#the “And never again...” at the bottom may or may not be a Tally Hall song reference!

[princyvish]

Day 9: Storm

More angst yay

explodes

[the1weepinqguitar]

tally hall sketches and other assorted doodles

Here ya go guys! I also have improvement pics from last year! Almost two years in the Tally Hall fandom! Woohoo! My Marvin's CD is gonna hate me even more after all of this

A Ross sketch! I'm super proud of how it turned out! Below is a close-up!

The aforementioned close-up, showing the shading on his face and the folds of his sleeve!

Zubin! I love the side profile, and I used his picture in the MMMM booklet as a reference! Close up below, so you can see some of the more fine details/shading

the close-up!

Here's Andrew! His hair is kinda hard to not fluff-ify, but I dealt with it anyways and tried my best to keep it close to reality. Obligatory close(r)-up below.

next will be some other random stuff, mostly tally hall, but some of it is oc art

drew this drawing of Ross last September. Not amazing but very stylized, which I love/hate. the tag on the bottom left reads, "he's rather disheveled but this is the best I could do back then"

wtf is he doing? He in an action movie or something? btw this was last-year's andrew. very stylized. i hate it.

decided not to include the other last-year Rob cause i hate it deeply. this one's much better. very fluffy. i dont like the collar tho

just me poking fun at my horrendous attempts at stylizing joe. im not gonna draw him as much as the others btw.

This is from an au created by @bonkdd, but i did rob and andrew's designs bc i never saw his designs for them. i also added a lot of lore and plot stuff because i really liked the concept. in simple terms the tallies are robots that were abandoned by Marvin after he passed away so now they're falling apart n stuff without him to care for them (that's why rob hides his face). Anyways, huge thanks to Bonk for the original idea! They're a great artist, you should go check them out!

Edith, drawn/sketched with a ballpoint pen.

Another one. I like this one better, but I spent two days on this one versus a half on hour on the other so i guess it makes sense

Adrian and Reuben (OCs), done in a college-ruled notebook bc i ran out of pages in my sketchbook. next is a close-up so you can see more shading.

probably my favorite gay couple i've ever written ngl

Ace again, but wearing Reuben's favorite sweater.

Looking mighty fine!

He's lookin' tough, he's got the stuff, he's got the spiffy shades... (/lyric)

pose practice

Boll weevil, why don't you get out of your home? (/lyric)

old art jumpscare - i actually kinda like this one, might redraw it. Below is the full thing

why is zubes staring like that??? its creepy

here's another. i don't know why it's sideways. andrew is scared of joe btw, this isn't the entire drawing

Did an embossing peice. It's the Mojo Chessmaster! I tried by best to make it as detailed as possible, and I think I did pretty alright. The neck was probably the worst part to do. Below are close-ups

the head of the guitar was a pain in the ass.

This part was also pretty tricky but it came out okay. the dials at the bottom are raised as much as I could get them to go, so I'm not worried about them. My issue here was the pickups.

I also added Flansburgh's little signature guy but i drew his hair because why not? Anyways this piece took me a good hour or so to finish, I think it'll fetch a good grade (it was for my metal design class).

I'll add a sketch I just did as a bonus:

it's from a tally hall fanfic/au i made back in may after my grandpa passed away. It was a great stress-reliever and I still really like how it turned out. It's about cryptids and monsters and shit. I'll post a summary on a different post because this one was mostly for the drawings. I might post a few installments of it on my ao3. It could be a weekly thing since i usually have time on fridays to write.

Once again, a close-up is available below.

I put literal hours of research on cryptids and of the area (ann harbor, MI) while writing this fic. It was fun though, and it helped me a lot. Feel free to ask me anything about the plot or world-building !

[r3volutionary-queen]

Chapter 23 Sneak Peek (unedited)

Sometime just before midnight, Darcy awoke to her name being called. Her eyes blearily opened to find Steve crouched in front of her, a careful distance away. He tilted his handsome face, lips curving.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Steve murmured. “C’mon, time to get up.”

Darcy’s eyes were barely slit open as her mind tried to play catch up.

“Hey,” she croaked back at him, sounding very much like an eighty-year-old man. Sitting up in her chair, Darcy stretched her arms above her head, she yawned. Her back arched and she smacked her lips. “Wh’time izit?”

“Time for you to get your beauty sleep, that’s what time it is,” came an amused voice just over Steve’s shoulder.

Darcy’s eyelashes fluttered as her gaze landed on Bucky. The dark-haired man was picking up the popcorn bowls and empty beer bottles. He straightened from his cleaning when he noticed her gaze on him and grinned.

She yawned again, completely unable to stop it. Her eyes watered unintentionally, and she gave Bucky a sleepy blink. “I can help clean up.”

“Nope,” Bucky told her easily and Darcy sat up.

“Better listen to the man, sweetheart,” Steve said around a grin.

She looked between the two of them and knew it would be a hopeless battle. Normally, Darcy would have fought it, but the exhaustion weighing down her limbs was enough to convince her otherwise.

“Fine. But I’m keeping a tally,” she warned and then grunted and pulled herself up to her own two feet.

It took a surprising amount of effort to do so. She may or may not have swayed and wobbled a little as she straightened completely. Steve hovered, arm extended cautiously, despite the fact that he wouldn’t be able to touch her even if she fell.

“I’m fine,” Darcy waved him off and offered instead, “Walk me to my room?”

The corners of Steve’s eyes crinkled happily, making her heart stutter, and he nodded gently. “Of course.”

Darcy’s gaze flicked to the side and landed on Bucky who was studiously going about gathering their mess. She bit her lip. “Both of you?”

In that moment, Darcy was never sure she had ever seen such a beautiful smile on a man’s face as the one that slowly grew on Bucky’s.

“Alright then,” Bucky agreed in a soft voice.

Steve opened the door for them as they reached the deck exit and Darcy tossed him a brilliant, swift smile as she walked through. Bucky was right on her heels. Inside, the Compound was silent, and even though there was a certain level of butterflies swirling about, trapped in her stomach, at the notion of having both men at her side, Darcy couldn’t stop yawning the entire way.

Her flip flops scuffled on the ground and she grumped, “You know, even though I’m all for the protection this spell offers, it’s times like this that I despise it.”

“Why’s that?” Bucky asked with a quirk to his lips.

“Because if it weren’t here, then one of you could have gone all macho and I could have been carried to my damn room like a princess and still been asleep.”

“Careful, Darcy,” Steve rumbled deeply as they ambled along. “I remember a deal you made me back at the safehouse.”

She wracked her brain back to that time and frowned, shaking her head. Steve grinned like a shark. A shark that had just cornered its favorite meal and Darcy was almost scared to breathe.

“You told me then that I could carry you around as much as I ‘damn well pleased’. I haven’t forgotten”

Oh, she thought and thankfully didn’t say aloud. Instead, Darcy mumbled out an unsure, “Did I really say that?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded slowly, that predatory grin bleeding into something wicked. “You did.”

“I’d like to confer with my lawyers,” Darcy quipped in a teasing manner as they made the last turn down the hallways and her door came into sight.

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” Steve shook his head sadly at her, his voice mocking innocence. “The jury’s already out. Here’s your sentence: the second this spell is gone, don’t plan on having your feet touch the ground for a solid week.”

Reaching her door, she turned and faced the two of them. Biting her lip, Darcy lifted one brow and boldly challenged, “Is that a promise, Muscles?”

“You can tease all you want now,” Steve shrugged lightly, a secret sort of smile playing about his lips. “But I’m serious. I’m going to call in on that deal.”

Beside him, Bucky snorted and gave her a knowing look. “In other words, prepare for some really aggressive affection.”

Instantly, Darcy’s mind flew to the moment she had been laying on Steve’s chest, sated and as the blond put it—pummeled. Blood rushed to the surface of her pale cheeks and Darcy sucked on her teeth.

“Noted,” she grinned at Bucky, entirely avoiding the sharp, knowing look on Steve’s face (like the bastard was fully aware of the direction her mind went).

They fell quiet after that Darcy glanced back at her door. It was only slightly awkward since this is where she’d normally reach for a hug or even a kiss, but instead they were left standing there, casting lingering gazes at one another like junior high kids.

Finally, Darcy jerked her thumb back at the door, “Well, I should probably head in.” Her shoulders hitched up to her ears. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” Steve said with a fond look.

“Sweet dreams,” Bucky added.

Darcy gave them a parting smile and then reached for her door. Slipping inside, she sighed girlishly, giving herself a moment to appreciate the night. Though it had a few bumps, she would consider the date as a whole a total success.

It was only when she got to her dresser to pick out a pair of pajamas that she realized she still had Bucky’s blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Eyes rounding, Darcy ran for her door and wrenched it open, hoping they weren’t too far away.

“Bucky!”

The hallway was empty and Darcy looked left and right, the soft blanket clutched in her hands. A second later, Bucky appeared alone, a hesitant, almost questioning expression on his face.

Darcy lifted up the blanket. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to run off with it.”

His eyes flicked down to the blanket and then back up to Darcy. Bucky bit down on his bottom lip and then slowly released it.

“Why don’t you hang onto it for me?” He suggested after a moment, offering her a tender kind of smile. It wasn’t as big as the one he had given her up on the roof earlier, but it was warm, like an ember in the pit of her stomach. Bucky’s brows lifted in something akin to hope, “At least until our next date.”

That ember flared into a flame and Darcy hugged the blanket tighter. Her voice was quiet and small and wrapped in a blush, “Okay.”

For a long time, the dark-haired man stared at her from down the hall and she got the feeling he wanted to say something, do something, but instead he merely wished her a soft goodnight.

Back in her room, Darcy carefully spread out the blanket on her bed. Was she planning to sleep curled up under it with a stupidly big smile on her face?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 38a (NSFW)

Cowritten with @disastrousintention

-x-

Josh stood outside the pub, his hands in his pockets. It had been a while since he and Charlie had gone to the pub. He hadn't really felt in the mood for it and he had a feeling Charlie felt the same way. So it had taken him a little by surprise when Charlie had suggested the idea of a night in the pub.

