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buckstaposition · 5 years ago

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I cling to your lips like gloss (1)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

now also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie (if u wanna come say hello on main)

rating/warnings: swearing, mentions of character death

words: 5521

Author’s note: dude this chapter fought me every step of the way but it’s here now so suck it, muses or whatever

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Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries (thank you sweeties whom I will hold forever in my heart)

(message me if you want to be added to the list)

Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Informant

'Liliana' the file said. I was tucked away in the locked bottom drawer of his old desk, the one he hadn't even had time to clear out when they'd sent him away. To be fair, Javier had only known to look because Murphy had called him to tell him about this informant. It sounded too good to be true. An informant coming to them of their own accord, ready to spill valuable inside secrets of the Calí cartel, and they didn't even want payment? One would be forgiven, in their line of work, to smell a trap. But Murphy had vouched for this one, and he trusted Murphy, knew that his partner (former partner) did his homework with due diligence. That, and the first batch of intel Murphy had brought back from their first few meetings had already proven invaluable.

There was apparently only one hiccup, and it was that the informant refused to talk to any agents other than him or Murphy. It had even led to Steve having to postpone his return to the States for almost two months, until it was clear that Javier would return to Colombia. Fair enough, he'd need to make up his own mind about them anyway. He collected the file and tucked it into the box that held all the stuff he'd cleared out of the desk, since he would now officially be moving a an office of his own.

Upon arriving in said office, he kicked the door closed and sat, lighting a cigarette and reaching for the file. As thin as it was, it still took him almost an hour to work through it, though half of the time was spent deciphering Murphy's chicken scratch mess of annotations. The rest was spent on making his own. After checking the time, Javier fetched himself a cup of the same old tar brew that passed for coffee here, lit another cigarette, and dialled Steve's new office number in Miami.

"Murphy."

"Alright, I've read the file." Javier started without preamble. Perhaps that was a bit short. He grimaced, then added, "About the informant. Liliana."

"Yeah, I figured." Steve exhaled probably puffing away at his own nicotine habit. Javier meant to quit, but kept pushing it off. The intent was all there was to it, at this stage. "So what're you calling me for, big boss?"

Javier elected to ignore the taunt, knowing it was friendly.

"You've met her. Is she legit?"

"Why, you smelling a trap?"

Pathological mistrust was a feature one acquired while on this job. Those who didn't ended up dead. Those who did would still end up dead, just later and more jaded. Either way you'd get a lot of other people killed on the way. "Just making sure."

They spent the next half hour and a bit going over the file together, comparing notes, catching up, thinking aloud - all of which were much easier to do when they had each other to bounce off of. It felt good, almost like old times. Javier went through close to a third of his pack of cigarettes, the air growing heavy in the windowless room. Just as well that it was almost time to wrap this up. A look at his watch told him that it was getting late in the day, and that Steve would want to get home to his family. All Javier could hope for at this point was avoiding resident CIA-asshole Bill Stechner on his way out, at least on this day.

"You won't be able to pull your usual shit with this one." Steve remarked, accompanied by the sound of shuffling papers. Javier bristled, even though he knew the things people said about him, both behind his back and to his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Knowing didn't mean it didn't, occasionally, sting, but he'd given up on trying to influence other people's minds long ago. A reputation once acquired was not easily shed, not that he'd made much of an effort to.

"It means that you shouldn't. Pull your usual crap with this one. For one I hardly think it'll be necessary."

"That would be new." Javier snorted. He could hear Steve's eyeroll through the phone.

"Still the same asshole-" Steve snarked. "I'm just saying be nice for once, especially since that woman's intel is the only reason you still have a job. She's a nice lady, so with a bit of luck some of that might even rub off on you."

"And I'm the asshole..."

"So everyone keeps saying."

"Fuck you, Steve."

"Go fuck yourself, Javi." Steve's chuckle told him it was all in good humor. "And don't fuck this informant."

"Yeah, yeah," Javier waved it off. The woman was an accountant, for fuck's sake. Note exactly his usual type. Or the type he usually attracted.

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

They were meeting at one of the small restaurants lining the edge of Parque Sabaneta in Medellín. Over the phone her voice had sounded... hesitant, above all else. Tinny, too, but he blamed the connection for that. And he'd brought her a satellite phone for future contacts; her driving out to remote phone cells and him waiting for calls after hours in his office just didn't cut it.

