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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Amamiya has the face for sly smirks, an air of a devil-may-care charm that makes the hair on the back of Goro’s neck prickle and his nerves zing with electricity.

Goro thinks he might be in love with him.

That he has always loved him.

—

Ren’s years end where they begin, on a train heading to Tokyo on April 9th.

He is not who he was, not quite. He’s lived too many lives, died too many deaths, mourned too many loves. Yaldaboath twists the world each time the cycle starts anew and neither Trickster nor God could say what the world they first came from looks like anymore.

Ren starts the year over in a timeline doomed from the beginning and decides he’s needs a rest. A short vacation before he skips ahead to the next year and the next chance to put an end to Yaldaboath once and for all.

Goro Akechi has other ideas.

Chapter 11: Downtime With Friends

podcastwizard

dnd one shot idea my party came up with tonight and i really want to play: you are an all-bard party living in fantasy england in 1609. shakespeare's company is all set to premiere his newest play tonight. unfortunately, you are a member of a much less successful rival company. if your patrons see shakespeare's newest play, you will lose funding forever. you have one night to stop hamlet. good luck.

incorrectpersona-cianthemighty

Futaba: I’m sorry I broke your glasses, dude.

Ren: No, no. That’s fine. I’ve seen enough.

archivings

Fashion and Surrealism opening at The Fashion Institute of Technology(1987), photo by Seiji Kakizaki for High Fashion Magazine February 1988

ralfmaximus

Years ago back when I worked in cubicle land, we were hiring junior software developers. They didn’t have to have a ton of experience, just a willingness to learn, and some demonstration of their software skills. Like: show me a program you wrote (any language) or a web site you designed. Anything.

And there was this one guy I talked with who seemed super sharp, but had virtually zero experience writing software. When it came time to do the show-n-tell part of the interview he whips out his laptop, brings up a website, and spins it around to show me what he made.

A website of tiny ceramic frogs.

Not for sale. Just… all these ceramic frogs, organized into categories. Frogs on bicycles, frogs with hats, frogs sitting on lily pads. It was a virtual museum of ceramic frogs in web form.

I scrolled through his online collection of frogs, slightly baffled.

“This is your website?” I asked finally.

“Yep!”

“You coded this yourself?” I popped into view-source mode and poked around some incredibly well-formatted, well-commented html. I nodded slowly. This guy was meticulous.

“Yep!”

“So… where’d all the frogs come from?”

“I made those too,” he says, beaming.

And while I’m processing this he rummages in his bag and pulls out a little ceramic frog working at a computer terminal. He places it on the table before us, next to the laptop.

“And THIS one,” he says, “I made for you! As a thank you for the interview.”

It was adorable. I hired him on the spot. I mean, why not? Worst case he’d wash out in 90 days and we’d hire somebody else. He turned out to be one of the best developers on our team.

And yes, his cubicle was loaded with ceramic frogs.

seekerpsycho

Okay, my story isn’t as cute as this guy’s, but I was likewise hired because I showed competence, a passion for creative work, and showed a little razzle dazzle. I went to college and got a Bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering. During that time, for shits and giggles, I built a 6′2″ animatronic cyborg zombie named Mango. Part of that process involved self-teaching myself Java to program him and teach him how to sing and dance to This Is Halloween. I graduate. I start sending my resume out. I send it to a robotics integration firm and include a youtube link to my boy, deciding “Why the hell not?” I land an interview. Turns out they would have thrown my resume in the garbage if they hadn’t seen the cyborg zombie and concluded “You know what, maybe he can learn quick.” I take the interview. During it, the interviewer shows me some PLC code, which I had never worked with before; but if you know how to code in one language, you’re 90% the way there to knowing them all. Long story short, I ask some smart questions, give some smart answers, and pass a relatively informal pop-quiz. Some time later, they call me back. “Congrats, you’ve got the job!” “AWESOME!” “You’re our new programmer!” “…. wut?” Let me remind you: I HAVE A DEGREE IN ELECTRICAL ENGINEERING! All of my programming know-how came via googling “how to Java” and getting a giant Halloween puppet to dance to Thriller. I caught on quick, became a valuable member of the team. I love being a programmer. It turned out to be a fantastic fit for me. And to this day, I have not used a SINGLE DAMN THING I actually learned from college. So yeah. Your passion might lead to unexpected opportunities? Seeing passion on display can really grab interviewers’ attention? Being weird has its perks? Take whatever moral message you wish from this.