#it's not a perfect analogy but: imagine someone going to a small town in a conservative county

[homosociallyyours]

--

[futuregws]

As someone who grew up queer in a small town I think Eddie’s character is the perfect analogy for growing up queer in a small town. He was bullied, hunted, shamed and rejected by the town for being different, he was accused of committing a horrible crime he didn’t commit(the same way lgbt people are always accused of being groomers), and told he was going to burn in hell by a bunch of religious fanatics. So it really pisses me off when people say the only reason people view Eddie as queer or want him to be queer is because of fetishization

You do have a point, and the people accusing others of fetishizing him bc they imagine him as queer are the problem here while I do acknowledge that some people do fetishize them and queer couples in general, someone imagining a character as such is far from being bc of a fetish

[nightkitchentarot]

The Secret Of The Quiet Mind

FROM THE ATLANTIC -- JUNE 17, 2021

I Know the Secret to the Quiet Mind. I Wish I’d Never Learned It.

Of all the injuries we suffered, mine is the worst. My brain injury has shaken my confidence in my own personality, my own existence.

By Hana Schank

The worst things can happen on the most beautiful days. My family’s worst day was a perfect one in the summer of 2019. We picked my daughter up from camp and talked about where to go for lunch: the diner or the burger place. I don’t remember which we chose. What I do remember: being woken up, again and again, by doctors who insist on asking me the same questions—my name, where I am, what month it is—and telling me the same story, a story that I am sure is wrong.

“You were in a car accident,” they say. But this cannot be. We’re having lunch and then going on a hike. I had promised the think tank where I work that I’d call in to a 4 p.m. meeting.

“You are in Dartmouth-Hitchcock Hospital in New Hampshire.” Another ludicrous statement. I started the day in Vermont. Surely if I had crossed the river to New Hampshire I would know it.

“What’s your name?” they ask me, and I tell them and tell them and tell them.

“Where are you?” “New Hampshire,” I say, except for one time when I say “Vermont.” “New Hampshire,” they correct, and I want to say, “Really, we are so close to the border here, can’t you just give it to me this once?”

“You were in a car accident,” they tell me again. “Your husband broke his leg and your son broke his collarbone.” These do not seem like horrible injuries, so I am waiting for the worse news, the news that my daughter is dead. She is the youngest and the smallest. She was born with albinism, and her existence has always felt improbable, and so now it must be over.

But—thank God—it’s not. “Your daughter has fractures in her spine and damage to her lower intestine from the seat belt.” They tell me that my lower intestine was also injured, and that I’ve had surgery. I lift up my hospital gown and am surprised to see an angry red line and industrial-size staples. I remember an article I’d read about seat belts not being designed for women, and I ask the doctor if he sees more women with these injuries than men. I have yet to take in the reality of what has happened to me, to my family. Instead I am thinking about writing an exposé about the sexist seat-belt industry.

They wake me up and ask me where I am and what my name is. A doctor asks me who the president is. “I don’t want to say,” I reply. He smiles. I am at Dartmouth for three days before I am transferred to the University of Vermont, where my husband and children are. The days pass like minutes, a loop of sleep interrupted by people asking me questions and telling me terrible things.

One of the things I am told is that I have a brain bleed and a traumatic brain injury. I wonder if this is why I am slurring my words, but am told that the slurring is from the anti-seizure medication I am on. This sounds good. The slurring will stop. A doctor tells me I “got my bell rung.” This is a bad analogy. Bell clappers are meant to slam against the side of the bell. The brain is not meant to slam against the side of the skull.

Of all the injuries my family is suffering from, mine is the worst. This is my totally biased opinion. My husband’s leg will take almost a year to heal. My daughter would have died if not for the surgery to repair her flayed abdomen. She is 10, and one of her friends tells her that because of the scar she will never be able to wear a bikini. She spends many days attempting to suss out whether she cares. She doesn’t yet know if she is the bikini-wearing type.

My 13-year-old son is the only one who remembers the accident. He remembers a woman in a ponytail calling 911, the smell of gasoline and burnt metal. He remembers his father yelling “Jesus Christ.” He will have to live with the memory of his sister looking at my body and asking, “Is Mama dead?”

These are terrible injuries, and yet, the other members of my family don’t walk around thinking, Am I still me? My brain injury has shaken my confidence in my own personality, my own existence. This is the worst injury.

When we leave the hospital and move into a hotel, I frequently get lost in the hallway. The first time I roll into occupational therapy with my walker, I am grateful for the obvious signage pointing me toward the check-in desk. It’s almost as though the clinic is expecting people with brain damage.

My therapist is a smiling, 40-something woman with dirty-blond hair. She reminds me of me before the accident. She asks if I am having any thinking problems or memory problems. I tell her about an incident with Parmesan cheese.

“Can you get the Parmesan?” my husband asked.

I opened the fridge and looked. I looked and looked.

“I can’t find it,” I said with a shrug.

My son opened the fridge and pulled out a block of Parmesan.

It hadn’t occurred to me that this was a brain issue. Sometimes you just can’t find the Parmesan. Right?

A test confirms that I have trouble scanning a visual field for objects. My brain is struggling to recognize what I see, but without a pre-accident baseline to judge from, there is no way to know how much worse I am at it now. Have I always been bad at finding things? Maybe? There are limits to how well an injured brain can scrutinize an injured brain.

I have other visual-processing issues. At first I can’t watch television because my brain is unable to merge the images from my two eyes, so I see doubles of everything—two Phoebes, two Chandlers. I can watch with one eye closed, but I’m distracted, seething at my brain for failing to do such a simple task.

In one session, the therapist tells me we are going to play a game. She pulls out a deck of cards and asks me to turn cards over while saying the number or the color or the suit. The game is so difficult, I want to physically remove my brain from my skull and hurl it against a wall. I will never play this game again as long as I live.

Eventually I graduate from occupational therapy. But occupational therapy isn’t about getting people back on their feet so they can return to think tanks. It is about making sure they can run errands without getting lost. I am someone who has always taken pride in my intelligence, and now I am not so smart. I am just a functional human being, according to occupational therapy.

When we go out in public as a family, we are a walking nightmare. “Wow,” a stranger says, marveling at the device that is bolted into my husband’s femur. And then my son appears with his arm in a sling, my daughter limps over in her back brace. An injured couple is potentially funny. There is nothing funny about an injured family. “What happened to you guys?”

When we tell the story, we explain that we were in no way at fault, which feels important. We wore our seat belts and drove the speed limit and the weather wasn’t bad and yet this happened to us. Someone was driving a pickup truck in the opposite direction. He was late to a job interview or to get his kid, or maybe he was just antsy. In front of him was a motorcycle slowing him down. Maybe he’d been behind that motorcycle for miles. Maybe he liked to take risks. He pulled into our lane and passed the motorcycle while going up a hill at 70 miles per hour. I don’t know who makes this kind of decision. Did he think, I can’t believe I did something this stupid? Did he also yell “Jesus Christ”?

Because we are not at fault, accident feels like the wrong word. Not just wrong, but unfair. My husband starts calling it the incident, but an incident is a small thing, not something that scars you for life. The smashing? The destruction? Newbury, after the town where it occurred? The only thing that comes close is the devastation.

The devastated me is different. My brain used to race, making lists and plans, skipping from an article I was researching to whether my kids were in appropriate after-school programs to what vacation we should take in February. Now it does none of that. There are no plans to make.

A few days after regaining consciousness, I check my Twitter feed. I have always been a news junkie. But I have missed nothing. The news seems to be not just familiar but actually repeating itself. Something bonkers happened in the White House. People are dying in a country I’ve never been to. A company did something possibly illegal. There was a house fire in the Bronx. Are these the things I used to care about?

The most interesting piece of news is the one I am experiencing. In the hospital we are waiting to make sure my daughter can poop through her reconstructed colon. This article isn’t in The New York Times.

When we return to New York I take the subway to doctor appointments. I don’t take out my phone, I just sit. My brain is quiet, which I find suspicious, but also soothing. Before the accident I went to yoga retreats and tried meditation. I said things like “I just need to unplug.” Apparently what I needed was to get hit by a truck. Perhaps I have discovered the secret to a peaceful mind, and it is traumatic brain injury. I fantasize about opening an expensive spa where busy people pay me money to whack them on the head with a baseball bat.

The day of the accident I had been working on a project to improve how homeless people are placed into shelters. I say out loud, “I don’t care about homeless people” to see how it feels. It doesn’t ring true; I do care about homeless people. I just don’t feel like working. I have always been a regular exerciser. Now I can’t imagine wanting to do a burpee, let alone 10 of them. I always ate healthy things. But did you know that you can eat whole grains and still get hit by a truck?

I have strange cravings. I think about apple cider all the time. Apple cider is not a normal part of my diet. I have a very detailed dream about eating chocolate cake. I eat the cake. That’s the entire dream. I find myself foraging in the fridge for flavors that don’t exist.

I don’t know which symptoms are permanent and which are temporary. At first, the doctors say that after a year or two I’m likely to have a full return to my normal brain function. Or not. They don’t really know about the brain. It might be more like 95 percent. If I broke my elbow and someone told me I’d get 95 percent of my elbow function back, I’d be satisfied. But 95 percent of my brain function sounds terrifying. Which pieces will be missing?

Some days I feel like myself. Other days all I can think about is the old life that is gone. Then, halfway through my recuperation, the coronavirus comes. The stores close, the schools close, the traffic on the avenue dwindles to a sporadic whoosh. And my busy friends who were always texting me about their crazy schedules are suddenly as quiet as I am. Together we wait for normal to return. The difference is that they know what normal looks like.

In July it will be two years since the accident. The world is now coming back to life, my days slowly filling up with work and chores and exercise. Soon I will go back to in-person meetings and travel, and I wonder: Will I be up to the challenge? Or will I get lost in office buildings and airports?

For now, in this liminal space between the old life and the new one, I often catch myself staring at my children. They have never been more beautiful. I chalk this up to the magic of braces––their teeth are finally coming into alignment––but I know this is ridiculous. They are beautiful because they are alive. I look at them, and I sit with the silence. Today, it is mine. Tomorrow, it may not be.

[ilovemygaydad]

title: the pirate king and la princesa

pairings: pre-romantic analogical

summary: a new pirate has invaded logan’s pirating territory, and that simply won’t do

warnings: enemies to lovers (kinda), nothing is historically or factually accurate, this exists in a made up time because i don’t care and also i said so, swearing, pirates, probably some shitty google translated spanish, caps a couple of times, shouting, a sword is very briefly mentioned, i definitely don’t know how boats work, i absolutely don’t know much about pirates, threats, mentions of alcohol, virgil kisses logan without asking but they both like it so? it’s your call, stealing, and possibly something else

a/n: this was so @fandomsandanythingelse would get her phone fixed, which ended up not needing to be done. i fell in love with this universe anyway so here you go. pirates analogical with enemies to... something resembling lovers. it sort of counts...

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-

Logan supposed that, since they were out on the open ocean, there was no such thing as “turf.” A person isn’t able to own a part of the ocean, no matter how much they sailed it.

That being said, however, Logan didn’t give a fuck about technicalities because some new pirate decided to encroach on HIS turf. Everyone who’d spent any time in piracy knew that the areas near the eastern coast of America was where Logan Bonny and Logan Bonny alone operated. Call him territorial, but Logan had made himself a name on the sea for a reason, and when some newbie came along and tried to threaten his place... Well, that certainly couldn’t continue.

He’d found out about the other pirate through his crew, who had been whispering about the mysterious stranger they’d heard about during their last trips to the mainland. Virgil Castillo. Captain of La Princesa. Apparently, he had only joined the pirate scene just over a year ago in Spain but had recently made the voyage over to America to avoid the Spanish Navy. That in and of itself would have been completely fine--Logan had been in his fair share of trouble with the law, and he didn’t fault others for needing to flee--but this... Castillo guy just had to decide to start raiding ships in Logan’s turf. He had beat Logan to multiple ships that would have given them helpful supplies for all of the crew members, which just made him more frustrated.

Logan had spent years cultivating enough of a reputation to earn his spot as the “Pirate King of the East Coast,” and he wasn’t about to let Virgil Castillo and the crew of La Princesa take that from him.

“Hey, Cap, wanna stop your brooding so we can get on course for our next destination?” Logan’s first mate, Roman, teased from the doorway of his quarters.

“I’m not brooding, Roman,” he snarled half-heartedly as he gathered his things into a neat pile and stood. “I’m not a child.”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry that I ever insinuated that you’re a petulant, irritating child.”

Logan gave Roman a sharp clap on the shoulder. “Apology accepted.”

---

It took about three months for Logan to cross paths with his self-proclaimed nemesis. Too soon, yet not soon enough. 

Logan had been sitting in the darkest, quietest corner of a tavern (which was to say that it was extremely dark and not even moderately quiet) looking over a few charts and maps while his entire crew celebrated their latest success. He had never particularly enjoyed loud, rambunctious festivities regardless, and it just made sense to spend the time looking over his plans earlier and sober instead of hungover and at the last minute. 

Or he was a “party pooper” as Roman had called him. Whichever shoe fit.

“When I had heard about ‘Pirate King of the East Coast,’ I imagined someone a bit more... interesting,” someone with a thick Spanish accent said across from Logan.

Insulted, he glanced up and found a tall, elaborately dressed man with thick, dark hair and even darker eye makeup. It only took him a moment to realize who he was looking at.

“Virgil Castillo.”

The man smiled brightly, showing off his stupidly perfect teeth. “The one and only. I was unaware that you knew of me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Logan snarked. “It wouldn’t take a fool to know that you’ve been sailing in my territory.”

Virgil hummed and sat down in the chair next to his, which was equal parts astounding and frustrating.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to work.” His arms protectively hovered over his papers to make sure that the opposing pirate wouldn’t try to steal his plans. 

“No, I don’t mind.”

Logan blinked a few times at the absolute nerve of this man. His mouth hung open in awe for a moment, but it was gently shut by a finger pushing up on his chin.

“Do not worry; I am not here to steal your plans. Eres muy guapo y quiero sentarme contigo.”

“I don’t know what that means...”

Inexplicably, Virgil leaned closer; his cool hand moved up to cup the side of Logan’s jaw. “You seem like a smart man. I’m sure that you will be able to figure it out in a moment.”

Logan’s body felt frozen as the other pirate closed the gap between them, gently pressing their lips together in a kiss. Holy shit, Logan was kissing his greatest enemy. Even worse--if things even could get worse--he felt himself moving to kiss back.

As soon as the kiss began, it was over. Virgil’s face hovered close for a few moments, which really solidified what had just happened in Logan’s mind, before he stood and took a few steps back. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. They stared at each other’s faces, and Logan was very glad that both the dim lights and his dark complexion masked most of the heat in his face.

“Until next time, Logan,” Virgil said with a quick two-fingered salute. In the time that it took Logan to blink, he was gone, leaving the pirate to sit and contemplate what the hell had just happened.

It was either a few seconds or a few hours before Logan was shocked out of his reverie by a hand placing itself on his shoulder. He blinked, and Roman’s face came into focus a foot away. Roman looked concerned, which was an odd thing to see on the normally careless man.

“Jeez, Cap. You looked like you were in some other dimension for a minute. I saw a guy walking away from here--did he do something to you? Who was he?”

“Virgil Callisto,” Logan choked out. “He kissed me.”

A huffed laugh escaped Roman’s lips as the captain glanced down at the table. “He kissed you?”

Logan nodded, but his face shifted into a scowl just as fast. “Son of a bitch!”

“What? A kiss isn’t that bad. He was pretty, too--”

“No, Roman,” he cut off, standing. “He fucking stole my telescope!”

“Oh shit.”

---

“Pat, we have to leave. Now, preferably,” Virgil commanded in Spanish as he hopped back onto the small vessel he used when he wanted to go to shore to avoid his ship being recognized. Patton had opted to stay onboard while Virgil explored the town, which was fine now that Virgil had royally fucked up.

“What? Why?” The small man began to untie the boat from the dock, but he shot a confused look at his captain.

“I met Logan Bonny.”

Patton gasped in surprise. “Really?”

“I may or may not have kissed him,” Virgil said sheepishly as he helped his first mate.

“Aw, good for you! I’m so proud, Virgil--”

“I also may have stolen his telescope...”

Patton’s movements immediately halted, and he looked at Virgil with what could only be described as faux cheer. “You did what?”

“I, um...” Virgil took the ornate looking glass out of his coat pocket, shyly holding it out for the other to see. “I swiped it by accident.”

“You STOLE the most FEARED PIRATE of the East Coast’s BELOVED TELESCOPE?!” Patton screeched like an offended mother.

“I got scared!”

A loud groan echoed through the quiet night as Patton buried his face in his hands. “Virgil, I cannot believe that you messed this up so badly.”

“Believe it, Patton. I am an idi--”

“VIRGIL CASTILLO, YOU ARE A DEAD MAN!”

Virgil’s eyes went wide as he recognized the voice and swiftly sliced the remaining ties with his sword. They could replace the ropes, but Virgil’s life wasn’t so replaceable.

“Okay, let’s go before I’m murdered, please!”

Patton smacked his arm as he rounded to the sail. “This is what you get for stealing!” 

“Literally all we do is steal! We’re pirates!” Virgil argued, pushing off of the dock.

A sharp, warning look graced Patton’s normally gentle features as he regarded the captain. “Don’t test me.”

Just as Logan’s feet began to pound down the wooden dock, the ropes of the sail let out, and the wind set them out in time to be out of reach.

“I will find you, Castillo! Mark my words!” Logan shouted.

A cheeky grin wormed its way onto Virgil’s face as he replied in English, “I’m looking forward to it, mi querido!”

[mimiplaysgames]

dammit.