There hadn't been a picture in the file, but Steve's description had been quite accurate and Javier was able to pick her out at the table she'd chosen before making himself known. Dark hair and darker eyes behind large, slightly old-fashioned glasses. She was almost tall and hid her figure underneath loose-fitted clothing; today a flowy blouse and high-waisted dress pants, and a bulky cardigan against the spring chill that lingered even into the late morning. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun that reminded him of his fifth grade math teacher, Ms Jenkins. Javier approached the table.

"Diana Rivas?" She froze for a split-second before relaxing again, returning his greeting softly. In real life her voice was deeper than he would have anticipated, raspier too, but not unpleasant - the kind of voice one would expect first thing in the morning, just after waking up.

"I do hope your drive was not too tiring, Agent Peña." she said as he sat. He grimaced slightly. The drive had been long, above all else. Not his first choice of how to spend a Friday morning. Well, he'd endured worse for this job. But next time he'd definitely travel by plane.

"Do they serve decent coffee here?" Javier scrubbed a hand over his burning eyes and settled, resuming his assessment. She squirmed slightly under his unrelenting gaze, but squared her shoulders after a moment, meeting his gaze head-on and motioning a waiter over with a flick of her delicate wrist.

"Of course they do, this is Medellín!" She sounded mildly offended, then ignored him in favor of telling the waiter their order. Javier took the time to observe her further.

No make-up, no jewellery, save for a simple, functional watch and a small silver locket on a long, thin chain. No wedding band either, but the paleness and indentation around her ring finger still indicated that she'd worn one in the recent past. Her features were soft and feminine, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, all making her look younger than she purportedly was. His gaze caught on her defined cupid's bow just a second too long. Her complexion seemed far too sunkissed for someone who spent most of their time indoors, in air-conditioned office spaces. In conclusion, undeniably lovely to anyone with eyes who cared to look, but obviously taking great pains to discourage closer scrutiny, to look as mousy and plain as possible. It worked, to a degree.

It occurred to Javier that maybe he should actually talk to her, since that's what he'd come here for.

"Do you always begin your interrogations with the silent treatment? I can see how that might be effective." She beat him to it, just before the coffee cups were set on the table in front of them.

"This isn't an interrogation." he groused, taking a tentative sip of the coffee. The scent of it alone was enough to wake the dead; it was heavenly. He'd have to see if he could weasel some halfway decent coffee out of his budget at the office.

"Regardless, I only have until noon today. We can meet again tomorrow; I can make myself available all afternoon for you, Agent Peña."

Javier huffed out a breath before taking another sip. "Why can you suddenly do Medellín anyway? You had Murphy travel across half the country to meet you."

She made a face at that, something between annoyed and apologetic. "My aunt, she... she's sick and been getting worse. I make the time to come down here every other weekend now to help her."

"And your employers are alright with that?" He hadn't exactly pegged the Calí cartel for employers of the year. Or to pioneer part-time models so their employees could care for sick relatives.

"As long as the work gets done, yes. It means I work ten to eleven hour days Monday to Thursday, but I am the only one left in this family..." She sniffled a little and swept the tips of her fingers under the plastic rim of her glasses, wiping at her eyes. Javier looked away, pretending it was to give her privacy. He imagined this unusually forthright woman walking up to Pacho Herrera to ask for reduced work hours so she could care for her aunt- That could really have gone either way, but somehow he thought that was probably not how it happened, or whom she'd asked. He just couldn't picture it. Maybe one of the brothers; they liked to style themselves as charitable family men, to a degree.

"Anyway, Medellín's closer for you, and we're less likely to be found out here. They like to keep security pretty tight in Calí. My friend Angelika calls it the Calí Stasi, and she's from the former East Germany, so she'd know."

He hummed in acknowledgement, his coffee almost gone and him almost feeling like a living human being again. He flagged the waiter down for another.

"In any case, I am glad that we can keep this to Spanish now. My English is not very ...confident." She prattled on, sipping from her own cup. Murphy had told him that she'd brought a dictionary to their first meeting, and apparently, with his former partner's dismal language skills, they'd actually needed it.