Charlie knew Josh needed a friend right now, someone he could share his feelings and thoughts to. As his best friend, Charlie had suggested the night in the pub. He met Josh outside. “Alright mate?”

"Yeh, not bad. You?"

“Yeah.” Charlie smiled, “Fancy a pint or several?”

"That's the best idea I've heard all day!"

Not much beyond idle chat was said by either until they were onto their fourth pint of the evening.

"I know what I'm avoiding at the bottom of this glass, what's your excuse?" Josh asked.

“Not much.” Charlie replied.

Josh sighed and finished his pint. "Fancy something a bit stronger?" He asked.

“Sure, why not?”

Josh went to the bar and came back with a tray containing two pints and two double whiskys.

“How long can you keep avoiding talking about it?” Charlie asked.

"Talking about what?" Josh replied.

“You and Collette?”

"What about it? It's over. End of story."

“It’s never that easy, Josh.”

"She slept with someone else. Lied to me that she was carrying my baby. When all the time she knew..."

“I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

"I thought I had a second chance." Josh sighed. "I give up with women, they're all liars and cheats!" He stated before downing his whisky.

“Not all of them.” Charlie sighed softly.

"Your wife always tell you everything does she?"

“Not always.” Charlie swirled his whiskey around his glass.

"Exactly! She's just like the rest of them."

"Josh!" Charlie gasped. "I was equally responsible for what happened." He pointed out.

"You deserve each other then." Josh replied bitterly.

“Josh!” Charlie sighed.

"So tell me, what makes you want to sleep with a married woman?"

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

"Yes, I want to understand what motivates a bloke to do something like that."

“Thrill of the chase. The danger of getting caught.” Charlie replied.

"Is that why you did it?"

“Partly.” Charlie finished his whiskey.

"What other reasons were there? Didn't you ever feel guilty?"

“I was in love with her.” Charlie paused. “All the time. Even now, after all this time I still feel guilty for breaking Baz apart like I did.”

"I don't think Simon has the capacity to feel guilty or to love someone other than himself." Josh sighed.

“That’s true.” Charlie sighed, “I’m sorry Josh.”

"Why? It's not like you slept with my wife behind my back." Josh shrugged.

Charlie shrugged, a silence descending over them both.

Josh went to refill their glasses and returned to find Charlie staring off into space. "Go on... Out with it!"

“Duffy and I are considering having another baby.” Charlie blurted out.

Josh stared at him wordlessly. He couldn't have heard that right..!

“I’m sorry.” Charlie sighed.

"I give up with you two, you're both clearly mad! What happened to 'never again!'?"

“Duffy’s getting broody and well...”

"Did she refuse to sleep with you til you agreed?" Josh laughed, the alcohol clearly starting to take effect.

Charlie laughed, “No. No issues in that department. I had an unexpected boner on holiday last week, I was mortified.”

Josh laughed. "So you're totally up for it then? Six not enough so you thought you'd add a couple more?"

“I’m scared.” Charlie admitted truthfully.

"Of what? Getting stage fright?"

He rolled his eyes playfully, “No. Of having another baby. What if it changes the dynamics of the family?”

"You mean the barely controlled chaos you two currently call a home life?"

“That’s the one.” Charlie smiled, “I wouldn’t change any of it.”

"So how's adding more chaos gunna change things? Unless there's something else..?"

“Duffy hasn’t had the best health in the last two pregnancies. Nor is there any guarantee that we’ll have baby.” Charlie paused, “Even after the reversal. Our age is another factor.”

"Yeh, don't remind me!" Josh shook away the memories. "What's Duffy's view on those things? Or has she just gone baby gaga and isn't listening to any of it?"

“She’s gone baby gaga. We’ve both agreed to one last roll of the dice. Leave it to fate.”

"And if fate doesn't go the way she wants it to..?"

“We’ve not spoken about that. Not much anyway.”

"Ah."

“I do think we’ll have problems conceiving.” Charlie admitted.

"You two?" Josh couldn't help laughing.

“Josh!” Charlie laughed gently, “OK. You may have a point.”

"Let's do a quick mental tally shall we? First you've got..." Josh broke up laughing again.

“Stop laughing.” Charlie said, in fits of giggles himself

The bell for last orders sounded. "One more for the road?" Josh asked as he stumbled towards the bar.

“Why not?”

About ten minutes later they stumbled out onto the street, the fresh air and alcohol hitting them both hard.

“Bloody jell Josh, I said one drink to the missus. She’ll kill me.” Charlie stumbled and laughed.

"Oh she will and you'll enjoy every minute of it!"

“Probably.” Charlie grinned. “We should do this again, soon.”

"Yes. Before she chains you to that bed and doesn't let you out again!" Josh laughed.

“She likes chaining me to our bed.”

"She does seem like the bossy type!"

“She is.” Charlie laughed, “Really bossy. Especially when she wants something.”

They walked along the street towards Charlie's house, laughing and stumbling along the way. After several minutes they reached Charlie's front garden.

“It was good to see you smile, mate.” He said to Josh before he hugged him and patted his back.

Their voices were clearly louder than they realised because suddenly the hall light came on and the front door opened.

“Oops. I think I’m going to be in trouble.” Charlie laughed.

"You boys have a good evening?" Duffy asked, her eyebrow raised, as she lent against the doorframe in her dressing gown.

“Yes darling.” Charlie turned his attention to Duffy, “Are you wearing anything under that dressing gown?”

"Wouldn't you like to know..." She shifted slightly causing the gown to gape open further.

Charlie bit his lip. “Josh, I’m going to have to go.”

Josh rolled his eyes with a laugh. He looked over at the pair of them, doing his best to focus on Duffy's face rather than anywhere else. Charlie really had landed on his feet with her! "Sure, yeh, I best get home too."

He was a lucky fella indeed! “Let me know when you’re home, safely.”

"Yeh, I'll text you." Josh laughed. "Have a good night!" He called over his shoulder as he walked up the street.

“Oh I think I will.” Charlie stepped towards the house, his hands immediately going inside her dressing gown. “I don’t think Josh knew where to look.”

Duffy wrinkled her nose. "How much have you had?"

“Too much.” He began to kiss her neck as he began to back her into the house.

"Charlie!" She giggled. "You need to go to sleep."

“Do not.” His hands moved towards her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples.

"You are drunk Charlie!"

“And horny.”

"I should make you a coffee."

“As long as I can then do you, over the kitchen table.” He grinned.

"Charlie! Behave!" She giggled as she made her way to the kitchen.

“Its you.” He replied, “You’re absolutely gorgeous.” He followed her.

She flicked on the kettle and slowly turned around, loosening the belt on her dressing gown as she did.

He watched her intensely as she did. She was beautiful!

"I'm glad you had a good evening." She smiled.

“It was a lovely evening. By the looks of things, it’s about to get even better.”

"Is that so?"

“Uh huh.” He stepped towards her and gently removed the dressing gown. “You are incredibly beautiful! So so so sexy.”

"And you're so so so drunk!" She giggled as she wrapped her arm around his neck.

“Josh’s fault.” He joked as he picked her up and sat her on the counter.

"I shall have to tell him off when I next see him then."

“We talked about you.”

"Me? What have I done?" She asked, leaning back to rest her hands on the table.

“We were just discussing that you were the bossy type.” He replied, “Like chaining me to the bed and all that.”

"Charlie! I have to work with Josh!"

“He started it!” He laughed, kissing her neck again.

"I'm not sure I believe you."

“Hmm.” He sucked the sensitive spot on her neck.

"I'm trying to talk to y-mm..!" She moaned.

“What’s that?” He asked, moving his lips to her collarbone.

"Stop distracting mm..!"

He shifted, pressing himself against her thigh.

"You're drunk, we shouldn't." She whispered.

“Shouldn’t what?” He asked.

"Be having sex."

“Why?”

"I'm sober. It's wrong." She sighed. "I want to but... How would you feel if it was me that was drunk?"

“I’d probably do the same and say it was wrong.” He met her gaze, lifting his head up. “Shall we go to bed gorgeous? I think my boner will still be here by morning.”

"I'm sure it will be." She smiled. She kissed him lightly. "Thank you."

“You don’t need to thank me.” He replied as he picked up her dressing gown off the floor. They went up to bed.

[giasonesdream]

Dubious Documents~Part 3: The Request

Read Part 1: The Anonymous Message & Part 2: The Phone Number

Excerpt: “’I'm...I'm here to see Namjoon?’ You pose the statement as a question, unsure of how you're supposed to introduce yourself.

The clown blinks for a moment before a light seems to go off over his head. Suddenly his expression is much more lively, almost animated. ‘Oh, right! You're the reporter chick, yeah?’ He doesn't even allow you to answer before he steps back, letting you enter the dimly lit space.’You wired?’

Your eyes narrow, unable to hide any irritation or frustration that you held onto for the past few days. You're being forced to come here and he wants to know…

’Do you really think I would tell you if I was?’”

Word Count: 3,781

When the Meng Motel became a corporation, they had their two story hospices strewn all over the small country. With the migration of people from one place to another, some of those motels became abandoned. There was one right on the outskirts of Kkum Coast.

That's where Namjoon wanted to meet you.

The card also specified you go  through the lobby and left, down a hall to where a pool used to be (those Mengs really were ahead of their time, eh?).

You weren't sure on what would be best: showing up early or on time. You just know that you definitely shouldn't be late, if Yoongi's whispered threat is anything to go by.

You went with punctuality, waiting until your clock turned 10:00 pm before knocking on the door that had a faded label of “Pool Area”.

You count two beats before the door is opened, a young man with a lanky form, adorned in wild, colourful patterns from his button down to his striped slacks. His pink suspenders match his hair, and at first glance, he looks rather similarly to a clown.

“State your business.” His voice is deep and monotone, much like he may have a sore throat or just woken from a nap.

