[july-19th-club]

stranger things - the essay fic

the history of this idea is in this post from the other day, and I got held up for various reasons, but here it is finally, under the cut, complete with the above super-original title that i came up with days ago and definitely not just now in the midst of my post-work exhaustion: a fic based on me trying to figure out what steve harrington’s college admissions essay would look like 

spoiler: it’s not the one he was writing at the beginning of the season anymore 

Hawkins, Indiana: 1987

Friday night. The apartment’s filled with the fading smell of onions from yesterday’s homemade chili, and Nancy opens the door to hear someone yelling from the back bedroom. She follows the sound to its source, and finds Steve with a desk full of papers, looking harried. “Hey, they’re having a grownups get-together over at the cabin, are you coming with us?” ‘They’ is the adults of the crew, Hop and everyone, and ‘us’ is her and Jonathan, who’s quietly gathering his coat and camera from the master bedroom. El’s aunt is in town, and that’s usually an excuse for the teenagers to take the movie money she gives them and run around in town while the adults drink and tell war stories.

He turns, grimacing, and rubs his eyes hard. “Listen, no, I gotta get this done.”

“Now?”

“Damn, what time is it?”

“Six-fifty,” she tells him. “You can’t take a fifteen-minute break?”

“To a party at the cabin? That’s not a fifteen minute break. Jon, you don’t even like that stuff.” He leans even closer to the desk until his forehead is touching it. “Great,” he says, his voice muffled but rising. “I should just go anyway, this isn’t going to get done. I quit.”

“Can you do it in the morning?”

“Deadline’s tomorrow.”

She’s a seasoned enough student to know that once you decide you’ll ‘do it in the morning’ you’re resigning yourself to never actually completing the thing you want done.

He shakes his head. “I’m so goddamn tired, guys.”

Jonathan pats him awkwardly on the head. She thinks he must really be wiped out, because he doesn’t even fish a hand up from the desk to slap Jon away from his hair. She wants to tell him he’s been doing really well, but that’s not going to go over nicely in the midst of despair. It’s true, though. He has. He’s taken the paperwork in small doses so it doesn’t wreck his concentration, made sure he’s alert before he gets started, gotten enough sleep. He’s even wrangled shorter hours at work so he wouldn’t be too worn out for homework at the end of the day. But she supposes the stress had to catch up sometime.

She signals Jon over her shoulder. The essay, she decides, is probably more important than getting to the party on time. Or at all. They have these things every couple of months, and while life is fleeting and unsure and you never know when it will change, it’s not every day that a very old friend takes a step this big.

“How about - how about this, what do you still have left to do?”

He spreads his hands out over the scattered papers. “Type up the revisions. They’re all done. It’s pretty good now, I think. You guys can look it over if you want. But I can’t keep staring at the paper, I really can’t.”

Jonathan pokes his head around the corner. “Is it the World War II one?”

That gets a small snort of laughter out of him. “No. No, that one sucked. This is...a different one.”

“Okay, okay, I got you. So how about we do it?”

“Do what?” he frowns, then catches it. “No. You’d be writing my essay.”

“Not necessarily.” Jon’s grinning now, and Nancy, catching on, begins to think that this is really going to work. “You go take five minutes, get some water, get an aspirin. And we’ll just type it.”

“You’ll just type it?” He gives it a few moments of thought. “Can you read it out loud? Sorry, I know it’s stupid, but maybe that way, if I want to change anything.”

“No, I like it,” she says. “I’ll read, he’ll type, and you can let us know if you want to add or alter anything while we go. We’re not writing your paper, we’re just - transcribing it.”

“And it’s not stupid,” Jonathan adds. “It’s really smart.”

The boys leave for the kitchen, and she sits down at the desk to go through the paperwork. It’s happening, she thinks, it’s really happening. It’s been a few years since the world turned right side up again for good, and he’s only now thinking about college. Part of it is that they’ve all been busy, and with Nance and Jonathan gone at school, someone’s had to be the supervising presence back at home. Not that she thinks it’s been much of a chore for him. When she got back for spring break, Mike informed Nancy that Steve is trying to teach him to drive (“he says Max only has so much patience, and honestly, he’s right”). She’s satisfied. She can’t imagine either of her parents trying to coach her little brother behind the wheel. They completely overlooked Nancy when it should have been her turn, and it had been she, Barb, and Steve who’d figured it out together.

Now he lives in the apartment that she and Jon got a year or so ago. He doesn’t have to; his parents are perfectly happy to have him at home, but she thinks he desperately needs some semblance of independence. So during the semester, he keeps the place clean and pays his part of the rent and works in town, and when they get back on break, well - that’s when it becomes a home. A real one, with cooked meals eaten at a dinner table or out on the tiny balcony or squeezed together on the sagging couch. It shows itself in little ways: in the plate that keeps their keys by the door. In the chore schedule they badger each other to keep to. In the clutter of mismatched soap and hair product on the bathroom counter.

In the way they will fall asleep on the couch all together sometimes, and wake up halfway to dawn and stumble, blurry, one by one by one, back to a single bed. In the way, when it’s just them and they’re at home alone, the boys will occasionally hold hands without her. In the way, when a good thing happens or someone needs comforting, she’ll kiss one, and then the other, and it will be easy as anything good should be. Once, at Jonathan’s house, Joyce had asked them very seriously if it wasn’t a little awkward for Steve to be the third wheel, and he’d given her the trademark grin and said, “What third wheel? We’re all friends here.”