Terraqua Week Day 1: #gummiphone

Summary: A marriage proposal is hard enough - if only Terra didn’t accidentally text his plans to Aqua. @terraquaweek

Read on AO3.

***

Some say facing your biggest fears is like jumping off a cliff - the hardest part is taking that first step, and the momentum will carry you the rest of the way. But who would be crazy enough to do that?

Terra needs a more suitable analogy for his situation. Proposing to someone is kind of a big deal, after all.

Better yet, he’s forging the ring for her. Normally, she’s the creative prowess considering her skill at handling metal; the Wayfinder taking residence in his pocket is proof of that.

Of course, he can’t ask her for help, he can’t let her know. He has alibis to hide what he’s doing. Every time they come to Disney Town, he tucks himself away at the blacksmith’s while she runs off to spend her time mixing potions in case anything happens - including any rowdy occurrences where Keyblades are simply too slow for what needs to be done (she’ll crack a smile and tell him that if he ever gets possessed again, she’ll just poison him to spare herself the trouble, which is fair).

The blacksmith’s is a good cover, since he’s been putting his knowledge of Keyblade armor to good use. Whenever she’s around, she’ll see Riku’s prototype hanging by the furnace. A ring is much easier to hide.

Well, it’s not yet a ring. It’s mostly a plan, Naminé’s crayon-filled blueprints in display on the workbench by his side - a mix of the tiniest sapphires imaginable, because something too flashy just won’t suit Aqua very well (even though she fights fancy).

He has his tools: his face shield, pliers, a torch, a drill, refined silver. Disciplining a hard element such as metal is soothing in a way, reminding him that he can accomplish anything if he puts his mind to it. To see the silver bend to his will, like it’s learning to be proper, is as rewarding as a teacher seeing his student succeed. 

It’s tedious work, perfect for getting in the zone. Welding shields and weapons, and mining for jewels, tests the body, but it passes. It’s not so bad to endure once the work starts.

The idea of marrying her came to him as easily as breathing. Of course he wants her by his side. He wants to wake up next to her every morning. It hurts when she has to leave; it heals when she comes back. Most of all, he will never tire of her smile. Never. 

Asking her to marry him however…

At least with making her ring - making sure the band is smooth and perfect, that the sapphires are placed correctly, that the designs are crisp - he could get lost in the flow and not have to think about his greatest adversary: whether she will say yes or no. 

Well, he could get deeply engrossed and forget about the rest of the world if that stupid Gummiphone would just shut up. 

“I’ve barely started,” he groans. 

It replies by ringing again, more texts. There’s no one out there who would try to contact him this much except for Ven.

“You’ll just have to wait.”

It rings again and Terra grunts, loud enough to be a warning even though the phone isn’t sentient and can’t get the message.

It still won’t stop. 

“I hate this thing,” he mutters to himself as he finally gets up and checks it. Surely he misses the days where friends just visited each other. The phone is very impersonal, and it keeps him connected all the damn time and how in the world can anyone focus this way? The keys on the screen are too small for his big thumbs to type in and it’s especially annoying when it’s late at night. 

The perpetrator is indeed Ventus, so distracting that Terra left behind a rod of silver with a sawed curve at the end. He hasn’t even begun the soldering.

Already a flood of texts fill the phone’s screen.

Ven Have you started working on it? ^^

Ven I wanna see! Take a pic :)

Ven #pleaserespond

Ven Please? ;-;

Ven YOU’RE STALLING D:<

“I don’t know how to take a picture,” he says to the phone.

If there’s anything that’s more overwhelming, it’s managing this dumb thing with the endless list of icons he has to scroll through just to find what he has to do. 

Before he can really investigate, Ventus calls.

Terra brings it to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Come on,” he whines on the receiver. 

“I’m trying to, I just don’t understand how to use this stupid thing.”

“Just click on the camera app,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

Terra checks the screen, but it’s all black, Ven’s name stretched across the top and the menu completely gone. Of course. He brings it back to his ear. “It’s gone.”

“No it isn’t, you oaf.”

What a tongue. A couple of months in the outside world and suddenly Ventus thinks he can take on anything bigger than him. “You’re spending way too much time with Lea.”

“Look,” Ven starts - which is a strange thing to say, he can’t see what Terra is doing. “Just click the button on the bottom of the phone - not the red one on the screen or it will hang me up.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” He’s beginning to regret even telling Ven about the ring.

Terra does as he’s instructed, the black screen swiped away, sending him back to the menu. Ven’s voice yaps to himself through the earpiece - Terra has found the camera and is already taking snaps of his (interrupted) work.

“Hang on, Ven, I’m working on it.”

“WAIT A MINUTE, I CAN’T HEAR YOU. YOU NEED TO PUT ME ON SPEAKER.”

Honestly, the thought of Ventus screaming at a piece of junk pulls a smirk on Terra’s face ever so slightly. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“WHAT?”

“Wait for it.” Terra says into the mouthpiece, hanging him up. It’s easier to stay focused this way. 

He wonders what he should title the text message with the photo. He starts with ‘aquas ring’ but it sounds weird - Ven already knows what it is - so he deletes it.

Just figuring out how to attach the photo is annoying enough. There’s so many better things to learn.

Me happy now

Send.

That should be enough, and he immediately sits back down to continue, assuming that Ven will take the time to gush over it.

But Ven calls again.

“Yes?” 

“You’re ignoring me.” This time he’s serious.

“I sent it.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Maybe it takes time?”

“It’s taking too long.” 

Ventus used to have the greatest patience in the world, always being left behind in the academy. Now after everything that’s happened, he simply stopped seeing the point of waiting around. 

It’s usually endearing in most cases.

“Well, what do you want me to say, Ven?”

“Check if it actually sent.”

Terra sighs - what else is he going to do? - and checks his phone. Swipe away the phone call, open texts. 

What he sees makes him shake.

“No… I sent it to Aqua.” He’s saying that to thin air, and brings it back to his ear to repeat it. “I sent it to Aqua.”

“Seriously?” Now he actually sounds concerned. At first. Then there’s a snicker on the other end.

“How do I take it back?”

“I-” The pause is too long, Ven calming himself after two more laughs escape. “You can’t.”

“I can’t delete it?”

“Yeah, but-”

“How, Ven?”

A door opens and shuts behind him. This isn’t the time to deal with customers.

But it’s Aqua. And her phone is in her hand. Wonderful.

Terra stands in front of his workbench, spreading his arms wide to casually rest them on the surface, hiding as much as possible. 

Of course this leaves Ventus back to talking to himself, his words indecipherable. 

“What is this?” Aqua asks him, showing him the screen where his photo is proudly on display. She’s curious if anything. “What do you mean by ‘happy now’?”

It feels like Terra is about to puke his heart out, and he’ll have no choice but to leave it on the floor to thrash by itself while he pretends to ignore it. 

“Supposed to be a question,” he mumbles.

She cocks both her eyebrows, rolling her lips inward because she knows him well enough to understand that he’s acting ridiculous. “It looks like a wand? I don’t get it?”

He’s too silent, taken too long to reply to Ventus who suddenly screams through the phone, “WHAT’S GOING ON? DON’T WORRY TERRA, I’LL SAVE YOU.”

Terra hangs up.

“He’s being rude,” Aqua says, smiling and shaking her head to herself. She steps closer and if Terra has never felt back pain from standing so stiffly, he does now. “So what are you making?” she asks innocently, like he isn’t about to burn into ashes from the heat in his cheeks. “You never told me about this.”

His heart hammers in his throat. “Something.”

She snorts. “I can see that.”

He points at her phone, the words unable to come so he forces them out. “I was supposed to send that to Ven.”

Aqua double-checks her screen, like she’s trying not to miss something. “What does Ven want with precious jewels?”

But Terra shakes his head, and his refusal to answer actually makes her smile fall. The point was to give her a gift that was completed, refined, perfect because she deserves more than that. “You just have to-”

Trust me. 

She does, even when she hesitates. Even today, after months of sharing a bed, after adjusting to a peaceful life with few Heartless, after re-training themselves to stop expecting something awful to happen in ten minutes and ruin their lives again, he’s never actually asked her to do that. She just does. 

It feels wrong to do so now. 

The sigh he allows to slip is shaky, long, uncontrolled. If there’s anything these insane years have taught him, it’s acceptance. 

He decides to be brave, finally, by looking her in the eyes. “It’s for you.”

Her eyebrows furrow, and she leans forward like she’s unsure what she just heard. “You’re making me something with gemstones?”

Then she blinks several times, like she’s just seen the light. Scatters the desk behind him. Licks her lips. Searches his face for the same answer again and again to the question suddenly bursting in her mind. 

“It’s a…” she waits. 

It’s hard to swallow the thumping in his throat, but he does, his eyes starting to sting. “Yeah.”

The gasp she takes in doesn’t leave her mouth, jaw dropping, eyes searching faster until a smile makes itself known. She bites her lips, her teeth showing as her cheeks puff up, and even though she tries to literally wipe herself calmly, her happiness is stronger. She can’t form words, but the laughter and the tears are more than enough.

“Com-” Terra swallows again, outstretching his arms toward her like he’s about to catch her. His own cheeks hurt from his grins. “Compose yourself, Master Aqua.”

The Master before him reminds herself, and she pats her cheeks like she’s trying to wake herself up, but her laughs again win this battle. Aqua throws herself around his neck, taking him in for a hard kiss because, still, words do no justice for the giggles. 

Happiness is something, Terra finds, to be something that needs to be protected the most. There’s something about the emotion that makes him feel like he’s home, but also incredibly vulnerable. Like looking over his shoulder to catch a thief trying to steal it away. 

But this is different. There’s a soreness when she pulls away, like his happiness is starving and she’s only fed it a small snack. It knocks on his chest, knocks on his forehead, knocks and opens through the tears out of his own eyes.

He needs to do it now.

He takes her phone and opens to the text messages, brings his photo to the screen. 

“Ah,” he sighs, “obviously it’s not done, but I guess-”

“M-hm,” she nods quickly, hiding her smile behind her hand. It’s too big to be concealed well.

His cheeks hurt more and he doesn’t know how that’s possible. Bending down on one knee, he holds her phone in the palm of his hand, a photo of a silver rod with a curved tip that still needs to be sawed off, soldered together, and drilled for holes, taking most of the space, with a layout of tiny sapphires arranged in a design that should transfer well if he does his job right. 

“Aqua,” he begins and there goes his heart again, threatening to lurch itself out of his mouth. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t allow a single second to take the spotlight, dropping to her knees to embrace him, to kiss him more and more, to mix their tears and their laughs together. 

It makes him forget there ever is a spiteful thief that hates the image of merriment, that in any second Ven can walk in here and ruin the moment. It makes him believe that happiness is as powerful as metal and as immovable as earth, meant to last forever. 

He gives her space to sit on his thigh, gripping her tightly because this happiness, this future in his arms, needs to be nourished. 

Hmm, he definitely should put that in his vows. Suddenly the idea that he has to confess all of these thoughts in a wedding in front of guests is now making him nervous again.

But he has to do it, scared stomach be damned.

“This is practice for the real thing,” he chuckles, essentially telling his nausea to mind its own business.

She grins and all he wants is to make her smile more. “Did you have better plans for asking me?”

“No.” He doesn’t know why he sounds so shaky. “I haven’t begun planning for it just yet.”

She kisses him again. “Can I watch you finish it? I can give you pointers.”

He nods, tracing the lines in her irises with his eyes. “Sure.”

“We can even measure my finger.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They linger there, like they’re expecting it to be unpleasant to peel themselves off each other. 

Aqua, his Aqua, gives him one more nibble on his lip, hugging him like they’ve been reunited for the first time in years, before she finally gets up and composes herself like the Master she is. She fetches a face shield too, before picking up Naminé’s plans. 

She says it’s beautiful, despite that it’s nowhere near finished. Her pointers are great, helpful for avoiding foreseeable issues, but the most fun part of letting her in this way is hearing her grin again and again. And even though he once churned with anxiousness at the thought, now he can’t wait to see it on her finger.

Facing fears is like jumping off a cliff. Sometimes, you’ll fall and get hurt, struggling before walking again. Sometimes, you’ll fly.

[mangled-dreams]

Sins of the Mother: 10

Chapter 10: Disillusion

Previous: Collection, Agreement, Terms, Truths, Accidents, Goodbye, Grieving, Visions, Recovery,

You don't like to admit it, but your dreams have been getting worse since you first cast your spell. It's not Trinity you dream about, that would make too much sense, you dream about someone else. Someone you can't really get a bead on. You talk in this person's voice, share their thoughts, and run through their life as if it were yours.

Its disconcerting to feel so disoriented when you wake up. It's only when you wake that you realize you'd been asleep. Each morning you wake up feeling more tired than when you'd gone to sleep. Fern, with all her inherited mothering nature, keeps asking if you're okay. You hate lying to her, but it's all you have at this point. She's not like Trinity, you can't lay everything down on her, you can't even give her a portion of what is going on in your day to day because she's too young.

Walking over to the sink you wash your hands of the chicken juice on them and work on cleaning the knife while Fern and Ollie finish their breakfast. “Chicken pasta tonight.” You tell them setting the knife on a fluffy white towel on the counter. Drying your hands you glance out the window of the kitchen and feel a cold chill run through you.

“Savannah...” You whisper staring into the eyes of your supposed dead ancestor. Freezing your breath catches in your throat. You feel trapped staring into her now blackened eyes. She looks demonic and it squeezes you with fear. If Savannah is a demon she'd be more powerful than she had as a human, you just know it instinctual.

If Savannah is really a demon and not a figment of your imagination, wouldn't Damien know? Wouldn't he just tell you that Savannah was alive? Why hide it? To what end would they need you for? A child? But wouldn't Savannah be perfect for that? Whatever the case, your hope that being with was the worst of it all has vanished.

“Sis? Sis?”

Shaking your head you glance to your right, Ollie stands next to you his gaze jumping from the window to you and back again.

“Sis, are you okay?” Ollie asks watching you shake away your thoughts.

Smiling a little uncertain about what just happen you nod your head. “I'm okay Ollie, why do you ask?”

Ollie looks a little uneasy at the question as if it should be self explanatory. “Who was that lady?” He asks. Your blood runs cold at his question, your smile falters. Ollie sounds like you feel, afraid.

“W—what?”

“The woman outside the window. The one with the long hair, who was she?”

You look back to the window. Savannah's gone. “I don't know, Ollie. She's gone now.” You respond in a hushed whisper. Trying to remain normal you hurry Ollie off to get dressed and take the twins to their music lessons. Your Aunt Allison will pick up the twins for a weekend at the estate. A few times a year there are little festivals held near the estate and all the children are invited to stay the weekend at the main house and have fun. Ollie and Fern have been looking forward to the event for the past month.

You don't want to ruin their weekend. Marking off their list of things needed you load them into your vehicle and take them to the private tutor's home. Your family's been using Vanessa Whitewater's services since you were a small child. She's nearly into her nineties but her mind is still very sharp and her lessons have never failed. Her knowledge is unparalleled and you will mourn her passing.

Kissing Ollie and Fern goodbye you tell them to mind the adults, not to cause trouble—especially Ollie, and to call if they'd like to come home early. Fern hugs you tightly as does Ollie and you feel a lingering twang of fear in him. Shooing Fern off you hold Ollie back.

“Oliver? What's wrong?” You ask not really needing to crouch down to look him in the eyes. He's grown so much this past year and it hurts.

Ollie looks away as if guilty about hiding something from you. You press him again. In one quick motion Oliver wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly, as if you are his last lifeline.

Biting back the sadness at the truth of your own analogy you hug him just a tightly. “Oliver, you know you can talk to me.” You tell him.

“Y/n, that lady scared me. Fern didn't notice but you were just staring at her. She didn't look happy to see you.” Ollie tells you.

“How long?” You ask.

“I don't know. It was long enough to make me worried. Does... did that lady have to do with...” Ollie looks around as if an obvious secret agent looking for prying ears. “Does it have to do the demon?” Ollie asks hushed.

You want to smile at his antics in this moment, but the look in his eye is all serious and frightened. Instead you shake your head. “I don't know Ollie. I wish I did. The woman looked like someone I've seen in pictures, that's why I was staring but I didn't know if it was real or if I were still dreaming.”

“You've been talking in your sleep.” Ollie offers without question. “I've never heard you talk in your sleep before.” The look in Ollie's eyes turns your gut.

“Oliver, what have I been saying?” You ask knowing already he's been listening to you talk in your sleep.

He hesitates. Vanessa taps on the window with a stern expression of disapproval. You give her an apologetic smile but hold up a finger. She nods and disappears from the door. It must have been the grim look on your face or the plead in your eyes but thankfully she backs off.

“Oliver, please.”

Tears glisten on his lower lashes. “You say you wish we were never born, that you hate taking care of us. You... you say you want us dead.”

Your heart pauses in your chest and a cold sweeps through your veins. “No, no, Oliver I would never.” Your dreams pass by your eyes. Those aren't your words. “Oliver. Look at me, please.” Closing your eyes you realize your voice is harsh and quickly change it. “Ollie. I love you. I love Fern, and Trinity so very much. I wish our mother were still here to see how wonderful you two have become, but I do not regret the things I have given up to be there for you.” You reassure Ollie as best you can.

“You know I pride myself on being honest with you and Fern and expect it in return. I don't want you dead, I don't want to be alone, Ollie. I may hide how sad I am, but it's not because of you. We've lost so many important people to us, our mother, Trinity, and basically our father. You are all I have left to keep me even remotely happy. Seeing you and Fern grow to be amazing people is my life's goal.”