“I'm...I'm here to see Namjoon?” You pose the statement as a question, unsure of how you're supposed to introduce yourself.

The clown blinks for a moment before a light seems to go off over his head. Suddenly his expression is much more lively, almost animated. “Oh, right! You're the reporter chick, yeah?” He doesn't even allow you to answer before he steps back, letting you enter the dimly lit space.

“You wired?”

Your eyes narrow, unable to hide any irritation or frustration that you held onto for the past few days. You're being forced to come here and he wants to know…

“Do you really think I would tell you if I was?”

The other nods exaggeratedly in agreement. “Yeah, that's true. You want me to frisk you for myself, then?” Again, he walks toward you before you can even think to respond. You quickly back towards the door, curling in on yourself.

“No, I'm not fucking wired. Jesus!”

He shrugs, still unbothered. Was that a requirement for being one of Namjoon's gangsters?

“See? That's all you had to say. And I'm trusting you, yeah? So if it turns out that you are…”for such a spritely presence, this guy sure knows how to switch it quickly. “I'll take care of it myself. Got it?”

You think you want to start a tally of how many times you can be threatened in one sitting. No one make that into a drinking game.

You only stand there quietly, not giving much reaction. Still the man takes your silence as confirmation, grinning widely before turning on his heels. “Great, follow me!”

You only hesitate for a second when you see the gun sticking out from a holster on his belt, only to fall in line behind the tall man and follow his footsteps. He begins talking as you walk through the room, past the empty pool and down another hall.

“So, it probably doesn't have to be said, but we actually dig the Miranda Rights here. So if you tell any authorities or anyone you know about who likes to stay here, you're dead. And we don't want to kill if we don't have to. Don't you agree?” He turns to you with a half smile. He speaks so lightly, as if he's reading off a grocery list. Some part of you finds that unsettling, but the journalist in you is intrigued and desperate to remember every detail.

“Alright, look alive!” The pink haired man calls in front of you. You follow him into another empty room where some other men sit at a table. “Hoseok, you need some coffee?”

The one that must be Hoseok groans from where he's sat with his head resting in his hand. His hair is styled similarly to Yoongi's, but his is definitely black. He blinks his eyes open to look at the gangster that addressed him.

“You know I hate coffee, man.”

“Ah, true! I got you, though.” The other pauses before giving a suggestion. “Cocaine?” The smile is evident in his tone. It's obvious from the glare on Hoseok's face that he doesn't find the joke amusing at all.

“Fuck you, Taehyung.”

Again, the one named Taehyung seems to take no heed to the harsh words. He only turns to you, gesturing for you to take a seat at the table.

As you walk towards the table, one of the men turns to look at you, eyes narrow and cut sharp. He licks his bottom lip, fussing slightly with his gray, slicked back hair. Just as he stands, a few greasy strands fall back in his face. He's tall too, broad in shoulders and monstrous in demeanour. All too quickly, you think you know who this is. And you say the name much before you can think about it.

“Kim Namjoon.”

He smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes (hell, it barely reaches his lips).

“It's nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I've read so much of your work.” He takes a hand out as well, to motion for you to take the empty seat across from him, next to Hoseok.

Just as you sit down, you see another person come into the room, instantly recognizing him as Yoongi. At the notice of your presence, he smirks, taking the seat next to you at the end of the table.

“Smart girl,”he compliments slyly. You scoff involuntarily.

The build up is wearing at your patience, and the silence snips at your nerves. Finally, you start the lists of questions that have been haunting your mind.

“So, why am I here? What do you want from me? And why me? Why not someone else?”

You're not sure what response you expect, but the one Namjoon gives...well, it's sort of funny:

“I want you to tell my truth.”

The statement hangs in the air, adding to the chill coming from the cement walls. The only sound that breaks the thickness is your smirk.

“I'm sorry. What? Your...truth?” What truth was there? Did Kim Namjoon want to come out as the Mafia Boss responsible for more than half the crime in the city?

Not that you're making your incredulous expression subtle, but even still, Namjoon seems to calculate his next words. He probably does that on an hourly basis.

“Y/N, what are your thoughts on the Western Supremacy groups?”

Not thinking too hard on where this question came from, you shake your head and shrug. The answer is pretty simple. “Well, it just seems like a half-assed attempt of thinly veiling White Supremacy.”

Namjoon nods in agreement, leans back in the metal chair with his eyes never leaving yours. “You know who I kill, right?”

Well, it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. Even still, you raise an eyebrow. This is new information to you. None of the PIs you have met that follow Kim Namjoon have ever told you this -what could seem like- vital information.

“What, are you trying to tell me you're actually just a gang of vigilantes trying to fight the forces of evil?”

A dimple curves into where he pulls one side of his lips into a smile. If you took a moment, you could recognize the company Namjoon seemed to keep (aka: some pretty damn good looking men). But that isn't important right now. You wish you paid more attention to the Criminal Analysts that tell you how to read a person's body language.

“If it were that simple, do you think I would be so meticulously hidden?”

The riddles would keep you on your toes any other day. Right now, you much rather cut the bullshit. You sit surrounded by armed gangsters in an area that isn't policed at all, and no one knows you're here. Your heart hasn't stopped its gallop since the moment Taehyung had answered the door (this can't be good for your health).

“So, then, what is the truth, huh? What's going on?”

At this, the Boss laughs. It's a breathy chuckle that makes you think what a ravenous lion might sound like at the sight of its prey. Unfortunately, amusement fits Namjoon well.

“What kind of journalist would you be if you only took someone's word? Wouldn't you rather observe for yourself?”

You freeze as he stands up. Hoseok and Yoongi follow suit, already heading towards the door. “Observe, what, exactly?”

Again, Namjoon thinks over his words, eyes wandering and lip between his teeth. “I would like to show you something, if you don't mind.

“Well, I do mind. Very much, actually.” When would you ever learn?

Yoongi squats down so that your eyes are leveled. In the bright fluorescent light, his menacing features are even more chilling. “That was him being polite. You don't really have a choice.” When you make no move, Yoongi seethes. “Get the fuck up.”

You obey quickly, waiting for Yoongi to walk away before moving towards the door. Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi have already left, but Taehyung stays behind to make sure you keep walking with the group.

“Hey,” Taehyung whispers. “No harm is to be done to you. When you're with us, you're safe.” His voice is soothing and his features seem gentle; it suits him. “You weren't lying about not being wired, were you?”

You shake your head, making sure to keep your eyes on him so he knows you're telling the truth.

“So that's how this works. You can trust us if we can trust you.” With that, he nods forward, urging you on.

When you make it back to the Pool Room, you make a different turn, going out the patio. You follow as the other three round the building and get to a parking lot, where two black trucks are parked.

Yoongi gets into the driver seat of one SUV while Hoseok gets into the driver seat of the other. Namjoon gets into the back seat of Yoongi's vehicle and Taehyung pushes you forward to slide in next to Namjoon. Taehyung must have gone to Hoseok's truck.

When Yoongi starts driving, you immediately glue your eyes out of the window, trying to garner some sense of where you could possibly be going. With Namjoon's words circling in your head, you still try to figure out what this Mafia Boss's propaganda must be.

“You know…”you start, still keeping your eyes out the window. “You don't get to decide who lives and who dies. You have to know that there's no way you can be painted as the good guy.”

There's no answer, just the sound of tires rolling over asphalt, of the wind rushing past the moving truck. You find comfort in your own words. Maybe there is some way you can survive this unscathed.

“The truth isn't always what everyone wants to hear. If being honest was a glamorous, happy thing, we would all take the road least traveled.”

In any other situation, you would probably keel over, fall into his side dramatically because you think the exact same way. But you don't want to let your guard down around this man, ever. Never want him to know that there is even an inkling of similar minds. No matter what he tries to make himself be, he is the one that plays God. He needs to be tried for that alone.

You drive further and further away from the city, from the darkness surrounding you. Kkum Coast is lit with street lamps; you haven't seen one of those since you got to the motel. The journey isn't too long, reading the clock only to find it's fifteen minutes till 11pm. When Yoongi finally pulls into a lot, you're met with an old factory.

Yoongi leaves the car first, rounding to open the door on your side. The air is cooler here, much like an early autumn night. The breeze is stronger- you must still be along the coast.

“Have you ever looked into WS groups?” asks Namjoon when he is also out of the car. In the distance you hear the slam of the other truck, Taehyung and Hoseok standing to the side.

“Not really. But with the election coming up, more WS groups have been making themselves more present. One of my colleagues has been following that. He's told me things here and there.” Minseok has been on edge, you know, contemplating whether or not he wants to delve deeper in the world of Western Supremacy.

The Meng natives restored their country decades ago, but not all of the Westerners that stayed agreed with the changes. What you think is most concerning your friend is the likelihood of uncovering people in authority that support this mindset...what kind of trouble would he be in, and would it be worth it?

“Has he ever given you any names? Any people he suspects to be an active member?”

Minseok only ever named nobodies, people that were on the street. They never mattered because they had no power. You shake your head.

Namjoon starts to move forward, walking towards the building. Like puppets, everyone follows his actions, including you.

“I have two philosophies when it comes to getting rid of a problem.” He holds up his pointer finger, a silver ring snug around it. “One: you have to get rid of those in power. Without a leader, mindless followers will fall. But, on the other hand...Two: not all of a person's followers are mindless. There's always one to step up to the plate at the time of crisis.” You make it to an entrance, and Yoongi opens it for everyone. Some part of you wants to make a comment about how docile he looks when he isn't talking shit...you'll make sure to tell him later.

“Put yourself in my position, Y/N. How do you think I get rid of this problem?”

You take a wild guess, though it doesn't seem too far off. “Genocide?” That seems to get chuckles from all the men. Fuck, were you spot on?

“If I tried to just kill every single white supremacist, I would be wasting my time and resources. I go after who matters.”