She doesn’t know if it’s sustainable. It’s scary, and they’ve never gone past the most casual gestures of love. Jon’s scared for their health. Steve doesn’t say it, but she knows he’s scared of ridicule. And she’s scared of...she doesn’t know what - Harm? Sickness? Every one of her beliefs being quietly upended and replaced by something both freer and less defined? All she knows is that in the wake of every monster she’s ever fought, this is the most anxious and most content she’s ever felt.

They both know how big this is for him, this college thing. He’d barely graduated back in ‘84, although it wasn’t really his fault. By the time that year’s crisis was over, he’d spent weeks doggedly ignoring what had turned out to be a significant concussion. By the end of the year, he hadn’t had the energy or the confidence to do anything but scrape by. They’d still had a good time at graduation, but in the fall, the other seniors had packed up and left, and he’d wound up with a job at the Gulf oil station, one he’d later had to quit because the gas fumes gave him migraine.

But this year had been different. He’d worked, reluctantly, for his father, and had spent the spare time researching schools. Community college, nothing fancy, something that would let you take just one class a week if you wanted. “What for?” his parents had asked. They’d needed to know what kind of education they were funding, even though he’d made it clear he wanted to pay his own way through. Of course, if he was still working for Harrington’s, then it would amount to the same thing, something she tried not to bring up in irritable moments.

“Teaching,” he’d said, of course. He didn’t know what he wanted to teach, or for that matter, what he could possibly be qualified to teach. He’d been reading as much as he could manage, lately, and was leaning towards history. His mother said she hadn’t known he had such an interest in kids, and had managed to make it sound not just like a bad thing, but an unsavory one. Dustin, in his well-meaning and prescient (some would say presumptuous) way, had suggested science, but Clark wasn’t anywhere near retirement yet. Somehow, Nancy thought, they all assumed he’d want to teach in Hawkins. She wondered what she’d do if he decided to go somewhere else.

The point, really, was to get that chance in the first place.

He’d brought home application forms to the apartment and organized them all into manila folders, and the next several months had been slowly but steadily productive. And now here they were. Crunch time. The boys take longer in the kitchen than she thinks it should take to pour tap water, but it turns out they’ve made Country Time and brought plates with a pile of Oreos on the top of the stack. Once they’re back, Jonathan feeds new paper into the electric typewriter and checks the ink. Steve sits down on the bed and falls all the way over onto his back with a satisfied oof. Nancy takes the corner chair, sips her lemonade, clears her throat. “Are we ready?”

Steve waves his hand like a conductor, and Jonathan signals the thumbs-up. “Go.”

The prompt is “How do you define family?” She begins.

                                                   On Family

I know a man whose daughter came to him at the age of thirteen, when both of them were as alone as someone can be. I know a woman who is the definition of motherhood not because she’s always strong but because she just never stops. I know a girl who picked her own big brother. I know that in some ways my own family may be unorthodox, but it is the most unbreakable thing I have ever been a part of.

Webster’s New Riverside college dictionary lists multiple definitions of ‘family.’ First, it tells us that ‘family’ comes from the Latin word ‘familia,’ which comes from the word ‘famulus,’ which means ‘servant.’ In that sense, family only meant part of a household, or someone who works in the house. Today, it’s evolved into something more. In this analysis, I will break down Webster’s definitions, and try to find out which one, if any, resonates most.

1) a fundamental social group in society consisting esp. of a man and woman and their offspring. We’ve all been part of that sort of family, even if it shows itself in different ways. We may not know our biological parents, or we may know them but they live in different places, or we may have lived with them our whole lives. In mine, it’s as simple as the sentence above: my father, my mother, and me, no siblings. A family unit. But sometimes the unit can sound impersonal, or unrelatable. It’s only a family because the definition says it is - because ‘family’ is just the best word to describe the situation of parents and child.

2) A group of people sharing common ancestry. My dad’s family stretches back to the Revolutionary War, where they were English people who settled in the colonies and became Americans. My mother’s family is Irish, and immigrated after the Civil War, in order to escape famine. The thing about Irish and English people is that they’re antagonists; their countries have been at odds with each other for hundreds of years and for a long time England owned Ireland. But my parents met in Indiana, and they were never a part of the conflict. I have common ancestry with both sides of the fight: the winners and the losers. The victims and the oppressors. If family can be defined as ‘common ancestry,’ then what does it mean that I was, in a way, born halfway between those things?

3) Distinguished lineage. In my mother’s family, all the girls traditionally go to a private school in Indianapolis. It’s called a legacy: members of the same family following each other into the same place, and passing it on to their children. Because my mother doesn’t have any nieces yet, it’s possible that this particular legacy is over. I’m not part of any legacy, and maybe that means it’ll be easier for me to choose my own direction. I think the important thing is that even though they often center around blood relations, legacies don’t always have to. A distinguished lineage can be formed by passing something (like information, a tradition, a motto, or values) on to the next generation, and letting it grow and spread.

4) All of the members of a household living under one roof.In this case, my roommates and I qualify as a family, simply because we share an apartment. But if you had asked me a few years ago if the three of us were family, I never would have agreed. One of my roommates is a girl I was once in love with. If I’m honest, we’re much better friends now, years after ending our relationship, than we were when we were together. We were able to understand each other, and ourselves, better when we had the time to be alone. Now that there’s no pressure, we’re very close.

My other roommate is a boy I distrusted and maybe even hated, and it would be easy to say that it was because at the time we were fighting over the same girl. But I also disliked him because he was quiet and different and it was kind of fashionable, in my school, to make fun of him. We’ve both made some mistakes, but it was only after I got to know him in person that I could begin to form a friendship with him, and consider him my family now. None of us are related by blood, but I’ve learned a lot from the two of them: how to be a good sibling, how to get over things, how to let other people look after you. Without their company, I think I’d be a pretty different person.

