#and then after graduation got a job as a designer for schools and hospitals / wrote and passed 7 intense architecture exams

[cuntrytaylor]

i'm putting together a resume/cv for grad school applications and it's so funny to see all my qualifications put together like hm yeah maybe i do have a fighting chance of being accepted

[bosspigeon]

a permanent solution to a temporary insanity

Pairing: Mason/m!Detective, with a side of Adam/Nate (implied)

Words:  5257

Summary: Unit Bravo discover the detective has... a lot more tattoos than they would have guessed. Felix is delighted. Mason is intrigued. Nate and Adam are just worried this is going to cause issues with Rebecca, somehow. Tina and Verda become chaotic disasters when they’ve had some alcohol in them.

Takes place at the beginning of Book 2. Title taken from a quote my granddad likes to use whenever he wants me to know he disapproves of my tattoos.

AO3 Link | Ko-Fi <3

"Get your foot off the table, you fucking barbarian!"

Mason can hear the voice of the detective's coworkers from across the bar, but even if he couldn't, Chase's scent is easy enough to track. The muted bite of coffee, the sharpness of pine tempered with clary sage. The cooled sweat of a long day, and, just barely perceptible, the intoxicating undercurrent of his blood.

Mason's awareness narrows down to that stimulus, and he weaves his way through the meager crowd. He is only vaguely cognizant of his unit following behind him, so focused on finding--

He hears a laugh, low and husky, a bit of a scuffle, and he finds the detective sitting at a table with the pathologist, Verda, and the Bobblehe-- Officer Poname.

Chase's back is to him, and he’s sitting in a chair at the end of a table squished into a corner. Verda and Poname are opposite him in a booth against the wall, laughing, while Poname tries in vain to wrestle Chase's scuffed combat boot off the edge of the table. The smell of alcohol is strong between the three of them, but that is not what makes Mason stop dead.

Chase's leather jacket is draped over the back of his chair, and underneath, what Mason always thought was a full turtleneck sweater is actually completely sleeveless. The detective's arms are bare, save for intricate swirls and clusters of ink, mostly black, but with some pops of color here and there. Some of it is flowers, some words, a few bones and animal skulls. Abstract shapes and lines, a few sharp little designs, from shoulder to knuckles on both arms-- and Mason suddenly realizes Chase always seemed to be wearing supple leather palm gloves that matched his jacket, or, when it was colder, cozy wool fingerless gloves so he could still use his phone without trouble. Not tonight, though. Tonight his hands are bare, his arms are bare, and the ribbed shirt he’s wearing is clinging to him and really showing off the stout strength of his torso.

Mason grunts as Felix runs into his back, and time seems to pick back up to normal speed while his companion loudly complains.

Chase's head turns upon hearing the familiar voice, and Mason gathers his wits and offers a smirk and a carefully relaxed wave, sauntering up alongside the man, who raises a glass full of some dark mixed drink to him.

"There’s nothing we can do until we’ve got more information about our case, so I'm off tomorrow-- ask Rebecca," he informs Adam, who is looking disapprovingly between the detective's lax, sprawled posture and the half-empty glass held loosely in one hand, "so I don't want to hear you bitching about what I'm doing."

Adam's mouth pinches, Nate chuckles and tries to stifle it, and Mason coughs out a ragged laugh. But all that is lost to Felix shoving his way bodily around Mason to grab Chase's wrist (thankfully the one without the drink) and shout, "You've got so many tattoos!"

Chase gives Felix a lazy once-over, his brow quirked. "Yeah? And?" He looks a little bemused, as if he can’t quite figure out how this came as such as a surprise to any of them, much less a busybody like Felix. He obviously can’t say it in front of his coworkers, but Mason remembers Chase’s time with Murphy. The hospital gown and the needles and bandages. But even though they could all see in the dark just fine, there was a bit too much going on to really notice more than some smudges of dark ink on his neck and arms.

He thinks their minds might be going to the same place, for a moment, because Chase’s mouth twists from a lazy smile to a grim frown, dark, serious brows scrunching. It’s a slight gesture, barely noticeable, but he jerks his head once, as if to shake off the memories.

They’re both, thankfully, distracted by Felix whirling around to point accusingly at Mason. "Did you know he had this many?"

"If I did, would I tell you?" he sneers. Felix pouts mightily, but then pauses, and smiles. A slow, creeping smile, his eyes narrowed smugly.

"If you did know, you'd have been telling everyone you saw what the detective's got under his clothes any chance you got," he taunts. "So you must not have!"

Nate can't quite stifle his laugh this time, and Mason shoots him a dirty look.

Chase chuckles, low and smoky, and brings the glass to his lips again. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of tattoos. Almost more than bare skin by this point, I think?” He looks to Verda and Poname as if to confirm, though with an odd little smirk that makes Poname giggle helplessly and Verda roll his eyes.

“Verda would know best,” Poname teases. “How much of Chase have you seen?”

“Enough to know that, yes, the un-inked real estate is scant at best.” He takes a demure sip of his drink while Poname cackles.

“My boss fucking hates it,” Chase snorts into his glass, gesturing vaguely with the free hand he’s rescued from Felix for Unit Bravo to sit. He finally removes his boot from the edge of the table (which makes Poname throw her hands in the air) and uses it to push the chair next to him out, dark eyes flickering up to meet Mason’s for a fraction of a second, stoking a low sort of heat in his belly. He takes the offered seat before Felix can (to some very vocal complaining) and lounges back, angling the chair so he’s able to watch the detective without making it too obvious.

Nate slides into the booth next to Poname, who immediately turns her gaze almost reverently to him, and Adam sits stiffly alongside him, giving the both of them an unreadable look. Felix posts up alongside Verda, smiling with annoying cheerfulness across the table at Chase and Mason.

“If your boss hates them so much, how’d you get the job?” he chirps, still marvelling at all the inked skin on shameless display. It makes Mason feel a bit twitchy, and he swallows down the urge to bare his teeth at his teammate with two very ignorant human witnesses in front of him. He distracts himself by subtly eyeing a splash of color on Chase’s solid shoulder in the form of a wrought-iron lantern with a single guttering candle inside, wreathed in wilted and dying flowers that trails shed petals and leaves down his bicep to mingle with other patterns.

“Mum’s got connections,” Chase drawls, swirling his glass and impressively feigning nonchalance. The ice cubes inside clink softly. “As you all know.”

The quiet that follows is damning, and Chase breaks it by tossing back another gulp of his drink. This close, with his senses full of the detective’s overwhelming… everything, Mason can tell it’s rum and Coke-- rather heavy on the rum.

Nate is the first to speak, offering a politely neutral, “You told us you were given a choice between the police academy or prison.” His tone lacks any judgement, but his brows are furrowed just a bit. Beside him, Adam’s expression is carefully blank. Good for both of them, because even clearly, comfortably tipsy and oddly candid, Chase’s gaze is sharp and analytical, his shoulders just this side of too tight.

“Yeah, well,” he goes on, staring past Nate more than at him, “Rebecca’s influence goes a long way, I learned. So after I graduated from uni-- top of my fuckin’ class, thank you--  I went off on a bit of a wild tear, you know, acquiring cars under mysterious circumstances,” Poname sputters into her drink and laughs, and Chase just gives her a dry look before she regains herself enough for him to continue, “and selling them for scrap, I miraculously didn’t wind up going to straight to prison, thanks to Rebecca pulling some strings and dragging me back here by my ear.” His lip curls faintly, and there’s a flash of something in his expression that seems to drop the temperature in the bar by a few degrees. Felix meets Mason’s eye and visibly shudders.

“That doesn’t really explain the tattoos,” Mason says, offering an easy segue to something… else.

“Sort of does,” Chase says with a shrug, eyes heavy-lidded. “I had a pretty wild childhood up to that point. Got my first stick-and-poke when I was, what? Thirteen? I think the kid who gave it to me is working at the bank now.” He snorts. “My point is, it was the one thing about my life I ever got to control. I had to be perfect, but so long as I did well in my academic pursuits and set myself on exactly the path my mother wanted for me, in my free time I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.” He rolls his shoulders again and knocks back the last of his drink, setting the glass down just a little too hard on the sticky tabletop.

“I drank, I partied, I fucked around. What else do you do when you’re a kid with no parental influence in your life save for a picture on the mantel of an empty house? You go off the fucking wall is what you fuckin’ do. Anything for even a shred of attention. And I still managed to graduate with honors, right? First in my class in secondary school, and in uni. Didn’t matter, did it?” His face goes hard, brows furrowing. “She didn’t bother to congratulate me in person. I got a card on her office stationery that I doubt she even wrote herself. My graduation from uni she didn’t even respond to the invite I sent, but I still stupidly hoped she’d show. She didn’t care until I snapped and she actually had to step in. Take a break from her job and come collect her errant brat.” He scoffs, and it sounds like a gunshot in the sudden silence that follows.

Nate looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening, but Adam touches his wrist and it snaps closed. Even Felix is stunned silent. Verda and Poname just exchange twin looks of familiar distress, but before anyone can say anything, Chase stands up so suddenly his chair shrieks across the floor. Mason, Nate, Adam, and Felix all wince at the sound.

“I’m going to get another drink,” the detective mutters, stalking off into the crowd. Mason looks over his companions, eyebrows raised, decides he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, and gets up to follow.

Chase is leaning against the bar, asking the bartender for “something stronger than a rum and Coke, holy fuck,” and doesn’t even look up when Mason moves to stand beside him.

“I get moody when I get drunk,” he says by way of greeting.

“So you’re always drunk, then?" Mason drawls. "Not very professional of you, Detective." 

Chase snorts and turns to look at him, but he doesn’t say anything-- just closes his eyes and rubs his hand over the rough fuzz of his shaved head. Mason’s gaze is drawn to his hand, and he spots a ouija planchette inked into one knuckle, a pentacle on the next, then an eye, and a crescent moon. They look old, faded and a bit blown out. When Chase opens his eyes again, the bartender has given him another drink, and from the smell, it’s a highball with a hefty pour of whiskey. He takes his first sip almost gratefully.

“Those the stick-and-pokes you mentioned?” Mason asks.

Chase holds up  his hand. “Hm? Oh, yeah, a couple of ‘em. Not the first ones.” He turns his hand palm-up, and gestures with the glass. “There on the wrist.” Along the inside of his forearm is an intricate dagger with thorns twisted along the blade, but a few centimeters below the point, there is a tiny, blurry skull with a black forked tongue. “Toby Doherty, year 8. We put together a tattoo gun in his dad’s garage by pulling apart his little brother’s RC car. Think we got into more trouble for that than the tattoo.” He huffs out a rough little laugh. “I just think his mum was too nervous to actually shout at me, but I was never allowed back to their house afterwards because I was a bad influence.”

Mason reaches out and takes his hand, pulling it a bit closer so he can study the skull more closely. That’s what he tells himself, anyway, though he doesn’t think he’s fooled, and he doesn’t think the detective would be either. Especially when he rubs his thumb over the raised lines. He can feel Chase’s pulse through his thin skin, blood pumping hot and steady. This close, his pine-and-sage scent is stronger, and it fills Mason’s chest. "It's cute," he says, little more than a breath between them. He leans in, pulls the detective's wrist close to his mouth. He can feel the heat of his skin, almost taste the warmth just beneath, and Chase's breath is soft and quick and deafening in his ears.

“Chase!”

He drops the hand as if burned, and looks away from the detective before he can see how he reacts. Poname is toddling up to them, swaying a bit, and she wiggles her way between them to toss her arms around Chase's middle. He raises his highball in the air to keep her from spilling it, and she giggles.

"Chase, come back, you've got to show them!"

He groans. "Show them what?"

She only giggles louder and starts pulling him back towards the group, using the much steadier detective as a bit of a crutch to keep from stumbling through the milling crowd. When they arrive back at the table, things aren't really more comfortable than when they'd left, but they're not less so either, which Mason supposes is more than they could ask for. He takes up his seat again, but when Chase moves to do the same, Poname keeps hold of his arm.

"Wait, wait, you should be standing up for this," she giggles. Verda doesn't say anything, but he does snicker quietly into his tall glass of something that smells cloyingly of fruit syrup and sweetened vodka.

"Tina, what are you on about?" he sighs indulgently.

"You have to show them King Kitty!"

Mason’s interest is immediately piqued. Felix’s is too, clearly. He sits bolt upright and leans forward with that bright-eyed little imp grin he likes to give his teammates whenever he’s teasing them about… well, anything, really. “King Kitty?” he asks with eyes sparkling.

Chase groans, sets his drink on the table, and pushes Poname away, sending her stumbling into the table while she laughs brightly. “Don’t call it that, Tina. Christ.”

“You have to show them! He’s so good!” she insists, swaying towards him again. He dodges, and damn near skitters around the table to press into Verda’s space, which would have given Poname the means to corner him if she could figure out how to move around Chase’s abandoned chair as well as Mason (side-eyeing her cautiously) without getting tangled or falling over entirely. Verda continues to laugh at their antics, pushing Chase’s hip as it crowds into his space and threatens to make him spill his drink.

“Come on, now, what could it hurt?” he chides playfully, slipping his finger into the belt loop of the detective’s cargo pants and tugging playfully.

“Hey!” Chase barks, shifting away. All that manages to accomplish is tugging down his waistband the slightest bit, exposing the edge of his black underwear and a thin sliver of skin-- inked with designs Mason can’t properly parse, though he can’t help but lean forward a bit for a closer look. “I’ll have both of your asses for harassment, don’t test me!”

“Chase, our precinct is tiny,” Verda hiccups, finally making the decision (though it clearly pains him) to set his drink aside, since it seems Chase is perfectly willing to clamber over him to escape Poname’s grabbing hands, “I’m the HR department. You haven’t got a case here.”

“Show theeeeem,” Poname whines, putting one hand on Mason’s shoulder to steady herself. A low growl rumbles in his chest, but one sharp look from Nate (who is trying very hard not to smile at the scene, while Felix is outright giggling, and Adam simply looks confused and uncomfortable) quiets him. She smells strongly like some sort of bubblegum perfume that tickles the back of his tongue and leaves it feeling itchy and thick.

“I still have to work with them,” Chase protests, but his resolve is visibly wavering, especially with the lack of options to escape.

“We won’t tell anyone!” Felix blurts, leaning across the table. “Promise!”

Mason doesn’t chime in, but it’s a near thing. The last few weeks he’s tested the limits of both Adam and Nate’s patience with his innuendos about the detective, and he even thinks Agent Kingston might be one lewd joke from stabbing him with a fountain pen.

But Chase is weakening, he can tell. Mostly because he can’t seem to figure out how to climb over Verda, and Poname’s hands have found his belt. “Fine! Fuck, fine, you menace!” he exclaims, pushing her off with a surprising amount of gentleness, considering his tone. “Just get off me!”

Poname backs off obediently, but she’s still giggling up a storm, flushed with the effort, her hair a bit mussed. Verda looks entirely unbothered, and he takes up his drink again with a smug smile. Chase returns to his chair but doesn’t sit, and Poname returns to cozying up to Nate and being entirely oblivious to Adam trying very hard not to look annoyed.

Chase takes a deep, bolstering breath, snatches up his drink, and downs about half in one swig. “You’ve all got to swear you won’t breathe a word to Rebecca about this,” he says with grave, if faintly slurred, severity.

“Oh, absolutely,” Mason agrees, quickly enough that Felix shoots him another infuriating smirk.

“Scout’s honor!” Felix blurts, nearly bouncing in his seat.

Nate smiles and nods, looking for all the world like he’s simply indulging the shenanigans, but he’s clearly curious himself. Chase isn’t terribly secretive about most things-- he’s actually pretty fucking blunt-- so this has to be… interesting, for him to put up such a fight. Adam looks like he’s bolstering himself to look away as quickly as possible so he can have some plausible deniability should Agent Kingston find out regardless.

Chase’s hands go to his belt, and Mason’s stomach clenches, heat rushing under his skin. The detective unbuckles with practiced ease, flicks the snap open, and tugs the edge of his cargo trousers and briefs (are they briefs? Mason would certainly like to find out) down just a bit. His other hand goes to his fitted shirt, tugging it up.

The hair beneath his navel is thick and dark, and the trail leading down into his trousers is very, very inviting, but Mason’s attention is drawn inexorably to the design inked into the soft, brown skin. He supposes he should have expected the name “King Kitty” to give it away, but he couldn’t have predicted what he was in for.

It’s a snarling black cat, cartoonishly stylized, wearing a jauntily cocked royal crown. Underneath, spanning from hipbone to hipbone, are the words “BOW DOWN” written in bold, jagged script.

“Everyone, meet King Kitty,” Poname proclaims with a sloppy, grand gesture to Chase’s pelvis.

“Yeah, yeah, are you happy now?” Chase groans, hiking his waistband back up and buckling his belt. He tugs his shirt down and flops into the chair, taking another slog of his drink. It’s almost gone already, and he’s sure to be feeling it soon.

“Absolutely tickled,” Verda says primly.

“Oh, completely,” Poname chimes in.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing him again,” Mason rumbles, and Chase’s eyes flick to him for a split second, dark and sparking, brows quirked. Nate sighs audibly.

“Well, are you going to tell the story too?” Verda presses. “Share with the class?”

Chase drops into his chair and kicks his feet up again, and Poname makes a vague sound of protest. This time, at least, a sharp glare shuts her up. “Might as fuckin’ well, right?” he snorts. “So, I had this ex in college--”

Both Verda and Poname make strange noises, and when Mason spares them a glance (still a bit caught up in eyeballing the detective’s lounging about like a lazy cat-- which is oddly appropriate, all things considered) they are both looking somewhere between annoyed and downright angry. Chase actually looks… guilty, for a split second, before he waves it away and continues.

“Anyway. He wasn’t, uh… Very good in bed. But I loved him or some nonsense,” he scoffs and gestures vaguely with his glass, “so I put up with it. Because I couldn’t tell him he hadn’t gotten me off to his face, right? He was a sex god, according to him, always hit the marks,” he takes a sip and snorts a bit into his drink. Verda barks out a sharp, sudden laugh that seems to startle even him.

“He did not say that! Chase, please tell me he didn’t say that to you!” he squeaks out between ragged, uncontrollable laughter.

Poname is collapsing against Nate’s side, consumed by a fit of wheezing giggles.

Chase rubs a hand down his face and huffs out a laugh of his own. “He fucking did and I have to live with the fact that I continued to sleep with him after that, every day for the rest of my life. Point is, after a lot of general university stress, I got tired of faking orgasms to save his ego, and I finally told him he hadn’t gotten me off once since we’d started dating. Crushed him, of course, and we did break up for a bit because of it. And in the interim, I thought it’d be a good idea, to, ah, ensure that the next one wouldn’t be so… lost. I had a bit of liquid courage, lied admirably to my favorite tattoo artist when she asked if I was sober, and King Kitty was born. Then when I inevitably made the bad decision to get back with my ex, the next time we tumbled into bed, I just pointed at the instructions and told him to get to work.”