The hall you walk through is dark, hardly able to see the person in front of you. Thank god for the brightness of Taehyung's hair, or you probably would have knocked into him a couple times. Soon, you can see a light, blindingly bright at the end. No surprise, there are no windows, no way from anyone on the outside to detect whatever goes on inside.

There are three men, clearly Namjoon's from the way they hold themselves to the guns at their hips. The tallest one with blonde hair has a fresh cut under his eye and bruises on his knuckles. No doubt, whoever the man is that has the black sack over his head, sitting bound to the chair, is the reason for the gangster's wounds.

Suddenly, the weight of what you are witnessing hits you, and you stop abruptly right at the doorway. You're not sure who it is that shoves you forward, but every step feels heavy, like you have weights at your ankles. You don't want to see this. Fuck this.

“What is-”

“So, I'm sure you most know me for my incredible business trade?” Namjoon's tone becomes very light, conversational. That somehow makes your blood sizzle hotter. “For about the last five years, I've been perfecting the selling and buying of opioids, a few different kinds.” He walks toward his victim, still breathing heavy with his head lolled to the side. Is he even conscious? “But, the thing is, I want to grow. A business that doesn't change, isn't a good business at all, right?” He smiles as he pats the victim's shoulder. By the way the man tenses up, it shows his awakeness to the world. And maybe that's even scarier.

“I've been working with some people from Ecuador on a strain of cocaine. I want to call it ‘American Dream’. Rightly fitting, don't ya think?” To hear the genuine excitement in his tone sends shivers up your spine. You don't even think to give any response, not that he's looking for one. “But...one of the biggest branches of the WS group has a monopoly on the coke cartel here. Come to me for some Grade A heroin made just south of Kkum Coast, and go to them for some premium cocaine made in South America. Does that seem right to you, to have that distinction?”

Does...he really want you to answer that?

“Sure, fuck Western Supremacist for thinking they're some invisible god's superior race, but also fuck them for trying to hold me back from expanding what could be an amazing empire!”

With what seems to be the end of his monologue, he pulls the sack off the person's head, and if you thought the dread within you was strong, it just grew tenfold. All of a sudden, your stomach turns and nausea fills your gut.

Kim Minseok.

You must be wearing your emotions on your sleeve, if it isn't for the way Namjoon smiles. “You know him, yes?”

“He…” you don't even know where to start. “He doesn't have anything to do with WS. He's not even a Westerner.” Good on you for keeping your voice so leveled.

One of the unknown gangsters scoffs. “If you really think that there aren't dumbasses like him, you're more naive than you think.”

“Besides,” Namjoon picks up. “News Journalist Kim Minseok may not be in the WS for the love of white people...but for the love of selling what they give him.”

Minseok blinks beyond bloodied eyes. He makes an effort to move his head to face you. When he speaks, his words are slurred, and it tears at your chest.

“Don lissen to 'em, Y/N. Yoo know me.”

You did know him; knew that he wanted to excel at journalism, but always came up short for fear of angering too many people. He only ever covered half of the election because he feared what people in power would think. Your editor had always gotten onto him, tried to encourage him to step out of his comfort zone because he just could never put his all into a story.

“Minseok,” Namjoon calls. His voice is low and calm. “This can go one of two ways: you either tell me where WS is getting their next shipment, or you can die.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, wanting so badly to do something, but not being able to move from your spot.

The journalist looks up, carefully moving his head. “I don’ know anythen bout tha, I swear.”

The Boss seems to ponder over this. “See, but you've had so many opportunities to talk about the other guy in this election, how he's brought WS out of hiding. There are other people talking about it. Why aren't you?”

At this, Minseok begins to heave, and from swollen eyes, tears begin to fall. The other blond gangster, much shorter, rolls his eyes and sighs.

“You were given two options, Minseok.” The blond pulls out his gun, cocking the load and placing the barrel at your friend's temple. “Neither of them were for you to cry like a fucking bitch!” He spits.

Namjoon kneels down, still feigning an air of control and coolness. “You know how easy it was for my Jungkook to find you? You're expendable. We can go to the next person, and maybe they'll be a little more willing to tell us what we need to know. So,” he places a hand on Minseok's leg, caressing him in a way that makes you want to curl away, “why don't you tell us where their next shipment is unloading?”

Minseok seems to break down even more, shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. His voice croaks.

“They won’ tell me anythen...they don’ le me go to...I juss sell, I don’...” He doesn't finish, but it looks like he doesn't have to.

Again, Namjoon nods, seeming to think about Minseok's slurred confession. He stands back up, looking down at the poor man for a second before looking to the blond. He barely moves, but suddenly, a bang! rings through the room, and your eyes are screwed shut.

You don't know how long you stand like that, rigid in place with your eyes closed. When the ring dulls from your ears, there's a thick sound of liquid hitting the floor, shuffling and footsteps. A shadow casts over your face, and you still remain the same.

You can hear his even breathing, and you wonder how long he'll watch you...if he'll take you to the chair next.

“Y/N…”

You jerk away from the rough palm on your cheek. The touch is gentle, and fingers seem to wipe away at a wetness on your skin. Were you crying?

When you blink open, you're met with Namjoon standing close. You think you detect hints of blood further down on his shirt, but you wouldn't dare look.

“I'm not...you have to know I'm not one of th-”

“I know, don't worry. I don't think you are. But this is what I want you to write about.”

You still don't understand (blame it on the shock). “You want me to write about...you killing my friend?”

“No. I want you to write about what I'm doing. I'm killing two birds with one stone: getting rid of Western Supremacists and building my empire.”

“Why?” It feels like such a dumb question, but it holds so much.

“What happens when the truth is revealed? It's a domino effect. Cause and effect. One thing can't be brought up without another. If you write about this, think about all the shit that will come out along with this. You would be uncovering layers and layers of lies...to help your people understand.” Again, his spirits are high. Does he think what he's selling sounds appealing to you? “So, will you write it?”

You know what the right answer is, but you still feel an urge to say what you think. “I don't think I should. I don't know if I can.”

With the hand still on your face, he controls your movements, makes sure you don't look at anything but him.

“Y/N...do you really think you have a choice?”

[kassebaum]

SanversWeek Day 4- Hogwarts AU

This is for my wonderful HP anon. You are a joy and I have thoroughly enjoyed inserting these characters into the HP universe. This piece slots in with the rest of the pieces I’ve written which can be found under the ‘hogwarts au’ tag on my blog.

The Great Hall was a buzz with excitement; the Quidditch Cup match between Gryffindor and Slytherin was taking place later. Cheers rang out every time a member of one of the teams walked in for breakfast, a mixture of exhilaration and nausea written on their faces.

The Slytherin table erupted into a cacophony of noise when their fearless Beater, Alex Danvers walked in. She looked every part the confident Team Captain as she walked to sit with the rest of her team, her fellow Slytherins patting her on the back and wishing her luck as she passed.

Not to be outdone, the Gryffindor table hollerred as loud as they could when star Chaser, Maggie Sawyer entered the Great Hall. No one but Lena seemed to notice Maggie straightening up her robes.

‘Morning pep talk before the big match Danvers?’ Lena drawled as Alex sat down next to her.

‘Oh shush’ Alex shot back, but the colour creeping up her cheeks gave her away.

‘At least tell me you managed to find all of your underwear this time, not that I didn’t appreciate finding your knickers on my pillow...’

‘One time!’

Lena smirked and handed Alex a goblet of pumpkin juice.

‘Oh like you never tease me about the time I was congratulating Kara in the showers after her first Quidditch match-’

‘Nope!’ Alex interrupted, holding up a finger, ‘no more about what you and my baby sister get up to.’

‘Oh, is because I’m a Luthor?’ Lena pouted teasingly.

Alex chuckled, so proud that Lena could now joke about her last name, even if she couldn’t forget the atrocities Lex was committing in Voldemort’s name.

‘No it’s because you’ve been a pain in my arse for the last seven years, but for some reason my sister finds your infuriating wit and sarcasm adorable.’

Lena just raised an eyebrow and slid some toast towards Alex.

‘You need to eat. Your final Quidditch cup at Hogwarts? I know how much you want to win...’

Alex nodded and took a nibble of the toast.

‘That’s if you can keep your eyes off Maggie long enough...’

‘Pffft’

‘Strong come back there...’

‘Danvers!’

Alex turned to see her girlfriend waving at her from across the Great Hall. Maggie inclined her head towards the door, indicating that they needed to head down to the pitch.

Alex swiped her half eaten piece of toast and stood up.

‘Good luck’ Lena smiled.

Alex winked and walked towards Maggie, leaning down to kiss her much to the enjoyment of the surrounding students.

They barely made it to the bottom of the staircase before Maggie pulled Alex into a semi private nook to deepen the kiss that had started in the Great Hall.

‘For luck’ Maggie murmured, her hands roaming gently under Alex’s robes.

‘I don’t need luck’ Alex gasped as Maggie’s fingertips ghosted the ticklish spot on her hip, ‘you’re going down...’

‘Oh no, when Gryffindor wins, you’ll definitely be the one going down tonight’ Maggie teased, unable to resist.

The sound of a throat clearing made the two girls jump abruptly apart.

‘Miss Danvers, Miss Sawyer...’ Snape drawled, ‘shouldn’t you be down at the pitch by now?’

‘Sorry Professor’ both girls murmured as Alex tucked her shirt back in and started heading in the direction of the Quidditch stands.

‘Oh and Miss Danvers?’ Snape intoned, ‘try not to let your girlfriend distract you too much. I want the trophy back in my room this year...’

‘Yes Professor’ Alex blushed as Maggie took her hand.

They walked hand in hand in a comfortable silence along the path content to drink in the final peaceful moment before the match.

‘Why does everyone think I’m going to go easy on you?’ Alex finally broke the silence.

‘When was the last time you sent a bludger towards me with the intention of actually knocking me off my broom instead of just making me veer off course?’

Alex didn’t reply, but pursed her lips.

‘Exactly! You just don’t want to admit that badass Alex Danvers has a soft spot-’

Maggie was cut off by Alex placing her lips against hers.