"I'm sure your English is better than Murphy's Spanish." Steve had told him as much, but then again, Steve's Spanish was shit, so it really wasn't saying much. There was something else niggling at the back of his mind.

"Why me?"

Her glasses slid down her nose half an inch or so in surprise at his -admittedly abrupt- question. "I'm sorry?"

"Murphy said you wanted to speak to me specifically when you first called. Why?"

She hesitated a moment, squirmed a little and averted her eyes, then pushed her glasses back up her nose before answering, softer than before. "Gabriela said you could be trusted."

"...Gabriela?" He said sharply, neck flushing at the thought of the beautiful redhead.

She shrunk in on herself, hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. Perhaps his voice had come out a little bit harsher than intended. He hadn't even thought that she'd actually tell him her real name. He'd just been a client after all.

"Yes," Miss Rivas breathed out, her voice so soft now that he had to lean halfway across the table to even catch it. "She's my best friend. We've been inseparable since the firts day of school. We tell each other everything. She told me she knew a DEA agent; that's why I told my cousin to go to her when she ran into trouble with Pablo Escobar-"

"Your cousin???" He almost roared. It came out as more of a whisper-yell, but she still flinched, eyes going wide behind the lenses.

"Yes, my cousin," she said carefully, "Maritza Rincón."

"Maritza–" he patted his pocket for a smoke and swore under his breath when he remembered how he'd left them in the car with the intention of advancing his 'quit smoking'-idea beyond idle talk. "What is this, a fucking trap? Very elaborate setup just to yell at me, missy. Unless you've got some buddies of yours here to–"

"What- what are you *talking* about? I don't blame you for Maritza's death!" By now people were staring. Not a lot of them, since it wasn't really the time yet for the midday crowd and too late for the morning rush, but the few pensioners and whatnot were definitely sensing the tension at their table. Javier gave up on his cigarette search and took a deliberate breath, willing himself to calm down.

"Maritza is dead?" He hadn't known that. He wasn't sure how he would have learned of it, but it still shocked him regardless. He looked over to see her fidget with her locket, lips pressed tight and trembling. Shit. Another informant on his conscience, fucking great.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-" he started, his voice catching. He bought himself time with his now lukewarm coffee, "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know that. I-"

"It's alright." She whispered, in a tone of voice that clearly indicated it wasn't. She swept her glasses off with trembling fingers and pressed beneath her eyes, as if to restrain the tears that pooled in her lashes.

"I'm sorry." Javier said again, insistent, soft, sincere. "What happened?"

"We- I don't know. She called me to say she was in trouble with Escobar, and I helped her set up the meeting with Gabi."

"With me." He remembered that evening, that young girl sitting in Gabriela's apartment, ready to be sprung on him. Part of him had resented it; Gabriela had been someone he'd sought out to get away from the damn narcos and their dealings. Miss Rivas nodded.

"Yes. It was that idiot Jhon. He was one of the neighborhood kids. Growing up he'd always had a crush on her..." She talked a lot, he found. It should irritate him more, the way she'd throw in seemingly irrelevant asides without explaining further. Instead he only found himself worrying that someone so pathologically honest could not possibly keep the Gentlemen of Calí off her tracks, at least not if she kept spilling her life story so eagerly.

" ...and then she hid out on her uncle's farm again, where my auntie - her mom - grew up and went back to after my uncle - that's Maritza's dad - died of a heart attack. Auntie had been out for the day and when she came back- "

He can't bear to listen to it, but forces himself to anyway. In the sea of his regrets, what's one more? Besides, there's nothing else he can do for the girl now; the least he can do is witness how he failed her.

For all her unassuming bluntness, Diana Rivas is not one to hold back, even on unsavoury details. At least he doesn't get the sense that she does it to torment when she tells him how they found Maritza's lifeless body with her young daughter next to her.

By the end of that sorry tale, he has his head in his hands, Miss Rivas is still just this side of openly weeping, and all the other patrons have demonstratively averted their attention so as not to impose on what must, on the outside, look like an urgent case for a damned good couples' counselor.

"I'm sorry, I know this is a lot." And why in the hell is she apologizing?

"No shit." And yeah, he has to digest this before he can even think of making any attempt at non-destructive human interaction. "You couldn't tell Murphy any of this?"

She gave him a look.