He finishes off his drink, puts his foot back on the ground with a heavy clunk, and leans his elbows on the table. “Turns out, he worked best when I was a bit mean to him. Apparently it’s a thing he wasn’t aware of. Go figure.”

“Christ, no wonder he only bothers you more when you’re a prick to him,” Verda scoffs with a hearty roll of his eyes. “You’ve trained it into him!”

"That is… quite the tale," Nate offers magnanimously, eyebrows threatening to make a break for his hairline. He looks to Adam, who is looking away and trying very hard to pretend he wasn't listening at all. Mason gets the idea he knows well enough that if he opens his mouth, what comes out is likely to piss off their dear detective.

Felix about falls over cackling, which is a fine distraction for Mason to lean in close, snagging Chase's attention and murmuring, "Wouldn't mind you bossing me around a bit," with a sly little smirk.

The look Chase gives him is dry as a fucking desert, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners. "You have proved on multiple occasions that you absolutely do mind," he fires back.

And that's what delights him about the detective, he thinks. He's sharp-tongued, and he doesn't try to dull it. Prickly, but clever, unafraid to say what's on his mind. And he's never once rebuffed Mason's advances outright, just… Spiked them back with sly smirks and raised eyebrows. Challenging, a sort of unspoken, "Oh, so you think you can handle me?"

Mason would very, very much like to handle him.

"Well, I think I'd be a lot more willing to follow orders if less clothes were involved," he slyly remarks, and Chase's dark eyes brighten just a bit.

“You have to earn that privilege, pretty boy," he murmurs, lips curling on one side.

Mason is a breath away from leaning closer, when Verda's phone goes off and he stands up, startled, and bumps the table. Mason has to snap one hand out to grab Chase's empty glass before it goes careening to the floor. Poname looks a bit astounded by his (far too fast) reflexes, but she's also more than a bit foggy with liquor and likely to forget quickly.

"Shit, sorry," Verda offers sluggishly, blinking a bit behind his smart browline spectacles. "That's Eric," he explains, grabbing his coat. He's steadier than Poname, but not by much, and he leans heavily on Chase's chair when he bends to press a kiss to his bristly scalp. "Come on, you reprobate. Time to get you home." Chase grumbles and halfheartedly swats at him, a bit of red creeping up to his ears from beneath his high collar. “You too, Tina!” Verda calls, “Leave the poor man alone, would you?"

Poname, who was beginning to list against a somewhat bemused Nate's shoulder, sits bolt upright and blinks, then pouts a bit. "Hm? Oh… okay." She pushes unsteadily to her feet, helped in no small part by a few gentle nudges from Nate, and she turns to give him a giggle and a wiggly-fingered wave before Verda’s put-upon sigh spurs her to totter towards him. Adam watches her go, making a face he likely thinks is impassive, but Mason knows well enough the tense pucker between his eyebrows and the grim tightness around his mouth.

“Remember what I said,” Chase offers, heaving to his feet with a low groan that immediately drags Mason’s attention from Adam’s silent simmering, grabbing his jacket from the chair and slinging it over his shoulders. “Not a word to Rebecca about any of this.” He gives Adam a long look in particular. “My options are limited in terms of retaliation, but I can be pretty damned creative. Don’t test me.” His eyes flicker almost instinctively to Mason, and his lips twitch, but he says nothing more before he swaggers with surprising steadiness after his coworkers.

“Bye, Detective!” Felix hollers, waving enthusiastically. Mason winces, but comforts himself with staring unabashedly at the detective’s retreating backside. The second he’s out the door, Felix rounds on Adam with a bright laugh. “Look at you! You managed to be in the same room as the Detective and you didn’t get into a fight!”

“Because he kept his mouth shut the entire time,” Mason snickers. “Looked like it was killing you not to talk shit.”

“I don’t talk shit,” Adam snaps, and Nate helpfully slides out of the booth so he can escape as well. “I just point out when the Detective is being…”

Mason raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to come up with a word that’s not an insult.

“Difficult,” is what Adam settles on, giving Nate a sidelong look.

“Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t know anything about being difficult,” Felix chimes in helpfully. Adam scowls at him and adjusts his jacket. Nate is clearly trying not to laugh and make Adam even more annoyed.

“You’re the one who felt the need to hassle the detective on his off time,” Mason hums not-so-helpfully. “Can’t blame him for being annoyed.”

“And you can’t say anything either,” Felix chirps, “Since you just went right along with it.” He’s grinning, wide and wicked, and he sways into Mason's space and gets shoved for his trouble. He totters dramatically for a second, then pops back up and snickers. "You're not as smooth as you think," he taunts. "I saw your eyes almost pop out of your skull when you saw those tattoos!"

Mason shoves him again, and Nate chuckles. "There were a lot more than I would have guessed."

"And I bet there's a lot more where we couldn't see," Felix adds, sticking his tongue between his teeth and waggling his eyebrows. Mason glances around the bar, the crowd having thinned in the last half hour or so, and decides he can get away with putting the little brat in a headlock.

Nate sighs at them. Adam rolls his eyes skyward, but they let Felix flail and squawk for a bit before Adam barks out, “Enough!” and Mason obediently releases him so he can tug his fancy scarf forcefully back into place and adjust his beanie. “Let’s just go.”

“This was nice, wasn’t it?” Nate offers with a bit of genuine cheer as they file out the door and leave the bar behind. “Getting out? Talking to people?” He nudges Adam when he doesn’t respond, and gets a faint grunt for his trouble. “Seeing the sights?”

Mason lights up the second they’re outside, inhales, and exhales a long plume of smoke, and smirks a bit around the filter. “I enjoyed the sights, at least.”

“I had fun!” Felix chirps, having already moved on from Mason’s rough treatment. “We should spend more time with the detective outside work stuff. He’s cool when he’s not all--” He makes a face, stiff and frowning with a crinkled brow, that looks pretty damned similar to the face he makes when he’s mocking their illustrious leader. Mason almost bites down on the filter of his cigarette to stifle a laugh.

“It was nice to see him unwind a bit,” Nate chuckles. “His friends seem… fun,” his mouth quirks a bit, somewhat uncomfortably, “Friendly.”

Adam makes a disgruntled noise. “Too friendly,” he mutters. Mason is about to lose the fight with himself and start snickering.

Ah, hell, he can’t resist. “I dunno, I think Natey might have a chance with the Bobblehead.” The look Adam gives him could kill a lesser man, but he just gives a lopsided grin in return. Felix, however, loses it to the point he almost falls over in the street.

Nate, ever the diplomat, just chuckles a bit and says, “Officer Poname is lovely, but she’s a bit… young for me, I think.”

 Yeah, about eight-hundred-something years too young, Mason thinks, rolling his eyes. But, unlike Felix, he’s made it a point not to get involved in the love lives of people he’s got to work with. He’s already got his hands full trying to figure out the detective. Though, he supposes, he’s got to work with the detective, too. On a more permanent basis, now, it seems. But Chase is a lot of things-- stubborn, headstrong, blunt and honest-- but he’s not the type to let a bit of fun get in the way of his job, and neither is Mason. The second they stop dancing around each other, Mason will lay it out plain for him, and if he’s not on board with a bit of fun between co-workers, then that’s it. No problems.

He takes another puff of his smoke and lets the others get ahead of him, Felix still chattering happily and Nate fielding it with his usual calm enthusiasm while Adam manages to both sulk and stalk admirably alongside them both. Their voices fade into the background, and he allows himself a private little smirk, thinking about those fierce dark eyes, that stout, compactly muscled body with its bold ink, and privately wonders how much more is hidden under the detective’s clothes, and the best way to see them all.

[purplesurveys]

1177

survey by joybucket

Have you _____ during this pandemic?

Worn a mask? I mean, of course. I put one on even when I’m only picking up deliveries from my doorstep.

got tested for coronavirus? Never. I also hope I’ll never have to go through this, I don’t want a stick up my nose and throat D:

known someone who died from the virus? Personally? Too many people at this point. 

gotten the COVID vaccine? Not yet, but I have many relatives who’ve already gotten theirs, my mom and grandmother included, so at least. I know my employer has a plan in place over the next few weeks or months, so I’m just currently waiting for updates on their end.

started a new hobby? Yeah, I started on embroidery late last year. I haven’t been able to keep it up, but I’m still very much interested and want to go back to it soon. I also plan on getting one or two new Klaypel kits so I can finally replace and throw out the ones Gabie gave to me as gifts.

hated being stuck at home? Yeah, especially during the start when there seemed to be no end in sight. When they heightened quarantine protocols again earlier this month, that also made me feel aggravated about being stuck at home indefinitely since I had already started going out on weekends for self-dates.

worn a mask someone made for you? No one has made a mask for me, but one of my uncles got me a supply of a certain kind of face mask that I didn’t initially use.

sewn your own mask? No.

purchased masks at the store? Not me personally, but my dad regularly buys a supply for the family to use.

purchased a KN95 or N95 mask? Again, not me. But we regularly have a stock at home, along with the blue surgical face masks.

complimented someone on their mask? I don’t think so. I barely pay attention especially towards mask designs.

protested mask-wearing? ????? My name’s not Karen.

complained on Facebook? Nothing mask-related, but I have definitely complained about the government’s negligence and lack of proactivity about this entire situation.

read a book? I started on Midnight Sun which my parents got for me, but I never finished it. I got busy immediately the week after since I got accepted into my internship, and it was also because I was dealing with my breakup and could not focus enough to read for more than 5 minutes.

had an event canceled you had been looking forward to? My college graduation, which I’ll forever stay bitter about.

stocked up on toilet paper? I don’t think so. My parents didn’t believe in panic-buying.

been to the store when it was crowded? I do remember the mall being packed when I went last-minute Christmas shopping. Not to a crazy extent, but there was still quite a number of people.

been to the store when the toilet paper aisle was empty? N/A. We don’t have toilet paper aisles, but all stores have hand sanitizers and temperature checks by their entrance.

lost your job? I didn’t have a job before the pandemic because I had still been a student when everything started.

worked from home? Yup, and still on an WFH arrangement until now.

still had to go to work? I’ve had to go two times, but that was because it was absolutely necessary to go to the office to get the work done. My employer is pretty strict about this anyway and if something could be done at home, they’d decline the request.

went to a protest at your state's capital building? Well we don’t have states so this isn’t really relevant to me. Should a credible org plan a protest against the government though, I’d be interested in going.

watched the news for updates on the virus? We keep the TV on during dinner, at which time the news is always on. Whether I want to or not, I always get updates on the Covid situation in the country.

wondered if you had covid? Yeah, when I got extremely sick in May last year.

not left the house for a week? Way more than a week.

watched YouTube videos? YouTube is pretty much a part of my daily routine, with or without the virus.

spent a whole day watching movies? I’ve only watched one movie since the beginning of the pandemic.

cleaned your house from top to bottom? Not me, but my mom.

ordered something online? Too much crap.

ordered a pizza? I’ve gotten pizza a few times for my family, yeah. I remember ordering from Pizza Hut, Motorino, and most recently, Yellow Cab.

prayed to God?

completely forgotten a holiday that you normally celebrate? Nah, I usually remember when holidays are because that means I get a day off hahaha.

voted in an election? There haven’t been any elections that have taken place since the start of the pandemic.

gotten to know your neighbors? Somewhat. I only say hi to them and greet them a good morning/afternoon when I walk the dogs, but I don’t initiate conversations.

sanitized everything in your home? We always do this, especially when a package arrives for someone in the family.

wrote someone a letter? Started one but never finished because I soon realized it wouldn’t be worth it.

wished this pandemic were over? Don’t we all?

been surprised this pandemic has lasted so long? Yeah, I definitely thought things would be normal by now.

worried about catching the virus? I think the worry exists for everyone. I just wouldn’t say I’ve ever gotten super anxious and panicky about it. I feel pretty resigned at this point and just want everything to be over, so I can finally have the life I was meant to have back.

stayed home because you didn't want to catch the virus? That, and because I was required to stay home to begin with.

been to church? We watch a service on YouTube every Sunday morning.

watched an online church service? ^ Yeah, that’s what I meant haha oops.

been stopped by a police officer? No, but there was one time I was cleaning up Cooper’s tray and there happened to be a village guard cycling by our street, and he just kindly reminded me to put on a mask or shield since I had forgotten to do it.

seen a lot of police cars patrolling the area? No. I would definitely be pissed off if this happened - especially in a residential subdivision - and share a pic on social media to alert everyone about the unnecessary mess that is the police.

had someone cough on you out in public? No. But again, this would also piss me off and I wouldn’t hesitate to confront the asshole who would do something like that.

has someone stand less than six feet away from you while waiting in line? Always. Some people here can still be unbelievably stubborn.

had to use an inhaler? Never needed one.

been to the doctor? Yeah, to have my blood and urine tests examined.

had increased asthma and/or allergy symptoms? I have neither.

felt like you were fighting a virus? Like I said, I got a bad fever sometime last year. Even though I didn’t show any of the common Covid symptoms (e.g. I had wet cough instead of a dry cough), I felt as if I was rotting away lmao. I could barely stand up and I felt like fainting the second I would raise my head.

been diagnosed with the coronavirus? No.

felt lonely? It’s natural.

went somewhere with a friend? Just a couple of times. I went to UPTC with Andi at the start of the year, then back in Feb I went to Perfy’s with several friends, well aware of our ignorance but badly craving for a sense of normalcy for even just a night.

attended an online event? BANG BANG COOOOOOOOOON. Best 8 hours of my life during the pandemic thus far.

had a business in your area close down? Like the people I know who’ve died from the virus, too many.

received a stimulus check? Hasn’t happened.

received food stamps? No, and I don’t think we have that system in place here. The government just lets the hungry go hungrier.

applied for disability? No, not applicable.

applied for food assistance? No, thankfully we haven’t reached this point.

visited a food pantry? ^

had a fever? Just back in May. Hasn’t happened again since.

believed a conspiracy theory about the virus? Cringe, no.

had to take online classes? When the whole world was still at a loss on how to handle a global pandemic, aka early March, I briefly took Zoom sessions for some of my classes. But it proved to be difficult what with many students struggling with internet connections or being stuck somewhere without their school supplies, so my university canceled the sem altogether not long after and gave everyone general passing grades.

ate at a restaurant? I did a few times. I frequented coffee shops rather than restaurants, though.

walked through a drive-thru? I’ve...driven through a drive-thru, but not walk.

had your mask fog up your glasses? Every damn time I get out of the car, hahaha.

had to go to the hospital because of covid? Nope, not for myself or for someone else.

had to go to the hospital for a different reason? For my fever.

used hand sanitizer? At least once a day.

felt encouraged, joyful, or blessed? Now, especially. Things are starting to look up, at least for my own life.

[neinthedeer-blog]

A ten-year-later story

Some weird idea about the future of the Rappapa with a light twist. I just wrote it for fun while celebrating the 10th anniversary of 10nen zakura. Please forgive my messy and lengthy writing style.

———————————

    In a certain sunny day in February, at the usual busy airport, a girl with long black hair, which only had the left half tied up neatly, wearing black boots, black slim-fit military trousers and a camo sleeveless t-shirt, along with a deep green sukajan with white dragon embroidery on top, pushed her cart with at least a dozen of boxes on it around. She also carried on her back a military backpack. It seemed like she was waiting or looking for someone.

    “Hey Gekikara! Over here!” A girl, also with long black hair and white shirt, black jeans and a black sukajan with white dragon embroidery but in a different design, who was standing beside a gray pickup truck, waved her hand. Gekikara walked right over with a newfound excitement; it had been 2-3 months since the last time they met.

“Thanks for picking me up, Black”, Gekikara giggled and started unloading the boxes on her cart into the rear trunk of the old truck after hugging the other girl, “By the way, you still haven’t bought a new truck yet?” Black helped with the unloading while answering, “I just don’t want to. And don't mention it, your goods need to be brought to the supermarket anyway. Are you gonna stay in a hotel this time? Wanna stay at my place?” Gekikara replied, “Well, I won’t refuse your kindness if you want to”.

After unloading everything, Gekikara put her backpack on top of the boxes and closed the trunk with a bang. “Take it easy, Gekikara, you will break my precious truck” Black said after seating herself on the driver’s seat. “Hey, it’s not my fault your precious truck is so old”, Gekikara replied while opening the door and comforting herself on the front seat of the so-called old truck. Black stoop on the accelerator and they were out of the airport’s noisy parking area in no time.

“How was your last mission in Syria?”, Black asked. “Decent. I saved a lot. There were so many abandoned children, you can't even imagine.” Gekikara answered in a soft voice. She was a soldier of a Voluntary Force, which main job was to come to terrored or devastated places to rescue the locals. Although the force was voluntary, they still got pay a lot due to the danger of the missions and also because the force was organized by private. Although the job paid good, it was not the reason for Gekikara's participation. It all started when she met a girl named Furukawa Airi a year after her graduation, after she sold her mother’s house and started roaming the world. The small girl was there when Gekikara passed by a terrored town and saved a child out of the fire. Airi asked Gekikara to join the force right away. “There are even more children that need help, will you join us?”, with a warm voice, Airi managed to convince Gekikara to join in the team. Gekikara was the one that understanding the feeling of an abandoned child the most hence she didn’t want to see any children suffering in her sight. Despite of being a private organized force, Gekikara was trained full-fledged military style and it helped her control her brute strength better, while also taught her the importance of defense and accuracy in fighting. She still laughed when fighting though, Gekikara-style as always. She was in the hand-to-hand combat team which was to handle hostage-involved cases, where they couldn’tshoot recklessly, and rescue people from collapsed buildings. Airi was in the tactical team and they were a great duo. However, Airi was shot 3 years after Gekikara joined the force and Gekikara went full monster to revenge for her dear friend. Nowaday, apart from her dog tag, she also wore Airi’s in commemoration of her friend and donated most of her salary to various orphanages. Money never delighted Gekikara so she only kept enough for herself and for her share in paying Yuko’s hospital bill. Yes, you heard it correct, Yuko was alive. The doctor said it was a miracle, but she needed to stay full time in the hospital. The Rappapa decided to split the bill among themselves since Yuko had no family or relative. Rappapa was her only family and they decided to do what family supposed to do. Even though Yuko protested a few times at first, she understood that she had no way to pay the bill with how she had to stay in the hospital all the time now. It was hard on the girls at first considering the only ones with real job is Sado, who was a nurse-in-training, Black, who was a clerk and Torigoya, who was a masseur. Maeda was finishing her study in medical university, Shibuya and Gekikara was jobless, or rather had not found the job they wanted.