They finally made it to the changing rooms and split to join their respective teams, the nervous excitement building. Five minutes before the match was due to start, they filtered out onto the pitch to thunderous applause.

Madame Hooch reminded them to play a fair, clean game and blew sharply on her whistle. Simultaneously, all fourteen students kicked off of the ground, racing into the air.

Maggie was first to grab the Quaffle, zig zagging effortlessly around the Slytherin Chasers. She zoomed towards the end of the pitch and made her first goal within moments of the match starting.

The Gryffindor spectators were delighted, screaming and stomping their feet in the stands.

Kara sat in the stands wearing a garish clashing mixture of her usual Hufflepuff robes, Slytherin scarf she had borrowed from Lena and the Gryffindor colours painted on her cheeks.

‘No red and gold?’ Kara questioned upon seeing Lena in just her usual green and silver robes.

‘House pride!’ Lena chuckled, ‘plus, you’re decked out enough for the both of us...’

Lena cheered at the Slytherin Keeper stopping another goal, but found herself giving a smaller cheer when in the next moment, Maggie was able to get the Quaffle past him.

It was a close match; 80-70 to Gryffindor and still no sign of the snitch. Over the next ten minutes, Maggie lived up to her reputation as the fastest Chaser in Gryffindor history, scoring three more goals.

Alex zoomed past the three Slytherin Chasers and yelled out a few choice words; there was no way they were losing the match, not in her final year.

She saw Maggie making another break towards the hoops with the Quaffle securely tucked under her arm. Alex swung her bat and sent the bludger towards Maggie with all the strength she could muster.

Maggie saw the bludger careering towards her and had to roll upside down on her broom to stop herself from being knocked off. She dropped the Quaffle and it was picked up by Flint who managed to score for Slytherin.

110-80 to Gryffindor.

‘Is that how we’re playing today Danvers?’ Maggie yelled as she passed by Alex.

‘Everyone was accusing me of going soft on you!’

Maggie winked and zoomed off to take a pass from Katie Bell to score again.

120-80 to Gryffindor.

The whistle was blown for half time and the players crashed back into the changing rooms to re-cooperate.

Two pep talks later; a slightly intimidating one given by Alex and a much more relaxed one from the Gryffindor Team Captain, both teams were back up in the air, determined to bring home the trophy.

In an incredibly fast paced fifteen minutes that Winn has trouble keeping track of from his commentary box, points are scored, bludgers fly and in one heart stopping moment, the Gryffindor Seeker nose dives towards the ground. With the help of Professor J’onzz, the score is tallied to 180-180.

The crowd gasps as both Seekers take off in the same direction; the Golden Snitch in their sight. This time it’s not a false alarm.

Alex felt as though time was slowing down as she watched Malfoy jostle against Potter to get ahead. Malfoy stretched his arm out, his finger grazing the wings of the Snitch, before he manages to grasp it in his hand.

‘SLYTHERIN WIN!’ Winn boomed from the commentary box.

Alex punched the air in celebration and looped in the air on her broom; she had done it. Head Girl, Captain of the winning Quidditch team and a straight ‘Outstanding’ student. She zoomed towards the ground pulling off the nose dive that had got her onto the team as a first year and landed back on the ground to her team celebrating.

Maggie was in her arms immediately, kissing her soundly, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Alex picked Maggie up and Maggie wrapped her legs around Alex’s hips, her fingers tangled in Alex’s hair.

‘You did it Danvers!’ Maggie breathed out between kisses.

‘You’re not mad?’

‘We played a good match, but the better team won’ Maggie conceded, ‘plus my girlfriend happens to be the hottest Quidditch player in Hogwarts history...’

They lose themselves in each other eyes and lips as the noise of the crowd fades to nothing behind them.  

They lose themselves entwined in each others arms, not caring who sees, not giving a thought to the  impending war that was brewing, or the choices they will have to make.

The lose themselves in thoughts of their future; that they may only been seventeen and eighteen years old, but damn it, this relationship was built to go the distance, they were built to stumble through life together, built to support each other, built to love each other.

So they do.

[biofunmy]

Why Don’t Rich People Just Stop Working?

“Billionaires should not exist,” Senator Bernie Sanders said last month. And, at the Democratic presidential debate this week, he said that the wealth disparity in America is “a moral and economic outrage.”

“Senator Sanders is right,” said Tom Steyer, a businessman from California who happened to be the only billionaire onstage that night (as far as we know).

“No one on this stage wants to protect billionaires — not even the billionaire wants to protect billionaires,” noted Senator Amy Klobuchar.

It’s an idea that’s going around. Mark Zuckerberg, the Facebook founder who is worth close to $70 billion, is apparently open to it. “I don’t know that I have an exact threshold on what amount of money someone should have,” he said in live-streamed question-and-answer session with company employees in early October. “But on some level, no one deserves to have that much money.”

Yet here we are, chugging into the 10th year of an extremely top-heavy economic boom in which the 1 percenters, by all statistical measures, have won, creating the greatest wealth disparity since the Jazz Age. This era, in length and gains, dwarfs the “greed is good” 1980s, that era of yellow ties, nigiri rolls and designer espresso machines that has come to symbolize gilded excess in popular imagination.

And yet the only thing we know in this casino-like economy — a casino that may, in fact, soon be shuttered — is that for those at the top, too much is never enough.

Many normal, non-billionaire people wonder: why is that?

Studies over the years have indicated that the rich, unlike the leisured gentry of old, tend to work longer hours and spend less time socializing. Tim Cook, the chief executive of Apple, whose worth has been estimated in the hundreds of millions, has said that he wakes up at 3:45 a.m. to mount his daily assault on his corporate rivals. Elon Musk, the man behind Tesla and SpaceX, is worth some $23 billion but nevertheless considers it a victory that he dialed back his “bonkers” 120-hour workweeks to a more “manageable” 80 or 90.

And they continue to diversify. Lady Gaga makes a reported $1 million per show in her residency at the Park MGM in Las Vegas, and has evolved from pop music to conquer film — but still also recently unveiled a cosmetics venture with Amazon.

Almost everything rich people touch makes money, but this current financial inferno has meant little for the bottom 50 percent of earners in the United States, who have 32 percent less wealth than they did in 2003.

The 1 percent have, as of last decade, 85 percent of their net worth tied up in investments like stocks, bonds and private equity, where value has exploded. According to Redfin, the average sale price of properties in the top 5 percent are up 43 percent nationally over the past decade, and up even more in Los Angeles and San Francisco.

Fine vintage watches, which have become a must-have for the young male money class, are exploding in value, with prices on certain five-figure models of Rolexes doubling in just a few years.

Gold, once derided as a relic, is up 40 percent in the past few years.

What’s happening?

No One Has a Retirement Number These Days

“What’s your number?” asked anyone caught up in the dot-com boom of the 1990s.

Could you retire to Napa with $5 million? $20 million?

Some hit their number and some went bust, but Silicon Valley is more than ever a showcase for the unfettered capitalism of 2019.

Yet no one seems to talk about their number anymore, said Antonio García Martínez, who sold a start-up to Twitter and served as a Facebook product manager before publishing his memoir, “Chaos Monkeys: Obscene Fortune and Random Failure in Silicon Valley,” in 2016.

Yesterday’s big score is just seed capital for tomorrow’s bigger one.

“There’s never some omega point,” Mr. García Martínez, 43, said. “People who get to that point don’t stop once they get there.”

“People say, ‘Why don’t you develop a hobby, or do philanthropy?’” Mr. García Martínez said. “But for many, they simply can’t stop doing it. They derive transcendent meaning from capitalism. Without their money, what else would they have?”

At a time of low taxes, friendly interest rates and torrents of venture capital available to would-be moguls, it’s a historic moment in the quest for more among the entrepreneurial class.

Tim Ferriss, the life-hacking author and podcast star who was an angel investor in Silicon Valley for nearly a decade, wrote in an email that many of these people have been “navigating work and life in sixth gear for decades.”

Without Constant Work, We Must Face the Nature of Existence

“Once they have no financial need to work — are ‘post-economic,’ as some say in San Francisco — they have trouble shifting into lower gears,” Mr. Ferriss wrote. “They’re like drag racers who now have to learn to navigate the turns and intersections of neighborhoods at 30 miles per hour.”

“Without ambitious projects to fill space,” he added, “there is often a void that makes some of the bigger questions hard to avoid. The things you neglected are no longer drowned out by noise; they are the signal. It’s like facing the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

In a sense, it has been going on in this country for two and a half centuries. “We are a nation founded on the overthrow of kings and the idle rich, so the hustle is deeply baked into mainstream notions of what it means to be American,” said Margaret O’Mara, a history professor at the University of Washington who is a New York Times opinion contributor.

And today’s competitive personality types are unable to slow down, in part because they fear slipping from their lofty perches.

“Driven people are just driven,” said Maria Bartiromo, the Fox Business anchor. “They want to stay fresh and relevant, and to do that, it requires consistent practice. If you want to win, you need to be all in.” And winning can be collecting the most cash — pressing the excitement pedal over and over again, like so many exhausted rats in a cage.

Rich People Know Too Many Rich People

With the number of Americans making $1 million or more spiking by 40 percent between 2010 and 2016, according to the Internal Revenue Service, you may think that the rich are finally feeling flush enough to ease up, kick back, chill out.

They are not.

One recent Harvard survey of 4,000 millionaires found that people worth $8 million or more were scarcely happier than those worth $1 million.

In a widely cited 2006 study, rich people reported that they spend more time doing things they were required to do.

Why do they want to do this to themselves?

The fact that there are more rich people who are, in fact, richer than ever may be part of the reason.

Sociologists have long talked about “relative income hypothesis.” We tend to measure material satisfaction by those around us — not in absolute terms.