"Yeah, alright. Sorry." More than just a language barrier, got it.

"I didn't come here today with the intention to relive this, you know?" She said archly. He supposed she had all the right to be upset. And he'd never had a meeting with an informant turn this harrowing, which was really saying something.

"I'm sorry." He said again, putting the weight of sincerity behind the words. Her hands were in the table now, fidgeting again as she sat slightly hunched over, staring into her coffee cup.

"Unless your government has a time machine to spare, I would prefer not talking about it again. At least not more than necessary." She replaced her glasses and checked her watch. "1 pm tomorrow?"

Javier nodded dumbly, already plucking a few bills out of his wallet to pay for the coffee. "Yeah, 1 pm is okay. Where?"

"Meet me at the church. Santa Ana. You know it?" He didn't particularly, as in he didn't know its name before now, but he could see the building's tall white facade from where they were sitting.

"Iglesia de Santa Ana, 1 pm tomorrow." Javier confirmed, rising as she did. The stared at each other for a moment, unsure of how to conclude this meeting, until she stuck her hand out for him to shake. He took her smaller, slender hand in his, squeezing it wordlessly.

"Until tomorrow, Agent Peña." She said, managing a sad little smile. "I hope you'll get some rest. You look like shit."

Javier bit down every one of the snarky replies that sprung to mind, not least because he knew it was true. His bags had bags and he itched for a smoke.

And to think, this was Murphy's 'nice lady'.

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

Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that at the church meant inside the church. Not until a very miffed face peered out between the heavy doors, giving him a look as he stood there smoking.

"It's barely been five minutes!" Javier defended himself, stubbing out the cigarette beneath his heel.

"It's 1:07pm." She informed him matter-of-factly, pushing the glasses back up her nose pointedly as she made to turn back inside. Javier caught the door, crowding perhaps a bit too close, but the damned thing was heavy.

"Sorry." He said simply, seeing no point in making a scene out of it. She had to crane her neck just the slightest bit to meet his gaze.

"Wait here, I'll be out in a minute." And with that she stalked off. Javi watched her sweep down the aisle, her hair and skirt fluttering behind her. She wore her hair loose today, the ends of it curling around her shoulders, and a simple off-white shirt dress that reached down to mid-calf. He let his eyes trail after her, leaning his weight more fully against the heavy wood of the door to lever it open. She walked around two thirds of the way down the pews before stopping by a... baby carriage?

She bent over it before carefully wheeling it around and starting back towards the door. Javier racked his tired brain. The file hadn't said anything about a kid. Married five years but no children. That didn't seem like the kind of thing one would easily miss, and he knew Murphy to be thorough in his inquiries.

"Who's this then?" He peered inside the carriage -more of a buggy really now that he got a closer look- and barely caught a glance of a dozing toddler with soft brown curls, while hoisting the door open wider to let her pass more easily. "Didn't know you had a kid."

"I don't." The buggy caught on the threshold and jolted, and a displeased cry came from inside it, making her curse under her breath. "This is Maritza's daughter, Salome. I've got it! Just- the door, just get the door!"

The last part of that came out high and sharp, much like the crack of a whip, and in direct response to Javier's attempt to swoop in and help heave the buggy over the worn-down threshold. He jolted back on instinct, grunting when the door swung squarely into his spine. Who the hell was responsible for all these old-ass church doors being solid enough to squash an actual living human between them?

After some fumbling they managed to make it out with most of their dignity still intact. Javier bent down and quickly shoved the bag he'd brought into the wire basket underneath the buggy's seat, next to her purse.

"Where to?" He asked, straightening up again. Miss Rivas still looked cross, her lips pressed together.

"Follow along. There are some secluded benches a little walk away." And off she was, leavin him to catch up.

"If your intention is to disguise this meeting as just another family enjoying the sun I suggest you slow down a little." Javier hissed under his breath. He'd actually had to jog a bit to keep up with her steamroller pace. She looked even more annoyed and declined to grace him with an answer, but slowed with a sigh that told him that this was indeed her intention. It was a smart enough plan, he wouldn't dispute that.

At least the kid seemed to have calmed from her little jostle-startle, seeing as she was now quietly babbling away as if narrating the sights. Javier tried to loosen his tense shoulders and to look like he was enjoying himself as they fell into step ambling along the walkways between the lush greenery.