Then things started getting better.

Firstly, Sado got promoted into the head nurse. Then Gekikara met Airi and joined the Voluntary Force. After that, Shibuya had been irritated by her underlings being beaten by boy yankees for a while now and started teaching them her boxing skill, then some other yankees came and asked to join her lesson. Ultimately, Shibuya turned her hideout into a boxing class for girl yankees and had made quiet a name for herself. The class, of course, had fees and even though it was not too high, the amount of trainees were enough to make up for that. Dance, still as loyal and faithful as ever, also joined the class, sometimes as experiment object for Shibuya, but also for serious lesson sometimes. Dance also helped with the equipment and gate-guarding for the class. When Maeda graduated from university and became a real doctor, the hospital fee for Yuko turned into a really small matter and to top that off, Torigoya saved enough to open her own massage parlor while Black inherited the supermarket from its previous owner. He was a lonely old man with no heir or any relative, so he decided to give it to Black, his loyal and hardworking employee after hearing Yuko’s story and how the Rappapa girls had decided to split the bill. The supermarket was in between Majijo and Yabakune’s territory, where no one dared to open up any form of business which boosted Black’s supermarket sell greatly. The students from both school also agreed to be on neutral term when encounter each other in her supermarket (or Black, and sometimes the other girls, would beat them into pulps). But what made Black’s supermarket become a hit was Gekikara’s goods. Gekikara usually got 4 breaks a year and due to another agreement between the girls, which was to come and take Yuko outside once a month for fun (didn’t mean she had not tried to sneak out but with Sado as the nurse and Maeda as the doctor, she stood no chance), she came back periodically with souvenirs for them everytime and one time, Gekikara brought spare military supplies back, and Black felt that the yankees would love these for sure, so Gekikara brought back more for Black on her next break, which sold out almost immediately. All type of fighting supplies like gauntlets, knee caps, camo suits, cargo pants,... were sold out in a flash. So Gekikara became Black's supermarket's fixed supplier and she sometimes brought back some of her job’s destination’s food or goods. Although they were not as good sell as the military stuffs, they were good seasonal products nontheless.

Black’s truck pulled up beside a small, neat-looking supermarket and the two started unloading the boxes again, now from the trunk into the store’s storage. After all was done, they sat together on the staff’s room and chatted for a bit. “Thanks for the goods, Geki. Just list the stuffs and prices out for me like last time. I will pay you later”, Black said while fidgeting with the water bottle’s cap after taking a huge gulp of water. “Don’t mention it, this supermarket was technically ⅓ mine anyway”, Gekikara said while smirking then went on and took another gulp of water from her military water bottle. Black facepalmed at what her friend just said, “I have told you that’s a bad idea so many times”. “Well, we did it anyway”, Gekikara laughed. It was years ago, after the Gekikara’s goods had been going on for a while, Gekikara suddenly suggested Black to sell her ⅓ of the supermarket’s stocks since she was technically a shareholder now with how much effort she was invested in the supermarket’s well-being. Black hesitated at first but finally did it and from then on, Gekikara had used it to reject her payment for the goods whenever she could. Black always had to force her to take it and Gekikara seemed like she enjoyed making Black angry.

“Where should we go next?” Gekikara asked while tugging her water bottle back into her already over packed bag. “Shibuya asked me to pick her and Torigoya up from the ring and then we can go to the hospital together” Black answered. “Oh yes, I almost forget, Yuko-san…”, the atmosphere suddenly turned quiet and heavy, Black, not willing to look at Gekikara’s sad face and also to hide her sad face, stood up first and walked out to the truck, “Let’s go, the others are waiting”.

Gekikara had a month break every year and to fulfill the girls’ agreement to come and bring Yuko out for fun as frequently as they can (usually once a month), she came back every 3 months and spent a week with her family - the Rappapa, and mostly Yuko. Therefore, she usually scheduled to come back at the end of March, which was to bring Yuko out to see cherry blossom, end of June, end of September and end of December, which was to celebrate new year together with her family. But this time, Gekikara had to take her break in mid-February because of a dreadful news from Yuko: she had fallen into a coma and her time was coming to an end, in which the doctors agree on letting her to go home for there was nothing they could do anymore.  

The ride was filled with small conversation for Black and Gekikara to update each other with the 2 months gap. When the car stopped in front the boxing class, Dance immediately came and opened the door for them, “Black-san, Gekikara-san, Shibuya and Torigoya-san are waiting for you two”. “Thanks a bunch, Dance. Has the class ended?” Gekikara asked with a smile toward Dance. Even though not recognized as a Rappapa’s member, the girls all adored Dance’s devotion and loyalty toward her Shibuya-san and also to their small group. They all saw her as part of their little family. Whenever Shibuya couldn’t come to take Yuko out, Dance would go in her place and although being teased by Yuko a lot, the girl did her job perfectly. “They are coming to an end soon. Please come inside.” Dance said while holding the door open for them. “Okay, see you later, Dance”, Black said while the duo stepped inside the place. Shibuya was observing the sparring between her trainees and making criticism on their fighting stand while Torigoya was just dazing off, as always.

It was truly an amusing thing how much a person can change, for better. Teaching other yankees helped Shibuya to be better at controlling her emotion and temper. She was still a hot-headed though and nothing gonna change that, but she got really better at listening and instructing others. Back then, she could only boss her underlings around but now she was a great teacher herself.

Also, similar to Black’s supermarket, Shibuya’s ring was a neutral ground and all the yankees from different school agreed to stay neutral here (or, again, Shibuya and the others gonna beat them into pulps).

The class finally drew to an end and while trainees were pouring out of the class, some recognized Gekikara and Black and bowed to them slightly. Dance ran in and started cleaning up the place, also putting equipments away for tomorrow lesson. Shibuya and Torigoya approached the duo right after and while Torigoya gave Gekikara a tight hug, Shibuya only shook hands with her. Then, they exchanged some words of merriment while Shibuya cooled off and drank some water off her high-fashioned water bottle. Shibuya was wearing a black legging with a pink tank top and a pair of training shoes and Torigoya was wearing casual t-shirt and jeans with her red sukajan on top. She left to take a shower and then put on her pink sukajan to join them for the ride to the hospital. The four queens were coming for their boss.

When they arrieved at the hospital, heir vice boss and vice vice boss were already waiting beside Yuko, in their fur coat and jean jacket, silently.

The ride was silent, a peaceful silence shared among them since forever. The traumatized child, the introverted, the hot-headed, the air-headed, the sadist and the serious (plus the scaredy catl), they all came together around Yuko and Yuko had made sure that even when she was no longer around, they could still stand beside each other, silently, as always. They were no longer comrades, they were family. Family was different from friends or comrades. They didn’t have to always stuck beside each other, they didn’t have to have the same goal, the same dream, the same life values, but they would still come back to each other side at the end of the day. The girls were a family. And their home was the good old wind instrument club. They would occasionally take Yuko back to the room on their take-Yuko-out-of-the-hospital days for some nostalgia and with Black and Shibuya’s connection with new generations of Majijo’s students, the room was left untouched, silently waiting for its rightful owners to comeback.

Yuko was coming home.

It was weekend, so no one was at school right now. The school stood quietly embracing the early-spring breeze while the old cherry blossom tree shaking its dried branches as if welcoming Yuko and the Rappapa’s appearance. Cherry blossom season was nearby but Yuko wouldn't be there to see it.

Rumours said that Center was the president right now and she also helped maintaining the wind instrument room as it was for them.

Sado princess carried Yuko into their good old clubroom, which Yuko would loudly protest if she was conscious but today, she stayed quiet. They put her onto her golden chair, the chair for the top of Majijo, their top. Yuko was quiet, so unlike her, with her head slightly leaned to a side. If not for her pale skin, the Rappapa sweared they could see the old days playing in their head, where their precious Yuko-san, after causing lots of mischieves, soundly taking a nap on the same chair, her small figure embraced by the golden silk. At those time, the girls would usually sitting silently around her and let Yuko have her peaceful snap. So they did the same. Black sat down on the long chair and started reading her bible, Gekikara stood beside her while biting her nails silently, Shibuya sat down and stared at her newly done nails, Torigoya fidgeted with a feather, Sado rolled the kendama’s ball on her hand and Maeda read her book, Dance stood silently with bowed head beside Shibuya.

It almost resembled the scene from their good old days, except for all of them were praying this time. To gods, to demons, to heaven, to hell.

“Please don’t take Yuko-san away.”

——————————

Well, how will this end, you may ask? That's up to you.

This piece was written as a prologue for a fanfic of mine, but the fanfic itself will need more time to be polished, so I just post this as a one shot for memory. Maybe I will finish that fanfic one day.

[chicklette]

@katlosthergdmind remember how I said i wanted a fic where Steve and Bucky dated when Steve was smol and then broke up and then became FB friends but B didn’t know Steve got big and was all whoa! when they finally met irl?  

I wrote that today: 

“Hell.” Bucky closes his eyes and leans against the cool window of the cab.  It’s raining, a soft, steady stream, and Bucky cracks the window, letting a draft of fresh air in.  Breathing deep, he runs a hand across his face before flicking his phone on.  He navigates past the lock screen and opens up Facebook.  

He shakes his head at himself and closes the app before opening it again.  Steve’s status update says “Big Day!” with a nervous emoji next to it.

“You’re tellin’ me, pal,” Bucky says, then closes the app again.

Six months earlier, he’d been at Nat and Sam’s housewarming, drinking their mediocre beer and eating Sam’s amazing Mac & Cheese balls, when he’d found himself drawn to the painting that dominated the living room.  He knew it was the Brooklyn Bridge – that was a shape that was seared onto his heart – but the colors surrounding it – bold, dark reds bleeding into yellows and greens, blues so dark they could be black, but weren’t – it was mesmerizing.

After a few minutes, Nat came to stand next to him.  

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.  Where’d you find it?”

“It was a gift,” she said, her husky voice light.  “Sam’s old roommate from Grad School.”

“A gift?” Bucky said. “Jesus, Nat, that’s –“

“Beautiful,” Sam said, looking right at Nat.  

It was disgusting how much in love she and Sam were, and if Bucky didn’t love them both so much, he’d hate them.

“Who’s the artist?” Bucky asked.  “I might be in the market.”

“Rogers,” Sam said, and Bucky’s whole world stilled.  “Steven Grant Rogers.”

He’d left shortly after that, too shaken to stay and make nice.

It took Bucky all of twenty minutes to find Steve’s Facebook page.  There was scant personal information.  It was mostly photographs from around New York (mostly Brooklyn, but Bucky recognized a few from Central Park, and some from what looked like somewhere upstate), and Steve’s art.  

God, no wonder he’d been drawn to that painting.  He’d spent nine months of his life living with Steve – falling asleep with the scent of turpentine in his nose, waking at three in the morning to find his slim frame laboring over a canvas taller than he was, waiting as Steve combed supply shops, looking for the perfect shade of blue.  “I can’t quite get it right,” Steve would say, when Bucky asked why he didn’t just mix his own.  “Well what color is it?” Bucky’d ask, and Steve would clam up.  Artists.

It was almost a year after they broke up that Bucky finally stopped ducking into every art supply shop that he passed, looking for the mysterious shade of blue.  He never did find out what the color was, or why Steve needed it.

He’d met Steve his first year at college.  He’d been drawn the small, dynamic man who didn’t seem to know when to back down.  A guy about Bucky’s size was taking a swing at Steve, and Bucky’d shown up just in time to clock the guy, kicking him in the ass and sending him sprawling.  He held his hand out to Steve, who struggled to his feet on his own, sneering at Bucky’s outreached hand.  

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve said, and Bucky was smitten.

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said. “But that chump had it coming.  I couldn’t resist.”

Steve offered Bucky a tentative smile, and then his hand.  Steve smiled up at him with big blue eyes and Bucky was a goner.  

They’d fallen into bed within a week, and were living together just a few months later.  Steve wasn’t flush for cash, and neither was Bucky, but Steve’s scholarship paid for a studio apartment, and the pair had become inseparable. It was idyllic.

Bucky woke most mornings to Steve sleeping beside him, his small frame curled into Bucky, face soft with sleep.  When he got home, they’d make stir fry or pasta, or Bucky’s favorite, Bean and cheese quesadillas, and then spend the evening studying together, hands idly stroking the other’s skin, until it got too much and they were tearing each other’s clothes off.

The way Steve kissed – god. Bucky’d never had anything like it, before or since.  It was like he kissed with his whole body – hands and arms and legs, wrapping himself around Bucky and all Bucky wanted was more.  It was perfect.

Until, that is, Bucky’s money ran out.

He’d worked every summer since he was 15, and was working two jobs while in school, but even with Work Study and a few small scholarships, Bucky was still going to have to come up with better than fifteen grand for his next year’s tuition.  Steve had offered to let Bucky stay with him for free, but that didn’t solve the matter of tuition

“You could take out loans,” Steve offered.  They rarely talked about money together, other than to bemoan the fact that they never quite had enough.

“I can’t,” Bucky said. Getting into debt was selling off your future to the lowest bidder, that what Bucky’s Pop always said, and Bucky believed him.  If he started taking out loans now, he’d graduate so deep in debt that his life wouldn’t be his own until he was nearly forty.  He couldn’t do it.  Not to himself, and certainly not to Steve.

When he graduated, he needed to be able to take care of Steve.  Needed to be able to support him, so that he could make art without having to work shitty side jobs that sapped his creativity.  It’s what Steve deserved.

It seemed like the recruiter on campus had the answers to all of Bucky’s problems.  He could give Uncle Sam four years of his life, live cheap as sin on the government’s dime, and when he was out, he’d have enough to support Steve and finish his own degree.

It maybe wasn’t ideal, but it was the best solution he could find.

Bucky signed the papers and went home to talk to Steve.  

Steve had been furious, and by the time Bucky reported to boot camp, he was minus a whole lot of hair, most of his worldly possessions and one boyfriend.

It hadn’t gotten him down too much.  He knew it was a matter of time before Steve forgave him.  

He hadn’t counted on the IED that took out most of his squad, left him with screaming, sweating nightmares and an arm that only worked most of the time.

By the time Bucky’d gotten his discharge and worked through his physical and mental therapy (okay, that last one was ongoing), Steven Grant Rogers was nothing more than a warm memory that Bucky didn’t let himself indulge in too often.  

And then there was Sam and Nat’s party, and the painting.  Bucky found himself sending Steve a friend request, which was accepted only minutes later.  It didn’t take long before Steve hit Bucky up on Messenger, and the two had been talking regularly since.

And now here he is, in a taxi, on his way to some (undoubtedly hipster) coffee shop in Brooklyn, to see Steve Rogers for the first time in a decade.  He’s not kidding himself.  He knows that whatever it was that he and Steve had was firmly buried in the past.

Bucky’s not the guy he was back then.  When he met Steve, he’d been going to school to become a civil engineer.  By the time he got out of the Army though, all that changed.  Bucky didn’t do well in crowds, hated being cooped up for too long, and the idea of sitting at a desk for eight hours a day made him want to blow his brains out.  

He’d gotten two things out of Walter Reed Hospital:  a new best friend in the form of Natasha Romanoff, and a lifeline to the world in the form of a laptop computer.  Nat was a recuperating soldier like he was.  She’d been captured and held by the enemy for some time before she’d been rescued. She didn’t talk about it often and Bucky didn’t pry.  He had three sisters at home – he knew how to be around women.  Often though, she’d sit beside him while Bucky’d gone from navigating the web to learning how computers worked.  By the time he was discharged, he’d become something of an expert in cyber security.

Now, he designs secure websites for small businesses, and spends the occasional afternoon lecturing high-school kids on the importance of online safety.  It’s a good living, and Bucky makes enough to not worry so much about money.  His future is his own.

He could have hunted up a dozen photos or more of Steve by now (along with his credit score, full financial details and probably the name of his mother’s maiden aunt), but he’d chosen to respect Steve’s privacy.  Besides, as much as Bucky wanted to know how Steve had grown in the years they’d been apart, he didn’t want to do anything that would upset the friendship that had bloomed between them in the last few months.

When he gets to the coffee shop, he looks around, but doesn’t spot anyone who looks like Steve.  

Shrugging, he orders himself an Americano and takes a seat by the window.  He pulls up Messenger to let Steve know he’s arrived, when a hulking presence draws his attention.  

“Seat’s taken,” Bucky says, not looking up from his phone.

“Buck?”

Startled, Bucky looks up…and up…and up.

“Steve?”

If Steve’s warm laugh wasn’t exactly the same, Bucky wouldn’t have believed it was him.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bucky asks, standing.  He relieved to notice that Steve’s only got about an inch on him, but holy hell, what happened?

Steve laughs again, then leans in, pulling Bucky in for a hug.  “You look great,” Steve says, and oh, God, why does he have to smell so good?

“You look taller,” Bucky says, his own laugh bubbling up.

Steve sets a cup down on the table then sits opposite Bucky, and Bucky takes him in.  The blonde hair is a little darker than it was before, but his eyes – those perfect, dark blue eyes, they’re exactly the same.

And that blush!  Bucky remembers that blush, and that bashful bat of long lashes as he looks away.

“Seriously,” Bucky says. “Tell me this wasn’t just eating your Wheaties.”

Steve breaks into another full grin, and yeah, there’s that same smile.

“It wasn’t just Wheaties,” Steve confirms.  “I got really sick, middle of sophomore year.  It was…pretty touch and go for a while,” he says, and Bucky’s blood runs cold.  While Bucky was in recovery, and all the years after, he’d never imagined Steve as anything other than happy.  He’d pictured Steve married to a woman, with two little girls and a thriving art career.  He’d pictured Steve married to a man, the two of them taking their golden retrievers out for long walks in central park, a bright red scarf around Steve’s neck, his older, taller husband doting on him.

The idea occurs to him for the first time that Steve might have been gravely ill, might have died, and Bucky wouldn’t have known.  It sends a shiver down his spine.

“Go on,” Bucky musters.

“I ended up in a program – it was kind of a last ditch effort to save my heart – and the side effect was this,” he says, looking down at himself.  “I did about five years of growing in about a year.  It was crazy – I just remember everything hurt and I was starving, constantly.  By the time it was over though, my heart was healed, my lungs were clear, and I ended up with the metabolism of a hummingbird.”  Steve shrugs.  “I thought about telling you…”

“But the idea of seeing me speechless for once meant you didn’t,” Bucky finished.  Back when they were together, Bucky was a charmer. Still could be, but it wasn’t the same.

“So,” Bucky says.  “Did you ever get married? Have kids?  Catch me up.”

And like that, they start talking, and it’s like no time passed at all.

Bucky’s a little sad to hear that Steve never married or had kids.  He’d always pictured Steve as family man.  Maybe it’s because that’s what he’d always wanted for himself.  A couple of kids, a couple of dogs, and a surly cat named Cujo.  