“For most people, enough is enough,” said Robert Frank, the wealth editor for CNBC and the author of the 2007 book “Richistan: A Journey Through the American Wealth Boom and the Lives of the New Rich,” who has interviewed many plutocrats. “But there is another group of people, no matter what they have, they have to keep going. I call them ‘scorekeepers.’ They’re truly driven by competitive zeal.”

Take Larry Ellison, the billionaire co-founder of Oracle. Mr. Ellison always felt competitive with Bill Gates and Paul Allen of Microsoft, Mr. Frank said. “So when Paul Allen built his 400-foot boat, Larry Ellison waited until it was done and built a 450-foot boat. Larry Ellison would never be happy until he was No. 1.”

Among the very rich, it does not matter that all imaginable material needs have been met, said Edward Wolff, a professor of economics at New York University who studies wealth and disparity.

“Among the rarefied group of the extreme rich, social status depends on net worth,” Dr. Wolff wrote in an email. “Their enhanced wealth allows them to make substantial charitable contributions to institutions like museums and concert halls, that may lead to having a building or the like named after them. Think of the Koch brothers and the New York City Ballet. This is only possible if they can stay ahead of the pack and out-contribute their peers.”

Social sampling leads the rich toward a blinkered view that society as a whole is more well-off than it is, feeding their unending need — particularly as wealth becomes geographically dense. Nearly 20 percent of the world’s ultra-high-net-worth individuals — with assets of $30 million or more — live in just 10 cities around the globe, by one tally. Six of those cities are in the United States.

Money Is Like Alcohol but for Money

Living inside bubbles, the rich need greater excess just to feel the same high, said Steven Berglas, a psychologist, executive coach and author.

“If you’re an alcoholic,” he said, “you’re going to take one drink, two drinks, five drinks, six drinks to feel the buzz. Well, when you get a million dollars, you need 10 million dollars to feel like a king. Money is an addictive substance.”

Feeding the addiction becomes even more challenging in a top-heavy economy where the price tags of the status symbols keep adding zeros.

For the superrich looking to buy their way in to professional sports, it’s no longer enough to have courtside seats or a luxury box. You need a team. They’re pricey.

The Golden State Warriors, for example, sold in 2010 for an N.B.A. record $450 million to an ownership group headed by Joe Lacob, a Silicon Valley venture capitalist. The team is now valued at $3.5 billion.

Even that is not enough. Now you have to build the biggest, flashiest arena. The Warriors owners recently put the finishing touches on a gleaming new waterfront arena in San Francisco called the Chase Center. It was financed largely by themselves for $1.4 billion.

Not to be left behind, Steve Ballmer, the former Microsoft chief and owner of the rival Los Angeles Clippers, is seeking to build a $1 billion pleasure dome of his own in Inglewood, Calif.

Clustered courtside together at the sporting palaces, the celebrities, naturally, begin to envy the fortunes of the moguls near them.

Even at the pinnacle of success, entertainers like Mark Wahlberg and Lady Gaga find themselves “suddenly in the same world with billionaires and financiers who own private jets and have their own boats,” Mr. Frank said. “There’s only so much you can make in entertainment, so they look around and decide that they need to get to the next level that they’re encountering socially at the Met Ball and at charity functions.”

The opportunity appears endless. But what if it’s not?

The Rich Suspect the Roller Coaster Is About to Crash

As a hedge fund veteran, precious metals adviser and financial author, James Rickards is a rich guy who talks to a lot of other rich guys. They don’t always like what he has to say.

He believes that the current debt-fueled recovery may be a prelude for an economic collapse to dwarf the Great Recession. Until recently, he said, such theories were met with polite lack of interest by many wealthy people. Lately, something has changed.

“Literally, in a matter of weeks, certainly a couple of months, the phone calls have had a different tone to them,” Mr. Rickards said. “What I’m hearing is, ‘I’ve got the money. How do I hang on to it?’ ‘Are gold futures going to hold up or should I have bullion?’ ‘If I have bullion, should I put it in a bag in a private vault?’”

“It’s a level of concern that I’ve never heard from the superrich,” he said. “The tone of voice is, ‘I need an answer now!’”

It is not just the rockiness of the stock market. The fears of the wealthy seem to be of a more existential nature.

It is as if the very people who have profited most from these good times cannot believe that times are good — or that they will stay good, in the event of, say, a Bernie Sanders presidency.

Paul Singer, who oversees the behemoth Elliot Management fund, is reportedly tapping investors for billions as a war chest for a possible market implosion.

Among the tech zillionaire classes, a place to bug out in the event of an economic collapse, environmental disaster or violent uprising became the thing to have.

After he left Facebook, Mr. García Martínez himself bought five wooded acres on an island in the Pacific Northwest equipped with generators and solar panels, as The New Yorker reported in 2017.

When any part of the denial of rich people gets punctured, the boom reveals itself to be a very weird boom. The profits themselves are confusing. Even some who have ridden the wave to outsize fortunes see something amiss.

Marc Benioff, a chief executive of Salesforce.com, recently declared that “capitalism as we know it is dead.” Corporate earnings are often tepid, yet stocks in those same companies are soaring, thanks in part to stock buybacks that fatten executive compensation but do little to help the business.

Some even notice the rest of us out here. Ray Dalio, the hedge fund billionaire, recently wrote an essay on LinkedIn that capitalism “is not working well for the majority of Americans because it’s producing self-reinforcing spirals up for the haves and down for the have-nots.”

And for those who amass fortunes, the money is the only measure of success they have, said Jordan Belfort, the real-life inspiration for “The Wolf of Wall Street.”

As opposed to people who build businesses that make actual products, “a lot of Wall Street traders didn’t create anything — all they did was trade on the value and ingenuity of what other people created, so at the end of the day, what can they point to that’s tangible?” Mr. Belfort said. (He disavowed his former excess after a prison stint and became a motivational speaker.)

“All they have is money,” he said. “So they go out and buy a house and a fancy car, and that feels good for a short while, then they buy a second house and a fancier car. Because all they have is what they earn. They’re defined by it.”

The newly rich from normal backgrounds are the most anxious of all, said Jennifer Streaks, a personal finance commentator and CNBC contributor.

“Imagine growing up middle class or even poor and then amassing millions,” Ms. Streaks said. “This sounds like the American dream, but suddenly you have a $5 million apartment, a $200,000 car and a family that has these expectations.”

A panic ensues when those people believe “that they are one bad investment away from being broke.”

And the Rich Become Anxious and Isolated

It’s not like Jeff Bezos, the $110 billion man, is going to have to auction off his $65 million Gulfstream jet if he makes a bad bet on Amazon delivery drones (or goes through a $36 billion divorce).

Even so, the isolation that often accompanies extreme wealth can provide an emotional impulse to keep on earning, long after material comforts have been met, said T. Byram Karasu, an emeritus professor of psychiatry at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine in the Bronx who said he has worked with numerous high earners in his private practice.

Apex entrepreneurs and financiers, after all, are often “adrenaline-fueled, transgressive people,” Dr. Karasu said. “They tend to have laser-focused digital brains, are always in transactional mode, and the bigger they get, the lonelier they are, because they do not belong.”

Dr. Berglas, a onetime member of the Harvard Medical School faculty in psychology, said: “If you can’t relate to people, you presume that the failure to have rewarding relationships is because of jealousy — your house is three-X your neighbors’, and they look at your brand-new Corvette and drool. It’s a compensatory mechanism — ‘I might not have a ton of friends, but I can do anything I want and I’m the most powerful S.O.B. there is.”

Limitless opportunity, extreme isolation. They already own the present. What else is left to buy but tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that? Suddenly, the fetish of the superrich for space tourism starts to make sense.

Sahred From Source link Technology

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The Sales Gene and Why I Don’t Have It

By Don Hall

“I’ll admit, most neck tattoos look like shit but that one is actually cool.” “Yeah, I got it in Mexico after I played a few gigs in the area. So, you got a contest or something?” “Yup. $10K in free windows and doors. Are you a homeowner?” “Yeah but my windows are good.” “How old is your home?” “I’m really not interested but thanks.” “Are your windows aluminum or vinyl?” “I’m not…” He shook his head and walked away.

My trainer sidled up to me.

“We don’t curse.” “Huh?” “You said ’shit.’” “I did? Uhm… sorry.” “And you need to get him talking about the three pain points*. You let him off the hook way too easy.”

When I was in college, I took one summer to come home to Kansas. I got a job as a telemarketing sales representative for a company selling Amoco Multi-cards to old people who didn’t need them. Cold calls based on cursory interest. Someone who signed up for information or took a survey and now were in the system would get a call and be strong-armed into getting the card (with all the padded-on fees and inflated interests rates with which these sorts of cards are loaded up). There was a script filled with pages of rebuttals — the built-in responses to any objection someone might have for denying the rep a sale.

”I appreciate that. However…”

Every objection was appreciated and we never said But. However was the go to vernacular. No matter what their objection might be, the goal was to steer them back to the pitch. Sales were rarely focused on the positives of the product. Rather, drilling down on the negatives of their lives the product could improve was the dance.

I was relentless. I never took No for an answer. I was really good at it. So good that a month into my summer, I was promoted to floor manager, running around, checking other reps’ phone calls and motivating them to close those sales. The people on the other end of the calls were simply numbers to tally on a white board in the front of the room. They were mostly lonely and wanted to talk to someone. They were easy pickings.

At first, it was thrilling. I was setting company records every day. I was bringing home some bank. I got bonuses and my natural over-achiever mentality was fed. One morning, I woke up and realized I was an awful human. I was pigshit in the disguise of a guy set to help these people by selling them something they didn’t need or want. I hated myself. I quit that afternoon and swore I would never do telemarketing again.

Thirty-three years later, after moving to Las Vegas and discovering that my varied and substantial resume in Chicago meant next to nothing in this new, money-driven town, my need for some work and some cash to pay the freight of living superseded that three decades-long lesson. At least it wasn’t phone sales, right?