5) A group of like things. When people come together because of a crisis, they form unlikely alliances. They look out for each other because they have to, and then it becomes ‘because they want to.’ In high school, a friend of my girlfriend died, and after that we ate dinner every few weeks with her parents, even though they weren’t ours, even though the only thing we had in common was the one thing that was missing. Still a family: parents, without a child.

In my hometown, where stranger things happen every year, the biggest constant I can find is that the people you fight through those things with will become your family. You might be closer with some than with others, but your shared experiences make a unique group out of you. You’ll have jokes that only you will understand, and memories you can only share with certain people, and it can be scary to know that there will be other groups you won’t be a part of. But there will also be houses you can go to that will always let you in.

Family: a group of like things. Something you can make anywhere.

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/world/dorji-dema-a-female-archer-taking-aim-at-sexism/

Dorji Dema: A female archer taking aim at sexism

Image copyright Michelle Jana Chan

Traditional Bhutanese archery is for men only – even though the country’s women archers have had great success in the modern sport. As Michelle Jana Chan reports, Olympic archer Dorji Dema is assembling a team of women to put this right.

I hope I’ve got the right house… I walk past a potato patch to the front door. There’s no knocker, so I call out. Dorji Dema appears at the doorway, a visibly toned and youthful 35-year-old in a tight orange T-shirt. She’s an archer, and archery is Bhutan’s national sport.

Long associated with victories over invading forces, archery has been practised for centuries here. Most villages have at least one range and contests are integral to the numerous religious festivals.

As I travelled across Bhutan, inside its monasteries and temples I’d seen statues and paintings of figures holding bamboo bows, often pulled back taut, aimed at their enemies. Some were male, others fantastical creatures; none looked anything like the woman in front of me.

Dorji smiles shyly and apologises for her English. Shorter than me, with a friendly smile and her hair tied back with a ribbon, she doesn’t fill me with fear, but Bhutanese men quake when she lifts her weapon.

Image copyright Alamy

Image caption Fresco of the God Pehor Gelpo, in Gangtey

I remove my shoes and enter her home. A wall is covered with certificates, medals and security passes from international archery competitions – in venues from Thailand to Sri Lanka – and there are polished trophies on a shelf.

“It’s not the winning, of course,” Dorji says. “It’s the participating.”

“Surely not,” I reply sceptically. “You must have wanted to win.”

She shakes her head. That’s very Bhutanese. Not a lack of ambition or passion, but congeniality, the sense of the collaborative.

From Our Own Correspondent has insight and analysis from BBC journalists, correspondents and writers from around the world

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Tournaments in Bhutan are often as much about fun as the frenzy of competing. They are accompanied by raucous singing, boo-ing, cheering, dancing and sometimes even heavy drinking by contestants. Archery is much more than just a sport.

“Will you teach me?” I ask Dorji. We’d planned a lesson.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Dorji Dema had morning sickness at the Beijing Olympics

She bounces off to get her Recurve, the model they use at the Olympics, which has a trigger to release the bow. She grabs a sheaf of arrows, and we head out to the garden. I hadn’t noticed the strip of land, flanked by a muddy bank, which serves as her practice ground. She usually shoots from 50m, but we move much closer to the target for my sake.

She talks me through the action. Lift the bow. Pull your arm back completely. Keep the bowstring close to your cheek.

I’ve always thought of myself as pretty strong, and I’m eager to try. But my left arm soon starts to shake with the strain. We giggle. I struggle to pull back the string. In a last-ditch effort I roar as I might at the gym, trying to lift one last weight. The arrow flies towards the target.

“Six points,” Dorji says, beaming.

It was a fluke. I get steadily worse with each try until I can barely lift the bow, let alone take aim.

Image copyright Michelle Jana Chan

Dorji shoots 20 arrows, one after another. They cluster around the bulls eye so tightly they look like one entity.

As the light fades, we head inside. We’re cooking dinner together and I’m spending the night – Dorji now runs a homestay.

Sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, we chop radishes and spring onions. One of her three children runs past, calling out a cheerful hello. I notice the girl’s age and glance up at the dates on the certificates on the wall.

Dorji nods knowingly, and explains that it wasn’t easy. In 2005, she was seven months pregnant when she competed in South Korea. Every time she took aim, the baby moved. She laughs.

Image copyright Getty Images

At the Beijing Olympics in 2008 she was three months pregnant and admits it was dreadful.

“I couldn’t eat anything. I was throwing up all the time,” she says.

“But although the baby makes you physically weaker, your mind is stronger. And the stronger your mind is, the less you shake.”

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Traditional archery remains a pursuit for Bhutanese men

I turn to Dorji’s mother, who’s been watching television in a corner.

“You must be proud of your daughter?”

“I’m proud of her because she’s made lots of money,” she guffaws. “She was the one who fixed the roof of this old house, not my son-in-law.”

Everyone laughs – Dorji’s husband, too. He’s obviously used to her tongue.

Image copyright Alamy

Image caption Women are mostly seen on the sidelines, as cheerleaders

I ask Dorji if she’ll try for another Olympics?

“I’d love to,” she says. “I watch all the competitions on YouTube.”

Her more immediate goal, though, is to put together an all-female team for a tournament in Bhutan next year. Dorji says women are excluded from the traditional discipline, where the distance to the target is 145m. Instead they’re mostly seen on the sidelines – as cheerleaders, and the ones who bring food to competitors and taunt the opposition.

Dorji wants to change that.

“In the past, women weren’t even allowed to touch a bow. It was considered bad luck,” she says. “But now we should be equal.”