Instead, Steve had finished his art degree, then gone to grad school, where he met Sam.  Bucky’s since learned that Sam and Steve were inseparable until Nat came along.

“I’ve never seen him like that about anyone before,” Steve confides, and Bucky agrees.  Nat’s strong, and beautiful, and intimidating as hell.  Not just anyone could attract her interest, and it takes someone really special to keep it. Bucky confides as much and he Steve laugh how mushy the two of them can be when they think no one’s looking.

Bucky can’t deny the kernel of hope that blooms when he realizes that Steve is well and truly single.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Steve says with a shrug.  “I’d love to be with someone.  Just…has to be the right someone, you know?”

And yeah, Bucky knows.

He’s had a few relationships over the years, a couple of friends with benefits and two men that he’d tried to make something more with, but for one reason or another, it never really worked out.  His sister, Becca, was egging him on to find someone, but like Bucky always told her, when it’s right, it’s right, and you can’t make it be if it’s not.

Bucky and Steve finish their coffees, get seconds and when Bucky reached the end of his third cup, he sets it down with a start.

“Geez,” he says.  “I think if we don’t get out of here soon, they’re gonna start charging us rent.”

Steve looks up and takes a long look outside.  The rain’s stopped, and twilight is creeping in, painting the wet streets in golds and reds.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve says, and digs out his phone, snapping a couple of pictures.  “Sorry,” he says, looking up at Bucky and flushing. “Habit.”

“All good,” Bucky says. “Did you get what you need?”

Steve nods, and the pair of them stand.

“I guess,” Steve starts.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He’s getting ready to offer his hand but every single part of him is screaming to stay. Not to let it end.

“Do you want -” he starts.

“Do you think –“ Steve says.

The pair of them laugh, and Bucky gestures to Steve to go on.

“Would you want to get dinner?” Steve asks.  It’s nowhere near late enough for dinner, but Bucky smiles.  

“I make a mean Alfredo,” Bucky says, and Steve grins.  

“Don’t lie to me, Barnes, we both know you burn water.”

“Hey!  I will have you know I am one hell of a cook.  You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Bucky says.

Steve’s face softens all over and the way he’s looking at Bucky makes Bucky want to stand a little taller, try a little harder.  Anything to keep that look on Steve’s face.

“I don’t,” Steve says. “But I would really, really like to.”

He holds out his hand. It’s big and square, and Bucky can see paint around his cuticles.

“Same, pal,” Bucky says, and folds his hand into Steve’s.

They put on their coats and leave, Bucky with one hand folding into Steve’s and the other in his pocket.

“Oh!” he says, his fingers closing around a small metal tube.  “I, uh, God,” he says, suddenly feeling very awkward.  “I saw this the other day and thought of you,” he says, pulling the tube of oil paint from his pocket and putting it in Steve’s upturned hand.

“I’m sure you found what you were looking for by now, but…” Bucky shrugs, watching as Steve stares at the tube of paint.

“You always said you were looking for the right color,” Bucky explains.  “I’m sure you’ve moved on, but I just…”

Steve closes his hand around the tube and looks into Bucky’s eyes.

“Bucky,” he breathes, and tugs on Bucky’s hand until they’re standing chest to chest.  He unlaces their fingers and reaches up, cupping Bucky’s jaw with his warm hand.

Bucky’s heart is beating triple-time in his chest.  It’s all he can do not to audibly gulp.

And then Steve is kissing him, a warm, soft brush of lips, and then one of them is sighing, and then the world stops, and Bucky opens his eyes to see Steve looking back at him.  

“Been wanting to do that all day,” Bucky says.

“For weeks,” Steve says, and Bucky grins.  

“Yeah, pal,” he says. “For weeks.”

As they leave the shop, Bucky laces their fingers back together.  “You never said,” he says, stepping onto the wet sidewalk.  “Did you ever figure out that color you were looking for?  You know, back when we were dating?”

Steve flushes and ducks his head, and it’s so adorable that Bucky tightens his grip on Steve’s fingers.

“Nah,” Steve says, looking down at his feet.  “Lost my reference.”

Bucky’s heart stills for a moment.

“Good thing I found it again,” Steve says, and Bucky smiles until his face hurts.

Good thing, indeed.  

[orbemnews]

Michael Friedlander, Urban Architect of Offbeat Designs, Dies at 63 In the 1970s, Michael Friedlander was an architecture student at the Cooper Union, his head bursting with bodacious, unconventional designs. Upon graduating, he settled for a stopgap job with the City of New York, which included more prosaic assignments like drafting blueprints to renovate locker rooms for sanitation workers. Over his 40-year career with the Sanitation Department — he was an in-house architect, a manager of various projects and finally director of special projects — Mr. Friedlander never gave up on his crusade to transform the public’s view of civic architecture from intrusive mediocrity to something worthy of approval, or even veneration. His vision was ultimately epitomized in the form of a sculptural Sanitation Department salt-storage shed on the fringe of TriBeCa. The glacially blue concrete crystalline cubelike structure, 69 feet high, is called the Spring Street Salt Shed and appears, with a little imagination, to form a coarse grain of salt. Mr. Friedlander described the $20 million structure as a whimsical “architectural folly” that can hold 5,000 tons of salt. A community coalition that included the actors Casey Affleck, Kirsten Dunst, James Gandolfini and John Slattery and the musician Lou Reed opposed the shed and the adjacent garbage-truck garage. But as the architecture critic Michael Kimmelman wrote in The New York Times in 2015: “Opponents of the sanitation project in Hudson Square may not have gotten exactly what they wanted. But they were fortunate. They got something better.” Mr. Kimmelman added, “I can’t think of a better public sculpture to land in New York than the shed.” Mr. Friedlander died on March 21 in a hospital in Manhattan. He was 63. His niece Julia Friedlander said the cause was complications of an infection. Born into a Jewish household, Mr. Friedlander became a practitioner of Nichiren Buddhism, whose principles, particularly those of environmentalism and sustainability, he tried to apply to his work. Asked by a community board member to explain why the truck garage he designed at 12th Avenue and West 55th Street was punctuated by so many windows, Mr. Friedlander replied, unpretentiously, “There are people inside.” That garage won an award in 2007 from the city’s Art Commission (now the Public Design Commission). So did a shed with translucent tent fabric in Far Rockaway, Queens, that is used to store ice-melting salt for sanitation trucks to spew on winter roadways. He also received a lifetime achievement award from the commission. But Mr. Friedlander is probably best known for overseeing the design and construction of the Spring Street Salt Shed, at West and Spring Streets near the Hudson River, as well as the adjacent garage. Those structures won an Honor Award from the 2018 American Institute of Architects. Tobi Bergman, the chair of Community Board 2, which had initially opposed the project, told Architect magazine in 2016: “Anybody who has seen it has to be happy with it. It’s a real example of how these things can be done well.” Mr. Friedlander told The Times in 2015 that his secret to overcoming not-in-my-backyard opposition to public works was straightforward: “Build the best building in the neighborhood.” “I keep learning from one building to the other,” he said. “I may not make a ton of money, but I’m having fun.” Michael Jay Friedlander was born on June 6, 1957, in Manhattan to Frances (Kempner) Friedlander, a teacher, and Joseph Friedlander, an insurance representative. Growing up in an East Village tenement, he began thinking about urban design early. “In kindergarten,” he told The Times, “I was building housing developments with highways between them.” After graduating from Seward Park High School in Manhattan, he earned a degree in architecture from the Cooper Union in 1979. In 2005 he married Jeanette Emmarco, who later became a staff analyst with the Parks Department and the Human Resources Administration. She survives him, along with his brothers, Jeffrey, Bruce and Kenneth. Jeffrey Friedlander retired as second in command in the city’s Law Department in 2015. The salt shed had many mothers and fathers, starting with the architects who collaborated on the project, WXY and Dattner Architects; Amanda M. Burden, who chaired the City Planning Commission under Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg; and James S. Polshek, a member of the Public Design Commission. Rick Bell, executive director of the excellence program in the city’s Department of Design and Construction, said in 2015 that the shed might be the most important change to the public face of the Sanitation Department since its fleet was painted white in 1967. The shed’s concrete walls are six feet thick, leading the architect Richard Dattner to imagine some future civilization stumbling upon it just as Charlton Heston’s character discovers the remnants of the Statue of Liberty in the film “Planet of the Apes.” “They will wonder,” Mr. Friedlander said, “why did these people worship salt?” Source link Orbem News #Architect #Designs #Dies #Friedlander #MICHAEL #offbeat #Urban

[earthconstructs]

why / the last two years / what I want now / at this point

Simon asked me why I want this job, as it’s not an obvious/traditional career progression for me. It’s a long answer, but something I feel is a worthwhile exercise to set out clearly. It’s an accumulation of the last 2 years of thinking, reading and reflection, and I’m going to try and summarise it all here. It’s all up in my head, but I am always feeling like I’m unable to explain it clearly to other people, and maybe that is because I can’t see it clearly myself.

In order to see how I’ve changed, I thought I might first capture what my life was like in Perth, some context on why I was living like that, and what my influences have been over the last 2 years, to lead me to how I’m thinking now. It’s funny timing writing this actually, on 24 November 2020. As I finished working in my last job on 23 November 2018. It’s been exactly two years.

2018 – the perfect job, no time

Two years ago, when I was working full time in Perth, I was always trying to figure out why I had no time. I had the ‘perfect job’, but I wanted to be spending more time reading, or playing the piano, and it just wasn’t happening. It was something that I wanted to do, so why couldn’t I fit it in? I also felt that I barely had any down time. I was rarely home, and any time that I was home, I was looking after animals when pet sitting, or looking after Kep, doing chores or scrolling on Instagram. I never had time to sit down and read a book. Although I would schedule in hours at the beach to read, I would always end up catching up with a friend instead.

The career crisis in 2015, and what I wanted from a job back then

Some context – I had a career crisis in 2015. I had done all the right things (finished university studies, gone backpacking through Europe for 3 months, got a well-paying job, bought a house) but I was bored and watching the clock at work which I hated. I wanted a job which I loved, that was fun and engaging, meaningful, and was helping people and society. I did a brainstorm of all the things that I enjoyed, that I was good at, and what the potential jobs out of that were:

- Being outside

- Animals, nature

- Driving

- Helping people, teaching

- Seeing the meaningful impact of my work

- And not the impact in that I could see where the mining company I was working for was cutting away the side of a mountain in outback Australia

After exploring some options, I decided I wanted to work at the Water Corporation. I wanted to learn water engineering, and maybe do a field placement overseas one day. I was also feeling frustrated about not being able to see the end customer who I was working for at Rio Tinto (China and India’s construction industry seemed so far away) and hoped that at the Water Corporation, I’d feel more connected to the end customer.

This ended up to be true. I loved working for my state, in the regional team. It felt really lucky that one of the graduate engineers was finishing up his rotation in the team and needed to hand over the sniffer dog project to someone. We asked our managers if I could take over the project, they said yes, and that’s how I ended up with the most fun project that I could have ever imagined working on.

Which brings me back to the end of 2018 – perfect job and no time

The job was perfect because it ticked all my previous requirements:

- I could see the impact of my work in the community, providing an essential service throughout Australia

- My work was helping the environment by saving water in Australia’s dry climate

- I was working with DOGS

- I was working with DOGS, OUTSIDE - walking around where pipes were laid in the countryside, DRIVING out to the countryside, bliss

- I was doing something new and exciting that has never been done before, which meant I got involved in driving corporate innovation, with a project that was celebrating an unexpected, but simple and cost effective solution to a complex asset management problem, and I won an internal innovation award for my work. My work was fun, engaging and rewarding. 

I was rolling out the implementation of the project, and finalising all the documentation, while travelling to site with Kep to get her trained and ready for handover, presenting at conferences in Perth, Brisbane, Melbourne, Sydney, speaking at events such as Engineers Australia’s ‘Young Innovative Engineers’ event, and also making time for filming for internal media communications, state news broadcasts, meeting our Minister for Water, and visiting schools to help to spread the Waterwise message. This meant that people were always asking after, or wanting an update on how the project was going. And after seeing her on TV, people in the community started to recognise Kep. I felt like I was under constant scrutiny, and that I couldn’t hide. Part of my job was also to look after Kep, exercise her (a high energy doggo) on non work days, and taking her to vet appointments, which added to the reason that I could never really switch off from work.

As well as working full time, I was also teaching piano, catching up with friends, cooking healthy food, and getting myself to yoga and gym classes. I eventually realised that it wasn’t reasonable to assume that I could fit in more than I already was. There just wasn’t enough time to do it all. I didn’t have that much time for hobbies, let alone time to be by myself, thinking and reflecting. I didn’t spend much time thinking. I was always doing, always distracted, never really reflecting, thank goodness for yoga, at least I was having some kind of down time. And I never really reflected. I never reflected on what I wanted or what I wanted to do next. But that was ok, because I had plenty of time to do that when I moved to Germany. (There were also other reasons, i.e. nihilism, why I liked to keep myself busy and distracted.)

2018 to 2020 – the two year process

I pushed through with the busy life right up until I flew out to Germany. I was excited to move to and start a new adventure. I planned to get there, do some travel, do some reading, learn German, have heaps of free time to read books and play the piano.

But instead, I had an existential crisis once I arrived. I felt that while I enjoyed my work in Perth, and I’d just finished up in the “perfect job”, I hadn’t really chosen any of it, and that I ended up doing it because of luck. But really, it was what I wanted at the time. I think I was also pretty burnt out.

The dangers of having too little to do - The School of Life

The importance of a breakdown - The School of Life

In the last 2 years, I have done so much reflecting. I can see things in myself that I had never noticed before. I’ve learnt so much, and grown up so much.

These were the influences:

- It’s not that I don’t have time, it’s that it’s not a priority - Ted Talk by Laura Vanderkam

- I realised I was too busy and too distracted to really know myself. I realised that a lot of my internal conflict was because I didn’t know what I truly wanted

- Mindfulness, slow, conscious living – doing each thing with intention, not multitasking too much

- My mum had a near death experience, I looked after her as she settled back into home life after she was discharged from hospital. I guess it was a classic example of, you never know what can happen. Don’t wait to tell people you love them etc.

- Being Mortal – does staying alive for as long as possible (propped up on medicine, or in the worst case, life support machine) matter more, or does quality of life matter more?

- Do less but better - Essentialism – The Disciplined Pursuit of Less Greg McKeown

- The underrated importance of play, creativity, and doing things with our hands

- Aeon articles on capitalism

In Summary:

I realised that I was burnt out. I was doing way too much, way too much compared to what humans were designed to do.

I had played into this paradigm of do better / aim high / you can achieve anything / what have you achieved / be more / show yourself / you are special.

Now, I am trying to balance the merits of a full time job, while leaving brain space free for the other things that are important in life, that give my life meaning.

Earlier this year just before the COVID pandemic started actually, I wrote out what my drivers for life are now:

- Understanding

- Enjoyment

- Appreciation

I am aiming to:

- Live in the present more

- Enjoy what I have right now

- Appreciate the little things

- Live slower, more mindfully and more consciously

- Get to know Europe

- Have the brain space to make sense of the world, people, systems in the way that I need to

- Resist modern life and busy-ness

And so, what I want in a job now is:

A job where, when I’m not at the job, I’m not thinking about it. What the New Jazz teacher said on his channel really stuck with me - he works as a bus driver because when he’s not driving a bus, he’s not thinking about how to drive the bus.

I want to free up my creative brain. I want to leave space in my brain for the other things that make my life meaningful.  

I’ve had the intense job that was fun, rewarding, but I struggled to fit in my hobbies. Work took up too much of my time and my brain space, and I don’t want to do that again. I was burnt out, too invested in my job, I couldn’t switch off, I had trouble sleeping. I don’t want to live my life like that.

In the last two years, I’ve come to accept that I’m a simple human being. A good night’s sleep, a healthy diet, social contact and connection, hobbies that you enjoy, exercise, and a routine and sense that you are contributing towards something are the basic needs that I want to fulfil for myself.

[helstrome]

Start Over - Part 1

This is the first story/first member I wrote for the Hospital AU! The scenes and the medical case are based on Grey’s Anatomy episode so if there were unintentional similarities I’m sorry >.

Another member on going: Hansol (go to @your-safety-pin page!)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 [final]  (doctor!doyoung; hospital!au; Word count: 2021; Warning: mainly language; the dream boys are in their 20s in the story, 127 boys are in their mid to late 20s)

It was going to be your first day as an intern at the famous, reputable learning hospital you have been dreaming of for so long, and it was finally happening. You took confident steps inside the front door of the gigantic hospital, you still have 10 more minutes to spare before the actual work time began. You asked the receptionist about the surgery department and went straight to the wing. There were a lot of other interns swarming the place, looking nervous and exchanging whispers. You couldn’t help but feel all your confidence starting to go down the drain too; the realization of how big the opportunity actually was downed on you again. You fiddled with your fingers distractingly as a doctor came in and made everyone instantly quieted down.

“Good morning. I am Kim Minseok, the Chief of Surgery and I would like to welcome you to the internship program. I hope all of you are aware that this is not an opportunity we hand easily to any medical doctor graduates out there, because this hospital is known as one of the most reputable learning hospital out there, everyone is willing to risk everything they’ve got just to stand right at the spot you’re all standing at this very moment.”

Everyone tensed up at his words. There was a lot of interns at the room, but only 7 would be able to pass internship and gained residency after passing the examination. It was not an easy task to survive the internship phase, let alone being a resident for the years to come.

“I would like to remind you again that this isn’t child’s play, this isn’t a joke. Each of you comes here hopeful, wanting in on the game. It’s a competition, and you are among the best of the best in your previous schools, but you stand on the same ground here from day 1. You need to gain from scratch. You will be pushed to the breaking point. Prove to us your worth. Give us better than your best, work harder than your hardest, and by then we will be the one deciding if you have what it takes to be someone responsible enough of life or death situation in your hands.” He swept his intimidating gaze to all the new interns in the room, giving a slight nod and left.

That made all of you left gaping in silence as few more doctors came in and grouped the interns randomly. You were in a group with three other male interns named Zhong Chenle, Lee Jeno and Park Jisung. Your group was assigned to a resident, Dr. Kim Jungwoo. The interns quickly dispersed to their designated groups, with their residents starting to introduce themselves and taking off to different directions.

“So, I’m going to be your resident. Call me doctor Jungwoo. These are all your pagers and now follow me, I’ll give you a brief tour of the place.” Your group hurriedly took the pagers and followed Dr. Jungwoo before you all could even introduce yourselves, trying to remember the routes they took around the huge place but as with every other hospital, the hallways looked identical with one another and you were left scratching the back of your head nervously when you weren’t able to map out the floor.