Ollie looks up at you with watery eyes. He knows you're telling him the truth, but the seed of doubt has already been planted in his mind. Closing your eyes you hang your head. You wish you could tell him everything, but Oliver is just a child. He'll be a teenage soon and that'll be a whole different world of turmoil and pain and uncertainty.

“I'm sorry if there was ever anything I did to make you think I'd be happier without you, Fern, or... or even Trinity. You're my baby brother, Ollie. I would never be happy without you.” You whisper hugging him again. “I love you, Oliver Joseph Scarlet. Come hell or high water, it changes nothing. If I lose you, if I lose Fern, even Dad... I will lose my world.” You whisper brushing a kiss to Ollie's forehead.

When you pull away Oliver reacts. His arms wrap around you again. Oliver holds you tightly. “I love you sis. I'm sorry if I hurt you.”

“Shh, after everything we've been through, it's good to look out for yourself, Ollie. Keep Fern close, just in case; okay? I don't know what that woman wanted, but I trust your judgment. I trust you to keep Fern safe.” You tell him brushing away his tears. Ollie seems to buck up a little at your confidence in him to protect his twin. “Don't hide things from Fern just to protect her, okay? If something is off and you have to run, it's better to have both of you in the know. Who heads can be better than one when you're in sync.” You add sternly. Ollie nods his head with just the same serious expression as you.

“Ms. Scarlet, time is wasting.” Vanessa warns you.

“Of course, I'm sorry Mrs. Whitewater. Oliver is coming in now.” You promise noting her slight change of expression at Oliver's red eyes. She nods her head and waits at the door for Oliver. Hugging Oliver again you ruffle his hair. “I'll see you Sunday night. Have fun, okay?”

Ollie gives you a look you know all to well. He is your brother after all. You laugh and shoo him into the old but well kept house. “Bye.”

When you get home you call an herbalist and a few others to gather supplies needed to put protection over your siblings. If Oliver saw Savannah that means she's not just a phantom from your memories. Thanking each person you speak to in kind you gather a special pouches you'd found specifically for each group of items.

Without Dark's urging you've delved deeper into the lore and teachings of the Book of Shadows. Slowly but surely the book is getting lighter and lighter, but that doesn't mean you've leaned anything of true value. It doesn't explain why you and Ollie saw Savannah. There are no clues as to what Savannah had been planning.

Turning from the freshly locked front door you nearly barrel into Dark. Catching yourself you pause on the edge of the small platform. “Damien, you startled me.” It's not a lie. You don't normally have just silent as death demons stand directly behind you.

“Not my intention, I promise. I came to discuss something of great importance with you.” Dark explains. You just know it has to do with Savannah.

“You'll have to walk and talk, so to speak. I have a few errands I have to do.” You tell him walking to your car and slide into the driver's seat. Dark appears in the passenger seat already buckled up. “What do you need to talk about?” You ask once you've set out on your drive into town.

“I was told you saw Savannah this morning.” Dark says, he's not asking you, he's telling you he knows.

“How'd you find that out?” You ask.

He ignores you. “Did she say anything to you?”

It's your turn to ignore his question. “Why don't you sound surprised to know she showed up at my house?” Flicking your turn signal you take a left when the road is clear and quickly pull into a small parking lot.

Dark simply studies you while you park your car and unbuckle your seat belt. He doesn't like the turning in his stomach, as there is a knife piercing his flesh and twisting it with painful slowness. The realization that Savanna may not be truly dead unsettles him. He had honestly believed Savannah had finally died when the summer cottage had burnt to nothing.

“I believed Savannah to be dead many centuries ago, to have her reappear now would mean she planned this in much greater detail than I thought her possible of.” Dark explains.

Pausing with your pouches in your hands you look to Dark. “Will she hurt my siblings?”

Dark looks away from you. “If it servers her purpose, yes.” His words hit you in the chest. “Damien, please, keep them safe. Fern, Oliver... my dad... losing them to old age and natural causes I can live with. I'd never be able to live and know they died because of me.”

Dark looks at you in question. “Why because of you?” If anyone is to blame he'd think you'd blame him.

“I've been having dreams lately. In my dreams I'm someone else but I don't realize it until I've awakened. Ollie says I've been talking in my sleep, saying horrible things that I would never utter even in my darkest of hours.” You don't have to say much more, your expression and tone say more than words could ever.

Dark doesn't respond immediately. He knows you must have said some awful things if you're sharing at the very least memories with Savannah. Even to her own children she was not kind. Dark catches the names on your pouches and knows instantly what you're doing. “You said you would need to hurry before the shops close, did you not?”

Dark's voice brings you back to why you're currently parked in a small strip mall not many people shop at on a daily basis. The L shaped strip mall is a collection of novelty, specialty, and collector's shops. The sun beats upon you from it's place in the mid afternoon when you finally step outside your car. Dark follows your actions. You feel a little bad that he came with you on such a hot day. His black suit, black shirt, black tie, and black shoes must be very hot and uncomfortable.

“Damien, do you want to wait in the car? It's pretty hot out and you must be... uncomfortable.”

Dark doesn't respond but the small smile on his lips feels genuine enough to make you blush. He nods for you to continue on and you do. Hugging your pouches to your breast you walk over to a small shop with flowers and foliage panted with neat hand on the window. In beautiful bold script is written THE SECRET GARDEN.

Pushing the door open a small bell jingles harmlessly above the door frame. No one greats you instantly but you're pretty much used to that at this point. AC hits you like a welcomed breeze. Looking around the small but well used space you smile to yourself.

Alexandra Pomper, or rather Alex owns the shop and has been in the same location for nearly thirteen years now. A very lovely woman, she practices Wicca and originally opened the shop others of the like but soon found a lot of her wears have many purposes and even the non practitioners would benefit and appreciate her store.

“This is a very cozy store.” Dark remarks looking at the various potions, spell elements, and various other items. You watch him pick up a candle and give it a quick smell. You can't help but giggle a little at the surprised face he gives the candle. He's made the decision to buy the candle.

Leaving the natural stone pendulums you walk over to Dark looking at the various candle names. Seeing Dark in such a normal setting its easier to fool yourself he's not a demon. Looking at the candle names again. “Uh, what is that candle called?” You ask noting the different names on the shelf Dark took the candle from.

Sinful Touches. Lustful Nights. Whispered Kisses.

Oh joy.

Dark simply smiles keeping the label from your preying eyes. He walks away leaving you to stare after him. Just what candle did he pick out and what kind of magic is attached to it?

“Oh, Y/n, I didn't realize it was you.” Alex appears from behind a black curtain. Her auburn hair falls down to her waist in loose beach curls. You've always been envious of her hair. Always perfect, never a hair out of order. Amber colored eyes watch Dark carefully as she sets a large box atop the counter.

“Hey Alex. I'm not in too much of a hurry so I didn't think to call out.” You tell her walking over to the counter. Curiosity bringing you closer to Alex and her box. “What cha got in there?”

Alex has to pull her attention away from Dark perusing her wears to respond. “A new shipment. I got an archaeologist friend down in Peru and he sent me so pretty awesome supplies. Dried rare flowers, some well preserved seedlings, among other things like amulets, blessed stones and jewelry by a few priestesses. I haven't received my whole shipment but I'm pretty happy with what I've gotten so far.” Alex explains pulling out a few things customs has approved of. You look at the items without touching just in case something could be ruined.

Alex's eyes follow Dark again. She can't put a finger on it but there is something other worldly about him. He gives her the creeps despite having just met him. “Who's the guy?”

You glance up at Alex then to Dark. “That's Dark.” Alex raises a brow at the name. You shrug in response. “Hey, I don't judge.” You tell her. To be honest you do judge, but not out loud or to others. There's a girl in Alex's group of witches that renamed herself Luna Moon.

You can't help but smile each time you think of her. Luna is a larger Caucasian woman with a round face and muddy blue eyes. She keeps changing her hair color on an almost weekly basis, but it's not her looks that make you laugh thinking about her; it's her choice of name and her attitude. She essentially named herself Moon Moon and it makes you think of the meme with the wolves and one that seems to always be the ass of the photo. Unfortunately Luna has the same kind of wacky personality and forgetful tendencies.

“Y/n, I don't mean to alarm you, but I don't think he's completely human.” Alex says looking at Dark again. You have to give Alex her credit. She's not a witch born from a bloodline, but rather one of her own making. You've found out a lot of people have hidden magic abilities but to what degree is kind of case by case. Alex had been the daughter of florists and was going to school for her degree in botany and botanical medicine, but found she could create potions and infuse magic into natural oils stones. It'd been by accident and the more she tried new things the more she found she enjoyed her work.

“I'm aware,” You tell her trying to ease her worries. You can see it does just a little. “But, aside from that, is my order ready? I have a few spells I need to complete before dark.” You explain knowing Alex would understand your need to have your items. She nods choosing not to say anything more about Dark and kneels down.

“From the items you chose I know it's a protection spell, is everything okay?” She asks lifting up a basket with dried and fresh herbs perfectly labeled with a few smaller baskets with stones in them. She picks a few herbs, both fresh and dried, and sets them aside. You place your herb pouch on the counter. Alex takes it and fills it gently.

You sigh. “I'm hoping. There's been some weird happenings around the house and I just want to take precautions. Thankfully the spell I'm using keeps us protected from just about any kind of harm. I have to go over to Jennifer's shop after this for a few other items.”

Alex nods her head. “If there is anything I can do, just let me know.” It's your turn to nod to her. She hands you back your bag and asks if there is anything else she was get for you when Dark walks up. The pair of you pause and look down at the candles Dark has picked out. Two are the same and the third is a different scent.

“Dark?” You ask looking up at him in question.

“Allow me to pay.” He says pulling a small bill fold from an inner pocket of his suit.

“Ah, s-sure....” Carefully Alex looks at each candle for a price sticker on the bottom, you can see a little bit of heat creep into her face as she looks the candles over. Curiosity gets the better of you and you pluck one of the duplicates from the counter and look at it.

Your eyes widen at the name. “Sinful Touches? Really?” You ask blushing. You can't believe he picked this candle up. Alex laughs sounding a little embarrassed by your exchange. She sets the candle in her hand down and looks up at Dark.

“There is another candle that pairs with this one. It's—ahem—it boosts the power of this one.” Alex says watching you pick up the candle she'd just put down.

Silently you read the name and just about choke on your own spit. Fertility Goddess. Leaning on the counter you cough into your hand. You can't believe Dark would dare to bring that to the counter with you as his obvious date for the time being. His large hand rubs comforting against your back, the warmth from his palm seeping into you.

Alex produces a bottled water from somewhere on her side and you take it, drinking it as slowly as you can to stop your coughing. Alex is still giggling by the time you can breath normally. You shoot her a glare daring her to make some kind of remark. She doesn't take the bait but does retrieve the pairing candle for Dark and—after he pays—bids you a good day and a very interesting evening.

You glare are her again but wave and tell her you'll call her if you need anything more. You ignore the candles despite being hyper aware of their position in you car. You don't bother asking Dark why he bought them. You don't want the answer.

[kaorei-endgame]

Fast Karate Game of the Year 2017 #1: Gravity Rush 2

I think about falling a lot.

Well, falling, floating, whatever. That part in Perfect Blue where she's in the bathtub, or in Ghost in the Shell where she talks about what would happen if she just ended up going down, and down, and down.

Kat doesn't fly; she falls. It's really just a semantic difference.

I suppose there's not much of a game to Gravity Rush, which I always suspected would be the case, which is why the overwhelming praise coming from even personal recommendations like @kidfenris and @psikick never got me perked up. The combat's pretty rough, even with the band-aid of Homing Kick Works On Everything. And for many interminable stretches, this game that is not a stealth game and has no mechanics/UI elements to allow for stealth gameplay, will throw you into back-to-back-to-back Pass/Fail stealth sequences and then when you finally clear them, ask you to do them again as side missions.

But damn, you can just fall. 

I suppose this game has objectives. It definitely has cute side quests where long-suffering Kat uses her awesome powers to do decidedly unheroic things like deliver newspapers, shill for a cafe, rescue a lost puppy, and take on day labor as a mover for a rich asshole. Her peppy Can-Do! anime girl attitude-and her put upon resignation with the asinine-yet-humorous requests of every townsfolk she comes across-sands the corners of friction, such that I didn't mind when I realized this was a super hero game, even though super heroes have always sucked. It has a nice story. It has kind of a bittersweet story, in a meta way, in that the best part OF the story is the last hour or two that encompasses what would probably be the whole of Gravity Rush 3 except while playing this they definitely realized they would never get the chance to make a Gravity Rush 3. 

So my game of the year for 2017 is a game I started playing on January 1st 2018, because it was half-off on the online store and we'd finished whatever we were streaming for the night and Graz had to go out to walk the dog. There could be no better kismet, and, across the two weeks where I spent most of my free time playing this game (and its DLC, and its predecessor) I feel somehow as if my brain reset. I found a rare video game where my objective was not to have an objective (despite the fact that Gravity Rush has almost as many objectives as any open world game does), but just to be. To feel the movement of my fingers as I double-tapped the shoulder buttons to readjust my trajectory. To feel, as if in my body, and not just my hands, that moment when you deactivate Kat's powers at full speed, that split-second where she hangs in the air like a clueless Wile E Coyote before gravity-real gravity, inescapable gravity-takes hold and sends her plummeting to earth. To work my palm against the rumble of the controller as she pancakes into hard stone, over and over, because, I don't know, falling animations are a wonderful thing about games, and this year, with Nier and Zelda, has been very good for goofy-ass falls. It's so frustrating, in Dark Souls, when you're so concentrated on a battle that you roll off a bridge and to your death, right? If it weren't, the Anor Londo archers wouldn't be the thing that bristles the whiskers of every player, big or small, when they reminiscence. 

But it's hilarious, too, right? It couldn't not be. The way the camera seizes and locks in place halfway down, but your character just keeps falling, and falling, until they're nothing but a tiny speck. I've always liked the shock of realization that an accidental death by falling produces in Dark Souls. The flare of anger and indignation is so pure and justified and so deep-rooted in your core, this ancestral memory of what unfairness looks like, in the moment that you just throw yourself into your outrage at this bullshit, this theft-only to snap back to your senses a minute later, maybe somewhat quietly chagrined, and try to laugh it off, under your breath, like "ahahaha… yeah, that one was on me."

What I like about Gravity Rush is Kat can be that speck, but nothing hurts her, no matter how far she falls. It is a game with no consequence, but it's also a game that tells you there are no consequences, which is a much rarer thing, where the Call of Duties and Assassin's Creeds are concerned.

While I was playing this game, I posted a lot of videos to twitter of sending Kat falling to earth. Those videos don't even represent even a hundredth of the times I crashed her into rock, grass, asphalt, ponds, enemy battleships, church steeples, a fire-breathing elephant statue or a ferris wheel. Partially I did it so much because I think video game characters smashing into the ground is hilarious/fucking rocks, but it's also because it feels like the most efficient way to get around the world, a lot of the time. It's like the game has schooled you in subtle Trigonometry. Gradually, your holds mold to a game that at first felt unplayable. I am an apologist for this, like I am an apologist for Resident Evil. These feel like games to me, a synchronization of the limitations of the player with the limitations of the game. What I crave from games is resistance. It's a completely worthless skill--a didactic lesson with no real bearing outside of video games. But let me tell you a secret: that's true of all video games. They're all stupid. They're all a waste of time. So is most of human life. I'm trying to find ways to be fine with that. I'm hoping I'll do that before anxiety makes me explode.

What I've pretty rarely craved from games is passivity. Even when I enjoy it, I don't enjoy it. When I'm mining my thousandth copper ore in World of Warcraft, there's a cognitive dissonance: the acceptance that I might need this brainless play, with the frantic, rabid desire to not. 

But I never felt that pull here. It was the rhythm of it. The constant micro adjustments of flight. The swoops, crashes, and soars. You are moving, and the shining purple gems that upgrade combat skills you never actually need are there like signposts to guide your descent. So are the sidequests. So are the races. So is everything. An excuse for forward motion, a series of tasks with no real bearing on anything, except instilling in me a peace of mind. In exploratory games like these, every outcropping is peppered with something to pick up that secures you a fractional bit of an incremental upgrade. That's what exploratory games are bad, because they incentivize exploration with garbage, because everything is a Piece of a Heart but now instead of 1 of 4 it's 1 of 400. For me, the one Assassin's Creed I played to competition was this ludicrous Lucy With The Football shit of seeing a chest on a ledge, climbing to that chest, and being rewarded with, like, 70 lire every time. So when I started this game, and saw giant, hovering pink diamonds twinkling from every outcropping I felt the swell of that instinctual revulsion towards collectibles, my superego vainly protecting me from the pull of my id, which always says "get those things, it will feel good. It will feel even better if you imagine getting all of them." But lurking behind that is always this tacit notion of, "every one of these things you pick up is a page of a book you didn't read or a word you didn't write."

For an hour at a time, basking in the music, all I would do was exactly that. I spent a lot of hours that way, suffused with the relaxation, basking in the float.

2017 was a bad year in a lot of ways. Specifically, for the purposes of this writing: personally, creatively, I did not exit it feeling super great. Christmas break was my last-ditch effort, and I flubbed that. And, playing through Gravity Rush 2, and its DLC, and the entire first game too, over the first couple weeks of January, I thought "well 2018 is off to just an awesome start," even as I acknowledged that maybe I was allowing myself space for my brain to reset.