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[wendyimmiller]

Gardening with Your Hands Tied: HOA Regulations vs. The Inspired Gardener

Well, it’s comforting to know that in the midst of world chaos, economic devastation and unprecedented anxiety, the HOA Clipboard Police are still doing their jobs.

While chatting with a friend the other night about gardening and other landscape-related topics that make others in the virtual happy hour suddenly realize they need to get up and refill their glasses, she mentioned that she had just received a letter from her officious Homeowners’ Association (HOA) asking her to “please remove the dead plant on the left side of your home.”

That is to say, a clematis.

On a trellis.

In early spring.

Once the plant had been removed, she was further commanded (on threat of fines and the weighty disapproval of her neighbors), to sign the letter, put a stamp on it and mail it back to Mrs. Kravitz and her band of tightlipped clipboard junkies.

Micromanaged Landscapes

She returned the letter, writing, “It’s a perennial.” in the margin. It took everything she had not to write, “It’s a perennial, stupid.”  After all, you don’t want to antagonize law enforcement.

“You have to understand,” my friend told me, “they’re trying to keep home values up – they’ve got to compete with _______.”  Here, she referenced a newer, stricter subdivision that furnishes its homeowners (term loosely used) with a laundry list of the many perennials, shrubs and trees they absolutely cannot plant without being clapped in irons.

That is to say, fined.

Yet I only slightly exaggerate. Setting such limits may not literally shackle the passionate, spontaneous gardener, but it sure as hell does figuratively. It restricts creativity and ensures boring, passive, tidy little landscapes which work better than a Unisom for inspiring deep REM sleep.

I know, I requested a copy of their covenants and made the mistake of bringing them to bed with me.  Four times.

Do you have a permit for that swing? And that mullein is over five feet tall! Infraction!

So Much for Inspired Landscapes

If you live in that neighborhood, it is hoped that you managed to get through those covenants more successfully than I. For, should you be inspired one bright Saturday morning by two expressos and Jimi Blake’s gorgeous new book A Beautiful Obsession,  and excitedly tear out more than 20% of your plants in order to replace them with something that makes your heart sing; AND you do so without filing an “Architectural Review Committee Application” and receiving approval; you’d better prepare yourself for a letter from the garden police asking you to “be compliant” and hand over the trowel.

Oh boy. WAAAY too much going on here. Where are the arborvitae? The azaleas? The lawn? Infraction!

Obviously, I find this sort of thing disturbing.  I am a spontaneous gardener. Half of the projects I undertake in the garden involve about five minutes notice, a pile of old stone and the clearance plant racks at my local Big Box.  Though I do not live under the jurisdiction of the Clipboard Police, by my reckoning I break at least two HOA by-laws an hour, and that’s on a slow day.

Dirt happens. And it very rarely happens within accepted parameters, at accepted times, in accepted ways.

The Fear Factor

What is it that entices many of us to hand over our rights to own a gazing ball?

Fear of our neighbor’s tackier gazing ball.

Is that an unapproved ornament? Infraction!

Though these neighborhoods often have community amenities such as pools or walking trails (my friend’s does not), fear of one’s neighbor – or potential neighbor – is at the core of each of these HOAs; and the successful (and subtle) marketing of such fear makes it much easier to swallow one’s doubts and sign up for a lifetime of surveillance.

The rules keep you ‘safe and happy.’ The HOA boards have ‘your best interests in mind.’  On one HOA blog (now THAT has got to be a boring gig), I read that “there is an undeniable, peaceful harmony within the neighborhood” when homeowners follow the rules and regulations.

Fascinating. Harmony apparently reigns when everyone plants Ilex crenata and forgoes a bench in the front yard to watch the pollinators.

Not that they’re encouraging many with the ilex.

Those empty troughs have been drying in the sun for over five weeks!  And what is with all the unplanted terracotta?  Either get some respectable pansies in there or……Infraction!

After all, mere city ordinances can’t possibly think of everything.  What if your neighbor paints their house red? What if she decides to have a compost pile, or wants to stop wasting money and environmental resources and (gasp) hangs her clothes up to dry?

What if she’s just plain crazy and wants to plant a meadow instead of a lawn?  Well, sadly for many people living in these subdivisions, by-laws might protect against compost, meadows and front yard benches, but they don’t protect against ‘crazy’ – I’ve listened to too many first-hand accounts of wack-a-doo neighbors inhabiting tasteful homes with thoroughly approved siding to know otherwise.

First year meadow project? Yeah, no. And BTW that fence needs to go too.

Nevertheless, we are convinced that we can create utopia with these regulations – eliminating any variables that make us uneasy (referred to in previous generations as “the spice of life”).

It’s no longer enough to give your neighbor a list of the paint colors that won’t offend you and won’t inspire her, but now we can make sure her floral life resides firmly within established parameters.

And she gets to pay for the privilege.

Oh hell no.

Liberty for Security – A Good Trade?

So what are we giving up in return?  For if you support such petunia policing, do not kid yourself, you will give up something in return. Here’s a list just off the top of my head:

1)   The stifling of creative energy when a homeowner sees an unusual, beautiful plant in a nursery and finds that it’s not on the list of approved flora.

2)   The establishment of mini-monocultures which are particularly vulnerable to pests and disease. (You can bet that Impatiens walleriana and Knock-Out roses once featured as ‘approved plants’ on many lists.)

3)   A severely impacted nursery trade as this practice continues, and garden centers (quite rightly) respond to the needs of their customers. All begonias. All the time.

That looks like a lot of garish color. And is that a CASTOR BEAN?!?!?!?! Infraction!

4)   A growing group of the public who is less physically connected to the incredible range of plants that Nature provides – and to the Earth itself.