The position was listed as Events Representative, which sure sounded like something to do with events. The cold splash of water in my face when coming from the midwest was that, in the desert, events means something almost completely different than the industry I had spent the past decade or so involved in. Here, events are simply designed to sell people things, involve a contortionist, or get them married. This position (Events Representative) was standing in front of a table in a the lobby of a gym or Ace Hardware or in the rows of vendors at a street fair and selling them window replacements. For ten dollars an hour plus commissions. Wearing a lime green or shocking pink nylon polo shirt.

Hell, I needed the dough and Dana is working part time in a bowling alley so I bit.

I noticed in the training an odd but predictable dichotomy. The training was designed to sell me on the idea that what I was doing was specifically not high pressure sales. In bold writing it told me that “CUSTOMERS are not cold statistics. They are human beings with feelings and emotions like our own. CUSTOMERS are people who bring us their wants. It is our job to fill those wants. CUSTOMERS require trust, are respected, cared for, and delighted.” I liked this. It felt right and ethical.

On the other side of the training was the script. The videos I had to watch were adamant that I follow the script verbatim. The dude in these videos was intense. The hard sell from his angle culminated in a semi-rant about people who thought they were smarter than his system and his assurance that, no, I was not smarter than the script. If I held true to the exact wording, I would succeed.

The trainer was adamant about this as well. There were the five commitments required from each customer. There were the six key principles to keep at the front of every interaction (my favorite being “Control direction, timing, and conditions of each conversation”).

The script with its pages of rebuttals and forced language (“NAME — from what you’ve told me, you do know that you will have to replace some or all of these windows in the next couple of years — whether you want to or not — right?”) was dripping with manipulation. It was no different than the multi-card script except to be done in person rather than on the phone. Instead of “I appreciate that, however…” the language toward direct statements of intent followed by the go-to closer “Does that sound helpful?”

My first few days of shadowing other sales reps… er… events reps… wasn’t difficult, but the cues from everyone who had been doing this for a while were in conflict with the training. “No one really uses the script,” I was told. “Tell them what they need to hear. Push the appointment. This is all about getting those numbers up.” A few were a bit more humane. “I go with a soft sell. Trying to convince someone who doesn’t want to even think about replacing their windows to do that is weird so I just make conversation and try to gently guide them that way.”

The bottom line was the number of appointments set in a given shift. No appointments set meant you blew it and would get hauled in and re-trained. Or canned.

In high school, the Wichita Aeros needed a mascot. You know, one of those dudes in a giant fluffy costume whose sole job is to rally the crowd and get them pumped up? Except that the guy before me had stolen the Captain Aero costume. They said they’d pay me 100 dollars a game but I had to supply my own outfit. I culled together some masks and big shoes and whatever I could and went out to do the gig. No one was interested.

I had beer bottles thrown at me. I was called every filthy name you can think of, and one woman, drunk on cheap beer and a horrifying life, tried to punch me out. I smiled a shit-eating grin throughout, doing lame cheers I remembered from basketball games and trying goofy shit to get the crowd less hostile.

It was a nightmare. After three games, I told them I couldn’t do it anymore. They never paid me a dime.

That’s exactly what sales feels like to me.

*Three Pain Points

These are defined as locating using specific questions the problems people may be having that your product or service can rectify. I’m told that these are the key to quality sales. Building up a sense of urgency in solving these pain points is the skill required and that sense of urgency is created through appealing to an emotional rather than pragmatic foundation.

I was told that I had exactly the right personality for this. I had been told that before. Outgoing, enthusiastic, dominating. Except for one thing: I hate being sold. I can’t stand aggressive sales tactics. I don’t want to be confronted on the street with a forced conversation that ultimately ends with a request for my time or money for almost anything. The inauthenticity of that faux interaction is designed solely to separate me from dollars. I empathize more with those hapless souls being accosted than I do with the cutthroat game of selling. Now, I’m being paid to be one of those bullshit artists. And wear a fucking day-glo polo shirt in public.

I get it. Most of capitalism is driven by sales. Most sales are made by people selling things and ideas. The time-share thing here in Vegas. The guy on the street-corner with the spinning arrow sign trying to get you to come into the third-tier mobile phone store. The kid with the box of candy to raise money for his basketball team. All some variation on the theme of non-stop, unwavering sales.

The window replacement company was actually a good one. The service was amazing, the warranty was amazing, the product is the best in the business. If I wanted new windows, this was the place without any question. And when I spoke to someone in the field who wanted new windows and wanted to talk about it, it didn’t feel like selling, it felt like helping (which was the first message of the training, right?). Unfortunately, replacing windows is not generally on the top of the to-do list for most families. So, 98 percent of the people walking by do not give a shit and are annoyed when their time is invaded by some fucker trying to get them to stop and have a conversation about window problems.

It was the day I spent in the lobby of a high-end gym that broke me.

People coming and going with one singular purpose: to workout. I stood there, smiling and announcing the $10K giveaway. No one — no one — was interested. It felt like a set up, placing me in a location where failure was the only option and bothering people with a sales pitch my only tool. I spoke to one guy about his workout but as soon as I diverted it to windows, he walked away. Not an “Excuse me, I gotta go” sort of thing but a stop talking and simply walk away sort of thing. There was enough time in between waves of people that I really had some space to float my perspective up and over myself and see what it was I was doing. I racked my brain to find a way to be good at this job without being that douche bothering people with a fake smile and faker concern.

I realized that I didn’t want to be good at this.

I admire a good salesperson. Geary Yonker, David Raphael, Chris Davila. All amazing verbal magicians with the built-in DNA designed to convince people of those three pain points, establish that sense of urgency and close the deal. David once told me that sales was like dating — tell them what they want to hear, be the person they can trust and rely upon, have sex, then move on to the next one. I once dated like that but it didn’t make me feel very good about myself. It felt empty. It felt sad to see people as merely a means to an end.

I’ve ruminated on my decision to take other work and leave this Willy Loman of the New Millennium Lifestyle by the wayside. Is it ego? Am I just too proud to stand out and try to sell shit on the street to strangers? Or is it merely that I don’t have the instinct for it? I have no problem handing out flyers for BUGHOUSE! and inviting strangers to come see our shows. A friend used to laugh at me as stood outside WNEP Theater before shows and would remark on “Don Hall, out peddling theater.” That feels different, though. Inviting someone to see something versus creating a forced dialogue to sell something is a horse of different color, I think.

Sales is a skill in manipulation. I do not have the gene. I could probably learn but the feeling I get when trying to steer a nice, normal conversation into a place where I control the direction, timing and conditions of that dialogue is a quagmire of self-loathing. Perhaps it’s the reason I’ll always be an artist before a businessman. Perhaps it’s why I’ll never have a fat bank account.

I’m okay with that.

Hopefully, I won’t forget this thirty years from now.

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EFL: Manager and players sent off on day of dismissals and new records

EFL: Manager and players sent off on day of dismissals and new records

EFL: Manager and players sent off on day of dismissals and new records

Southend goalkeeper Mark Oxley was one of three players sent off in stoppage time against Charlton

September, September. Summer is in its final throes and schools will soon be starting back for a new year.

The first day of a new month featured some warm sunshine and seemingly a few hot collars both on and off the pitch as tempers flared.

Managers and players were being handed their marching orders, with nine red cards shown on the pitch across the three divisions and a couple off it for those the other side of the touchline.

Meanwhile, one boss had an uncomfortable watch from the stands of his new employers in action.

Good Evans! – Posh boss dismissed on touchline

Peterborough United have been pulling up a few trees with their impressive start to the campaign in League One, but on Saturday their boss was the centre of attention for the wrong reasons.

Steve Evans has never been one to shy away from the limelight, but on this occasion he may have been wise to have done so.

Posh dropped their first points of the season in a 1-1 draw at home to Doncaster, a club managed by Evans’ predecessor at the ABAX Stadium, Grant McCann.

Evans and assistant manager Paul Raynor were sent off by referee Darren Bond in the closing stages, having both previously been cautioned.

Referee Darren Bond showed Peterborough boss Steve Evans two yellow cards

“I’ve not seen the FA in a while, but I suspect I’ll be seeing them next week,” Evans said after the game.

“If the fourth official deems being half-a-yard outside the technical area is worthy of a second yellow card, then that’s not what the League Managers’ Association were told in the summer meetings by the officials’ body.

“Mrs Evans won’t be happy when I’m giving them some money, but hopefully someone can explain the decision to me.”

A red mist by the seaside

Sticking with the theme of red cards – there were three of them in Southend United’s meeting with Charlton Athletic at Roots Hall.

They were all shown in time added on, two to the hosts and one to the visitors, who incidentally came away 2-1 winners.

Referee Brett Huxtable tries valiantly to keep the peace late on between Southend and Charlton

Referee Brett Huxtable dismissed Shrimpers duo goalkeeper Mark Oxley and winger Michael Kightly along with the Addicks’ midfielder Tariqe Fosu after an 18-man kerfuffle between the two teams.

All this had come moments after a late header from Krystian Bielik had seen the Addicks snatch the three points.

“Hurry up Harry!”

It’s been an eventful week on and off the pitch at Notts County. They started the week with Kevin Nolan in charge and ended it with Harry Kewell as incoming manager.

But there was a familiarity at the end of it all – County were on the wrong end of the scoreline.

Harry Kewell (right) watched his new club from the stands alongside Notts County owner Alan Hardy

Former Leeds and Liverpool striker Kewell, 39, left fellow League Two club Crawley for the banks of the River Trent on Friday and was watching on from the stands as his new club were beaten 3-1 at home by Forest Green Rovers.

Mark Crossley took caretaker charge of the Magpies, but there were scenes of discontent as many home supporters headed for the exits early as the hosts conceded their third.

“Harry didn’t have any input into today’s team selection,” Crossley told BBC Radio Nottingham at full-time. “It’s been a very tough week. I’m disappointed with the result.

“I understand now why managers don’t sleep at night, because I didn’t last night.

“We’ll be in tomorrow, the new manager is excited. Luckily for him we are only six games in”.