What's cool, and I say this as someone who has never definitely felt like their brain has reset, to pull them out of a slump in that way (just in case you are also a person who has felt this way) is that this time: it actually did. The plans I'd deferred from the end of December started falling slowly into place at the end of January. They still are. Slower than I'd like them to, but at least they're moving. It's the first time it's happened to me, in this way. It's really bizarre, to feel like this is the first time I'm experiencing that. So I'm, at this point, almost two months late on finishing my Game of the Year, and nearly a month out from my #2 game (and I assume anyone who cared just guessed it was this anyway, I wasn't trying too hard to keep it a secret). But that's just a personally inflicted timeline anyway, so who gives a shit. 2018, I wanna get things done. That was my desire for 2017 too. But I'm approaching the idea that 2018 can be about getting things done in the speed that they're going to get done, instead of the speed I desperately need them to. I am making myself believe that is a possibility, and something about that seems possible, this time.

Tap-tap, goes my finger on R1. And move the analog stick ever so slightly. Hear the rush of air, and the distant strands of peppy music. Tap-tap, again, and I'm off, somewhere else. Even if it's the second half of the game, which is the whole of the first game, where the music is nowhere near as good as the initial town music, which was so raucous and so buoyant that often it inspired in me a desire to do nothing but fly upwards, testing how far I could fall into the sky before my power ran out, and then seeing how far I'd fall before it came back. That song, that song that was so peaceful and felt so kind. Touching upon these gems, triangulating among landmarks for a treasure chest hunt, and skidding to a magnetized stop on the craggy underside of a floating castle. And basking in the nature of the character on screen doing it, looking cool or clumsy, or both. Falling forever, until you are a speck, and the game doesn't even kill you when you run out of flight power over the vast abyss, it just teleports you back up wherever, and lets you try again. 

[the-huntress-songblade]

The Owl and the Raven

Part 3

"I'm just an aspirant... a trainee. I'm a nobody."

"I don't think that's likely."

Even as his comment brought a slight blush to her cheeks, she led them through the forest until they reached one of the many Kaldorei villages that skirted the base of Hyjal. She did not say what it was called, but then again, it did not matter. As they arrived on the outskirts, she looked back at him curiously, "I just need to drop these crystals off with the Huntress and then we can get some food."

He moved slowly as they approached, looking somewhat apprehensive about entering anything resembling civilization but he deferred. "And did you have a plan for what to eat, or shall I make a hunt?"

Arrianna blinked in confusion. "A hunt?" She looked back to her village, then back to him, "There's food here, we don't have to hunt - at least not every day - in order to eat." She smiled to him gently, an expression free of judgement, and motioned him to follow, "Come on. Tell me what you like to eat while we walk so we can decide what to have."

He shrugged and followed along. He didn't come this far north, so he at least wasn't likely to be known. His hand rested on the hilt of one of his blades as they entered the town's outskirts.

As they approached another Kaldorei in purple armor, Anna saluted the woman, speaking softly and handing over the satchel. The woman opened it briefly, looking impressed. After counting something for several moments, she passed Anna a leather pouch that jingled significantly. It was tucked into a pocket before she turned back to Reth to hear his answer to her question:

"So?... what do you like to eat?"

He looked as though it was a question he had not often been asked. "Venison, usually. But when you live in the woods you eat whatever you can hunt or trap. Rabbit, bear." He shrugged.

Anna tilted her head as she listened, nodding. She motioned to the mountain, "There's a river that flows down from the snowcaps of Hyjal - it's big enough that a number of fish swim up its rapids throughout the year. A cadre of fishermen go once every few weeks to round up enough for the village. Their security detail often includes a few trainees like myself. So I'm certainly no stranger to hunting and living in the wilds..." She led them toward one of the larger open buildings, walking inside to reveal a farmer's market of sorts. The options were far from a city market's variety, but it was more than enough for a village to be able to get by. "But you said you live like that constantly?"

Once again he shrugged as a means of confirmation. "I have been made well aware that I am not warmly welcome in the settlements further south." But far from sounding bitter or distressed by it, he seemed to prefer it. "Fine with me. I have no problem living off the land, unwasteful."

Arrianna gave a nod, motioning to the limited supply before them, "That is why this village is so small - we know how much food we will use, and none of this goes to waste. Plus it keeps the trade between each other evenly spread. Everyone here has a duty, and everyone here earns their fill." She offered him another kind smile, motioning to the fruit and meats, "Do you wish to pick, or should I surprise you? I warn you... I'm not as adept at cooking as some of the other women in this village."

He chuckled slightly. "Pick whatever you wish, I'm happy to cook whatever you procure." He was a survivalist, and quite adept at making fire, cooking what he killed. "Though I admit I'm more used to a campfire than a stove."

Arrianna smirked back at him, turning to pick a few choice pieces of fish and sunfruit, as well as some fresh greens and berries for a salad. "I can assure you, that can be arranged." Once she had her things chosen, she carried the little wicker basket she'd grabbed at the entrance to a Kaldorei man wearing simple dirt-stained linens. She smiled at him and let him tally out her choices.

"A bit more than usual, Miss Nightstorm?" But when he saw she was accompanied by someone, he blinked in surprise and then nodded, "Certainly not an overestimation. Enjoy your evening."

Anna smiled back to the man, passing over a handful of coins, "Thank you, Desaan." Pausing for a moment more, she passed him two more coins and motioned to a pair of corked glass bottles by the door. He nodded to her again and moved to add them to her basket. When she turned her amber gaze back to Reth'lazar, she was smiling brightly, "Shall we?"

He watched her go about her choices with an air of slight bemusement. He clearly was more accustomed to hunting his every meal than this bizarre ritual. But he made no disparaging comment, and simply followed along as she made her purchase and exited. "Quite presumptuous to go for a drink so early, isn't it?" He teased as he followed along to wherever she intended them to eat.

Anna chuckled softly, a deep sound, as she led them back across the little village until they reached the smallest house on its far edge. She opened the door and motioned him inside after her. It was incredibly modest - a bed and a dresser, and a small space to sit by the window. There weren't many candles in the place, but the light that filtered in from the moon and the stars outside was more than enough to allow them to see their way around. In the center of the room was a small woven rug with an unsightly lump beneath its center. After Anna placed the basket on the simple wooden trunk at the end of her bed, she knelt by the rug before moving it away: it apparently covered a small fire pit, which explained why the center of her ceiling has a hole in it that let a slight breeze waft through the little house. She motioned for him to sit with her, "Is this too fancy for you?"

He looked rather impressed by its simplicity, both the house and the cooking implements. "I can always appreciate practicality." He answered simply. He knelt down to extract his own flint from his bag and showed his expertise with the tool. It took only a few brief stikes to get the first sparks ignited in the tinder. A few short breaths and the fire picked up potency, soon flaring to life. "I would hazard you know a thing or two about surviving without the comforts of home."

Anna nodded in the affirmative, "Indeed I do." She watched him build the fire, rising to move back to the wooden trunk by her bed. She grabbed the basket, moving to the little cabinet tucked into a corner. From inside, she grabbed a sanded wooden slab and a pair of wooden plates, and a large wooden bowl. She brought the slab and a hunting knife before her as she sat and started laying the fish out on the slab, nudging it toward Reth, "I have some spices, if you need them... though I imagine some of the women around here would not qualify salt as 'some spices'. Heheh."

"You're saying you're not very domestic? I'm stunned." He offered a chuckle as he reached into the still-infant fire and extracted a couple smaller sticks. He took the fish from the basket and carefully threaded the sticks through the mouths, before planting them in the fire to cook as the flames danced higher to lick along the flesh. "Surprised you even have a house with a solid roof... er, not that I'm one to really talk."

Anna shrugged passively, frowning a little as she tore and mixed the greens she'd picked into the bowl, adding the berries and mixing with her hands. "It's not technically mine... but it at least got me out of my parents' home."

He blinked, though not the most social of creatures, he seemed to realize he'd struck some sort of nerve. "Apologies. I did not mean to offend."

She blinked at his apology, lifting her berry-stained gloves to shake her hands at him back and forth, "Oh, no! Not offended." She frowned again and heaved a gentle sigh, "My lifestyle is not the way my parents had wished it, and choosing to stay with them during my training... it would've driven me crazier than a Wildkin corrupted by the Fel." She moved to place the salad between them - ready to share when the fish was done, before rising and moving to sit on the windowsill so she could remove some of her armor. Her gloves and shoulder pauldrons as well as her boots and leather vest all came off, leaving her in her leather pants and a worn top that had definitely seen better days. As she rejoined him, she sighed again, "I mentioned the priestesses and the druids before... my parents are so... so cookie-cutter perfect that it's maddening." Anna sat in thought, tracing a hand on her facial tattoo. "The owl is a great hunter... I suppose I just want to prove to them that it's just as important as being a custodian of Nature... or a sister of Elune."

Reth kept his attention on the fire as it cooked through the fish. He nodded along with her tale. "Everyone has to find their own way, by choice or circumstance." He shifted the sticks to make sure there was an even burn. "I lost everything I'd known when the

Well collapsed and I had to find a way to survive. Its no different, in the end. Life can change in a second, so I'd just as soon take what I can when I can... And maybe get a little vengeance along the way."

She kept her gaze trained a bit shyly on the fire as she listened. "Do... do you remember where you were when... when it...?" Though her words trailed off, the query in her statement was unmistakable.

He thought about it for a moment, as if he hadn't thought about it for some time. "I was miles from home, hunting the largest buck I'd ever seen. I returned home to find... well, I didn't return home. It was gone."

She nodded slowly, amber eyes flicking his way a few times. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "It was so long ago. My peace is made. If you dwell on the shot you missed, you'll miss the next one too. That's a bad analogy... I've never used a bow."

At this, Arrianna smirked. "Wise words from a true hunter." She looked to the fish hungrily, moving to dole out the salad onto their plates for the fish to be laid over. At his second comment, she shook her head, "You can aim a shot with more than just a bow."

Once their plates were ready for the main course, she moved to sit a little closer, grabbing the pair of corked glass bottles. They weren't incredibly large, and the glass was dark and frosted over. She worked the corks out with a bit of elbow grease before scooting one toward him, "You said you seek vengeance... vengeance against whom?"

He made a swift movement to extract a knife from his belt and sent it spinning up into the air. He snatched it back by the blade just an instant before it hit the ground. "The demons who tore our world apart. I said I'd made peace, not that I'd forgiven." He smirked as he lifted the fish from the fire and prodded their skin with his hand. Satisfied they were ready, he passed them off. "A true hunter never lets his prey escape. Or hers... I suppose."

The little addition to his comment was small, but more than enough to paint her cheeks a deep shade of purple. She smiled, helping him to separate the fish from their bones and laying the cooked pieces of meat over their salads. Once they were ready, she lifted her own glass bottle as if to clink it to his, "Here's to hunting, then?"

He raised his bottle somewhat awkwardly, quite unfamiliar with such trappings, but he tapped his bottle to hers and nodded. "So then, what are you hunting?"

She chuckled, taking a swig from her bottle. When she lowered it again, she had a small thin white line running along her upper lip - the bottles were full of milk, it seemed. She licked her lips, looking back to the fire, "Well, I can tell you what I -haven't- been hunting... much to the chagrin of my mother." She sulked her head down, as if what she was speaking of was both frustrating and depressing.

He chuckled under his breath, noticing the milk and took a sip himself. "And what would that be?" He asked in a tone that suggested he had an inkling of the answer.

Anna let out a frustrated groan, grabbing a handful of salad and fish and eating it like the heathen her mother had made her out to be, not more than once, "A damned lifemate... why should I traipse around in a girlie dress with my hair in a fancy gathered braid in the back while I pick flowers, hoping that one of the big strong soldiers or druids or whatever ask my parents for the chance to court me?" She said the entirety of this around her mouthful of fish and salad, swallowing roughly before looking to Reth, "Is that whole helpless damsel thing really that arousing?"

He shrugged as he chewed through his own fish. "For some I suppose. On the other hand, a woman who doesn't need to be hand-held..." He trailed off without fully completing the thought, though the appeal was apparent. "But then I'm the farthest thing from any kind of expert on the subject."

Arrianna shook her head gently, "I'll never understand the appeal of being a housewife... my mother always said she was honored to make a home for her family, but..." at the mere thought of it, she wrinkled her nose, "I don't know."

"To each their own I suppose... Not sure raising a child in the woods would be a fun experience."

Anna gave a quiet nod, enjoying more of her salad before looking to Reth curiously, "Is it good? I tend to balance my meals as much as possible - eating healthy is how we build our strength."

He had made his way through most of the food. "Its quite good. A nice change of pace from mushrooms and berries and dried venison." He said with a wink.

Arrianna smiled, nodding, "I'm glad. I don't have many friends. Honestly never thought I'd need any. But company is a nice change of pace." She offered him a bright smile, looking truly relaxed. "And if I'm to call you Reth... then you can call me Anna."

He offered a hand out, a somewhat facetious gesture of politeness. "It's a pleasure to meet you Anna. I hope to kill many satyrs with you."

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

When everyone wants you, it's hard not to end up making something of value to a lot of air in the straw. The answer, I realized, is that my m. Valuation is at best third. People from other rich countries can scarcely imagine the squalor of the man-made bits of America. But the way the story appeared in the press sounded a lot more money than a job, but it's clearly now the established practice. It's too hard to pick winners early on. I propose we call this new sport PR diving, and I'm sure there are far more striking examples out there than this clump of five stories. I know because I've seen it burn off. Investors may end up with less stock per startup, but startups will probably do better with founders more in control, and there will almost certainly be more of them. When I first laid out these principles explicitly, I noticed something striking: this is practically a recipe for generating a contemptuous initial reaction. Some say it's because their culture encourages cooperation.

The power of this technique extends beyond startups and programming languages and essays. The unsuccessful founders weren't stupid. I've noticed this too. You'll also want an executive summary and maybe a deck.1 One of the most successful companies we've funded so far, but I feel obliged at least to try. Startups raising money occasionally alienate investors by seeming arrogant. Tell yourself you can be as nice as you want, you have more ideas about what to do in that case. American cars continue to lose market share. One is that investors will increasingly be de facto series B rounds. Series A rounds still work that way, but things now work differently for most fundraising prior to the series A. The good news is, there's also a good chance the person at the next stage.

It's the job equivalent of the pizza they had for lunch. But in this case it seems more to the point where your group attaches to the tree. Trend articles like this are almost always the work of PR firms all over the articles, as you can, so you start learning from users what you should have been making. Which means it's doubly important to hire the best people. Traditionally phase 2 fundraising consists of presenting a slide deck in person to investors. As indeed they often are. Suppose as before that you only extract half as much from users as you could, but that right now you need to undertake to actually be successful.

4 million. It's too perfect. But the just-do-it. The sticking point is board seats. The bigger the problem, the harder it is to change directions. I can't think of a startup idea. Not only is fundraising not the test that matters. Don't raise too much money. Startups will go to them only to fill up rounds that are oversubscribed, being last in line means they'll probably miss the hot deals.

This is an instance of a very successful businessman in the cartoon it was always a man: a rapacious, cigar-smoking, table-thumping guy in his fifties who wins by exercising power, and isn't too fussy about how. When you look at something like Reddit and think the founders were lucky.2 Y axis are smaller, but the probability that an investor will say yes, in the future. So I'd like to suggest an additional feature to those working on spam filters: a punish mode which, if turned on, would spider every url in a suspected spam n times, where n could be set by the user. I think about this, because there have been cases of startups that kept trying to raise $250k. They're type-C procrastinators: they put off working on small stuff to work on hard problems at all. Be in fundraising mode or not. Better or worse, the just-do-it model and the Lisp model, like runtime typing and garbage collection. When he was writing that first Basic interpreter for the Altair, Bill Gates was writing something he would use, as were Larry and Sergey were noobs at fundraising.3 We decide based on about 10 minutes of in person interview, and we think as it spreads outward it will help later stage investors as well. All they really mean.4

Nearly all customers choose the competing product, a job. If we assume the average startup runs for 6 years and a partner can bear to be on a trajectory that leads to going public. The PR industry has too. If having less power prevents investors from overcontrolling startups, it should be hard. But only one company we've funded has so far, so tentatively assume the path to huge passes through an A round, before the VCs invest they make the company set aside a block of shoddy condos in a month. Why call an auction site eBay? Getting the first substantial offer can be half the total difficulty of fundraising, when you're in a very strong position, you not only won't get that but won't get anything. Stop fundraising when it stops working. But a constant multiple of any curve is exactly the same shape. It's like having a vacuum cleaner hooked up to your imagination.

Obviously one case where it would help to be rapacious is when growth depends on that. So you must cushion the blow with soft words. But if you wait too long, other investors might take the deal away from you. Mediocre hires hurt you twice: they get less done, but they need you to come in for one meeting to meet some of the qualities of things you're meant to like, but is disastrously lacking in others. So there should be a lot more definite. Because Apple is in the consumer electronics business now, and that they have to take less equity to do it. When you talk to investors in parallel rather than serially.5 Fundraising is not what I remember from it, but my mental models of the crusades, Venice, medieval culture, siege warfare, and so on. Since the VCs who don't adapt will be investing later, their returns from winners may be smaller. Its syntax, or lack of syntax, makes it look completely unlike the languages most people are used to. In such rounds they won't get the 25 to 40% of the company they do now. If not it's a sign of an underlying lack of resourcefulness.

Once you start getting investors to commit, it becomes increasingly easy to get more to. Now startups simply raise money from. When I see a startup with ordinary office workers—with type-B procrastinating, no matter what, but raising money will help us do it faster. You'll also want an executive summary, which should be less than 15%. But the craftier ones achieve the same result by offering to lead rounds of fixed size and supplying only part of the money you raise in phase 2 will be the last you ever raise. Though founders are rightly indignant when their plans get leaked to competitors, I can't imagine they'll work any less hard to feed stories to bloggers, if they built whole towns, market forces would compel them to build towns that didn't suck. Which means it's doubly important to hire the best people. Someone who's scrappy manages to be both threatening and undignified at the same time. That was contrarian advice 10 years ago, startups raising money in phase 2, yes.6 Investors know you're inexperienced at this and ask how their process works and where you are in fundraising mode or not. I wish I could think of an idea like that, remember: ideas like that are all around you. Our own startup, despite the fact that he has to do all the company's errands as well as programming, because at least when he's programming he can do whatever he wants.