5)   A neighborhood that looks like Disneyland – without the rides and definitely without Sleeping Beauty’s castle. (Pink is never an approved color.) Probably without gardeners.

6)   The inability of many homeowners to proactively take steps towards reducing their carbon footprint, such as hanging up clothes, having a compost pile, growing vegetables in sunny front yards, collecting water in rain barrels, etc…

7)   The desensitization of the public to similar standards of uniformity, and with desensitization, a growing uneasiness when ridiculing such practices, or holding them up to scrutiny – or indeed, contrasting them with the unique mix of cultures, practices and people that make up this country.

Whew – all because it’s more comforting to know your neighbor can’t go off the deep end and plant garish, hopelessly vulgar and completely lovely sunflowers in his front yard. And if he does, you’ve got the power to stop him – and make him pay for his transgression.

De gustibus non est disputandum…

Except.

No matter how many matters of taste we attempt to remediate with various sections and subsections, there are hundreds more for which there is no answer. Which is why HOAs tend to become more restrictive over time – particularly if they are in desirable areas.

As my friend has found out over the last 16 years of increasingly pedantic letters from Mrs. Kravitz and her merry band, when you choose to live in a Homeowners’ Association, you not only sign up for the rules that are, but the rules that will be.

Are those approved building materials? Infraction!

And “running for the Board” (as one is always instructed to do after receiving one of these letters and losing one’s freaking mind at an appeals hearing), is not a proportionate time/energy response when you just want to keep the rights you had when you signed up.

Ways Around the Madness

Certainly there can be compromises, and I have great respect for gardeners who work within the rules to create a garden they can be proud of.  In my book Big Dreams, Small Garden, I profiled Sheryl Massaro, a painter and gardener in Maryland who overwhelmed her HOA Board with a professional blueprint of her planned garden and a thorough list of the plants she wanted to use. She even became a Master Gardener during the proceedings which added weight to her application.

Lists, plans and credentials go a long way.  Sheryl got her garden, and as a result, her neighbors were inspired to do something similar. A win for everyone – including the HOA.

But Sheryl is not the norm.  Most people shut down in the face of bureaucracy. Including me.

According to the Community Associations Institute, over 20% of Americans currently live under the power of a Homeowners Association, and those numbers have grown steadily since the 1960’s.

That’s a lot of begonias folks.  Maybe it’s time to think about what we’re giving up, and why.

Gardening with Your Hands Tied: HOA Regulations vs. The Inspired Gardener originally appeared on GardenRant on April 9, 2020.

The post Gardening with Your Hands Tied: HOA Regulations vs. The Inspired Gardener appeared first on GardenRant.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2020/04/gardening-with-your-hands-tied-hoa-regulations-vs-the-inspired-gardener.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[topicprinter]