“The rules are common and sensible. Be ready at all times. Nurses are going to page you, you answer every page at a run. Run everywhere. Every second counts, patients’ life and death depends on it. Don’t complaint about doing useless works because you heard what Chief Minseok said, you stand on the same ground. You’re interns, bottom of the food chain. You start from scratch. Your first shift lasts in 36 hours. That’s fairly easy, but enough to test if you have the willpower to be here or not. On call rooms are hogged by attendings. Sleep where you can, when you can. It’s gonna be the best and worst time of your lives from now on, might as well enjoy it.” They were all dismissed and they went to the locker room to change and placed their stuff to their assigned lockers. “Are you nervous?” An artificial blonde haired guy from your group asked you quietly from your side. “Huh?” You snapped out of your gaze and looked up to him. He was smiling brightly down at you, and you gulped at how cute he looked. “Yeah, a lot.” You admitted bashfully. Someone from behind perked up. “Me too! Oh my god, the Chief was scary.”

“He was! I almost peed my pants. Wait- okay, not a really manly introduction. Anyway, my name is Chenle.” A cute looking tall guy extended his hand out for you to shake, and you did by saying your name in return.

“I’m Jisung!” The taller of the bunch grinned at the three of you.

“I’m Jeno.” The blonde guy smiled again. The nervousness that hit you earlier made you unaware of the situation because now that you actually looked around, the interns you were grouped with was a bunch of cute guys that looked too young to be around your age.

You arrived at the lockers room where some other interns were already gathered inside. You changed your clothes and put your bag inside your locker when a granola bar appeared in front of your face all of the sudden. You blinked and peered to your left; there was another cute guy and you jumped a little at the surprise. “Oh! I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m giving granola bars to everyone- my name is Renjun!” He spoke kindly. You chuckled awkwardly and thanked him, following him to the bench at the centre of the room. “I haven’t introduce myself to you, I think. I’m Jaemin and this is Haechan!” The guy was all smiley when he introduced himself and the Haechan guy shrugged indefferently, munching on his bar like he hadn’t eat for days. “I thought the residents are going to be as scary as Chief Minseok!” Chenle said in between his chews. Renjun pursed his lips. “I know, right? I was being paranoid when I read all the stories about unforgiving tough residents that is going to haunt us in our sleepless shifts. Turns out resident Lee… Was kinda unique.” “I like dr. Mark,” Haechan chimed. “Yeah, I think dr. Jungwoo is nice too. At least he remembers our names.” You added. You were all back in the ER after a bit, waiting for the assigned residents when a woman came in with a bad gash on her forehead. Dr. Jungwoo arrived as if on cue, and assigned Chenle to do the stitching. Turned out a machine in the factory broke and fell when she was working. Jeno was about to help assisting when Dr. Jungwoo’s pager beeped. He ran to the door followed by Jisung, Jeno, and you; an ambulance came and the EMTs wheeled a gurney, giving status about the girl patient who was having seizures. They all pushed the girl towards one of the rooms as fast as they could, while Jisung was getting the nurse to prepare medications. Dr. Jungwoo began giving orders. “Jeno, hold the girl. (Y/N), inject 5 miligrams of diazepam IM.” You inserted the needle that nurse Sicheng prepared under the resident’s watch. Almost immediately, the girl stopped seizing. “Okay, great. Son Seungwan, 19 years old. Intermittent seizures for the past week. Started grand mal seizures right after descending the ambulance.” Dr. Jungwoo explained about the patient’s condition, examining her files. “She looks like a flailing fish earlier.” A doctor walked in to the room and stopped right in front of the door, his tone cold and his face void of expression. “You should run some basic tests.” “Right, doctor Taeyong. They’re my new interns.” Dr. Jungwoo said to the other doctor. He nodded and left the room just like that without any greeting or intrlduction, making the interns stood there in befuddlement. Dr. Jungwoo averted his gaze back to all of you. “Okay, Jeno is going to do labs. Chenle-” “Doc! Someone is waiting with arm laceration.” Nurse Sicheng popped his head from the door, looking expectant to Dr. Jungwoo. “Ah then. Chenle, stitch the patient up. You did a good job last time, why don’t you practice some more.” Chenle’s eyes widened and he was about to protest but he thought better of it and left the room with nurse Sicheng. “Patient’s your responsibility, (Y/N). Get her prepared for a CT. Don’t mess this up.” He pointed his pen to you and handed you the girl’s files. “Wait- what do I do now?” Jisung asked in between the exchange. Dr. Jungwoo replied while walking out from the room, snickering. “You can do rectal exams, maknae!”

The patient was awake a little while after and you were preparing her to do the CT scan, but apparently when she didn’t have seizures, she talked a lot.

“You know, I was supposed to be in this beauty pageant contest! Do you know it? You do, right! It’s super famous.” “I don’t, actually.” You replied through gritted teeth. She didn’t get the clue to stop, though, because she kept on blabbering her story. “I’m really sure I could have won it if I didn’t mess the rhythmic gymnastic up. I fell and sprained my ankle- wait are you lost? You seem like you don’t really know where to go.” You were about to facepalm yourself because the girl was really noisy, you were really lost, and you didn’t sign up for hearing other people’s problems while you were dealing with shitload of it yourself. “You’re really lost, aren’t you?” You took a deep breath and trying your best to not snap at your first patient ever. Luckily for you, you came to the right section and eyed the CT room sign down the hall. After you got her scan and wheeled her back to her room, Son Seungwan’s parents were waiting inside. “So how is she right now? Does she need any surgery?” Her dad stood up from the couch and walked up to you. You were taken aback by the sudden question because you were alone and you didn’t have the rights to answer it. “I’m sorry, but I only helped preparing her for the CT scan. I’m not her doctor, I’ll get the assigned doctor for you. Please wait up ” you bowed and smile politely before hurrying out to find doctor Jungwoo. “Doctor Jungwoo! Son Seungwan’s parents are inside her room and asking about her condition.” You spoke through ragged breaths from running around to find him. He looked up from his computer screen. “I’m not her doctor, you should find doctor Kim from neuro. Ask the front desk for his office, I think he should be there.” You dismissed yourself and asked the nurse for Dr. Kim neurosurgeon’s office. You were nervous the time you reached the path of his office because it was going to be a complete stranger you were about to face, not to mention one of your highly respected seniors. You have been told that the neurosurgery department in the hospital was one of the two best in the country. You arrived in front of his office but the door was open and there was a guy sitting behind the desk, looking down to what seemed like a pile of case files. He had a black hair and wide shoulders, his built made him look like he was too young for the job, since he was already an attendant; a neurosurgeon, at that. You didn’t want to come off rude so you knocked softly at the door, making him alarmed there was someone else in the room. He looked up from his papers and his eyes locked with yours. You almost cursed out loud. Out of all chance, out of all Kim surnames in the country, the doctor that was staring at you just had to be that one Kim you never seemed to be able to forget. Kim Doyoung. Your ex boyfriend.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 [final] 

[rilenerocks]

You never know what small thing will set off a cascade of memories. I was driving along, running an errand, when  I went right by this construction site. The first thing I noticed was that the external rigid insulation wrap on the framing was green instead of pink. It’s the type of thing it would be normal for me to notice, as I spent over thirty years as an assessment official, specializing in commercial properties. I measured and examined them, ultimately determining their market value for the purpose of property taxes. Where I live, those values are critical for generating revenue for local taxing districts like schools, parks and municipalities. This particular location touched a nerve with me. The building that used to be there was once the home of the Prairie Dispatch, an alternative community newspaper I worked on with Michael and some other friends in the early 1970’s. We were legit. We had real press passes. This is how it’s listed in the University of Illinois Library System.

Title: Prairie Dispatch (Urbana, Ill. : 1973)

Alternate Title: City: Champaign-Urbana, Illinois  Country: United States ThFrequency: Bi-Weekly Language: English Subject/Audience: Alternative

Here are some photos of Michael and me in the office with another friend. We did everything, wrote columns, took and developed photos, designed and ran ads, and did layout. We even covered Richard Nixon in Pekin, Illinois. I wrote articles and shot and developed photos. Only one year into our relationship in 1973, Michael and I had many a frolic in the darkroom on the second floor. We all ate so many doughnuts from the Mr. Donut across the street. We kept long work hours, this volunteer newspaper being a sideline activity, not our day jobs. Sugar rushes and coffee kept everyone going. This was almost 50 years ago. Soon no one will associate these memories with that street corner.

Here’s another new building going up in another part of town. Like muscle memory, my brain still notices them, along with other building changes that are going on in our community.  The countless hours I spent driving through every nook and cranny of my hometown streets was referred to by assessment officials as viewing. I spent most of my time viewing either by myself or more frequently with Joanne.

Joanne and I have quite a story. My apartment in 1970 when I was a junior in college was in the house on the right side of this photo. Joanne rented a house located directly behind me. We were living in the midst of the alternative community, active in the anti-war movement, and trying to live outside “the establishment.” When we met, we became instant friends. She was a year ahead of me in school. She was also a much better student than me. I was always flying by the seat of my pants – Joanne, the fastest typist I knew besides my friend Fern, would invite me to her kitchen where I’d dictate papers straight out of my head and she’d tap away until they were finished. A lifesaver. She told me she just liked hanging out with me. How lovely. In those days,  Joanne was, and actually still is, a wonderful cook and baker. In her spare time back then, she prepared food for a hundred or so at Metamorphosis, the community restaurant where we ate soup, rice and vegetables, lentils and the like. I can still see Joanne coming out of the kitchen, with a steaming bowl of something that was tasty and cheap.

In the summer of 1971, I met Michael. What I didn’t know at the time was that Joanne and Michael had attended the same high school in a suburb of Chicago.  Although just friendly acquaintances, they got along well. She told me that he was so skinny back then that if he was standing sideways the only way you knew a person there was because he had a nose that marked his spot. She remembered that he played tennis, swam and was generally a really nice person. This little bit of history added a new layer to my friendship with Joanne. Nice. The following April, when Michael and I transitioned from friends to partners, she was one of the people who really believed we were going to be successful together, unlike some others who thought we were a mismatch, a disaster waiting to happen. Around then, Joanne introduced me to her friend Janet, a journalism student who was taking a photography class at the time. It was Janet who took these wonderful black and white photos which thankfully, still hang in my home 47 years later.  

  In the fall of 1972, Michael and I moved but we always stayed in touch with Joanne. In a matter of a few years, she had a job working for our local county government, while I went from working at a bank to managing several hundred campus apartments for a family firm. We were smart women who didn’t have a specific career path. We had jobs. Her work led her into understanding that our local assessor’s office was badly in need of reform. I was detesting my job, working for people who were sorely lacking a moral compass as they took advantage of their captive university student tenants, by building shoddy apartments with steep rents. In the spring of 1977, Joanne ran for township/city assessor and won. She called me and said she knew absolutely nothing about commercial property. I said I only knew about apartment buildings and she said that was good enough for her. On January 1st, 1978, she took office and immediately appointed me auditor/appraiser which eventually became chief deputy assessor. I hurriedly took 60 hours of classes, several exams and by mid-year, attained my professional designation as  certified state assessment official. For all the decades we held office, we took classes every year to increase our knowledge and further the professionalism we felt the positions required. We had two other staff members, a deputy assessor and a secretary/receptionist. The four of us were to bring our township office into the modern world, eliminating backroom deals for taxes and establishing real fairness in the burden of taxation throughout our city. We administered a program for tax relief for senior citizens and made it our business to find them all and take care of them. Our aim was to become the model government unit in our field, in our state. And we did.

It was a heady business. We computerized all our records and updated every piece of property in town. We went “viewing” which meant driving around, measuring buildings old and new to make sure we had correct records. We learned our city street by street, alley by alley. We went from the office to the car to the office. We’d both gotten married. But basically, we spent more time with each other than anyone else in our lives, including our husbands and ultimately our kids.

This was our little office building. We used one half of it while the other was used by the township supervisor whose primary task was to minister to those people who came upon hard economic times, and who didn’t qualify for other social services. We started out in a small space and eventually built an addition. All four of us shared one room with a side office for Joanne. Later, she moved into the addition and I got her space with a door for privacy.

Joanne was a few years older than me as I’d skipped a year of school early in my life and she, like Michael, had graduated a year ahead of me. In a way, transitioning from a friendship to the additional roles of being coworkers, was similar to what Michael and I had done with our relationship. Again, I was so lucky because the change was basically effortless. We worked really hard in our first few years and we got along well. But we were also getting into our 30’s and tit felt like it was getting to be the time to think about babies, not just work. 

We two revolutionary young women were moving along into the next stages of life. Joanne had the first kid. I was with her at the hospital and at her house the day after her son was born. She and I were so different. I knew I’d want a private space around me when my turn came but she had a different attitude and that was fine. Thinking back, it’s remarkable how we approached life in such different ways. She was very relaxed and not one who was constantly plunging around in emotional spaces while I was intense and fiercely probing all the time. Once when we’d taken a number of our continuing education classes together, she told me she couldn’t sit next to me on test day because my vibes were too palpable and distracting. Hah! Our work goals were similar as were our intellects, but we had crazy-different styles. I think it’s magical how we worked together. I handled a lot of the confrontations that work required and almost all the letter-writing. She was the statistician and planner for tackling  the mathematical issues. Numbers were never my strong suit although I improved over the years. We complemented each other without knowing that was how things would work before we started. 

When I got pregnant, Joanne threw us our baby shower. I think the only real conflict we ever had was that she was eager for me to return to work faster after my baby was born, while I wanted to hunker down and be absorbed by my new little universe. We got past that. Eventually I returned to the office and the viewing and the sharing of our life together.

The years passed quickly. We had more kids. We attended their birthday parties. When she had her kids, I came to the hospital or watched the older ones until she came home. As we drove along, doing our job, we talked about politics, our families and our personal issues. We went through our parents’ aging, failing and eventually dying. The year after my father died, I took my mom and my kids on a trip to Williamsburg, Virginia which had been a lifelong dream of my mother’s. We were also going to see some Civil War sites, which was my dream as I’d spent years reading and studying about what was to me, an unfathomable moment in history. We did the Williamsburg part and then it was on to Richmond. We’d no sooner arrived when my mom attempted the impossible, a walk up three flights of stairs on a bad knee. By the time she descended, she was so crippled she couldn’t walk. I was devastated. The next day, we piled into the car and headed home.

Joanne felt awful for me. The next year she offered to take a Civil War road trip  with me. She said I could be in charge of all the planning and that she’d be happy to go along and listen to me talk. Oh, and that she’d pay for all the accommodations and food while I could pick up incidentals and gas. Who does that kind of thing? Joanne does. We took our trip and had a fantastic time. We threw in Monticello and she ate George Washington’s peanut soup recipe at a Williamsburg inn where we stopped for more history. I think that trip was the most selfless thing anyone outside my family has ever done for me. A mere thirty years ago.

We were getting older. Our different styles were beneficial in our personal lives. I was good at the emotional stuff. If her kid was driving her crazy and she was at the end of her rope, I could step in and help by taking on some of those conversations. When my sister had an accident out of state, and was coming home temporarily disabled, Joanne, a better money manager than me, had her house cleaned from top to bottom. When Joanne and her husband needed a getaway, her five year old daughter came to live with me. When my washing machine broke, she bought me a new one. Joanne hosted multiple fundraisers for political candidates. I always made my special and popular chicken liver pate as a contribution for the buffet. I remember bringing my daughter to one of those where we met Barack Obama when he was running for the Senate. I made him a plate of food after he spoke. Joanne always sent me home with a fair share of leftovers. We traded recipes. Her family liked my sausage-potato-broccoli bake with cheese. Mine was partial to her blueberry spice cake. I also remember a wild New Year’s Eve when Michael and I stopped by her house before heading to Chicago. I tasted her fabulous chicken drumettes in plum sauce which were unforgettably delicious. Decades later, I prepared them for my daughter’s law school graduation party. And by the way, you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted a slice of her cheesecake. 

Joanne’s had more surgeries than me and I’ve been with her through all of them. After back surgery, she called me way too quickly from the recovery room. I dashed to her hospital room to join her and asked how she felt. She replied, “ I’m just sitting here being totally catatonic.” We both roared. After a particularly rough knee surgery she was hooked to a machine that promoted circulation in the wounded leg. It was driving her crazy and she was in significant discomfort. I sat there, pushing her pain button for the morphine drip every ten minutes because she just couldn’t do it.

Our kids were growing up. When my daughter got married, Joanne was there, as she’d always been from the beginning. When my kid was laid up by knee surgery and Michael’s cancer required me to be with him, Joanne helped out by driving my girl around town. Her generosity to my family was unending. Here’s a lovely photo of the two of them at my daughter’s wedding. And of course there’s one of us as well.

I attended her son’s wedding, too.  We loved giving each other’s kids presents. Eventually they started having their own babies. Because her house was bigger, Joanne hosted my daughter’s baby shower. When her grandchildren were born, I sent them gifts as if they were mine. The truth is, all of our kids and their partners and their children belong to both of us. Sounds strange but it feels that way – an emotional investment that extends to all of them.

Somehow or other, over thirty years went by. Because I was a few years younger than everyone else in the office, I had a longer time to go before I could finish up. What a traumatic experience when everyone’s retirement time arrived. We’d spent a lifetime together. So much had happened between us, especially between Joanne and me. The final day came, we had the requisite party and cake and then I went back to work.

It was awful. I lasted 10 months. My daughter was pregnant and I offered to provide day care if they could pay my health insurance. They agreed and I took early retirement. That was a decade ago. In the ensuing years, Joanne and I have seen less of each other. How could it be otherwise as we’d gone from essentially being together for 40 hours a week to now being in our own spaces? Still, we were viewing  in a different way. I’d do my driving and she’d do hers, but we’d call each other to compare notes on anything interesting that we’d noticed. We remain fast friends. Seeing each other or not doesn’t matter. She’s still thoughtful and generous, dropping off treats from her trips to Chicago that remind of the tastes and smells of my childhood. There’s some inexplicable, ropey, psychic connection between us that’s hard to describe. It’s unbreakable  intimacy which is steady and reliable whether I see her or not. When I start feeling her or hearing her in my head I reach out and invariably she’s feeling me too. Neither one of us is religious but it is a powerful force. I think it’ll last forever. One of life’s gifts to me.

Viewing with Joanne You never know what small thing will set off a cascade of memories. I was driving along, running an errand, when  I went right by this construction site.

[peachhoneii]

Daisy Duck HCs:

An update from my previous post. 

Daisy is nine months younger than her sister Donna. ((Donna Duck was Donald’s original love interest appearing in Don Donald.))

Her older brother Diego is two years older. 

She is Afro-Latina. Her father immigrated from Mexico as a teenager. Her mother is African-American. They’re the duck equivalent.