Notes

From a company that has become part of the causes of the company and fundraising at the network level, and so on. The First Industrial Revolution, Cambridge University Press, 1996. No one in an equity round.

But it could change what it would grow as big as a high school. If they agreed among themselves never to do that much better that it would be on the software business, Bob wrote, for example, the only audience for your work. Which in turn forces Digg to respond promptly. It was common in the absence of objective tests.

But if you hadn't written about them. There are fields now in which you can't even claim, like warehouses. Anything that got fixed. 2%.

One valuable thing you tend to make peace with Spain, and there didn't seem to want them; you have to follow redirects, and no doubt often are, but corrupt practices in finance, healthcare, and this trick, and also what we'd call random facts, like play in a separate feature. And while this is an understatement. This must have been lured into this sort of dress rehearsal for the spot very easily.

When economists talk about it well enough known that people working for me do more than the type of x. A small, fast browser that you should be protected against such tricks will approach. By heavy-duty security I mean type I startups.

The situation is analogous to the present, and this tends to be the least VC-like. These points don't apply to types of startups will generally raise large amounts of other VCs who are younger or more ambitious the utility function for money. But that doesn't mean easy, of course, that good art is a huge loophole.

[storyunrelated]

Cold Hard Hugs #20_It Had To End This Way

Hey! I did manage to get it to end on twenty parts! How about that.

But yes. This is the end of Cold Hard Hugs. Or at least the first 'bit'. I have started a second 'bit' but it's not got very far yet and it's, uh, different. It is about different things. Kind of. I guess you'll see for yourself, sooner or later.

For now though, this is the end. See if it happens the way you thought it would

(The very end should be mentally accompanied by this track, because it was in my head)

I sat around a lot after they left. I sat in the lounge because I could and because that was where the films were. I watched the last one I’d watched with Tillie, but it wasn’t as good watching it on my own. I watched some others too but my jokes fell flat in an empty room. They fell flat with Tillie there, too, but at least they got some kind of reaction. The problem with telling jokes to myself is that I know the punchline. And I’m not funny.

The next day followed much the same pattern but in the daytime. There was probably something else I could have been doing, something more productive, but I couldn’t quite remember what. Films and drinking seemed just as good as anything else, at least until someone suggested something better.

While I’d been sitting around though, a disaster had crept up on me. I had run out of beer, which was bad. But I was capable of going out and getting more. Which was good.

I swapped out my oversized nighttime t-shirt for a far-too-small-probably-shrunk-in-the-wash one that was close to hand, dug around for my wallet, found my shoes and generally did all the things one does before leaving the house and then, well, left the house. The shop was not far away, at least by my standards. Some would have preferred to drive, no doubt, but those people don’t know the positives of a nice, casual stroll. I felt for them.

The walk was nothing to write home about. I have done many walks in my life at many times of the day and night and in many locations going to many other locations. Some have been more memorable than others for various reasons, most of which would make coherent sense only to myself. This walk to the shops was merely a logistical formality. If I could apparate I would have done. If i could apparate my life would be far easier, and I (probably) not quite as slim. And I was hardly slim as it is.

Thinking about teleportation of various kinds carried me in a numb haze to the shop s and before I was even aware of it was I there, confronted with beer. I honestly couldn’t even remember what route I’d taken, but there I was. The beer called out to me in myriad accents and tongues, all promises. That they were mostly brewed in places other than that which they claimed to hail from was immaterial for the purposes of my flight of fancy.

Maybe I was talking this up to myself. Making it more than I was. Best to focus on what mattered. I looked at the prices. Looking at my options, it really was the economical thing to buy a box. Anything less and - technically - I was spending more money. Technically. Bulk was always cheaper. So a box it was. Carrying it home would be fun. I could write it off as exercise.

I got ID’d, I paid, I left. Hoisting the box up on one arm I found the perfect position to seat it so the pointy corners didn’t press on my poor, tender flanks. Once that was done I trudged back the way I’d come.

Or at least the way I thought I’d come. I still wasn’t entirely sure which route I’d taken in the first place so I just picked whichever route seemed most likely to get me home soon. The one I picked turned out to be one I had not taken before, and I got a little lost. Unhelpful, but not uninteresting.

I then ran into Michelle. Walked into her would be more accurate, given our respective paces. I was not jogging. She had seen me coming a mile off and homed in me like a strolling, smiling missile. Conversation was inevitable, and if I was going to be honest it was just a tiny bit welcome.

“Fancy seeing you here,” I said, trying and failing to match her smile with my own. Simply out of my league.

“What happened to your face? It looks a little worse than usual,” she said, reaching out and poking my fading black eye. Nice of her.

“Hah. Uh, some guy hit me, it’s no big deal.”

“Why did he hit you?”

“Because he didn’t like me? It wasn’t something we really discussed. I think he mentioned Tillie. Maybe. Anyway, I didn’t know you lived around here,”I said, eager not to talk about being punched because it was pretty boring. My blatant and clumsy efforts at changing the subject were clearly amusing, judging by her reaction. She really did have the most enormous smile. Suited her, mind.

“I don’t, really. I’m just going for a walk,” She said with a shrug, raising her arms to indicate where she was, which was also where I was, too. Obviously.

“Ah, that’s cool,” I said. As I’d previously been thinking, walks were tops.

“Yeah. Going home tomorrow for reading week so I just thought I’d...have a walk first. Seems a bit silly now, I haven’t seen anything new,” she said, casting an eye around the neighbourhood. As far as streets went the one we’d met on wasn’t exactly the best. It wasn’t bad, just boring. If you didn’t know which town we were in - and I did, most of the time - and you’d just woken up on this street then you could have been ANYWHERE.

“No no, not silly, walking is good. Home for reading week, eh?” I did not know where Michelle lived or came from. I had no need to know. This is a bit of a theme with me, isn’t it? Skaffen was onto something! Ah...she hates me.

“You’re not?” Michelle asked, clearly inferring this from what I’d said. Magical of her.

“No. Figured I’d say here. I might actually try reading. Maybe.”

My actual, initial plan - as previously alluded to in my own head - had been to stay for reading week because Tillie had been staying for reading week. The prospect of us both being around with nothing much else to do other than be around and on our own had been an attractive one at the time. That hadn’t panned out, obviously, and I hadn’t really been able to muster the motivation to change my plan.

Not that I really had any appealing options available even if I’d had the inclination to change my plans. What did I have available? Nothing. Go home and be alone there. Hardly attractive. I’d be fine here. I might, in fact, actually do some reading, which would mean I didn’t just lie to MIchelle. That’d be a plus.

“Careful now, that’s dangerous talk,” Michelle said, which got a laugh out of me. Then she looked at the box I was carrying.

“You having a party or something?”

“What? Oh, this. No, I just ran out is all,” I said. She eyed the box rather more closely for a second and then gave half a shrug.

“Whatever makes you happy. Where’s Tillie anyway? I haven’t really seen either of you without the other for ages now. She back at the house?”

“She’s on holiday.”

“Oh. With family? Does she have family? Is that okay to ask?” Michelle asked, getting quieter as she went on, as though easily-offended people were lurking in the bushes to accuse her of being insensitive. I chuckled.

“I’m sure it’s okay to ask. I never have, but I’ve been told she has a father at least. Not on holiday with him anyway, on holiday with friends.”

“I didn’t know she had friends,” Michelle said. Then she realised what this sounded like “Not like that! I meant, like, I never saw her hanging around with anyone before she met you! I didn’t mean she has no friends!” She said. I grinned. I knew what she’d meant.

“It’s alright. They’re old friends, from when she was ickle,” I said. Michelle paused for a moment and had to take two quick steps to catch up again.

“She’s on holiday with other, uh, what-were-they-called-again?”

“Living machines. And yes. Woman. Man. Young man and young woman would be more accurate. Nice chaps. They came up together. I wonder what that was like…” I did wonder how the childhood of a living-machine would go. Was it even considered ‘childhood’? Was it analogous? Did they go outside and play? Maybe that was something I should ask about.

Could always ask Skaffen. Ha. Ha. Ha. She hates me.

“You’re...you’re okay with that?”

“Okay with what?”

“Her, like, going off with her friends and just leaving you behind.”

“Oh yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? People can do what they like. Actually, it was just Skaffen - that’s her, uh; the female friend - and Johnny going off at first but Skaffen came down, thought to invite Tillie, Tillie wanted to go yada yada. It snowballed, and here we are.”

“Are Skaffen - Skaffen, really? - and Johnny together or something then? Seems weird to bring along a third wheel.”

“Nah they’re just buddies pooling resources. Holidays are complicated and expensive things, you know!. But yeah. Apparently Tillie used to have something with Johnny years ago? But yeah. Kid crush or something like that. I didn’t really probe the details. Not that it matters. This is where we are.”

Michelle was looking at me oddly. I could see it from the corner of my eye but this told me nothing and I didn’t want to get a proper look because I didn’t want to get a proper look.

“I mean, it is a little odd that Skaffen would tell me they wouldn’t want me around as a third wheel - she actually said that, too, like you! - and then invite Tillie...but friends I guess. Nah, I can understand that. America’s too...American for me anyway. I’m fine.”

“Are you trying to convince me?” Michelle asked. Was I really so transparent?

“Is it working?”

“No.”

Rumbled. Oh no! Oh well.

“I am not surprised. Okay, I’ll admit there is a...selfish...rat-bastard part of me that is a tiny bit upset. Especially with some of the things Skaffen said. But that’s selfish and stupid and I don’t care what that part thinks. I’m fine,” the selfish rat-bastard part of my brain was a part I did not like. Always there, always gnawing away. I imagined other people didn’t have that problem. Or if they did they likely handled it better. I’m just not that good, really.

“You’ve really got to learn to stand up for yourself, you know? If you weren’t happy about it why didn’t you say anything?”

“Being unhappy - and unhappy is a strong word! I’d hardly go that far - about it wasn’t going to do anything useful - why ruin her holiday before it even started? That’d be a dick move.”

“Going off on holiday and leaving your boyfriend behind is a bit of a dick move…”

“Well it’s all subjective, in the end. Dicks and their moves are subjective.”

I disagreed with this, myself. Not about the dick moves part; they truly were subjective, as were a great many things. I meant about the going off. Rat-bastard feeling aside it was perfectly acceptable to go off and leave me, I thought. Why should she be forced to stay? Didn’t make sense to me. But that was me, and each to their own.

There was also the conspicuous point of Skaffen’s plan which I was not mentioning. Should I mention that? What would Michelle gain from that? Nothing, obviously. So don’t do it. She’d have some useful advice, no doubt; something you could take to heart and utilise, but how unhappy would it make her? I don’t know, but unhappier than she is already, and that would be no good. Keep it to yourself. Much better.

By this point we had both meandered so far we had actually ended up back at my house. This surprised me greatly. I stopped, and once she noticed I had so did Michelle.

“My place. You ever seen my house?” I asked. She squinted at me.

“No. Why would I?” Michelle asked. This was a very good point given I’d never invited her and without that she would have had no reason to ever even come this direction.

“Good question…” I said, adjusting my grip on the box in my arms. The conversation suffered a lull. A tree rustled and this just made the lull that much worse. A leaf fell on my head.

“I couldn’t get a glass of water, could I?” Michelle asked breaking the silence. She’d asked it in something of a rush, I noticed, though why I could not say. Perhaps she hated the quiet as much as I did. The question did rather blindside me though.

“From inside?”

“Well I could always drink from a hose if you got one,” she said. Good line. Technically not a ‘glass’ of water though. Not consistent. But I’ll let it slide.

“Funny, I like it. No, inside will work, come on,” I said, moving to the front door and getting it open. I let Michelle in first because that was the practical thing to do and also the polite one - one of the few times in life those things converge so neatly! I then closed the door. By the time this was done she had found the kitchen, though not the glasses.

“Nice place,” she said. “Not much cutlery, though.”

We did not have much cutlery. In fact, until I arrived, I don’t think there was any cutlery at all. No real need. So all that there was - which wasn’t much, as said - was mine, and therefore of substandard quality and questionable design. It didn’t bother me. Most of the time i was using it it was in my mouth anyway.

“Not been scouring drawers for glasses, have you?” I asked, setting my box down onto the side and feeling relieved. I opened it up as well. Warm beer was better than no beer. I’d put the rest in the fridge later. Maybe. Possibly. If I remembered it was there.

“No, just being nosy. Ah, here they are,” Michelle said on finding a glass. She proceeded to fill it with water, which wasn’t difficult for her. That’s a university education for you. That was why she - heading for a first last I heard, the way she was going - could fill up a glass but I was stuck using bottles. Says a lot. Propped up on kitchen counters we both stood and sipped, two young adults enjoying a beverage. How exciting.

“Whatever happened to those guys who hit you?” Michelle asked once her glass was empty. My bottle was empty too, so I opened another one.

“Just one guy hit me. The other ones were mostly just there to watch, I think. To observe, take tips perhaps. Tell me their exciting opinions. Either way I don’t know. Don’t really care. Unless I meet them again, in which case I may start caring again pretty quickly. Weird that someone would hit me in the face, don’t you think?”

“Some people have very strong feelings about living machines,” Michelle said the word with an awkwardness that was not deliberate. Fair play to her; it was not a term that rolled easily off the tongue.

“So I have noticed. I can’t really understand it myself, but then again I can’t really understand people in general, so I’m obviously not the best person to, uh, understand.”

Anything at all really. Just ask my lecturers. And teachers. And parents. And friends. People you pass in the street, ask them. They’d probably know as well. It is written all over my face, my lack of understanding prowess.

“Did you tell anyone about it? Police, campus security?”

“Nah, don’t want to make a fuss. It’ll be fine. If I see them again I’ll, uh...well I haven’t worked that part out. Maybe things will go differently. If not then maybe I’ll tell someone,” I said, staring down the neck of my bottle.

Was the glass in this bottle green or brown? I have great difficulty telling. When it comes to recycling them they have to be separated, I understand. Tillie does it for me normally. Though I haven’t had any she needed to separate for a while now. It’s not going to look good if she comes back and has to sort through a whole box worth.

I’ll find somewhere to dump them before that happens. Problem solved. Take that, Earth.

All of a sudden Michelle was in front of me. She must have moved quickly because I hadn’t really noticed her moving at all. Then again, everything was starting to go a little fuzzy around the edges anyway, so perhaps I wasn’t simply operating at full capacity. I didn’t even bother holding on when she took the bottle out of my hand and put it down onto the side.

“You shouldn’t really be drinking this early. Or alone,” she said, quietly, not looking me in the face. Her head was down, which given her height should mean she was looking in my face, but somehow she wasn’t. I imagine it’s a trick tall people perfect.

“Well I won’t have much choice soon, once you’ve gone,” I said with immense joviality. I didn’t pick up the bottle though. Not yet. Would be rude after she’d just gone to the trouble of putting it down for me. For whatever reason.

“You could always just not do it,” she suggested. I shrugged, not having the room for much else.

“I guess,” I said. She wasn’t wrong. It’s sort of hard to stop sometimes though. Once I woke up hungover I’d stop, so it was just a case of having that happen sooner rather than later. Probably not the best approach, but I’m not the best person.

Michelle seemed to notice how close she was and back up, which gave me just enough room to stretch as a yawned; good timing all round!

“Oh my God, more? What are those? Those from the same guy?” I heard her say. I paused mid-stretch and opened one eye.

“What are what?” I asked.

“Those,” she said, both her hands coming down onto my hip. That was unusual. I looked.

My t-shirt had obviously shrunk far more than I had initially thought, as my simple act of stretching had exposed a considerable portion of my hideous pale flank. I was suddenly struck by the potent memory of sitting by Michelle on that bench what felt like a lifetime ago, trying hard not to watch her stretch. I think she did a better job of doing it, myself. Stretching, not the not looking. She was rubbish at that as she was looking right at me.

So absorbed was I in this meandering train of thought that the actual thing she had been talking about - the bruises, far fresher than the one on my face and thus far more impressive looking (all green and blue! I think it’s green) - only occurred to me distantly after everything else. She had framed them with her fingers and they stood out quite blatantly. I grinned, a mite sheepish.

“Oh those. Don’t worry about those,” I said, dropping my arms and letting the shirt fall back into place. Barely. It was a damn shame, too; I liked that t-shirt. Then again, I could probably stand to lose some weight anyway. Michelle’s hands had left once fabric had fallen onto them, and now her arms were folded.

“But what did that? Those were even more bruises, right? How did they get there? What have you been doing? Did that guy who hit you do that?” Michelle asked, bombarding me with questions. Before I could even formulate an answer her eyes had narrowed ever so slightly and she’d added a further question:

“She did that, didn’t she?”

My immediate thought was of course ‘Who’s she, the cat’s mother?’ but I didn’t say that. I doubted Michelle would have got the joke. Did make me smile a bit as I replied though.

“She? Oh, Tillie. Uh yeah she does. Not that she means to. She just doesn’t really know her strength and she has, ah, hard bits…” I said. Now that they’d been mentioned they did throb a bit. It was something I’d honestly stopped noticing that much and just sort of lived with. It wasn’t so bad, really. Pain don’t hurt.

From the look on Michelle’s face I could sort of tell she wasn’t taking this as lightly as I was, but that was to be expected. She did not have the same level of familiarity I had, nor the context. To someone on the outside the bruises probably did look pretty bad. ‘My girlfriend is made of metal and hugs me super hard’ is a flimsy excuse, albeit a true one.