Hey - Pat from StarterStory.com here with another interview.Today's interview is with Nick Fortosis of Geo 101 Design, a brand that sells cork mapsSome stats:Product: Cork MapsRevenue/mo: $2,000Started: October 2017Location: Zeeland MichiganFounders: 1Employees: 0Hello! Who are you and what business did you start?My name is Nick Fortosis and I am the founder of GEO 101 Design, a company that specializes in creating one of a kind cork maps with modern minimalist aesthetics. Our goal is to turn your love of travel into your own personalized home décor.Founded in late 2017, I run the business by myself and manufacture everything in my garage workshop in West Michigan. We have been steadily growing and are currently doing roughly $2000 a month in sales through our website and our Etsy shop.imageWhat's your backstory and how did you come up with the idea?I am an engineer by day, but ever since I graduated college, I found myself looking for something to do in the evenings that didn’t involve sitting on the couch watching television or playing video games. I started exploring woodworking and soon found a way to combine it with my electronics background through CNC machining.I purchased a CNC router kit and put it together in my basement. After I had it up and running I was left with the realization that I didn’t have anything in mind to make with it! I slowly found little projects to make and started to increase my creative skill sets. I began to think about what I could make to sell, but still didn’t have any ideas that seemed to fit.I made some marble hexagon coasters for my wife for our anniversary. While they didn’t use the CNC, they were simple to make and were trendy at the time. I decided to sell some on Etsy. I was pretty paralyzed with indecision and lack of confidence in creating a product with my CNC so I used this as an opportunity to dip my toe in the water with a low risk product (started with $200 in supplies and have bootstrapped everything after that).It was slow for the first two months but then it took off (after adding professional photos). In the first nine months I ran that store (it was called Geometrikos Design), I had over $15k in sales. I put the shop on hold for the birth of my first child and started things up again a few months later, but by that time, people had caught on to how to make them and several competitors had popped up. It wasn’t completely detrimental to my business as I had a better product and a streamlined production process, but the newcomers were pricing theirs too low to compete with (a common problem on Etsy). While I was still profitable and making sales, I was ready to find something with a bigger moat and bigger profit margins, so I shut the shop down permanently.As this was going on, I still found time to tinker with my CNC. Once my friends caught on to what my machine was capable of, the requests started pouring in. Many of them are avid travelers, and wanted something to show off their travels, so I started cutting maps for them out of plywood. They looked pretty good, but weren’t very functional (needed nails to attach pictures or souvenirs) or very unique. This is when I got the idea to try and cut one out of cork. Cork is more visually interesting than plywood, plus cork is sustainably harvested and eco-friendly.imageTake us through the process of designing, prototyping, and manufacturing your first product.I have a rather unorthodox method of designing a new product. I need to establish my constraints first. So I started with what my limitations were and worked backwards until I could configure a product to meet those restrictions.My biggest constraint was time. By then we were awaiting the birth of our second child and to maintain a work/life balance (since this is in addition to my day job), I started to give myself time constraints. I wanted to create a product and run my business using less than 4 hours a week. So the goal for me was to try and make as much money in as little time as possible. This is where the CNC shines.While the coasters needed significant physical labor, for my maps I could program the CNC and have it run while I worked on something else, potentially doubling my output. I spent a lot of time optimizing my design so it would cut faster and with a better finish.Then came the pricing. I didn’t even make a prototype before I ran the numbers and found a material and price point I felt would be profitable and competitive. I used the popular pricing formula of (material + labor costs) x2 for wholesale and x4 for retail. If the end number was too high, I would look for ways to either make it faster or find cheaper materials.Describe the process of launching the business.Towards the end of my marble coaster days, I simply added my first US cork map to my Etsy shop. It didn’t fit the shop theme, but I just needed to see if it could sell. Within 3 weeks I had my first sale. I only sold 1-2 maps a month that winter (late 2017 to early 2018), but as it started to increase in early spring, I began to look outside of Etsy where I could have more control of my product and audience.imageIn February of 2018 I bought a domain and started my website using Shopify. It was really slow at first. I was completely responsible for directing traffic to the site and I was not very good at it. My first design of the site looked cool to me, but it was not set up to convert well. I was almost going to give up on it, but I did a small redesign with a more straightforward style, and I started getting sales, mainly through my instagram account. Not many at first, but enough to prove that my product could sell.On a whim I posted a picture of my maps on reddit. My daily website traffic that day exploded from 20ish visitors to over 1500! While many of the visitors were more curious than looking to buy, I really didn’t make any money off of the extra traffic, but it did open up some unique connections.Shortly after my post, I was contacted by Touch of Modern, a popular men’s fashion/flash sale site. They wanted to feature my maps in an upcoming campaign. The catch was that I needed to have over 50 maps created and ready to ship before the sale started. I think I had only $1500 in my account at the time but I decided to go for it and spent $1200 on material to boost my inventory (I usually keep little or no inventory and make maps to order). The sale went live in June and I sold a grand total of 8 maps. At first I was pretty disappointed, but it ended up being a blessing in several ways.First, was it forced me to streamline my process. I was able to iron out all of the kinks in production and found a few tricks that significantly reduced my cycle time. Second was it gave me a healthy inventory which came in handy a month later when a bike accident left me with a broken collar bone and five broken limbs. Instead of trying to make maps with one arm and on pain meds, all I had to do was slap a shipping label on the box and set it out for pickup. Without that inventory I would have had to shut down my shop for 2 months while I recovered.Since launch, what has worked to attract and retain customers?First and foremost, I believe professional photos are absolutely essential to getting people interested in a product. Without them most ads are going to be completely useless and social media accounts will be dead on arrival.My instagram posts brought in a lot of initial business. I made sure to engage and like and comment on my followers posts and hashtags I followed. I found a lot of interest in National Park lovers and hikers, so I would find popular accounts and engage with the commenters on their posts.imageI also started offering custom maps, since my CNC can basically cut any shape. I currently use an embedded Google form, but am working on a more streamlined approach.imageI tried Facebook ads a few times, but even with doing research, my campaigns all fell flat. I got to the point where I had to admit that I am just not good at writing ad copy and am basically gambling with my ad money. I found Google Shopping ads much more successful and easy to use. No copy or creative content is necessary, just a product photo. I started using Shopping ads right before the 2018 holiday season and my orders exploded. I was getting an ROI of over 300%.imageThis last spring I tried out Instagram influencers with varied success. I had a few that I was able to turn a profit on, but it was pretty modest and the work to find and vet them was too time consuming, plus subsequent shoutouts from the same accounts produced diminishing returns.imageHow are you doing today and what does the future look like?My goal has always been to double revenue year over year. We are on track to double our sales this year and get to $30k annual revenue, and hope to grow to 60k next year. While everything is great now, I worried that I would soon hit a wall where my mediocre marketing skills would hold me back.imageI recently contracted a local marketing firm to help increase my sales. My budget is on the low side ($500 a month) but the hope is to ramp up slowly and take advantage of the holiday surge and position GEO 101 Design to continue its growth rate into 2020.The biggest challenge I am facing now is designing a cork map of the world. I get custom order requests for it weekly, yet it has proved very difficult to design a map that matches the quality and detail of my other maps and still be reasonably priced. Just this week I think I had a breakthrough with a new material supplier and if it proves out, I hope to have something ready for production by mid-September, so stay tuned!I am also trying to create products at different price points. My current maps are high quality and have prices to match. I want to be able to offer something cheaper that may be an easier impulse buy. I also get a lot of requests from companies looking for very large maps (8ft+ wide), so I hope to figure out the logistics and necessary tools to make and ship larger products as well.In anticipation for the Holiday season and future growth, I have slowly been assembling a second CNC router. This will effectively double my capacity without adding any more to my weekly time allotment. According to my calculations, I should be able to scale to roughly $116k in annual sales before I need to seriously expand or modify my work schedule.The last thing I am working on is getting my website to generate more revenue than my Etsy shop. Last year it was roughly 30/70, but now I am approaching 50/50. At this point Etsy is easy money so I won’t shut it down, but I stopped paying for ads and now push all new people to my website instead.Through starting the business, have you learned anything particularly helpful or advantageous?Running a business like mine is definitely a learning by doing exercise. The problems and obstacles I have faced, I never could have predicted. For example, the first year I had a large amount of maps that arrived at their destination broken or damaged.I had to scramble and figure out how to pack them better. There really weren’t any resources I could find that had packaging tips or guidelines, so I basically had to keep adding padding and protection until the complaints stopped. Thankfully I finally figured it out and have had only 1 damaged map this year so far, but it took a lot of unforeseen work to get to this point. You will never be able to predict all of the problems you will face, you just have to get started and deal with them as they come.It's also very important to price your product wisely, leaving plenty of margin to account for unquantified costs. You are going to have to deal with customer returns, raw material price increases, fraud, shipping rate hikes, electricity, gas, and dozens of other costs you never planned on. You don’t want any of these things to sink your business so you need to give yourself a cushion from the very beginning. I believe the formula I listed above is a good start, but each business is unique so do what works for you.What platform/tools do you use for your business?I have used Shopify ever since I began using my own domain. I have kept my toolset pretty minimalistic. To be honest, I think most of the third party Shopify apps are pretty overrated for businesses just starting out in ecommerce.I have no doubt they can help optimize and increase conversion rates, but if you don’t have a solid product and good understanding of all of the built-in tools Shopify has, the extra plugins aren’t going to make up for it.What have been the most influential books, podcasts, or other resources?I’ll try and avoid the obvious ones that seem to get cited here over and over (for example, How I Built This)I have always closely followed the maker movement, which has influenced a lot I do. The Making It podcast is a great resource on setting up a shop and getting started selling your product.The Made for Profit podcast is even more focused on the business side of making, though they spend a lot of time talking content creation instead product creation.A book that I really enjoyed but I haven’t seen mentioned here is called “Boss Life: Surviving My Own Small Business”. It is the journal of an owner of a small woodworking business and goes into great detail about the day to day challenges of running a small business.Advice for other entrepreneurs who want to get started or are just starting out?Fail quickly. Don’t worry about setting up the perfect website and the perfect product on day one. Focus on getting a minimum viable product to market as quickly as possible. And when you fail, figure out why and learn from it. Avoid just throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks. Your chance of success should grow over time if you continually improve and recalibrate based on your mistakes and failures.This also goes for money. You don’t need a huge bankroll or enormous inventory to get started. Bootstrapping your business can be slow going, but the risk and stress you avoid is worth it and helps you grow sustainably. Plus it makes you think before you spend. Throwing money at problems rarely fixes them at this stage.Where can we go to learn more?https://www.geo101design.com/https://www.instagram.com/geo101design/https://www.facebook.com/geo101design/info@geo101design.comIf you have any questions or comments, drop a comment below!Liked this text interview? Check out the full interview with photos, tools, books, and other data.For more interviews, check out r/starter_story - I post new stories there daily.Interested in sharing your own story? Send me a PM