She is a dark-feathered Afro-Latina.

Her parents were strict, hard working people. She wasn’t allowed to wear her hair natural as a child.

Mama and Papa Duck had their favorites. Mama favored Donna’s prettiness, and Papa preferred Daisy’s cleverness. Diego inches out as the only boy.

Mama and Papa gave their daughters what they needed in terms of basic childcare and tried to be there for them emotionally, but were negligent in how the pretty vs. smart started to effect them.

Her Abuelita and Maw’ (maternal grandmother) made their clothes for the majority of their childhoods. 

Her Abuelito and Paw’ got her into fashion and for getting what she wants. Her grandparents on both sides taught her that she can’t always be nice to get the treatment she deserves.

Diego taught her a disappearing dime trick when she was nine years old. She has a closer relationship with her brother. 

Her relationship with her sister became strained in high school. Donna was the more popular one, but they were both popular. They tended to look down on each other’s social groups.

She attended and graduated from Duckburg High School. She was in the top ten of her class.

Had a mischievous streak when she was growing up, and might’ve played a prank or two on Della Duck’s twin brother. She placed gorilla glue on his desk for making fun of her hair.

Attended Duckburg’s local university. She double majored in graphic-design and finance, and did a lot of illustration work during her undergrad years. 

She met and dated Minnie Mouse for three years. They ended amicably, and remain friends today. She was even the maid of honor at her wedding to Mickey in Mouseton. 

Her roommate was Penny Pooch a.k.a. Goofy’s future wife/Max’s mother, and was very disappointed when she dropped out of college after getting pregnant. 

Worked three different jobs during grad school, but still communicated regularly with her family. 

Donna moved to Mexico to live with relatives during this time, and she wrote frequently to her sister about her latest boyfriend. Her boisterous Don Donald.

Daisy wasn’t surprised when she received a letter three weeks later detailing their volatile romance and equally volatile breakup.

When she graduated, she took a year off to study abroad under one of her professors. Her year in Italy became three where her career in art grew, and she donned a superhero cape. 

There were a few occasions where she worked with Paperinik, and yes, the sexual tension was extremely high. They earned each other’s respect by time they parted, but won’t find out each other’s secret identities until much, much later.

April, May, and June are borne to Donna and her husband, who is a dog man like Goofy. Toon genetics. 

When she returns, she and Donna become estranged due to lifestyle differences and their inability to communicate and admit their faults.

She went on a single date with Gladstone Gander. It was at a casino. She loved the crab meat, hated the date, and lost twenty bucks where he won 20,000.

She definitely starts to treat herself. Daisy Duck spoils herself because her parents didn’t, and she understands why.

In present time, Daisy prefers to wear her hair in box braids, afros, and crochet style. She will occasionally straighten her hair.

She owns a bow/fashion store as well as does art commissions online. Etsy is her best friend, and the co-owner/founder is Minnie Mouse.

She buys name brand clothes and accessories, but still eats ramen noodles for dinner. Daisy can’t cook. 

Hasn’t spoken to her sister in about twelve years. It isn’t until Maw gets sick that they attempt to reconcile. She meets her nieces at the hospital. 

Daisy’s well known in her circle for her harsh temper in that she doesn’t display anger typically, but you’ll know she’s pissed when she does the thing with her eyebrows.

She has kicked a man in the balls for sexual harassment, and then, she fired him. She got Lucy’s car towed for parking in her spot...the spot with her name on it, the parking space specifically made for Daisy Duck.

She’s a work-a-holic. She wants to live her lifestyle, maintain that lifestyle, and realizes how isolating her lifestyle is but doesn’t know how to “turn off.”

Scrooge McDuck has tried to buy out her property she inherited from her Paw, but she isn’t budging. His little slot is the base for her operations. 

She meets Donald at a PTA meeting since Donna can’t make it due to being at the hospital with their parents and Maw. She instantly finds herself disliking the sailor due to his attitude, but as they’re arguing on whose fault it is that the science lab is now covered in purple goo.

Eventually, they end up agreeing with each other on one matter, the kids are all to blame, and they will clean up this mess accordingly.

HDL/AMJ watch and instantly realize, “They’re absolutely helpless.” ((Yes, it’s a Hamilton reference.))

Really doesn’t know how to deal with kids since the last time she babysat her nieces they were one years old.

She ends up asking Donald on a date during an argument over clothes.

She tries to one up him, “You should be thanking Glomgold for getting you an uniform that’s actually presentable.”

“And what’s presentable about wearing boots you can barely walk in?”

“These boots are gonna walk all over you if you don’t show up tonight to this dinner.”

“Oh, wow, I’ll just make sure to make my un-presentable self ready just for you!”

She grips him by the collar, “You better, sailor boy, and be ready for eight!”

“Eight is the boys’ bed time!”

"Is 8:30 acceptable?”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Good!” “Good!”

Ends up punching a Beagle boy in the nose when he attacks and insults Donald to her face.  

Donald initiates their first kiss. It’s occurs during an argument over whose going to pay for dinner, and he just smacks a big one on her.

“We’ll split it.”

“Sure.”

This spontaneous kiss leaves her breathless, and Daisy’s too stubborn to admit it’s one of the best kisses she’s ever had. Minnie’s remains the best kisser, but Donald’s kisses are passionate.

Donald can cook. He’s a good cook. After years of chowing down on ramen noodles and tv dinners, Daisy eats her first home cooked meal in years at Donald’s house boat with the boys.

She starts to cry as she’s eating her third bite. She realizes she misses this, being a part of the family, and realizes how much she’s sacrificed in pursuit of success. Also, she really, really misses her Paw.

[lgbt-ya]

Dreadnought and Sovereign - the Nemesis series

Published by Diversion books on 26th July 2017

Genres: superheroes, trans, young adult, fantasy, LGBT

Goodreads | Amazon UK | Amazon US | Book Depository | Barnes & Noble

Blurb: Danny Tozer has a problem: she just inherited the powers of Dreadnought, the world’s greatest superhero.Until Dreadnought fell out of the sky and died right in front of her, Danny was trying to keep people from finding out she’s transgender. But before he expired, Dreadnought passed his mantle to her, and those secondhand superpowers transformed Danny’s body into what she’s always thought it should be. Now there’s no hiding that she’s a girl. 

It should be the happiest time of her life, but Danny’s first weeks finally living in a body that fits her are more difficult and complicated than she could have imagined. Between her father’s dangerous obsession with “curing” her girlhood, her best friend suddenly acting like he’s entitled to date her, and her fellow superheroes arguing over her place in their ranks, Danny feels like she’s in over her head.

She doesn’t have much time to adjust. Dreadnought’s murderer—a cyborg named Utopia—still haunts the streets of New Port City, threatening destruction. If Danny can’t sort through the confusion of coming out, master her powers, and stop Utopia in time, humanity faces extinction.

Interview with the author, April Daniels:

Hi, welcome to LGBT YA! Could you start by introducing us to the world of the Nemesis series?

Hello! I’d be glad to. The Nemesis series (Dreadnought, out in January, and Sovereign, out later this month) mainly takes place in New Port City, a metropolis that is described in a lot of my initial project notes as Not-Seattle. It’s a major American city in Northwest Washington on Puget Sound, but unlike its real-world counterpart it was the dominant population center on the west coast for much of the 20th century, which means it is both larger and more heavily urbanized than any real-world city in the Pacific Northwest. Seattle might exist as a small suburb, but it hasn’t appeared in the books. 

Approximately seventy years prior to the start of the series, a new wave of increasingly powerful super-humans appeared in the world stage. Superheroes and vigilantes are a part of everyday life, albeit one that most people don’t have much experience with.

This is the environment our narrator, teenage trans girl Danielle Tozer finds herself growing up in, and she is something of a superhero fangirl. When Dreadnought, the greatest hero in the world, gets shot out of the sky in front of her and she inherits his powers, Danielle’s body is changed to be what she always wanted it to be, and suddenly there’s no hiding that she’s a girl. On top of that she quickly learns that the world of professional superheroes is far less welcoming than she had hoped. I tried to ride the line between bleak cynicism in the flawed institutional design of the superhero laws and the optimistic sincerity of some of the heroes trying to work within a broken system. 

I wanted to create the feeling of a DC or Marvel style comic book universe with decades of history that shapes the present, but without the impenetrable continuity snarls and obscure back-story that characterize a lot of the output of the Big Two. 

Who is your favourite character in your books? What advice would you give them?

Calamity is an absolute blast to write, but she should learn to duck. How much of Dreadnought is inspired by your own experiences (excluding the magic!)?

A lot of the stuff relating to being trans, especially the description of dysphoria, are taken from my own life. The emotional damage that results from abuse is from my experiences as well, although the format of the abuse I endured was considerably different than the one Danielle confronts in Dreadnought. 

Dreadnought was your first published novel. What was the publication process like for you? 

I went to school to become a writer, enrolling in one of the few undergrad creative writing programs in the country at UC Santa Cruz. I thought I’d be published shortly after graduating, but it took nine years and I was homeless for some of that. Don’t do this to get rich.

When I finally had a manuscript I knew I could sell, I started querying agents. Querytracker.net is where you want to start that process. It’s long and stressful and difficult but eventually an agent said yes and we got to move on to the next stressful wait, but this time I had an agent doing the hard part. That’s when things started to feel a little real.

I was lucky in that we got an offer in our first round of submissions. We landed with Diversion Books, a smaller publisher, and working together my editors and I put the manuscript into publishable shape. 

Then there was a lot more waiting, and nerves and anxiety and then one day I was published and it sort of took me by surprise. At first it was sort of just another data point: okay, milestone passed, on to the next one. About 24 hours later I had a breakdown sob-laugh-cry fit for about an hour.

And that’s the publishing process. 

What are some of your favourite diverse SFF books?

Right now, I’m really into Martha Wells’ work, which often deals with protagonists who clearly have some kind of significant trauma in their pasts. This isn’t a sort of character background that’s marketed as diversity, but in the sense of being literature that helps someone recognize themselves and feel a little more complete, a little better able to face the day, then her work certain falls under the umbrella of diverse SFF books. Books that I really, really needed this year.  

Do you think diversity is a trend in publishing? What would you, as a trans reader, like to see more of in the future of publishing?

I think diversity has been a trend for a while, and we’ve been seeing the limits of that approach for some time now. The common pattern, historically, is that authors who did not have any personal experience with a particular kind of marginalization would read two or three books, decide they were an expert, and then write a book about The Trans Experience or whatever. This would only be annoying if it stopped there, but it can do real harm by perpetuating stereotypes and blocking marginalized authors out of the market. That’s where not thinking too deeply about diversity gets you; nothing actually changes, except the wallpaper.

Things are looking up, though. I don’t expect that this will never happen again, but I do think people are starting to move toward the understanding that if you want to read a book about a trans person, you should read a book by a trans person. The own-voices movement is one I’m a huge fan of. I think that’s probably the right strategy for where we are at the moment.

Obviously this doesn’t mean authors can’t write characters who are unlike themselves; it means authors shouldn’t claim to speak for others. 

Nobody can speak for us as well as we can speak for ourselves, and that’s true no matter who you are, unless you’re in politics. Publishers should to worry less about diversity in books, and more about diversifying the people whose work gets accepted for publication and promoted. The solution will need to start at home, so this will mean diversifying their own staffs as well. 

What advice would you give to authors who are planning to include a trans character in their next works?

It’s not too difficult, I don’t think. Don’t describe their bodies in a way that’s any more detailed or lurid than you would a cisgender body. Give them personality features aside from being trans. Don’t get cute with pronouns, don’t do a “surprising reveal”, and don’t kill them. Pretend we’re people and you can’t go too far wrong.

What are you writing next?

Can’t say, but past experience suggests people will like it. 

Finally, what’s your favourite conspiracy theory?

The best conspiracy theory is the one that NASA killed JFK to keep him from telling Khrushchev about the alien castles on the Moon. The book you want to read is called Dark Mission by Richard Hoagland and it is the most batshit story you will ever hear. 

From the Masonic ritual allegedly conducted shortly after the Eagle landed in the Sea of Tranquillity to the crank-a-licious numerology chapter, this book has it all, and also grainy photographs reputed to be of kilometres-tall crystal structures on the Moon. A perfect blend of kitschy Americana and paranoid hallucinations, this book has my highest recommendation for conspiracy fans of all sorts. 

Thank you for asking.

April Daniels was born in a military hospital just before it was shut down for chronic malpractice—in hindsight, that should have been an omen. After various tribulations in childhood and the frankly disconcerting discovery that she was a girl, she graduated from UC Santa Cruz with a degree in literature, and then promptly lost her job during the 2008 stock crash and recession. After she recovered from homelessness, she completed her first manuscript by scribbling a few sentences at a time between calls while working in the customer support department for a well-known video game console. This book was mainly porn, with a few swordfights included for variety. When April realized she couldn’t pitch her book without blushing, she decided to write something else. During yet another period of unemployment, she wrote Dreadnought.

She has a number of hobbies, most of which are boring and predictable. As nostalgia for the 1990s comes into its full bloom, she has become ever more convinced that she was born two or three years too late and missed all the good stuff the first time around. Having recently become a pagan, April is currently enduring the karmic backlash for all the times she was smug about her atheism.

Early in her writing practice, April set her narrative defaults to “lots of lesbians” and never looked back.

Follow April on tumblr at @msaprildaniels

[fresne999]

So as someone with a literature degree, I'm going to talk a bit about my experience and what I do.

First, I got that degree because my parents, who at that point in my life were on their third (dad) and fourth (mom) careers respectively told me I was going to change jobs, my life would be full of unexpected experiences, and what I studied didn't matter. So I should study something I enjoyed, because it was going to form a foundation for how to think, not what I necessarily needed to know for my job.

While in school I worked part time in the office of environmental safety filing thing, I vacuumed books for the library and put barcodes on them, I was a receptionist at H&R block on the weekends, I cleaned after Departmental events, I directed cars for a conference.

I graduated and went, okay now what. People asked if I wanted to be a teacher, a librarian. I had no idea. I did an internship over the summer reading the slush pile for a publisher. I interned at a campus publisher editing a book on Carlyle.

I went...now what.

I heard about a program for those who had within 1 quarter/ semester (and the summer didn't count) could work abroad in one of multiple counties. I went to England. Worked as an office temp, because I could type and knew how to use the office programs of the day. What I didn't know, I looked up in a bookstore (there was no internet) and got training from the to agency (1 hour type training).

Because I was well spoken and well read, I hit it off with my boss on my 2nd assignment, he wanted to keep me on for a big project, assembling content from multiple departments within the health department of the city of Kensington, Chelsea and Westminster to define what the city and expected from hospitals in the government funded healthcare.

Because I had self discipline from writing long papers, knew how to reseach, reference external sources, had experience writing group papers, I was a part in assembling a document about which I had no background.

Because I pulled that off, I got to help put on a health conference in an center attached to a medieval church. Speakers from around the country.

My Visa was about ready to expire, when I heard I could leverage it to go to Ireland. So with still no idea what to do with myself, I did that.

There was 40percent unemployment in Ireland at the time. The troubles were on going. I learned a lot about what a knife edge safety is. Prosperity. Beautiful lush county and all I could afford to eat were potatoes. I worked a lot of 1 day jobs. Then Ireland was in the world cup in the US and half the country went to go see it. I was one of the people employed by their vacations.

Earned enough to travel for a month and came home.

No idea what to with myself, and there was a recession. No jobs. Well, temp jobs. What I learned in Ireland was there's always temp jobs. Offices need random things done, and the temp agency will keep giving training. The more you know how to do, the more they can charge for you.

But... That wasn't what a degree for

So I took community college classes. marketing. Advertising. Layout and design. History of Western Civilization. Russian history (err... I could get health coverage if I took a certain #of classes at the college clinic).

Still no idea. Except not those things.

Got a job as a secretary at a wine and liquor diributorship through a placement agency. BTW, never pay an agency to be placed in a job. I was desperate for health coverage and full time work. I borrowed $ to do it, but I was trapped in a low paying job where I worked long hours, and couldn't leave for a year, cuz that's when I'd get payed back.

But because I was well read and well spoken, could write, and had taken ad classes, layout classes, I wrote ad copy for wines when none was provided. I made white papers on our products.

Several grueling, living with 5 people in a shared house, later, one of other secretary's husband worked for a contractor at a pharmacutical company. Because I had a humanity degree, had samples of my writing, and knew how to research from that (so far) useless degree, and they wanted someone like that plus willing to crawl around interstitial places (spaces between floors), on gang planks over acid vats, go into -20 cold rooms, because they needed to document a bunch of things.

Which was how I started my professional career, first career job as a Technical Writer (I'll touch on the other careers). People would tell me how a thing worked. I would write that down in a way humans could understand. I got to write "warning: failure to do XYZ could result in death or dismemberment".

Since industrial accidents are a thing, I got a certificate in Tech Writing so I could get a job at a software company.

Yup more school, which does and doesn't back up the post I'm reacting to. I didn't need it BTW to do the job. I was doing the job. But after a few interviews other places, I knew I needed experience in more types of writing I wasn't going to get at the engineering company. I spent 4years getting a 2 year degree to build a portfolio. I could have (I now know) volunteered for a nonprofit or church and gotten the same thing. A diverse portfolio of writing samples.

From there on to other tech writing jobs. Where because I'm disciplined, organized, well spoken and able to research, I've often transitioned to being a Project Manager (job of how do get it done).Because I wrote all the documents for a thing, became a Program Manager (where should the product go next.) Because I worked at small companies, I've tested the products as Quality Assurance.

While right now I write documentation as a Tech Writer, I may end up doing any of those things again.

I got my current job as a contactor and they liked me enough to keep me on.

If you want a foot in the door, temp work and contracting is my recommendation. The Barr is lower on previous experience. People get sick. Go on vacation. Work needs to be done. You get a lot of experience in a lot of things. A humanities degree taught logic. How to analyze things. How to write. Organize yourself.

You may be an economic vegetarian, living with some screaming housemates for a long time, but you never know what will turn up.

All of which is a long way of saying my parents were right.

as someone with a bachelor’s degree in english, i am inexpressibly tired of people telling me to get highly specific jobs that often require highly specific degrees. “just go write for a magazine!” you need a journalism degree for that. “just teach!” you need a teaching certificate, and also fuck you. “just go work at a tutoring place!” tutoring children with learning disabilities, which make up the majority of the clientele at those places, requires not only a teaching certificate but a specialized master’s degree. “just go work at a library!” you need a master’s degree in library science to be a librarian. it is actually a highly skilled and extremely competitive field. you don’t just “go work at a library,” you train for years in the vain hope that you will get one of handful of available jobs. “just go work at a library.” the nerve. the unmitigated gall. “just go work at a library.” ugh.