I suppose in most other circumstances it would look very questionable indeed, being so beaten up. Though ‘beaten up’ has connotations all its own, none of which apply. I wasn’t hit, I was merely squeezed and occasional buffeted. Tillie was merely a little rougher with me then she perhaps was aware she should be. I imagine were she going out with - for the sake of painful, self-pitying argument - Johnny this would be less of an issue. But I’d prefer not to think about that.

Michelle’s arms had dropped from being folded and she was now absent-mindedly rubbing one arm, looking around the room and not at me.

“Can I ask you some...deeply personal questions?” She asked.

“How personal?” I asked. She gave me a very level, completely serious look.

“Deeply personal,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. I had to turn away before I had a hole seared out the back of my head from the intensity of her stare. Such eyes!

“Sure, why not,” I said, taking another swig and pointedly not meeting those deadly, deadly eyes. Such eyes...

“Do you and Tillie ever get intimate?”

I felt like saying that if we did I’d probably have worse bruises and in more interesting places, but this was a serious discussion and Michelle had asked a serious question, so I needed to come up with a serious answer. No coyly asking ‘define intimate’ or anything like that. That’s no fun, but that’s life.

“We cuddle and I give her a kiss from time to time but not what you’re probably driving at, no.”

“You kiss her?” Michelle asked, evidently having some difficulty with the concept. I brought a finger up to tap my forehead.

“On the noggin, yeah. From time to time. There’s not many other places it’s practical. At least not that I know about.”

“I see.”

“Hey, you asked.”

“I did, I did.”

“What sort of answer were you expecting? Something more lewd?”

“No. I don’t know. Sorry. It was dumb to ask,” she said. I felt I may have been coming across as somewhat more aggressive than I meant to. A habit of mine. I actually have zero idea of how I come across to anyone any of the time, but apparently it’s the wrong way almost all of the time. I would try harder to fit into the idea of what they expected. Would be easier for them.

“It’s alright. Not something everyone runs into everyday, can see why you’d be curious. But I’m very boring, I’m afraid. I’m just very fond of her,” I said. Michelle’s expression was still obviously less than fully positive.

“Not a fan?” I asked.

“No. I mean, not like that. It’s just...this is going to sound really bad…” she said, nudging at something on the floor with her foot. Whatever it was did not move, and she stopped nudging it. A wise decision.

“Honesty is the best policy. I’m hardly going to hold anything you say against you,” I said. A true thing. I’m too lazy to hold anything against anyone in real life. Takes too much effort by half. She gave me what was a very potent apologetic look.

“It’s just that I don’t get how you can find her, you know...attractive?”

“That’s a complicated question. Wait, no. That’s a complicated answer. To that simple question. Uh...I’m really not the best person to explain it,” I said. Michelle pinched the bridge of her nose. I still don’t know what that’s about.

“You’ve really got to stop doing yourself down like that, it’s exhausting. Just treat it like a yes or no question and, you know, give me a yes or a no.”

“It’s not as simple as that though,” I said, doing my best not to grit my teeth as I said it.

“Treat it like it is. Snap decision, go.”

“It’s not - ugh - if it’s no I sound like a bastard and if it’s yes it’s robbed of context.”

“Well give me one then give me context,” Michelle said, and even I could tell she was getting sick of this back and forth as well. She forced my hand.

“Yes then. Yes. And no it’s not because I’ve got a thing for serpent tails or lenses or metal or whatever it’s just because I love her and when I look at her I feel...something. Like a good thing. I don’t know, I’m bad at this. I just look at Tillie and see Tillie and I feel good and I don’t know if I can break it down any more than that.”

Michelle did not respond immediately.

“You love her?”

“Do I? I said that?” I asked, she nodded. “Oh. Uh.”

I couldn’t add much to that. I felt a bit numb. Had I said that? Had I meant that? Did things like that really just slip out? Oh dear. First person I say it to not being the actual person who it concerns. Go me. You’re great at this.

Michelle went quiet, looking around the room, fingers tapping on her empty glass.

“So...you’re going to be here on your own?” She asked and I clung to her change of subject like a drowning man clinging to a piece of floating wreckage. Not the first time that bit of imagery had come to me this year. Must be a rough year.

“For the week, yeah,” I said.

“You going to be okay?”

“Course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked. Michelle was looking at me but I could not for the life of me work out if it was just because that’s people did when they talked to one another, or if she meant something by it. Not the sort of thing you could just ask, either.

“Some people might get lonely,” she said with a shrug, finally looking away, not pinning me down with those damn eyes of hers. So big.

“Oh, I’ll be lonely. But I’ll be fine. It’s only a week,” I said. It was only a week, it really wasn’t that big of a deal. She kept tapping on the glass. Some rhythm I couldn’t quite pick out. She noticed I was noticing and so put the glass down in the sink, hands going back onto the counter behind her as she lent against it.

“If you wanted to, you know, come up and see me sometime you could do that. If you wanted. It’s only two or three stops away,” she said, faux-casual.

“That’s very nice of you, but I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding. Just friends seeing each other, right? Normal human interaction. Everyone’s doing it these days,” she said. I chuckled, and not for the first time.

“So I hear. But no, it’s fine, really it is. I’m sure you’ll have other things going on anyway and I wouldn’t want to, uh, cramp your style. Or mess it up for you. Third wheel, that’s me. My stock in trade. It’s fine,” I said, wafting a hand in her direction.

For a moment it looked like she was going to press the issue but midway through starting to she clearly decided against it as she sunk back onto the counter with a shrug.

“Alright. But if you change your mind you have my number. You do have my number, right?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Well let’s fix that,” she said. We did, exchanging numbers. I’m not sure why I did that. Impolite to refuse at that point, and always handy to have people’s numbers anyway. In case of emergency, you know.

“Or if you want to talk or anything. Anytime at all, okay?” Michelle asked, by way of command. I nodded.

“Rightyo,” I said, tucking my phone away. Tillie had not sent me anything. She’d said she’d try, which is not the same as saying she would. So that was fine. Probably too far away now anyway. Probably busy. That was fine.

The conversation lulled again. Michelle stood up straight.

“I should probably...go. Packing to finish,” she said.

“Of course, of course. Don’t let me keep you. I’ll be seeing you again soon no doubt anyway,” I said, guiding her through the hall and opening the front door for her. It’s a host thing, I’ve been told.

“As soon as you like,” she said, pointing to my pocket. I patted it.

“Yes yes, have no fear. You have fun doing whatever it is you do back home. Having fun, probably.”

“I make a point of it,” she said. She then paused, deliberated, and hugged me.

It was forceful - as I was used to at this point - but it wasn’t as uncomfortable. Her edges did not dig into me. I wasn’t even sure she had edges. She was likely too soft to have hard edges, and too warm. Very warm, in fact. Warm and soft and holding me very tightly indeed. I wasn’t sure where to put my hands and still hadn’t made a decision by the time Michelle broke away and stood back.

“You be okay, okay?” She asked. An odd ask.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured her. She gave me a lingering look, said nothing and then headed down the path. We waved, I closed the door and then she was gone. I moved back to the kitchen, dragging my feet along the carpet and ending up leaning on the counter again.

Picking up the bottle Michelle had put down I looked around the kitchen and noticed just how dark everything had got. The light switch was only a few feet away but that put it out of reach and I couldn’t really find it in myself to move closer. I took a swig in the dark and grimaced.

I’ll be fine. It’s only a week after all, and in the grand scheme of things what’s happened, really? Nothing horrendous. Nothing of any note at all, if you think about it. So my girlfriend was out of the country - she was allowed holidays with friends. So what if one of the friends she was going with was the intelligent, successful, nice guy she had had a crush on when she was a kid? He couldn’t help that, and neither could she. It didn’t mean anything.

And what kind of perfect-storm of nonsense was that situation anyway? That sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen in real life. It felt contrived. But these were the cards I’d been dealt. It still didn’t mean anything. Nothing at all.

Of course, the rat-bastard lurking in the dank hindquarters of my brain was quick to disagree, but it always did that. The rat-bastard was quite energetic and enthused as it painted a picture of Johnny and Tillie sharing experiences bringing them closer together. Once-in-a-lifetime things, the whimsical occasions being on holiday creates. What sort of shenanigans might they get up to on the other side of the world, all alone? Well, all alone barring Skaffen, who would probably be more than happy to give them all the space they needed. The rat-bastard was under no illusions as to who Skaffen would prefer Tillie with, even if I was.

But the rat-bastard is a liar, so I ignored him. The more convincing he sounded, the more I ignored him.

And so what if a pretty, friendly person had given me their contact details with explicit instructions to call if I felt the need? I wasn’t going to impose on anyone like that. Certainly I wouldn’t dream of actually going and seeing Michelle, no matter how close she was or how easy it would be. Better I just let her get on with whatever it was she was planning on doing. I’d only mess things up for her. Who would want me around? Someone who said they did? Unlikely.

The rat-bastard part was very quick to point out that - were I to visit Michelle, who was after all only two or three stop away - the possibility of further soft, warm contact was probably quite high. It might, the rat-bastard said, be quite abundant in fact. And given the likelihood of Tillie and Johnny getting close and extra-chummy across the pond (as the rat-bastard had previously mentioned) it would surely be understandable to seek some manner of comfort for the wounded feelings, even pre-emptively. It made it sound reasonable.

This idea was abhorrent. It made me unhappy. The misery I’d be inflicting on Tillie if she was just having a nice, friendly holiday. To come back and find out - as one always finds out - what I’d done when her back was turned, and why. A betrayal based on an assumption. Pathetic. Not to mention the misery I’d be heaping onto Michelle, dragging her into a sucking mire entirely for my own short-term benefit. Disgusting. Unthinkable. Pointless. Down rat-bastard, down. Back in your hole.

No. I would stay here. In the dark. Where I couldn’t hurt anyone.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. I mostly believed it. But not completely.

And that was that.

END

[filipinhodosurf]

Pet Sounds (1966), the novel

Hey you there! What’s up?

It’s your homeboy, Little Surfin’ Phillip. You know, the acclaimed brazilian kind of funny guy. How are you today?

I am here to talk to you about one of the seminal artistic works of the past century. You know, Pet Sounds. The acclaimed masterpiece of a sweet album from the musical band The Beach Boys.

If you were looking for the complete review of pet sounds, as in, the list of best animal sound to worst, this is not the place for you.

Not today, I guess.

Anyway, as I was saying, I’m about to go through with you the basic plot points and aspects of this emocionally powerful genius of a novel that is trapped in music form. I think I’ve finally figured it out.

Pet Sounds is like the Great Gatsby for people that actually believe we are good on the insides (catholics). It tells the ever compelling story of the clueless and naive hillbilly that thinks growing up and living in the big city is such an adventure, like depression is a Disney ride or something.

The novel is brilliant in its nuances, giving us such a complete emotional ride, with use of multiple narrative perspectives and a open interpretation finish, and this happens especially because in music much is left unsaid. So, I’m here to ruin this by saying it.

The story opens up with character presentation. As it is much common in literature, we see some random childhood memory that is telling of the main characters “real” feelings and intents, as if children could not hide who they are (see n. o. HALLOWEEN). 

Nonetheless, our main guy is this uber romantic, pure of a man, the kind of guy you only see in Frank Kapra’s movies (”Wouldn’t it Be Nice”). This guy spends the first part of the novel basically daydreaming about staying up late with his girlfriend, not having any ideia what sex is, he thinks people sleep together so they can “wake up in the morning when the day is new?”, and then “after having spent the day together, hold each other close the whole night through”. This character is clearly 8 at this point, no doubt. Good grief.

Anyway, we’ve got a main character to this story. He’s pure and has the best intentions in the world, but you know, it’s a big world. Lots of crazy things are happening. As he grows older, he starts to feel uneasy, he feels he should be conquering the world, not stuck here in Littletownsville with my schoolyard love. So in this second moment, not only do we get a better glimpse at a second character (schoolyard love girl), but we get to our first big conflict (”You Still Believe in Me”). 

In many ways, this second song is also about me, a raging alcoholic not behaving myself when my wife is not patrolling me, but I guarantee that in this case, this one is about this kid having his mind on the fast life of the city, while his angel of a girlfriend tries to warn him that college degrees don’t mean shit.

But, what are you going to do? He leaves Littletownsville and goes for the adverture of his lifetime which, of course, sucks balls (”That’s Not Me”). He was wrong, she was right. Now he misses the fuck out her, his parents, little places and little stupid things from his little town, but he can’t go back or he is a failure, a fucking cry baby that couldn’t live 2 days without his mommy’s hug. College is fucking expensive, you know? He can’t quit now. It’s all in, or he’ll have people asking him “What happened?”, and he will have to lie about getting mugged or raped by some big city orcs or something.

And so he stays.

And here the first person narrative changes hands. This next song is the first one not sang from the main character’s perspective. He wasn’t going to be alone and sad in the big city forever, you know. He meets someone. Someone that seems to make time stop and his problems go away (”Don’t Talk”). And this is our uber romantic guy we are talking about, so of course he falls in love with this kind of big city mother figure.

But that’s when it gets interesting. Because this news of big city romance arrives in Littletownsville, and it destroys schoolyard girl. So this next segment is presented from an old little town rival’s perspective (”I’m Waiting for the Day”). You know this kind of guy. Little towns don’t have this much people. Much less pretty girls with about the same age as you. It’s savage. You only have one shot to get the pretty one in your classroom. So when this angel of a girl gets broken-hearted, you bet your ass someone will be there to steal your girl. 

This rival figure is so secudary to the story, but this is kind of great, because when we have less information about it, we add ourselves the information. Our imagination gets to go wild in some aspects.

At this point of the novel, the initial roles between our main character and this rival are kind of switched. Our main guy is so out of place, but this new relationship that he has just keeps him moving. It gives him the minimum security that he needs not to snap out at any breaking point. You know. He is like most of us now. Functionally depressed.

But, he has something to look for at every morning. His big city girl. And he’ll get to know this girl, absorb some of her habits, maybe he smokes, maybe he drinks heavy, maybe he quotes authors or learns irony. Whatever. I don’t care. Pff. You know big city girls. College big city girls. Our romantic guy is a changed man.

As I said, at this point, our good main guy is trying hard to be kind of shitty and hardcore in the city, and the bastard small town rival is pretending to have a heart so he can win the girl. This a situation is adressed in the first instrumental bit thing (”Let’s Go Away For a While”). This is purely said through emotion in this song.

It at the same time is a break from story, an intermission with the intent to highlight aspects, and also a way to denote the passage of time. What a crazy situation we have after such promissing starts. We had the most pure souls on Earth at the start of this. And now, look at this.

Nothing ever feels like it used to. You know. Like being a kid, back in Littletownsville. Maybe our main guy has a flaskback too. Sees a dead grandpa. Not in the scary way, in the good times way. Our main guy wants back.

You know in Frank Miller’s “Watchmen” how there was this comic story within the comic story, about this castaway guy trying to save his family from pirates, and this was an elaborate analogy of the whole thing that was used as a device for the reader to expand and reflect on the events. Well, ok.

Here we have this goofy ass story about a boat trip went wrong ( “Sloop John B”), it probably stars Jerry Lewis or some shit, and our main character is so broken on the inside, that this shit show of a comedy makes him realise that he wants out. They were probably going to watch it as a joke, he took some bad acid and then he has this crazy epiphany of how he actually hates drugs, and hates doing things ironically, and hates this PRETENSIOUS FUCKING BIATCH oh my god, this feels so good to finally say it out loud, I’m miserable here, I hate this big city stuff wow THIS IS THE WORST TRIP I’VE EVER BEEN ON.

Our main guy is in perfect bliss with this sudden realization, completely over the moon, never felt this alive in years (”God Only Knows”). I don’t even understand if he is declaring his love for his schoolyard girl yet. Because this song is so perfect and so powerful, that I feel she doesn’t deserve it at this point in the story. They haven’t seen each other in years, no phone calls, he kind of heard that she went out his rival, that douchebag of a man.

I personally feel that this song is about his love for the movie, “Sloop John B”, starring Jerry Lewis and Chevy Chase or whatever.

He was coked out of his mind at this point, I totally believe he could sing the most perfect and beautiful piece of music ever and make it about a rental VHS tape. “God Only Knows” plays on repeat in heaven, I guarantee you.

But, anyway, his sudden realizations made him aware of the tremendous hipster cocksucker he was becoming, and he starts firing at all cilinders the social kamikaze speedwagon (”I Know There’s an Answer”). He quits all social media, kills every single friendship he made over the past years and quits his job after recalling every single sexual harrassment episode his boss have had in a impromptu druken speech at the Susan G Komen dinner party the company was having.

Boy, wait until he learns his big city girl is already seeing someone else. Wait, did I said this out loud? (”Here Today”)

Revenge does not taste as good as you imagine, and after the excitement is gone, now our main character is not even functional, he is just depressed (”I Just Wasn’t Made for this Times”). Where does he go now? He doesn’t fit anywhere. Does he attempt a comeback? It’s been so long now… Things have changed. I don’t think people should see me like this. They are fine without me. I don’t want to be trouble. I just want to rest. Maybe I’ll sleep for a moment. Just a moment…

And so we go into a dream-like sequence, the second instrumental installment of our masterpiece (”Pet Sounds”). Right at our decisive climax, where he has to take the decision of his lifetime, the book silences himself. What are you going to do with your life? This tune right here is just so warm. He dreams of a happy place for sure. He dreams of young, pure, californian singers petting farm animals at the local zoo. Is it too late to come back? Or moving forward means starting once anew?