[patrickjones-blog]

If you are like most people, you are likely to have at least a couple of thousand old prints boxed up and stored in an attic or dark closet. That number is high enough to deter most people from getting their old photo scanning project off the ground. Even if they know that they don’t have to tackle it by themselves; that it’s possible – and even advisable – to rope in a reliable professional scanning service to help with the tedious parts.

But if, like the New York Times, you have something like six million old photos in your archives, then it calls for industrial grade scanning support and strategies to see you through it.

The old photos were stored in the Times morgue, a giant underground repository of old newspaper clippings, images and books. As the digitizing project got underway, a ten person team worked steadily to get photos out of physical drawers and folders, feed them through heavy duty scanners and then, with some help from Google, catalog and archive them digitally.

Why was this effort so important to the Times? Like other legacy publishers, the Times decided to take the plunge and digitize its massive image collection when it realized how valuable these photos were as windows into the past.

As Monica Drake, an editor at the newspaper said:

“We have covered the world for such a long time we just have this vast store of information. The immediate goal is to take advantage of all this material and information we’ve gathered for so long and bring it back to life.

One way the Times is doing this is through an archival storytelling project called Past Tense. Since it was started last year, the Past Tense team has already begun plumbing the Times photo archive for interesting feature stories. These have included recreating photos of iconic New York sites first taken in 1951; an exploration of dance photography, a look at the City during rainy days from the past, and a lot more.

Many of these photos and the stories behind are now part of the NYT’s archival Instagram page, to give us a dose of both history and nostalgia. Here are a few of our favorites….

Scenes of Summer: Road trip ready; A resourceful kid in the city; Coney Island fun ride

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Summer has officially begun, which means families across America will be loading up their cars with sleeping bags and beach towels and setting off on adventures. The soundtrack to the season is a chorus of “How much farther?” and “Are we there yet?” Whether you’re headed to the city or the country, the mountains or the sea, a cherished traditional spot or a destination as-yet-unknown, it’s less about where you and your loved ones are going than how you’re leaving your everyday lives behind, together. This Staten Island family was thrilled to ditch their borough for a pre-Airbnb home-swap on the Canadian border in 1972. “The description of the house seemed to meet our vacation requirements precisely,” the original caption read. “An escape to nature with adequate room for our 6 children in an exotic-sounding spot not more than one day’s drive from New York.” Photograph by Dennis Chalkin/The New York Times (Story by @vvchambers. Link in bio.) #nytimes #nytarchives

A post shared by The New York Times Archives (@nytarchives) on May 27, 2019 at 10:35am PDT

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Sometimes, a vacant lot is just that: a lonely, forgotten space full of garbage and weeds and old mattresses that long ago lost their bounce. But sometimes, that lot is a playground, each tattered stack a trampoline ready to send you soaring into the sky. In the summer of 1987, #nytimes staff photographer Fred R. Conrad captured this 14-year-old boy as he turned an abandoned corner of Brooklyn into a personal gymnasium, practicing backflips under the blazing August sun. #nytarchives

A post shared by The New York Times Archives (@nytarchives) on May 30, 2019 at 3:01am PDT