[hookedleviathan]

This is a story (rant) about a boy

CW / TW - mental health (anxiety, panic attacks, depression, BPD), hospitalization, hooking up, heartbreak

Alright.

So.

I vented to a co-worker for five minutes today and it wasn’t enough.

Let’s call him DEFCON - because that’s a name of a poem I wrote about him that leads up to nuclear destruction, which sounds about right.

I met DEFCON almost a year ago in July through a friend of a friend. We hooked up (by that I mean between making out and having sex because there’s no way my mental health will let me do a one night stand nope) and exchanged numbers and oh yeah I had a panic attack right in front of him like less than 24 hours after meeting him because boys give me anxiety attacks that last for a few days but normally the next morning, not the during. And while he didn’t know what to do or how to respond / help me, he was incredibly sweet.

Flash ahead to November. We’re on our 3rd round of hooking up -- he asks if I’m looking for a relationship. I say yes, because always. He explains that while he’s flattered, he plans to go away to school in Florida (which is very out of state and very gross) and doesn’t want to start a relationship with someone only to lead them on. Super commendable and sweet of him.

Flash ahead to February. Take that cutie petewtie up to my bedroom, have a lackluster hookup, then stay awake for four hours just talking with him. During this talk, I mention my own mental health & help him explore his own. He had the misconception that depression meant feeling a lot of sadness -- I clarified that it also means lack of motivation, sometimes lack of any feelings, low self-esteem... Put shortly, I helped him realize that he has depression. 

I showed him a painting of a rabid, barking dog that I’d recently finished because that’s what I think of when I think of my depression: a dog that I didn’t ask to adopt, that I can’t send to a pound or vet to put down. It’s a beast that may bite me or others, and I am responsible for it, and I must train it, and I can train it. He was awestruck over this painting.

Flash ahead to March. My depression got to be the worst I’ve ever had. I decided to try medication. He and I texted back and forth about our doctor visits and we started on SSRIs on the same day. Like a macabre, dark humor romance story.

Flash ahead to the end of April. He asks if I have a Snapchat. Of course I do because I’m not a cavewoman. I add him. We share some mundane photos. Then, he sends me a photo of himself with the caption “I want to ask you out on a date” I am over the moon -- I’ve harbored so much love and pain with DEFCON, and I was thrilled by the prospect of a date after this handful of hookups.

---Let me also insert: I know that putting in time and energy and love into someone does not mean that they owe you romantic love. My intention was never to “be a good enough friend until we can date”. I have both platonic and romantic interest in this boy, and to have the prospect of growing our relationship in this direction was exciting to me. Because, like, I kinda feel like I could marry this guy. Maybe. But that’s dramatic and obsessive of me ---

Flash forward to the end of May: I’m graduating college, about to move out, about to move into a new place, about to start a new job... and DEFCON notifies me that he got a girlfriend. So I’m crushed.

But it can’t just end there.

The language he used in his text messages to me conveyed that “she’s okay with me still being friends with you”, as if his view of our relationship is conditional, as though suggesting that he’d stop communicating with me because he just got a girlfriend.

He also never once asked how I felt about this situation and never initiated a discussion of what this change in dynamic would mean for our relationship.

So I send him like 500 seconds worth of Snapchat videos of me ranting about how he has been treating me more like a therapist than a friend, that I deserve better, that he needs to show even a fraction of the investment in me that I show in him, that I should matter to him whether or not he has a girlfriend, and that I still care about him and want to work through these difficulties with him.

Flash forward to the start of June: DEFCON texts me to let me know that he is going to the ER for his mental health and will not be reachable for 3-5 days and that he loves me. This is the first time he says these words to me. I know to interpret them platonically -- though there is a part of me that side-eyes that word choice with how our relationship has been going.

Middle of June, around my birthday: he sends me a Snapchat of a pic of a tattoo that he’s designing, then of it a few days later on his arm. It’s a rabid dog. Now, I know that I might be projecting, so I don’t ask too much about it, but I side-eye again, thinking “Huh, well isn’t that familiar...?”

Start of July and yesterday: Radio silence from him, which is typical. If I don’t initiate conversation, I won’t hear from him. Even when I initiate, responses take days. But that’s how it’s always been, and I have other friends with mental health difficulties, so even though I have my own difficulties with self worth and validation, I initiate conversations and interactions with most of my friends.

I reach out and ask how he’s doing. He tells me that he’s been scared to talk to me. When I ask why, he explains that he was recently diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, and he’s been in and out of the hospital for the past month for his mental health. We text back and forth about his changing condition, and I send him a super long text message validating him and saying how proud I am for addressing his mental health, wishing him well, etc etc.

He decides to call me. We talk like it hasn’t been, what? 4 months since I’ve heard his voice? We click right off the bat, and he tells me that I inspire him. He explains that the new tattoo of a rabid dog was inspired by my painting.

So I’m over the moon again. I’m excited to see him again at the end of July.

He sends me his Instagram info saying “it’s important”, so I add him even though now I’ve got like 3 people I’m following because I just made the damn thing a month ago. So I’m scrolling through the feed, and guess what pops up? A Tinder screenshot of girls he’s been chatting with.  

So I’m crying.

And since this social media platform has just become my paddle in Shit Creek, I start rowing. Another Instagram screenshot of a girl asking why he’s on Instagram if he’s been told & understands that it’s no good for his mental health (since people with BPD especially struggle with forming and maintaining constant relationships & self esteem & self image) and he tells her off and writes in the caption that he feels proud for doing so and knows it was best despite her being “an obsession to get over”

So I’m crying again, because I agree with the girl, and also oh yeah been crushing on this boy for a year and also being a good friend to him and oh yeah we’ve still not talked about that April date?

Another Instagram screenshot: a girl opening a convo with “Remember that time I blew you in my basement?” to which he responds “Good times”

So I’m crying harder because I did not want to know that and what? Why did he so badly want me to add him on Instagram? So he could tell me without telling me that it looks like he’s broken up with his girlfriend and he’s looking for some kind of a relationship with some girl?

But I don’t feel broken by it.

It’s probably the SSRIs talking, but yesterday, even when my emotions were rising up, my logic stayed in control. I didn’t feel totally lost and shattered by this. I felt wounded, but still standing. Out of the ashes I rise with my red hair and eat men like air and all that.

And I’m still so willing to forgive him.

And I’m not even upset with him, but I’m upset with myself for letting him have this power over me. I’m upset that I relax all these regulations of friendship for him but wouldn’t dare stay friends with anyone else who would pull this shit. I’m upset with how my own emotional abuse wasn’t enough of a red flag, but finally, seeing how he decides to utilize an application that encourages forming ephemeral relationships despite it damaging his mental health and harming others around him. He is teaching his dog to chew and belch out disposable woman, and I am not okay with that.

I’m not looking forward to seeing him at the end of July at this festival where I’ll be performing poetry, but I know it will happen, and now, I hope to every deity that he’ll be there when I read my poem DEFCON. I hope that I’ll be able to have a long talk with him. I hope that I’ll be able to stand up for myself.

Because for the past year, I’ve continued our relationship the way I want to: with intimacy, support, love, kindness, and asserting frequent contact. But soon, I might have to act the way I need to: by letting him go.

[semissouristate]

SEMO Loves Alumni

We love our alumni and aren’t afraid to shout it! Every semester, graduates from Southeast go out into the world and start new chapters in their journeys. And every unique story is another opportunity for us to be proud of the magnificent work they do. Here is just a snapshot of what some of our alumni are up to these days.

Roy Thomas ‘61

Roy Thomas graduated from Southeast in 1961 and is from Jackson, Missouri. Roy is a comic book writer and editor. He was Stan Lee's first successor as editor-in-chief of Marvel Comics. Roy was responsible for writing many comics, such as Conan the Barbarian and Justice Society of America. Roy has also written for Marvel's X-Men and The Avengers, and DC comics All-Star Squadron. Roy was inducted into the Will Eisner Comic Book Hall of Fame in 2011 and is the recipient of numerous national awards.

 Kimberly Speight Nordyke ‘97

As managing editor for The Hollywood Reporter Online, Kimberly Speight Nordyke has helped inform and entertain millions. She began as a reporter and copy editor in 2000 and by 2017, she was promoted to managing editor. In addition to editing breaking news and features, she is also responsible for overseeing awards show coverage (Oscars, Emmys, Globes, Grammys, etc.), coordinating and optimizing the rollout of print stories to online, working with the public relations team and top editors to promote approved content, and coordinating with their sister publication, Billboard, on music coverage. At Southeast, Kimberly earned a Bachelor of Arts in mass communication with an emphasis in journalism. She also holds a Master of Arts in journalism from the University of Missouri.

 Michael Bricknell ‘07

Michael Bricknell was employed as a cartographer for the West Point History of Warfare, The West Point History of the American Revolution, The West Point History of the Civil War, and The West Point History of World War II. After finishing nearly five years with an educational startup in New York City, Michael has begun working as a data visualization designer for the Council on Foreign Relations since July 2018.

 Andrew Bauman ‘11

Andrew Bauman recently graduated from law school at Saint Louis University School of Law in May 2018, earning his J.D. with a concentration in urban development, land use, and environmental law. He then passed the Missouri Bar Exam and has recently begun work as an attorney at Wegmann Law Firm in Hillsboro, MO. Andrew also won first place in the 35th Annual Smith-Babcock-Williams Student Writing Competition with his law paper “Legally Enabling a Modern-Day Mayberry: A Legal Analysis of Form-Based Zoning Codes,” which he wrote as a third-year law student. This contest is open to law students and graduate city planning students across the country. The paper will also be published in an upcoming publication, The Urban Lawyer, a national law journal which is the official publication of the American Bar Association's Section of State and Local Government Law. “I credit the SEMO History Department and the historic preservation program for helping me foster this interest in place making and the built environment as an undergrad, which has proved instrumental in shaping my areas of interest of municipal/local government law and land use law,” said Andrew.

 Geoffrey Ogden ‘11

After graduating from Southeast, Geoffrey Ogden commissioned as a second lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps. He attended SLU law, and proceeded to active duty where he spent the majority of his time as a criminal defense attorney. He plans to transition to the Marine Corps reserves and begin civilian employment with the Department of Justice. Geoffrey studied political science and history at Southeast. “History is something I have always been passionate about, and I chose it because I intended to either teach or go to graduate school. Professor Joel Rhodes’ lectures were always captivating, and he had a way of making history come alive. He could tell a story better than anyone, and it's a skill I have tried to develop and perfect as a trial lawyer,” said Geoffrey.

 Jessica Halter-Powell ‘93

After interning with Boyd Gaming during her senior year at Southeast, Jessica Halter-Powell secured a job with the gaming company's advertising agency, which eventually led her to Las Vegas and work at the marketing firm that represents many of the city's casinos. From there, Jessica moved to Chicago and joined Leo Burnett working on the Walt Disney World and Disney Cruise Line brands. Since then, she’s worked for some of the world's biggest and best advertising agencies such as McCann, DDB, and David&Goliath. Her latest role as the vice president of marketing and brand strategy for the Bellagio brought her back to Las Vegas. “Southeast allowed me to create an interdisciplinary studies major, with concentrations in graphic design and mass communications that provided the hybrid education I needed. Southeast taught me nothing is handed to you. Work hard and show perseverance and people will want to help you. Dr. Bodenheimer and Dean Jones helped me find the scholarship opportunities and part time jobs that not only got me through college but set me up for a wonderful career,” said Jessica.

Jan Pensel ’72, ‘74

Jan Pensel received her Bachelor of Science in education and Master of Arts in education from Southeast. She is retired, having worked as a teacher, elementary counselor, and a computer programmer. Jan and her husband, Ron, have been living in the Northwest since 1976. Jan enjoys quilting and, several years ago, decided to help the community by donating her quilts to a nearby hospital. In addition, Jan makes prayer pillows and port pillows for patients. The hospital uses the quilts as lap quilts for neonatal patients, the prayer pillows are given to the hospital chaplain so they can put their business card in the slot on the pillow to give to families in need, and Jan makes port pillows for those patients that have surgically implanted ports to help cushion the port while wearing a seat belt. Jan has often said that if she worked in a quilting or fabric store, she would never come home with a paycheck. In addition, one of Ron's Navy buddies has asked if Jan ever comes up for air because she quilts so much.

 Rosemary Jones ‘64

Rosemary is a retired public housing social worker, medical social worker, and refugee resettlement worker. Serving as chair of the Jamaica Pond Association, secretary of the Howard Benevolent Association, and active member of JP@Home, which is a program of Ethos, the senior services organization that helps seniors and disabled individuals age in place. Rosemary considers “chronic volunteer” to be her new job title in retirement.

 Caitlin Clark ‘07

Caitlin Clark has developed her corporate real estate career with what is now Cushman and Wakefield (formerly CTMT, Cassidy Turley, and DTZ). Her current role as associate vice president in portfolio administration is a specialized focus on lease audit and recovery, which aims at forensic accounting and research of corporate tenant leases to validate expenses. She leads a team that negotiates overcharges with landlords on behalf of corporate clients. Caitlin earned a degree in business administration with a focus in integrated marketing communications from Southeast. “I had a lot of good core classes that led me into my ultimate focus in a finance role. I currently use my degree as I have been elevated in a more sales and marketing role to expand our services to new clients,” said Caitlin.

 If you are a Southeast graduate, share your story with us!

[mastcomm]

Their Story Wrote Itself – The New York Times

Cynthia LaFave had a word of warning when she first met T Kira Madden in 2015.

“She said, ‘If you hurt my daughter, I’ll kill you,’” Ms. Madden recalled.

And that, by Ms. Madden’s reckoning, was a fair enough thing for her to say about her relationship with Hannah Beresford. Years earlier, Ms. Beresford had fought an episode of depression so crippling she required hospitalization.

Ms. Madden was no stranger to pain, either: Her 2019 memoir, “Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls,” outlines her trauma-filled coming-of-age as the queer, biracial daughter of a pair of well-to-do addicts in South Florida. That Ms. Madden’s pain may have affected Ms. Beresford was a reasonable concern for her mother.

It proved unwarranted. “Their relationship has brought so much peace to them both that, as it stands now, if anyone tries to hurt Kira, I’ll kill them, too,” Ms. LaFave said.

Ms. Madden and Ms. Beresford, both 31 and now living in Beacon, N.Y., first saw each other in 2012 at the Jamaica Bay Riding Academy in Brooklyn. Ms. Beresford, a former professional equestrian, worked there as a trainer and coach for the nonprofit Metropolitan Equestrian team. Ms. Madden was shepherding the half-dozen homeless veterans she drove there through therapeutic interaction with the horses. It was part of her job as a teacher and counselor at the Doe Fund shelter in Harlem, which also housed formerly incarcerated men, many of them addicts.

Ms. Madden had just received a master’s degree in fine arts from Sarah Lawrence College, where she is now a professor in the M.F.A. writing program. A career in social services wasn’t in her future, but the shelter job attracted her for its proximity to a population that felt familiar. “My parents were pretty severe addicts,” she said. By the time she moved to New York at 17 for college at Parsons School of Design, both were in recovery from drug and alcohol abuse. Then, “we had this second sort of beautiful life together,” she said. “They were sober and we had these happy adult relationships. My parents always loved me. They weren’t bad people.”

Just complicated ones. Ms. Madden’s Hawaiian-Chinese mother, Sherrie Lokelani Madden, lives in Atlantic Beach, a part of Hempstead, N.Y., and is the general manager of the Dop Dop Salon in SoHo. Her father, John Laurence Madden, was Jewish and, after a career as stockbroker, headed his brother Steve Madden’s international fashion accessories business; Mr. Madden died in 2015 of complications from lung disease. In addition to their addictions, they had secrets. Ms. Madden found out as a child she had two half brothers on her father’s side from a marriage that her parents’ affair broke up. As an adult, she learned about another half sister on her mother’s side and a brother, whom her parents had placed for adoption. Still, her childhood in Boca Raton, Fla., had a shiny exterior. She grew up winning equestrian ribbons and attended an exclusive high school, North Broward Preparatory School, in Coconut Creek, Fla.

Fridays at the stable with the Doe shelter residents were an opportunity for her to be around horses again and, on occasions when volunteers ushered her charges through their riding and grooming lessons, to read books.

“Hannah noticed me first,” Ms. Madden said. “She remembers me reading at the picnic table, a Joy Williams book called ‘Escapes’.” In 2013, before Ms. Beresford and Ms. Madden found a chance to be properly introduced, the shelter’s horse program ended. But Ms. Madden’s love of horses lingered. She returned to the stable to ask the barn manager if there was someone who could give her lessons.

She was reconnected with Ms. Beresford, whose job at the stable overlapped with her graduate studies in poetry at N.Y.U.

Ms. Beresford earned her master’s degree from N.Y.U. in 2014 and now teaches poetry at Drew University in Madison, N.J. She grew up in rural Voorheesville, N.Y. Her parents, Ms. LaFave, a trial lawyer from Albany, and Jon Beresford of Cañon City, Colo., the owner of Beresford Remodeling, divorced when she was 5.

At 4, she had started horseback riding. “It became pretty consuming,” she said. In 2007, Oklahoma State University recruited her for its N.C.A.A. Division 1 equestrian team. But by then, after years on the road touring, distractions from her athletic career were mounting.

“I had struggled most of my teen years with anxiety and depression, and it all piled up,” she said. In 2008, she hit what she called rock bottom. “I was hospitalized for a while, and in the hospital, I came out,” she said. She called friends and family to tell them she was gay. “As they say, it got better.”

Credit belonged partially to a college poetry class. “Though I’d hate to suggest that depression can be treated with anything less than intensive therapy by a medical professional, that became something I could look forward to, where I could see a future.”

At Ms. Madden’s first riding lesson in Brooklyn in 2013, Ms. Beresford set a professional tone. “We connected on a lot of different levels,” Ms. Beresford said, especially riding and writing. “But I didn’t know how Kira identified. It didn’t cross my mind that she might be gay. I think coming out in Oklahoma, spending my formative years there, made me assume no one else in the world was gay.”

Ms. Madden noted “that we both were in relationships at the time. But right after that lesson I texted my friend, ‘This lesbian in breeches is so hot!’ I felt very crushy toward Hannah.” Not so much, though, that she was willing to break up with her girlfriend and ask Ms. Beresford out.

Instead, life got in the way, she said, and after six months she stopped taking lessons. More than a year passed. “But I always thought of Hannah, how I wished I could be her friend.” In late 2014, she scoured Yelp for the names of Jamaica Bay Riding Academy instructors, hoping to find Ms. Beresford’s last name and contact info.