So he comes our master-ending. At this point of the novel, none of the characters have names. It is only “main guy”, “schoolyard girl”, “big city bitch”, “rival douche”… In very few last pages, this evil author, now, only now, cares to say he met Caroline, and she looks rubbish (”Caroline, No”).

With that being said, this can mean one of many things: 

1. He did came back to Smalltownsville, Caroline is the name of schoolyard girl, and she became this dead zombie of a woman. Maybe modernization overtook the town too, and she became a tired, unimaginative wousewife of a donkey ass rival man. He was too late. The train sounds at the end means he went nowhere. Is a big city world now. 

2. He never came back to Smalltownsville, Caroline is still the name of schoolyard girl, meaning he just bumped into her by accident, and by God, she looked dead inside. He never went back to save her, just one of the many endings to Chrono Trigger. The train sounds would represent his last chances of being a small town foe saying goodbye, he is a big city adult now.

3. He never came back to Smalltownsville, Caroline is the name of big city girl, and she went total downhill from their relationship. You konw, at one point in his life, he thought she could be the one. They made plans together, she was the very best part of his day. But he gave up on her. Instead of trying to save his soul AND hers, he kicked her in the nuts (figuratively) and saved himself. He knew their lifestyle was going nowhere, but didn’t care enough to drag her out of it. So he wins, but he loses. The train sounds are probably junkie Caroline’s suicide signal.

Did I mention Chrono Trigger earlier? This means it was AWESOME.

Like, share and subscribe for more content. 

This has been Little Surfin’ Phillip, see ya

[theofficepolitics]

Ask HN: I am about to be fired. What should I do? Part I

Ask HN: I am about to be fired. What should I do?

I am currently a data scientist for a major firm, and I am facing a manager who wishes to fire me.

He assigned me to follow the instructions of an "expert" in completing a compliance document (a task in which I am not trained), and the "expert" turned out to be producing documents that are not in compliance with Federal law. The "expert" repeatedly stated in writing that I was doing an "excellent" job, and I am concerned I am facing retaliation for reporting that her work was simply not correct.

When I raised that issue, he immediately began the process of putting me on a 30 day review, a necessary step prior to termination. Such programs are ostensibly to give an employee an opportunity to improve performance.

When I asked whether this was a true opportunity to improve performance, or simply a formality, he hesitated for a great deal of time before making statements that strongly implied, without directly stating, that it was a mere formality.

I have no desire to lose my job, but I am most concerned that being fired would place future job prospects in jeopardy.

According to my colleagues, I'm very competent at my position, but this supervisor has been angry with me since I pointed out to him a few months ago that he may have violated firm policy in a severe way.

What should I do? I would like to remain with the firm and be transferred to another project, but the steps he will take will prevent that.

I do not wish to move, and if fired I will be effectively blackballed from most firms in this city. I have a life, friends, a girlfriend I love very much, and don't wish to leave that behind.

HNers, whether or not you know it, you've been a big part of my life since this site's founding. I value your input and advice tremendously.

What do I do? Do I simply begin looking for other positions? Do I report his increasingly erratic behavior, and waste of firm resources? Do I quit before the period expires?

What are your thoughts?

fsk

793 days ago

[+24]

eranation

793 days ago

[-]

My tips.

1. never criticize your boss, your company or their practices, this is number one way to get fired. yes even if they are completely wrong. your sole job in your job is to make your boss look good. I know it sounds unpopular but this is the way people get promoted vs fired, kind of obvious, but many people still think that if "They do the right thing" that they are clear. This is not something HR will tell you and is against all of our beliefs, but it's the case. If what your boss did is illegal, leave an anonymous tip to the police with evidence making it hard to link it to you but keep private proof that you sent the tip so your are not abiding a crime if it later goes to court.

2. your job quality is derived by 2 factors - a) whether you do something you love, b) the quality of of your direct manager. In your case your boss is an asshole, and you should leave the company regardless.

3. I'm really worried to hear things like "if I get fired, I'll never work in this town again". Where do you live? How powerful is your boss? As a hiring manager, I never got an email list with a subject "people who should never work in this town again".

4. Reporting your boss to HR is a huge risk, it has very low changes of succeeding, but if HR really likes you and really dislike your boss, and you are really a valuable asset to the company more than your boss, than there is a small chance that you'll "win" and get him fired. 9/10, it's going to be you who will be shown the door, but YMMV.

I say - go look for another job, find a manager that will not be a jerk, in a company that promotes openness and good culture. I can't imagine that a data scientist, one of the most sought after and trending jobs in the US will have hard time finding a better job. Am I being delusional?

davemel37

793 days ago

[-]

This. I am no psychologist, but from your post it sounds like you are wound somewhat tight and worry about everything. Not to worry, here are some things to consider.

Losing your job might be the best thing to ever happen to you. What do I mean? Well, for someone who worries a ton, going through a struggle and coming out the other side unscathed will help you worry less and take more risks in the future...which will open you up to new opportunities.

There is a reason many successful people have gone through bankruptcies...It's because they learned the hard way that losing everything financially is not a death sentence...and they come back without fear... Fear is a killer to success. Now's your chance to conquer fear!

Here is a partial list of famous successful people who went through a bankruptcy before succeeding...(From Dan Kennedy's Book, "Wealth Attraction For Entrepreneuers"

P.T. Barnum, David Buick, Walt Disney, James Folger, Henry Ford, Conrad Hilton, J.C. Penny, Sam Walton, William Fox, H.J. Heinz, and Frank Lloyd Wright....

As Pink Says, " Where there is a flame, Someone's bound to get burned. But just because it burns, Doesn't mean you're gonna die. You've gotta get up and try"

s_q_b

793 days ago

[-]

Don't worry. Psychologically, this is tough, but by no means the toughest thing I've ever experienced. My head is bloodied, but unbowed. :)

Also, I'd like to urge anyone in my position to seek out help if you feel you need it. A job is merely employment. Important, certainly, but not worth your health and well-being.

hnnewguy

793 days ago

[-]

>

"I know it sounds unpopular but this is the way people get promoted vs fired, kind of obvious, but many people still think that if "They do the right thing" that they are clear"

We need more people to prioritize "doing the right thing" over "getting promoted", not fewer.

eranation

793 days ago

[-]

let me put it this way, I was doing the "doing the right thing" approach and it hurt me personally, yet I still try to do the right thing, but not via direct criticism, there is an art of how to convey improvement suggestions and feedback to your boss, in tl;dr it is say something good, say constructive criticism, end with something good, and do it all in private.

I never encountered a criminal violation though, so I don't know what I would do, if I would I think I might just tipped HR anonymously and if my boss would like to take me down with him / her, I'll just deny frivolously. Luckily I have a great boss and a great company, but I'm telling you, even the worst bosses and companies still want to be good ones, and if you choose how to give feedback in a way that will not sound too critic, you will win.

wpietri

793 days ago

[-]

Yeah, I second that.

I used to think it was important to "tell the truth" by which I meant saying the things I thought were important to say. In the end, I recognized that was more about me and my feelings than anything.

Now my goal in bringing up some unpleasant but important thing is to make a difference. If I'm going to make a difference, saying the truth isn't the important thing. It's getting somebody to listen to the truth. That is definitely an art.

seivan

793 days ago

[-]

Doing the right day made me code 10 hour days for two months just to keep up.

The trick is to figure out if its worth it or not, that usually boils down to the the employer.

It wasn't worth it.

def_illiterate

793 days ago

[-]

Some of us think the system can't be fixed--we just want ours. And that's okay.

carc

793 days ago

[-]

Which is what perpetuates these types of things to continue to happen.

mavdi

793 days ago

[-]

Shame some of us are more concerned with providing a living for our families than winning an ideological war right?

jqm

793 days ago

[-]

R.E. #1. Don't do this.

The company pays you, not your boss. Therefore, you should have the companies best interest in mind, not the personal best interest of your boss. Ideally these two things are aligned. If they are not there is a problem. You can try to fix it (which entails a degree of personal risk, yes), or you can leave. But don't just stay quite. That is disloyalty to the entity which is paying you.

If the company is doing something illegal or strikingly unethical and it is not an oversight and you don't believe change is possible, leave. Otherwise you are complicit and this speaks badly of your character which is worth more than a job.

This is not to say every little issue is worth a battle... nobody and no organization is perfect. Don't be a complainer or a nitpicker. However, if there are major problems don't just go with it. That's how organizations go downhill. People afraid to stand up and take personal risks for the good of the institution. Either try to get it worked out or else walk out. Either way, don't be an enabler.

R.E last paragraph: Exactly!

6d0debc071

793 days ago

[-]

> That is disloyalty to the entity which is paying you.

My employer is my client, no more, no less. I am employed to produce a set of work for them, and to employ my skills to particular ends as defined in the contract, and that's it. Their relationship with their other contractors is their business.

This idea that because someone pays you to do work you should serve their interests in all things - even to the extent of compromising your own - strikes me as quite perverse. They certainly bear no similar loyalty to you.

jqm

793 days ago

[-]

Loyalty is a deprecated value I suppose. So let me put it like this... we are riding together in a boat. The boat has a hole in it. Not my problem?

6d0debc071

793 days ago

[-]

It's your problem, but the situation is not analogous.

If the boat has a hole in, we're both going to drown fairly soon if we don't work together.

If you act in the interests of the company, you take on significant personal risk that you'll be thrown over the side of a boat that may or may not make it to a figurative port - i.e. the company lasts long enough for you to get what you wanted out of the contract - for reporting that someone looked fishy around the engine room.

Don't get me wrong however: Loyalty is valuable. I just choose to assign it to people I respect and who care about me, rather than those who waves a cheque book at me and expect to own my soul when they rent my labour.

jqm

793 days ago

[-]

I hear you on owning the soul and dis-respectable people. I don't think we should let ourselves be abused. In the case of the original poster, if what he says is accurate (we don't know, we aren't there), he is being abused by a rouge boss who is also creating risk for the company. My opinion is that he should fight this and make others aware of what is going on and try to have it change. Or else leave on his own volition if it is systemic of the larger organization and there is little chance of winning. But don't be abused and don't let the organization that is paying him be abused.

cmdkeen

793 days ago

[-]

Rather than reporting your boss to HR what are the opinions of others re reporting him to legal / compliance?

You're dealing with Federal compliance issues, odds are there is a nominated person at your company who is responsible for it (there certainly is re money laundering for instance). That means there is probably a company policy saying who you should inform, rather than just telling the person you think is not complying you're often supposed to escalate it.

The danger is to do with what happens if the Feds do come calling, your being fired and not having raised your concerns elsewhere does run the risk of career blowback.

IANAL, or particularly aware of Federal compliance rules.

kelukelugames

793 days ago

[-]

1. Do not talk to anyone else in the company about this issue. Do not trust HR or legal.

2. Document everything. Write down the conversation you had with your boss word for word. Go do that right now.

3. Save proof of the violations. Save proof of you reporting it. Save your "excellent" job reports. It will be harder for them to justify firing an excellent employee.

Realize that data loss prevention software will tell the company you saved the examples.

4. Consult with an employment lawyer. In fact, go see two or three.

5. This is the most important step. Find a new job. Pretend everything is okay so you don't come off as desperate.

greenyoda

793 days ago

[-]

"4. Consult with an employment lawyer."

Talking to an employment lawyer is a very good idea, since you may be getting fired in retaliation for reporting illegal activity: "the 'expert' turned out to be producing documents that are not in compliance with Federal law." You might have a case for a wrongful dismissal lawsuit, which could give you leverage to get a hefty severance payment to make the case (and adverse publicity) go away by settling out of court. So definitely consult a good lawyer who practices employment law in your state.

"2. Document everything... 3. Save proof of the violations."

Needless to say, don't save these on your company computer, since the moment they decide to fire you you'll lose access to it.

"1. Do not talk to anyone else in the company about this issue. Do not trust HR or legal."

For more information on the role of HR and why they shouldn't be trusted, read the book Corporate Confidential by Cynthia Shapiro (which I learned about from a comment on HN a while back; thanks to whoever posted that!).

Link to book: http://www.amazon.com/dp/0312337361

kelukelugames

793 days ago

[-]

I'm so happy to see someone else recommend this book. :)

EliRivers

793 days ago

[-]

Do not trust HR or legal.

Oh God yes. Everything they do, everything, is about protecting the company. They will lie to you, they will screw you over, and anything you say to them will be used against you in some way.

AH4oFVbPT4f8

793 days ago

[-]

Just to make it clear, HR and legal work to protect THE COMPANY not you.

semi-extrinsic

793 days ago

[-]

I'm a little surprised that everyone is saying "avoid HR" (I have no experience with being on the wrong side of management or HR, yet). Can anyone comment on whether this is US specific or if it applies equally in western Europe?

kelukelugames

793 days ago

[-]

Let's say you are a female employee and a college hire calls you a sexist term during a meeting. Then yes, by all means go to HR.

However, if your manager did something inappropriate in private then whose side do you think HR will take?

EliRivers

793 days ago

[-]

Then yes, by all means go to HR.

You will be labelled as a troublemaker. That college hire will be in trouble as well (not for what he did, but because he has made the company vulnerable to action), but your record will be marked (almost certainly not literally; they're not stupid enough to outright leave actionable evidence like that).

vacri

793 days ago

[-]

I don't know about western Europe, but here in Australia, I've heard the story "I went to HR and things improved" exactly once. Usually it's a neutral 'we can't do anything' and sometimes it's makes things so much worse.

I've heard far more success going outside HR channels - like say talking to a boss's boss or a boss's colleague.

jcadam

793 days ago

[-]

I tried taking a grievance to HR once.

Once

. Lesson learned (the hard way, as usual for me). Now I just look for a new job if my manager is a tool.

michaelochurch

793 days ago

[-]

Corporations value consistency over correctness. Your manager is your manager because the company trusts him. Even if the evidence suggests strongly that your boss is in the wrong, the best you're likely to get is a pyrrhic victory: the boss goes down, but so do you.

It takes a whole-team revolt to beat a bad boss through HR channels, and most people aren't willing to put their careers at risk. Not only that, but after you beat a bad boss, you're still viewed with suspicion by managers ("protect our own") and will have a hard time getting a transfer or promotion.

kmonsen

793 days ago

[-]

They also know the laws and the politics of the company much better than you so you are playing on their turf.

bdcravens

793 days ago

[-]

> I have no desire to lose my job, but I am most concerned that being fired would place future job prospects in jeopardy.

First of all, you're not going to work here forever. You'll let laid off, or get pushed out in an acquisition, or find a better gig down the road, or get fired for cause. No one stays at a job forever.

Secondly, don't place so much faith in your "permanent record". Yeah, getting fired can impact you, but not as significantly as you think. I've had some jobs I seriously screwed up on, but I'm far from the soup kitchen today. Even if someone notices, there are laws regarding disclosure, and you will get interviews. In today's world of high profile ethical failures, your response to why you were terminated will make you stand out.

People around the world are dying for their beliefs. Don't stand for having imaginary potential consequences dangled in front of you like a carrot prevent you from doing the proper thing.

evbots

793 days ago

[-]

Whatever you decide to do, you really should report the violation of the law in some way to one of your superiors, and do it in a documented, traceable fashion (email).

skylan_q

793 days ago

[-]

Pretty much this. And if they don't follow through/follow up on this, the problem will get much bigger.

nezumi

793 days ago

[-]

If I were in this position I would find the appropriate internal legal counsel and cc them on the email, including the words 'client attorney privileged and confidential' at the top. This affords some protection against discovery were the information to become relevant in legal proceedings. Taking that additional caution on behalf of the company shows professionalism on your part and will be appreciated by management who will see you're trying to contain and redress the situation rather than put the company at risk, in which case you may be seen instead as the risk.

Another thought- it's possible that your supervisor's manager is aware of the action being taken against you. You might be able to get better advice talking to someone in a different reporting chain if you can find them.

joshyeager

793 days ago

[-]

An employee is not the client of a company's legal counsel. The company is the client. So there is no expectation of confidentiality. Copying their legal team might make them more likely to act on the problem. But it won't protect the employee.

Silhouette

793 days ago

[-]

I got the impression that nezumi knew that, and was suggesting the marking as a way of protecting the current employer, to demonstrate to any more senior management who might become involved that the OP is

not

just trying to make trouble.

Whether that would actually help here and whether such markings have any weight in whatever legal system the OP is operating within are different questions, of course.

lukeschlather

793 days ago

[-]

You misunderstood. CC'ing the counsel is a gesture of good faith towards the company, insuring that the company is protected and emphasizing that you aren't looking to start legal action.

s_q_b

793 days ago

[-]

Thanks guys :) There are verbatim notes that I've filed with my legal counsel, but I am concerned escalating will result in immediate termination.

skylan_q

793 days ago

[-]

The company is willing to hire such a manager. So you've got to ask yourself, would you want anything other than termination from this environment?

Either way things can't go back to the way they were. You're either getting fired, or you're going to choose to leave. This means changes are coming. So you've got to take charge of how your life is going to change.

ChuckMcM

793 days ago

[-]

This. It doesn't sound like there is a 'not leaving' choice so making it on your own terms is better than having it on their terms. And document what ever you can so that in the (unlikely) event they come after you, you have a defense.

rfrey

793 days ago

[-]

You have legal counsel and you're still posting to HN for advice? Have you lost faith in them? Do they know you're posting details of your case on the internet? Are they ok with that?

s_q_b

793 days ago

[-]

I have not lost faith, and nothing I've said is legally problematic. Truly, I value the advice given here, and having weighed the risks carefully, I made a considered decision. It could be totally wrong, but for now, what's done is done. Thank you for reading this, and your advice is very well taken.

wpietri

793 days ago

[-]

Legal counsel is for legal advice. They will also give you other advice if you ask for it, but that's not what they're trained in. I have a lawyer who is awesome, and who I've used for coming up on 15 years. But he only knows what he knows. I certainly get his opinion on business matters, because he has seen a lot of stuff happen. But I get opinions from other people, too. And in the end I go with my opinion, because it's my life, not his.

socialist_coder

793 days ago

[-]

> He assigned me to follow the instructions of an "expert" in completing a compliance document (a task in which I am not trained), and the "expert" turned out to be producing documents that are not in compliance with Federal law. The "expert" repeatedly stated in writing that I was doing an "excellent" job, and I am concerned I am facing retaliation for reporting that her work was simply not correct.