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The hashtag #SundayFunday might be relatively new, but the sentiment goes back decades. You can see it in this photo taken by our photographer Barton Silverman on a hot Sunday in June 1976. “Youngsters cool off by riding the Water Flume at Astroland, Coney Island,” read the caption that was published in @nytimes. Pictured, from front to back, are Fatman Ekinci, 5; her brothers, Kris, 7, and Fevzi, 9; and in the background, Lillian Pacheco, 7. Astroland was first mentioned by @nytimes on September 13, 1962, when the paper called it “the first major project for frivolous purposes in Coney Island in 25 years.” But the park’s final #SundayFunday came in September 2008. The park's owner said the landlord refused to discuss the expiring lease. “This place lets kids trust their legs, they don’t have to worry about cars, and neighborhoods are getting so rough. They’re closing down a legend,” Walter McCoy, a resident of East New York, told @nytimes. And Keyira Serrano told the paper that she spent every summer weekend at Astroland. On Astroland’s final Sunday, she told @nytimes, "we’re going to have all the fun we can, while it lasts." — @adri_ninfa_gio, @nytimes news assistant #ConeyIsland #SundaysInBrooklyn #amusementparks

A post shared by The New York Times Archives (@nytarchives) on Aug 26, 2018 at 8:46am PDT

Perilous pursuits — for fame, or a paycheck, or both

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A worker who’s really, REALLY on his toes does some perilous-looking spring cleaning at the United Nations on April 17, 1953. “Window cleaners are a very, very passionate bunch,” said David Knowlton, president of the International Window Cleaning Association. “Most of all, in the high-rise industry, it’s the allure of hanging off a building.” There are fewer fatalities than you might expect among cleaners like the intrepid man in this photograph — only a handful a year nationwide. “It’s really personal error that gets in the way, so you just have to stay focused,” says Tony Natoli, of Tony’s Window Cleaning Service. “You only get to fall once.” (Link in bio.) Photograph: Ernie Sisto/The New York Times #nytarchives

A post shared by The New York Times Archives (@nytarchives) on May 16, 2019 at 2:51pm PDT

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Less than a month after he’d walked on a wire stretched between the tops of the Twin Towers, Philippe Petit performed another striking feat of aerialism at Great Falls in Paterson, New Jersey. “One hundred feet below him,” @nytimes reported, “the brown, murky waters of the Passaic River swirled over boulders, forming a frothy soup filled with sticks, metal pipes, beer cans and at least three automobile tires.” As Petit made the crossing, “dipping his pole from side to side, as if he were rowing a boat,” a crowd of 30,000 watched. Among them was the Times staff photographer Joyce Dopkeen, who snapped this picture of Petit pausing to kneel in the middle of his walk, which took about eight and a half minutes to complete. #nytarchives #JoyceDopkeen

A post shared by The New York Times Archives (@nytarchives) on Mar 20, 2019 at 5:53am PDT

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Cigar, sunglasses, squeegee — check. Frank Kind, a window washer with over 40 years of experience, was fully equipped for the job when #nytimes staff photographer @Andrea_Mohin snapped his picture through a window more than 40 floors above Midtown Manhattan in July 1995. According to the report that ran with Andrea’s shot, “Tales From the Sky,” Frank didn’t think too much about the risks of his profession, at least not while he was working. “I just pay attention to what I’m doing,” he said flatly. #nytarchives #nyc #andreamohin

A post shared by The New York Times Archives (@nytarchives) on Mar 18, 2019 at 8:55am PDT

Reasons to be out and about in the city

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Our staff photographer Marilynn K. Yee photographed these women and their children skating on Broome Street for a 1978 article in which #nytimes championed roller skating as a “fad revived.” The article claimed that skaters rivaled joggers in Central Park, and continued “New Yorkers are using their skates for exercise, relaxation, socializing or just as simple transportation.” Is that still true today? #nytarchives #MarilynnKYee

A post shared by The New York Times Archives (@nytarchives) on Mar 27, 2019 at 8:20am PDT

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This 1978 photograph is from an afternoon disco party in TriBeCa for single parents and their children. “The little girl in the center stole my heart,” @mistyonpointe told us recently when looking at this photograph. “Music was always on in my house. My mother grew up dancing — ballet, tap, jazz. But I don’t recall dancing with my mother. Dance was my private time. It was an escape from the chaos and traumas of my childhood. My way of expressing myself.” Visit the link in our profile to read more of Misty Copeland’s commentary and to see more dance photographs from the #nytarchives. Photograph: Tyrone Dukes/The New York Times

A post shared by The New York Times Archives (@nytarchives) on Apr 14, 2019 at 6:07am PDT

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Demonstrating questionable eclipse-viewing technique, these “Broadway stars,” as they were described by the @nytimes caption in 1932, “show an unusual interest in the sun.” Along with President Herbert Hoover, who watched in Washington, “New Yorkers Turned Their Eyes Skyward” to take in the eclipse, which occurred on August 31 of that year. #nyc #history #photography #astronomy

A post shared by The New York Times Archives (@nytarchives) on Jan 5, 2019 at 8:08am PST

If you are inspired by what the New York Times is doing with its photo archive, take a moment to see how you can rescue your own valuable old photos from oblivion. They may not be in a morgue, but shoeboxes and dark basements can have the same effect of keeping them trapped and away from the light of day. It’s time to get them out of the boxes and digitize them so that it’s easier to share these nuggets of photo nostalgia with others. The New York Times has shown us that it’s possible to scale even the tallest of digitizing mountains – with a little bit of help.

The post What We Can Learn from the NY Times’s Massive Photo Digitizing Project appeared first on ScanCafe.

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