Eventually, she reached Ms. Beresford through Facebook. “I was like, ‘Hey, remember me?’” Ms. Madden said. Both were nearing the ends of their relationships; Ms. Beresford, who considers herself more a country than a city person, was about to move to Austin, Texas.

But after exchanging and reading some work each had written (Ms. Beresford a manuscript in progress and Ms. Madden short stories and part of a novel), they decided to meet for a first date in February 2015 at the Stonewall Inn.

“In the back of our heads we were thinking, this could be really painful, because I was moving in a matter of weeks,” Ms. Beresford said. But their book swap had already connected them. “When you’re reading something autobiographical, you not only learn the facts of the person’s life but the lens through which they see the world,” Ms. Madden said.

[Sign up for Love Letter and always get the latest in Modern Love, weddings, and relationships in the news by email.]

At the Stonewall Inn, they talked and kissed until closing time. “We got kicked out,” Ms. Madden said. “It felt like love.”

As the Chinese New Year began on Feb. 19, Ms. Madden, who embraces her Hawaiian-Chinese heritage, and Ms. Beresford celebrated together.

Weeks later, Ms. Beresford rented a U-Haul for her move to Texas. Ms. Madden told her, “You can’t move to Austin without me taking you.” They drove together. Ms. Madden returned to her Williamsburg, Brooklyn, apartment alone. Then, in the fall, her father fell into a coma.

“My father was my person — I was really close to him,” Ms. Madden said. Ms. Beresford booked a flight and planned to stay in New York until Mr. Madden recovered. When he died, she comforted Ms. Madden through her grief. They wouldn’t return to Texas to pack Ms. Beresford’s things for a full year.

By then, they had become experienced road trippers. “Hannah and I always joke that we spent most of our relationship in a car,” Ms. Madden said. In addition to the U-Haul trip, by the end of 2016 they had driven to Buffalo for a horse show and to Kansas to visit friends of Ms. Beresford’s; they also drove to upstate New York regularly to ride horses and spend time with Ms. LaFave.

Ms. Madden’s mother had also become a fixture in their lives, through regular visits to the home in SoHo she shared with Mr. Madden before he died, and later to Long Island. Ms. Lokelani Madden felt close to Ms. Beresford immediately. “Hannah really grounds Kira,” she said. “She has this soothing effect. I admire so much how they bring out the best in each other.”

In 2017, Ms. Madden and Ms. Beresford moved to Provincetown, Mass., where Ms. Beresford had accepted a yearlong residency at the Fine Arts Work Center. The next year they moved to Inwood in Manhattan, spending the bulk of their time teaching, writing and editing the literary journal Ms. Madden founded, “No Tokens.” They had already traveled to 30 states when, in July 2018, Ms. Beresford planned a surprise 30th birthday trip for Ms. Madden.

“We went up the California coast through the Pacific Northwest and stopped in Powell, Wyo., to ride horses at this campsite ranch near Heart Mountain,” Ms. Madden said. On the evening of July 12, they climbed back in their rented Toyota to watch a meteor shower.

“There were so many mosquitoes we turned the lights out in the car. Hannah started talking to me about how she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. It was corny in a great way.”

She spoke Ms. Madden’s whole name — T Kira Mahealani Ching Madden — before saying, “Will you marry me?” After Ms. Madden said a tearful yes, Ms. Beresford opened her car door and found her way to Ms. Madden’s side in pitch blackness to present a ring. They counted down from three before turning on the car lights so Ms. Madden could see it: A teardrop-shaped opal surrounded watermelon tourmalines and gray diamonds, designed collaboratively by Ms. Beresford and Misa Jewelry, a Hawaiian designer.

“It was typical Hannah, being the most thoughtful person in the world,” Ms. Madden said. “Years ago, when I was feeling very lonely, I had bought a watermelon tourmaline engagement ring to remind myself to always commit to my well-being first.”

On Jan. 7 at Kualoa Nature Reserve in Kaneohe, Hawaii, Ms. Madden and Ms. Beresford committed to each other’s well-being for life. At a wedding attended by 72 guests, Ms. Madden, wearing a marigold dress designed by Zac Posen before he closed his business in November, walked with her mother down an outdoor aisle strewn with multicolor rose petals. Ms. Beresford wore an aubergine suit by Bindle & Keep, a Brooklyn company that specializes in suits for queer and gender nonconforming people.

N. Michelle AuBuchon, a friend and fellow writer who was ordained by the American Marriage Ministries, officiated during a 30-minute ceremony celebrating their devotion to each other.

“To know T Kira and Hannah is to know how fiercely they love, with no boundaries, barriers or divisions,” she said. A dozen attendants, including Justine Champine, who the couple called “dyke of honor,” stood by the couple as they exchanged handwritten vows. “You and I have dedicated our lives to words and the arrangements of those words, but it’s these moments, our moments of silence and understanding without explanation that matter most to me,” Ms. Madden said. Ms. Beresford was characteristically poetic: “The universe may be limitless, but I can count my life in moments of seeing you, of hearing your voice, of disbelieving in scale,” she said.

Yards away from the water’s edge, with coconut trees swaying and the majestic Ko’olau mountains in the background, Ms. AuBuchon pronounced them married.

On This Day

When Jan. 7, 2020

Where Kualoa Nature Reserve in Kaneohe, Hawaii

Tradition During the ceremony, Ms. AuBuchon led a traditional exchange of flower leis between the families.

Time for a Tour At a cocktail hour, guests were taken in two separate boats on a short tour of the Molii Fishpond. The 125-acre fishpond is a form of sustainable fishery management, which dates back 800 years.

Grass Skirts A band, accompanied by a trio of hula dancers, played traditional Hawaiian music during a dinner that featured short ribs and sea bass.

Kalani Takase contributed reporting from Kaneohe, Hawaii.

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Hey - Pat from StarterStory.com here with another interview.Today's interview is with Kyra Bussanich of Kyra's Bake Shop, a brand that makes award-winning pastriesSome stats:Product: Award-Winning PastriesRevenue/mo: $120,000Started: May 2009Location: PortlandFounders: 1Employees: 24Hello! Who are you and what business did you start?Hey everyone! I’m Kyra Bussanich, founder of Kyra’s Bake Shop, an exclusively gluten-free bakery in Portland Oregon. You may have seen us on the Food Network dominating the sweet competition on Cupcake Wars!Our claim to fame, if you will, is that everything we make is gluten-free, though you would never know it by tasting our products. When I was first developing the recipes, it was very important to me that everything we make and sell is delicious enough to appeal to anyone (and not just those who must eat on a restricted diet). I think this is part of why we continue to be so successful today.We started the business with a cottage industry certified home kitchen, and following our success, the first time on Cupcake Wars we were able to expand to a tiny little brick and mortar. It wasn’t long until we outgrew that location, and now we have a 3,500 square foot flagship bakeshop/cafe and we just opened our second location (an urban outpost) in downtown Portland. Looking back over the years, I am still shocked to see our revenue growth.While some months are definitely busier than others (Hello Thanksgiving!), our monthly average revenue from the flagship store is $120,000 (the second location hasn’t quite been open a month yet, so it’s still too new to factor those sales in). Let me tell you, you have to sell a LOT of cupcakes and cinnamon rolls to earn that kind of revenue!imageimageWhat's your backstory and how did you come up with the idea?Before I went to pastry school, I had a very uncreative and unfulfilling job, but I didn’t know what I was “supposed” to do with my life. Added to that sense of directionless was the fact that I had been increasingly ill for nearly a decade. I wondered who would even hire me, and felt like I should just be grateful to have a job that was flexible and allowed me to work from home when I needed it.As my health got worse, the thought of a career that would fulfill me became more and more distant, and I found myself in and out of the hospital, doing chemotox infusions every six weeks, and more days than not, curled up on the couch in the fetal position in pain. I had been diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease but none of the medications seemed to help, not even the steroids that caused me to gain 18 pounds in a week so that my skin felt stretched like an overripe grape that was about to burst.It wasn’t until my gastroenterologist wanted to remove the most diseased portions of my intestinal tract that I considered going gluten-free in order to reduce the inflammation in my body so that perhaps I would finally respond to the medications.Eating gluten-free at the time was not easy nor delicious like it is today. I felt like my tastebuds were being punished, but I also felt miraculously better, which kept me on the path. Once my health started stabilizing, I began to think about what I could do for a career that might be challenging and fulfillingOne day, my husband was reading aloud Steve Jobs’ commencement address to Stanford University, and in it, Jobs said (and I’m paraphrasing here), “You need to love what you do for a living because you spend way too much time doing it to feel uninspired by your work.” The statement was an emotional sucker-punch to my gut and I started crying uncontrollably. My husband wiped away my tears and said, “without thinking about your answer, what’s the first thing that comes to mind for what you’d want to do if you were graduating today?”I blurted out, “I’d go to pastry school,” and then clapped my hands over my mouth because I was truly unprepared to blurt that out and it surprised me.At the time, the thought of going to pastry school, and creating foods I could never taste with ingredients I shouldn’t even touch, felt daunting. Not to mention that my husband was finishing up his doctorate at the time, and it was my salary that was paying the mortgage and putting food on the table.Less optimistic friends thought I was nuts to think about trading all that in for more student loans for schooling that would get me a minimum wage-paying job after I completed the program, but for me, it wasn’t about the money; it was about the chance to feed people, and make their day a little brighter.imageTake us through the process of designing, prototyping, and manufacturing your first product.When I first started getting acquainted with gluten-free ingredients in the kitchen, I was massively disappointed: the flavors and textures weren’t anything like I was hoping. Instead of delicious gluten-free pasties, I was creating hard biscuits and dense cakes that could be used as doorstops. Not to mention that the flavors all tasted...off. I remember at the time I had read a blog post from someone who said that we couldn’t expect a gluten-free cake to taste like a “real” cake, and I remember thinking that that was a cop-out.There’s no reason a cake made with alternative grains couldn’t test as good or better than a “regular” cake.I spent thousands of dollars and hours in the kitchen, familiarizing myself with the alternative grain options, and the best way to combine them for great flavor and texture. I brought cakes and cinnamon rolls and pies and cookies and cheesecakes to every picnic and barbeque and party I attended, and solicited feedback (from people who had no dietary restrictions.) I adapted recipes and made tiny tweaks: a different ratio of starch to whole grain flours. A few more grams of binding agent. An additional egg. I tested and retested recipes.At the time, I wasn’t even thinking about starting a brick and mortar business; I was solely preoccupied with entertaining guests and feeding people (like my mom and myself) who might not otherwise be able to indulge in any treats beyond fruit.I created business cards and had my kitchen licensed by the health department, not because I thought this would be a viable business, but because some friends of friends asked me to make their wedding cake, and I thought the cards would lend a sense of legitimacy. I applied for a business license through the Secretary of State for the same reason. Basically, I was pretending to be what I thought a real business was, but I honestly had no clue what I was doing beyond the baking side of things.imageDescribe the process of launching the business.Once that first episode of Cupcake Wars aired on the Food Network in 2009, my phone started ringing off the hook. I had thousands of messages from people all over the country, congratulating me, or telling me they were cheering me on, or wanting to share their gluten-free story, or asking to place orders. I still didn’t have a brick and mortar store, but this was my first inkling that I could someday have a successful retail shop.I applied for bank loans, which were denied to me because I had no real collateral. I sold the diamond out of my wedding ring. I maxed out credit cards and got an angel investment of $62,000 to start the very first iteration of our bakeshop. Nowadays, that sounds like a very inexpensive build-out to me, but at the time, I was terrified that I would be crushed by the weight of that debt.I made a ton of mistakes in the early days (and heck! I still make mistakes now, as I am constantly learning), but one thing I did right was to write a press release when I was initially on Cupcake Wars and send it to all the local publications, as well as tv media, and nationally-distributed gluten-free magazines. I wrote another press release when I was launching my first store and was amazed by the results. I figured there would be maybe 15 customers to come by that day (all friends and family), but thanks to the press release, I had a line out the door, down the street and curling around the block!imageSince launch, what has worked to attract and retain customers?You can have the best product in the world, but if no one knows about it, then it won’t matter; you won’t make sales and won’t be able to stay in business. Conversely, there are brands out there that have a loyal following and great brand awareness, even if the product isn’t necessarily the best on the market. I would say that making PR a priority is key, right after developing a knockout product, and if you can’t afford to hire someone to do it for you, then learn how to do it yourself.In the early days of running the bakeshops, I also said yes to everything. I think part of it was me wanting to get the brand out there and build a loyal following.But you can’t do this indefinitely. Saying yes to everything did get the word out about the bakeshops, but it also meant that I had little control over my schedule, no free time, and no social life. I was exhausted and running ragged and I thought this was how it was “supposed” to be. Eventually, I reached a breaking point and decided that quality of life was more important to me than external measures of success.Now, I say yes strategically, if it’s something I’m passionate about or excited for, or if I think it will really help the business. I learned that there’s an opportunity cost associated with any course of action; if I’m busy with one job, then I can’t take on another at the same time, so I like to make sure that I feel really good about what I do say yes to.Another lesson I learned is that, while my goal is for each person we encounter in any day to leave the interaction feeling more buoyant than when they entered, there is no possible way to make everyone happy, no matter what you do. At first, I desperately tried to please everyone, but no matter what I did, someone would get upset.So I offered 7 flavors of doughnuts a day, and changed those flavors each day? One of those 7 wasn’t triple chocolate, and I was failing that customer.I had 320 flavors of cupcakes… but when people were placing an order for a dozen, I limited them to either a Baker’s Choice Assortment or 1 flavor? Shame on me. (Yes, these were from REAL emails I received. I think one customer even said, “your pastries may be sweet but your customer service is sh@#”).Once I let go of the idea of trying to please everyone, I began to focus on only those things that we do exceptionally well and maintaining the quality and service of those items. A deep dive into our net revenue revealed that 40% of our offerings were responsible for 90% of our revenue, so paring down the menu and focusing on those items allowed us to execute them extremely well, as well as cut labor costs by 40% (thereby actually increasing net revenue). But while I was so focused on being reactive to customer requests, I wasn’t able to take this big-picture strategic view of the business.imageHow are you doing today and what does the future look like?For the first 7 years of operations, Kyra’s Bake Shop experienced a tremendous increase in gross revenue. By year 4, we were grossing more than half a million dollars. By year 7, we were grossing 1.5 million dollars a year. But when we examined the margins, we realized that our overhead was nearly unbearable. Our labor costs were sitting around 62% (we’ve cut that to 31% now), and our packaging costs were excessively high as well.imageThrough starting the business, have you learned anything particularly helpful or advantageous?I wish I had made better use of my appearances on Cupcake Wars or at the Golden Globes. I just didn’t know how to fully leverage these opportunities at the time, so they mostly just because stories I can tell at dinner parties.A lot of my success has been a byproduct of the right time, right product, right message, right place. I was at the very forefront of the gluten-free wave a decade ago, before people knew what being gluten-free means, or which foods contain gluten. I simply had a delicious product that happened to be gluten-free and was spreading an inclusive message, while I educated customers around me.I opened my first bakeshop in a small suburb of Portland, where there is a high concentration of entrepreneurs who are passionate about supporting other entrepreneurs and have the disposable income to be selective about purchasing quality items. Yes, I did this strategically (and we moved to that community and joined the Chamber of Commerce and went to all the events within the community to get to know people), but it was a gamble.How was I to know that the lower foot traffic of a more dedicated health-conscious customer base would surpass the higher foot traffic of a less dedicated city location?These days, social media is king, and content is queen. There are so many amazing tools at our disposal for consistent postings, like Later. Later is an app on mobile or desktop computers that allows you to plan out your social media campaign, schedule posts (and auto-publish to Instagram and Facebook). You can upload all your media, arrange it on the calendar (including day of the week, time of day, what you want to say, and how you want to hashtag it, and even preview how it will look in your Instagram feed (and drag posts around if there is a specific formula that you’re trying to stick to). It even offers analytics so you can measure what is actually gaining traction and what is not.imageWhat platform/tools do you use for your business?We have tried other point of sale companies but eventually settled on Square, which has worked really nicely for us. Our payroll and worker’s compensation integrates nicely with the easy-to-use and intuitive system, and they even have gift cards, a loyalty program, and newsletters integrated right into their system.imageWhat have been the most influential books, podcasts, or other resources?I love everything Tony Robbins says. I think his honesty and authenticity combine to make a person approach reactive situations with curiosity rather than judgment or leaping to defensiveness. He once said that people will create roadmaps and act aligned with their core values and that this can be very informative if you can accept it as information to guide you, rather than as a judgment on what you do or how you run your business.I also adore Simon Sinek’s book, Start with Why. People buy into why a product is offered before they care much about what the product is. This TED talk is a great synopsis of what his book details.Advice for other entrepreneurs who want to get started or are just starting out?SO much advice: It’s important to know your product, but also know the market. These are important questions that you should have an idea of the answer to Who is your target demographic? How will you reach them? What are the growth opportunities for your product or service line? Where are your company’s strengths and weaknesses? What current problems do your products or services address, and how are they different from what else is already out on the market? What are your competitive advantages, and how will you distinguish yourself from the market?And speaking of marketing, I fully believe this to be an important component of a company’s success. I never had an advertising budget set aside, and for our product, we didn’t really need one.In the first year in business, I tried doing a Groupon and quickly realized that while this wasn’t the best avenue for us to gain loyal customers, it was marketing that broke even.imageCupcake Wars, and local media shows, while highly stressful, we're also valuable marketing tools. Cupcake Wars provided social proof, and we received a ton of other national media (LA Times, Shape Magazine, Food + Wine Magazine, The Today Show online, Huffington Post, The Boston Globe, USA Today and others) that snowballed because we had the clout and credibility from Cupcake Wars.I always love collaborating with other amazing local brands that share a similar target market. I think this is a great way to foster a sense of community, which is one of the guiding principles of our business.Above all, keep in mind why you started the business. What was the purpose, and where does that purpose dovetail with a sense of joy for you? Where are the bottlenecks to being more effective or efficient, or profitable, and how can you outsource the tasks not uniquely suited to you.Just remember: if you want to grow beyond your own personal capabilities, you need to take a global view of your business, and focus where you are most effective, and hire people who are better than you to do the tasks where you don’t excel. Early on, I realized that while I am a spectacular visionary and creative director, I am a middling-to merely adequate operations manager, so as soon as I was able, I hired someone to fulfill that role for me.Are you looking to hire for certain positions right now?We are currently hiring bakers and cake decorators, but I’ve been very fortunate to make some great hiring decisions, which means that we have had very low turnover rates, especially compared to industry standards!Where can we go to learn more?WebsiteFacebookInstagramIf you have any questions or comments, drop a comment below!Liked this text interview? Check out the full interview with photos, tools, books, and other data.For more interviews, check out r/starter_story - I post new stories there daily.Interested in sharing your own story? Send me a PM