Luckily indeed as County are rock bottom of League Two with just a point to their name.

Incidentally, Kewell’s former employers Crawley fared little better as they were beaten 2-1 at Oldham by a late winner from Sam Surridge.

Pope sets new club record

Some things in life are certainties. Births, marriages, deaths and Tom Pope goals for Port Vale.

It was a day to remember for the 33-year-old as he became the club’s new record goalscorer at Vale Park, notching his 56th strike in front of his own supporters.

Tom Pope found the net once again at Vale Park but could not inspire his side to a home win against Newport

But despite surpassing Stan Steele’s previous tally of 55 with a thundering first-half header, Pope was unable to steer the Valiants to victory against Newport County.

Pope’s three spells with the club, stretching back to an initial loan spell from Rotherham in early 2011 have included 91 goals in all competitions from 248 appearances.

On another day, he could have had more than the record-breaking one as he hit the post with a first-half header and also had a penalty appeal turned down.

“In 20 years time I might sit in the pub and tell people that I was record goalscorer at Vale Park, but when you’re losing games, it’s the last thing you want to think about,” Pope told the club’s website.

A 118-year-old home banker

And talking of records – how about this one for a club that would be seemingly happy to play the same opposition at home every week.

While a goalless draw in League One between Walsall and Blackpool may not have appeared much on the surface, it did stretch the Saddlers’ impregnability against the Tangerines on home soil to 18 matches.

You have to go back to September 1900 for the last time Blackpool were victorious at Walsall.

I’m not sure how many travelling fans made the trip that day, but maybe they’ve passed the story down through the generations who are still waiting for success at the Banks’s Stadium.

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Learn How To Make A Family Tree With This Simple Guide

View Original Article Here: Learn How To Make A Family Tree With This Simple Guide

Learning how to make a family tree can be an easy and fun experience for everyone in the family.

You may be wondering how to make a genealogical tree, and in this article, we’ll tell you exactly what to do. You won’t need any specialized tree templates to make your tree chart, so don’t be afraid to dive right in.

What is A Family Tree?

A family history is a diagram which charts the familial relationships of each generation of a family. In essence, a family history tracks your family genealogy and is the way you make a family tree: who is related to who, and how. You could also call family history charts genealogical trees, but it doesn’t quite roll off the tongue as well.

A very small family history chart might be one node for a mother, another node for a father, and then above them, nodes for their children. Most families who make family history charts want to go a bit further than the obvious, though.

Complicated family history charts look more like tree charts than simple diagrams because they contain a lot of information. Each node of the family history chart shows who gave birth to that person and also any children that person subsequently had, and with who. If you’re trying to establish your family’s lineage past a couple of living generations, you’ll rapidly find that things get difficult.

How to Make a Family Tree

Making a family history chart can be as simple or as difficult as you choose to make it. Some families prefer to hunt down distant relatives in other countries, whereas others are content to account for everyone within two or three generations.

You’ll follow four main steps to make a family history chart: tallying your living relatives, figuring out where dead relatives should go, hunting down more detail on dead relatives if desired, and compiling all of the information together.

If you don’t have a poster board, pins, and boxes of old photos, you should probably assemble those before starting. You can also use a software program to keep track of your family’s genealogy if you prefer.

Account for Living Relatives

Accounting for living relatives is as easy as writing on an index card the name of the living family member, then pinning that index card to the board. Pinning a photograph to the index card on the board helps to see who is who at a glance.

Start from your immediate family first, then work your way outward. For everyone that has a maiden name or a nickname, you should write it on their index card. For now, pin older generations lower on the poster board and pin the younger generations above them.

As an example, let’s say your immediate family consists of your parents, you, your sibling, your spouse, and your two children. Your parents would each have a card, and have their index cards at the bottom. Above them should be your card, and next to your card should be your spouse.

At this point, you should work out a system for identifying the original bloodline of your family. Mark your spouse’s card to indicate that they weren’t a child of your parents, but rather a child of someone else’s parents—who you may or may not want to put on the tree. Put your sibling’s card next to your card, once again making sure that it’s clear that they’re your sibling and not your spouse.

Above you and your spouse, put a card for each of your children. Voila, you now have a simple family history chart which accounts for the founders of the family, their progeny, and then the latest generation as begat by those progenies.  This basic family history chart will look more like a shrub, but it’s a start.

If you want to get fancy, you can write stuff like the country of origin or other data onto the index cards.

Interview Living Relatives About Dead Relatives

You probably want to take the family history chart way beyond a simple bush, though. To fill out the roots and branches of the family history chart, you’ll need to start including dead relatives, including those that you may not hear about much.

Interview your living relatives about the ones who have passed is a great starting point.

You’ve probably heard your parents or grandparents mention their lost siblings or parents in passing, but now it’s time to pin down those relationships. Ask questions until you have an index card for all of the siblings, parents, great-aunts, cousins, and others that you may have never heard of before.

A great question to start with is “who did Grandma like to tell stories about that you never met?” questions like these build the basis for the harder-to-reach roots of the family history chart. You may not necessarily have enough information to place the new entries correctly—sometimes it won’t be clear who was on what side of the family.

The important thing during this step is to assemble names, ranges of years, and geographical areas. If your dead relatives were particularly talkative, you might have a huge extension of your family history chart just by interviewing some of their caretakers. It’s much more likely that you’ll have a lot of clues and only a few completed cards to add to the board after interviewing, though.

It’s worth interpreting “living relatives” very loosely during this step of the process. If you think you might be distantly related to someone with the same surname as you, call them up and ask them a few questions to see if you might be related. Reaching out to a stranger is a bit scary, but you can add a huge amount of depth and breadth to your tree if you’re willing to take a chance or two along the way.

Surviving friends of dead relatives are also good sources of information. They’ll likely know more details about the person’s relations in periods of time before their children were born.

After interviewing comes the hardest step: following the clues from interviews to finish those incomplete index cards so that you can place them in the correct spot on the tree.

Request Official Documents on Dead Relatives

Thankfully there are many resources designed to help genealogists hunt down people to understand their lineage. Scour these resources with the partial pieces of information that you scrounged from interviewing your living relatives.

Remember to check nicknames, maiden names, and potentially misspelled surnames if your relatives immigrated at any point. If you have a common family name, your task will be considerably more difficult. Try to zero in in dates, locations, professions, and relations as much as possible given the information that you have.

Often, this round of research can create a lot of hunches that are not-quite-confirmed. If you can track enough information about a particular node on the family history chart, you can probably request a public record document that will put your hunch to the test. Birth and death records are retained for long periods of time at municipal places like town halls, so requesting the document (and showing that you have reason to believe you are related to this person) can put your questions to rest.

This process can get difficult for families whose family history chart spans multiple countries, as many do. The single biggest dead ends in family history chart record hunting are the barriers between countries, especially in the era of World War 2. Many records from that era were lost or intentionally destroyed, but if you’re lucky, the immigration bodies will have some record which will be of use for you—though not all will be forthcoming.

If you hit a dead end in your research quest, don’t feel too bad. Some families live in the same geographical area for many generations, which makes genealogical tree research very easy, and other families are more dynamic, making them much harder to pin down.

Should I Get Genetic Testing?

In this day and age, you can get genetic testing which can give you additional clues regarding your family’s geographical ancestry if the trail has gone cold. If you don’t have an active lead to a specific geographical area after reaching a certain node, it might be worth getting your genome sequenced via one of the popular services to see what you can learn.

Genetic testing can typically clean up areas of ambiguity in your family history chart, provided that you have samples that you’re willing to part with and pay for processing. The more living members of your family that you can get tested, the more information you’ll learn. You might learn, for instance, that your first cousin is your second cousin, or that your grandmother isn’t related to you by blood.

Testing of this sort can unearth family secrets that some people would prefer to remain buried, so tread carefully.

For most people, this is a bit too much work for too little chance of reward, though.

Assemble the Information

Once you’ve assembled all of the possible records on everyone that you can really find information on, it’s time to clean up and fill out the giant poster board. Don’t be afraid to start from scratch, just be sure to have the oldest generation at the bottom of the tree and the latest generation at the top.

Each generation accounts for roughly 20 or 30 years of life, so it may be a useful unit of organization to break up the tiers of your tree. Don’t get too hung up on having specific generations, though. People don’t always reproduce exactly in phase with the period that they “should,” and your tree doesn’t necessarily need to account for when people were born, merely their relationship to each other.

Seeing your entire family’s bloodline in one giant chart can be very interesting, and it can give your entire family a new sense of their place in history. The more information on each node that you can add, the more you can understand how your ancestors lived.

It’s acceptable to have gaps and uncertain connections in your family history chart; almost everyone does. It’s often very difficult to create much of anything of certainty in your family history chart beyond the “great-grandparent” level. At that point, you’re reaching back about a century in time, which is a feat.

Tips for Creating Your Genealogical Tree

Now that you know the basic process for making a family history chart let’s tie everything together.

Here are a few good tips that will set your family history chart on the right growth trajectory:

Keep track of maiden names and be sure to search for them instead of newer names

Use common sense when following the paper trail; don’t search randomly, search near where other relatives were or came from

Churches sometimes have a different set of documents than municipal sources

Sometimes finding a living friend of a dead relative is just as useful as finding the relative

Don’t be afraid to reach out

Immigration officials often have the best sets of documents

Sometimes names get misspelled during migration paperwork

It’s also easy to get off on the wrong track while making your family history chart. Here are a few common mistakes to watch out for while making your family’s tree:

Starting to chart from the branches rather than from the roots

Assuming that nobody was adopted

Assuming that a lack of official information on a person is a dead end

Assuming that nobody had any illegitimate children

Not reaching out to people who share the same surname as someone of interest

Not including yourself in the family history chart

Getting discouraged when you find a dead end

That wraps up our guide on how to make a family history chart. Get ready to start digging through records and interviewing your relatives! Once you view building a family tree like building an investigation, you’ll be well on your way to being a master genealogist.