If that is true, why not escalate this up the chain? Unless there is some big conspiracy / cover up going on, I'm sure upper management would be interested in the truth.

xtrumanx

793 days ago

[-]

> I'm sure upper management would be interested in the truth.

I'm not the OP and I'm sure upper management everywhere are interested in the truth but I'm interested in maintaining the relationship with my direct superiors more.

If my direct superiors aren't handling an issue I will never go over their head as it'll probably sour our relationship and nothing will probably get done anyways.

jodah

793 days ago

[-]

Agree with others - any relationship with your immediate superiors is already toast. Anyone who would retaliate against you for doing good work can never be trusted to treat you fairly again.

Considering that you want to stay at the company there are really only two ways this could turn out good for you: You bring this up the chain, effectively reporting your supervisor's bad behavior, and wind up reassigned under someone else, or you bring this up the chain and your supervisor gets fired. The latter is the only scenario that really gives you a good shot of remaining at the company without being hassled, and it sounds like your supervisor's behavior was bad enough to warrant their dismissal.

Some people do horrible things and their companies protect them. Maybe they're politically connected, well-liked, or valuable for other reasons. The way I look at this overall is that the company is either good enough to stop this sort of retaliatory behavior or they're not, in which case you shouldn't want to work for them anyways.

Good luck.

impendia

793 days ago

[-]

As far as I can tell, the relationship between OP and his/her direct supervisor is completely shot. There is nothing to maintain.

sliverstorm

793 days ago

[-]

it'll probably sour our relationship

If "the issue" is your superior is on a warpath to get you fired, I think that ship has sailed.

bboreham

793 days ago

[-]

Interesting to contrast this with the recent bank fraud thread, where people say "senior management must have known what was going on".

supertruth

793 days ago

[-]

Okay it seems like you want to keep this job so that's step one. The goal here is to keep the job. Now just arrange the chess pieces to accomplish your goal. Here are two things I would keep in mind:

1. Do exceptionally good work for the next 30 days. Bust Your Ass. Most likely this is his way of reasserting his superior status over you since you went out of line. You need to show him that he's the master and you're the subordinate. The best way to do that is to bust your ass and do the work the way he's dictated that he wants the work done. Don't do this passive-aggressively or in a desperate way, do this with determination, with purpose, authentically. Like you were born and live to serve him. Once you've pleased his ego, he'll have a harder time rationalizing firing you.

2. DO NOT COMPLAIN TO HR/LEGAL. Only say good things about your boss and how's he's so intelligent and you really respect his leadership and blah blah. Swallow your pride and openly acknowledge his criticisms of you and say this whole process is helping you grow as a person and be better. Repeat: DO NOT COMPLAIN TO HR/LEGAL NO EXCEPTIONS IT DOES NOT MATTER IF YOU THINK THEY ARE YOUR FRIEND. If you have negative things to say about him/the company, they will begin their campaign to disarm you and support the decision to let you go.

On a meta-note. I think you should actually leave the company and find a company/manager with a supportive culture. By staying at this company you are stunting yourself. You seem too dependent and fearful and that is a recipe for life-long stress and anxiety, both of which will ultimately kill you. Improve your independence and self-reliance, find another job.

I've hired and fired many people and I can tell you that getting fired is not that bad. Companies know there are bad companies and that personalities don't always mix. What matters most to a potential future employer is not if you've been fired but if you can actually do good work and you fit in. If you do good work and there are companies where you can fit in, you don't need to fear being fired from anywhere. You'll find your place.

mhurron

793 days ago

[-]

> 2. DO NOT COMPLAIN TO HR/LEGAL. Only say good things about your boss and how's he's so intelligent and you really respect his leadership and blah blah. Swallow your pride and openly acknowledge his criticisms of you and say this whole process is helping you grow as a person and be better. Repeat: DO NOT COMPLAIN TO HR/LEGAL NO EXCEPTIONS IT DOES NOT MATTER IF YOU THINK THEY ARE YOUR FRIEND. If you have negative things to say about him/the company, they will begin their campaign to disarm you and support the decision to let you go.

This is idiotic. Yes, HR is there to protect the company. However this advice relies on you stating that you believe your manager is correct and stating there is nothing wrong with the way your manager is acting or between you and them.

Given that, and your manager now recommends firing, since you have openly admitted your boss was correct in everything he is firing you for and made it clear there are no personal issues between you and your boss, HR is going to completely support the decision to fire you. You have shot yourself in the foot.

Nothing changes if you don't raise issues. HR is protecting the company, but that would also include not holding onto a manager with a lot of complaints against them.

supertruth

793 days ago

[-]

Thanks for calling my ideas idiotic. It probably seems that way because you're missing the subtext of this advice.

At worst HR/Legal will recommend that you get fired, at best you aren't on their radar. There is a very low chance that HR will go against your manager and fight for you. They just aren't incentivized that way: their job is to protect the company, not ensure fairness. HR people are awarded for cleaning up messes, not for interfering with the management structure. They risk more downside to support a single employee. In general HR departments are in a position of weakness when compared to management in companies.

His priority is to stay at the company, not make a change. The best way to maximize his chances of staying at the company is to not make a ruckus and do what his manager says. If he wanted to maximize his chances of making a change, however, the best way would be to go to his manager's manager. His manager's manager is actually incentivized to ensure his reports are doing good/non-illegal work. His chances of getting firing go up by taking that route, but in the slim chance his manager's manager has detected these sorts of problems in the past and is currently waiting for the straw that broke the camel's back then he might be successful.

I'm not advocating not making a change in the company, I'm just being logical w.r.t. to keeping his job right now. The spirit of my advice is "die another day." Right now he has very little influence to actually make change. Better to advance those goals once he's in a more stable position in the company. For him, the stakes are too high to risk martyrdom.

davemel37

793 days ago

[-]

>"I am facing retaliation for reporting that her work was simply not correct."

>"this supervisor has been angry with me since I pointed out to him a few months ago that he may have violated firm policy in a severe way."

Is there a pattern here of noticing others mistakes and pointing it out them? Whether right or not, I know very few people who would want to work with someone constantly looking for their mistakes and jumping on the opportunity to point it out to them.

One thing is for sure, you are too much of a straight shooter to work in the "major firm" or atleast with the department you work for...clearly, they are less concerned with following every rule to the letter.

My advice, especially if you don't plan on changing, is to leave, and be open with interviewers about being a straight shooter...this will scare off the companies that you will certainly run into problems with, and hopefully help you find work with others who share your values.

late2part

793 days ago

[-]

You're a data scientist - one of the hottest jobs out there. Go find a place where you don't work for an asshole, and you can have fun. Email me if you're having a hard time finding a job, I'll probably hire you.

davismwfl

793 days ago

[-]

1. Don't quit before/unless you have another position, let them fire you.

2. Getting fired will not blackball you, companies do not validate anything generally beyond dates of employment, salary and sometimes "eligible for rehire", but that has become more uncommon to ask/answer. I have seen at large firms even when a person is terminated for valid reasons, and the manager and executives have said they will never work here again, HR will answer the question "Yes" to eligible for rehire. This is because they know answering it any other way can lead to a potential law suit which may unearth unrelated facts during discovery that would be damaging.

3. If you get fired and are on an interview, don't lie about being terminated if asked, and don't plea your case to them, they don't care and will not look fond on you pleading a case or dishing details on a former employer. If directly asked if you were terminated, just say yes I was let go. Generally most people won't push for why, but if they do, you could say something along the lines, well over the past few months (or whatever time period) my manager needed a different skill set on the team then I posses and so I wasn't a good fit any longer. Frankly, his/her skill set you were lacking is dishonesty or questionable morals however you want to look at it. So you aren't lying, just framing the conversation so it isn't negative to the company or really yourself.

4. Even in small towns you can find another job, larger towns is even easier, don't panic. It is scary but don't panic.

5. As for the situation, you can send an email to your manager or the the director in charge of your department again. Do it not with the goal of saving your job or making enemies, but with protecting your ass so that if something shady really is found later you are insulated. Make sure you keep a copy of the email and while likely not ideal, I would bcc my personal email as well as print a hard copy.

pekk

793 days ago

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It's simply false that companies do not validate anything beyond dates of employment. Supposedly all companies are so terrified of lawsuits they won't do anything, but actually there is no mechanism which will allow the candidate to discover what was mentioned on the back channel, and the good old boy network is very much alive. If someone wants to make sure you don't get hired, there are ways.

When it comes to your own life, please don't trust this Pollyanna advice from HN which is coming from people who have not had any problems like this.

HillRat

793 days ago

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"Back channels" are exceptionally rare between HR departments -- I've only heard of one significant network of HR departments willing to back-channel pejorative data about possible employees, and that was a set of industrial companies that had an ongoing problem with employees getting fired for failed drug screens, then cleaning up just long enough to go to the next firm. (Meth heads playing with 2000°F furnaces is a legal and operational nightmare scenario.)

Even so, it took years for the companies to start sharing anything, and even then the HR heads would do things like meet in the parking lots of rural truck stops to exchange names of problem employees. Basically, sharing pejorative employee info between companies is something that no competent HR professional is willing to do absent very good reason, executive direction, and a lot of attempts at tradecraft.

Having said that, ref checks can communicate quite a lot without communicating anything in particular; pregnant pauses and careful word choice can certainly say a lot. However, this is more a concern in SMBs where the ref check might land on the manager's desk instead of HR.

Now, if a company leader wants to screw you over and you're looking for employment in the SMB market, then, yeah, change cities. YPO is a freaking henhouse for gossip, and bad reputations move fast in those circles.

op00to

793 days ago

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"[...] there is no mechanism which will allow the candidate to discover what was mentioned on the back channel [...]"

If there's a back channel for the reference, there's a back channel to find out about a shitty reference. I'm instructed by my HR team to never, ever give references, and to refer folks inquiring to our contracted company that gives only dates of employment. 'Cause we got better things to do than get sued, even if we'd likely win.

hluska

793 days ago

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First, 'pollyanna advice' is unnecessarily harsh. Even saying 'overly optimistic' would be a huge improvement...

Second, yes there are ways that someone could keep another from getting hired, but they are supremely (as in multi-million dollar lawsuit) risky. When it comes to the back channel, it is important to remember that everybody talks all the time and favours never come free.

wpietri

793 days ago

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Perhaps you could share your experience? Rather than, say, implying without evidence that everybody but you is an idiot.

davismwfl

792 days ago

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My advice isn't Pollyanna advice. I have worked at Fortune 10 and Fortune 500 firms as well as in startups, plus I have run my own company for years now. In all those places I have held senior positions at one time or another. So my experience is real and practical. In the larger firms generally managers and above are trained to redirect all reference requests and employment verifications to HR, especially for employees who were terminated. This is a risk mitigation procedure by the companies, as lawsuits are real. And generally past employees do find out when employers try to damage them because of friends or sympathizers still at the company will reach out and let them know.

You say back channels are the way and the good ole boy network still exists. I agree to a point, but practical experience again is showing me that even using people I know they are reluctant to answer questions because they fear reprisal not just from lawsuits, but for what should happen when they need a job (direct quote from someone not too long ago). Today's person you fire could be your boss shortly down the road, so I think this contributes to why generally I find experienced people reluctant to give any real details. Exceptions happen though, and in cases of theft, arrest etc I have seen more direct responses since there is generally public record, but again, that is a very low percentage of times. Also, as @HillRat said, SMB's can be more volatile since they generally lack professional HR and so that is a little more subject to the good ole boy network and off the cuff comments. Or the pregnant pause as he also mentioned.

Personally in my current and past businesses, we will validate employment dates, salary if they already have the number (otherwise that is the employees personal data), job title and what the job position entailed. We generally give no indication as to why the person left or whether it was voluntary or not. In large organizations these types of calls go to an HR group or even to an outside firm that only has 4-5 pieces of data on people. Home Depot Supply at one time had an automated system that handled all verification of employment calls to prevent mishaps from happening. I have no clue if this is still the case, but it was creative.

If an employee leaves on their own, or asks me personally for a reference I will make a judgement call about if I will do it, how much to say and how to handle it. But in the cases where someone was terminated they rarely list that manager as a reference so those calls come from a verification of employment perspective, where we answer the bare minimum.

steven2012

793 days ago

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I've been in this same situation as you.

You can and will not win against your boss.

You can either try to transfer into another group outside of the reach of your current boss, or you need to leave. But the fact you are on performance review means that transferring might be very hard, unless you've made good relationships with other groups that would take you on.

Those are your only two options so act quickly. There is no way so salvage the situation. 30-day performance reviews are really just a way to fire you but to avoid a lawsuit.

I find it hard to believe you will be blackballed in the entire city unless you work in a very small city. But you have no choice. And next job you get, you should consider the things you say and who you are saying them to. Some people take criticism well, and others like your boss will try to fire you. Learn from this experience.

jqm

793 days ago

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"You can and will not win against your boss."

That is certainly not necessarily true. But it is a probably.

heldtogether

793 days ago

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It sounds very much like you're a whistleblower of some crime, which gives you protection against the sort of retaliation you're describing. See

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whistleblower

for more information about legal protection.

Now, you're not immune to workforce politics so there may still be reasons why you'd be fired but I definitely wouldn't accept it without finding out a lot more about your situation and potentially escalating the complaint.

s_q_b

793 days ago

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According to my counsel, whistleblower protection laws wouldn't necessarily apply in this case (IANAL, so I'm unsure as to why.)

Also, this industry does not treat whistleblowers well, so I'm hesitant to take this route, yet. But I want to make sure I follow firm policy very precisely regarding these issues, so I'm consulting closely with legal counsel.

dmethvin

793 days ago

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My thought is that you should speak to a lawyer who is experienced in these kind of disputes. Bringing in a lawyer to represent you pretty much burns the bridge but it sounds like you will either want or have to leave anyway. If this is a large company, they do not want to get involved in a protracted dispute, especially if it might become public. This is true regardless of what you have done that might legitimately make them want to get rid of you. Yes, you don't want to ruin your own reputation as an employee for a future employer, but they have much more to lose in most cases.

You would be surprised how far companies will go to avoid outright terminating someone. In past jobs I have been in management and had to deal with people who had anger management problems, drug problems, and sexually harassed co-workers. Despite the documentation for these issues they were given up to 6 months to find other jobs and/or terminated with several months of severance for signing an agreement they wouldn't sue.

A lawyer will generally give you a free consultation and could write a letter on your behalf for a few hundred dollars. If your case seems to have more merit, they may be willing to take it on contingency.

walshemj

793 days ago

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And also turning up with lawyer will increase the chance of getting a compromise agreement and will get your managers card marked by more senior people.

junto

793 days ago

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In summarising many of the excellent advice here you should:

Maintain your professionalism

Seek independent legal advice

Avoid HR like the plague

Assume that you will be fired. You cannot win.

Start looking for a new job immediately.

Document everything for any legal proceedings later.

Ask colleagues you trust if they would provide you with a reference once you have secured new employment.

Do not fear leaving your job for another. Opportunity knocks.

Good luck and remain positive. Don't let this get you down.

late2part

793 days ago

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If this is * fait accompli* and it is going to happen, then by all means, I would involve HR, under the advice of your counsel.

I would tell HR that you're being punitively punished for bringing up an ethics violation with your boss.

I would tell them that your counsel has advised you that you have certain rights, and you expect to be treated fairly.

I surmise that will force them to offer you more to get you to leave quietly, or maybe force them to investigate the asinine behavior of your boss, assuming we perceive the situation correctly.

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night!!!!

lightlyused

793 days ago

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"When I raised that issue, he immediately began the process of putting me on a 30 day review, a necessary step prior to termination."

Document document document. Don't quit your job and when and if they do fire you. Sue. It sounds to me like your manger is retaliating against you because they are trying to cover something up. That is never ok and if HR is not handling it, than stand your ground and let the lawyers handle it.

alexryan

793 days ago

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Whatever you do, do not allow yourself to feel like a helpless victim. That's what losers do. You are not a loser. But if you allow yourself to think like a loser you are finished. Not just in this job, but in life.

Decide what you really want first. Do you really genuinely want to stay? Sounds like the place is a little corrupt. I wouldn't want to stay there. But if you do, then own that choice and don't let anyone else tell you to run away.

There are an infinite number of ways in which you can manifest the future that you desire.

In workplaces that have been infested by people who care more about getting for themselves than giving something amazing to the world, you're going to have to play the political game.

I avoid those kinds of workplaces because I find doing so repulsive, but if you really want to stay, that's what you're going to have to do.

That means forming alliances and destroying your enemies. This guy who has taken action against you is doing so because he feels threatened by you. You could try to repair your relationship with him. Or you could take action to destroy him. Decide which you want to do.

It sounds like you are in the right. Know that a man who has right on his side, and who is absolutely confident and determined to do what is right no matter the cost is absolutely terrifying to the typically cowardly types who climb the corporate hierarchies at most companies.

Most will bend under the slightest threat you intend to stand up for yourself and take action against them.

You wield a lot more power than you think you do. Just believe in yourself and do what is right because it is right and people will rally to support you.

codegeek

793 days ago

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