"How old is she?" he asked, thinking that perhaps some small talk would ease the woman's sullen mood.

"Almost two and a half." Or not. Well, he tried. Javier wasn't exactly an expert with kids and none of his previous informants had ever shown up with theirs. Not that that would have been appropriate considering the circumstances. They walked for about a quarter of an hour, which Javier spent agonizing about how to smooth over the sudden mood change Miss Rivas was displaying compared to the day before. By the time they'd made it to their destination he was no closer to that goal.

She sat with a weary sigh, shaking out her flowy skirt before sitting and rolling her sleeves up to her elbows. It was much warmer today than when they'd met previously, only in part due to the later hour. Stiffly, Javier sat down next to her at a distance that instantly belied their 'family outing' cover. She turned to him after checking on the baby, peeling back the sunshade of the buggy to allow her to look around.

"You can smoke if you want to." Miss Rivas said offhandedly, her tone forcedly polite. Javier cleared his throat.

"I'm actually trying to quit."

Her lips quirked into a pleasant curve. "And how's that going?"

Javier sighed. "I'm thinking I might have chosen the wrong time."

"Or the wrong job."

The laugh that bursts forth from him is short, but not altogether hollow. "Yeah, or that."

"Very well, then you may not smoke even though you might want to."

Javier smiled. Couldn't help it, really. He had been worried that he'd somehow managed to offend her during their last meeting. He said as much, and she shook her head with a look of remorse.

"No, it's not your fault. It's just..." She pushed her glasses up and rubbed at her eyes, revealing the dark rings that had previously been hidden beneath the plastic rim. "Yesterday dredged up some things, and I didn't sleep well as a consequence. That always makes me snippy. And to top things of, this one," she leaned over to unbuckle the child and heave her into her lap, "was being fussy all morning, which didn't help. Sorry for being so short with you earlier."

"In this job, people usually shoot at me. It's alright, really. You're alright." Truth be told, he was glad she pulled herself out of this funk. Maybe she was as nice as Murphy claimed after all. The kid looked at him with large, round, strangely sage eyes. I got your mommy killed. I got your mommy killed and you had to watch. If he had gotten her that visa- The thought made him gulp, made him dizzy and nauseous and if there was anything to be glad for in this situation it was that he was already sitting down. Miss Rivas replaced her glasses and looked at him with furrowed brows. He felt like he was being read.

"I already told you that I don't blame you for Maritza." Javier tried his damnedest not to squirm underneath that discerning stare. Screw read, he felt like he was being flayed open. "Obviously you still blame yourself."

"Wouldn't you?" He shot back, defensive. She didn't answer for a moment, gently rocking the kid who had grabbed a hold of her locket and started to play with it.

"I have enough regrets of my own, Agent Peña." Part of him wants to scoff, even just to dispel the heavy moment, but the severity in her tone nips that impulse in the bud. Instead, he clears his throat and gestures to the buggy where he stored his bag earlier.

"I brought you something."

Her features soften into not quite a smile, but something close enough. "What a coincidence, so have I."

And then she hands him the toddler, who lets out a displeased cry at having her toy wrenched from her chubby hands in so unceremonious a manner, and Javier freezes as her squirmy weight is settled in his lap, only his hand shooting out to steady her on instinct. Up close her big brown eyes are even more enormous.

"Um, hi. Nice to meet you, Miss Salome. I'm Javier." He says awkwardly and is met with a pout. This is patently terrible and reminds him of the few times he'd been handed baby Olivia. She'd started crying instantly nine times out of ten. He hopes against hope that today will be a deviation from that norm. Salome considers him a long moment, blinking owlishly and making that certain kind of skeptical face that little kids so often do. He's had less tense moments in interrogations. He might be sweating in a way that has little to do with the midday heat.

And then Salome blows him a raspberry and dives for his wrist to investigate the shininess of his watch. And when he can breathe again he allows himself a smile. Of relief, mostly. In stark contrast to the smile Miss Rivas wears as she regeards them both, which is pure mischief with a dash of smugness.

"Well look at that. You passed muster, Agent Peña." Miss Rivas set both their bags down in the space between them, then leaned over to press a quick kiss to little Salome's soft curls. And Javier has been much closer to many women than this; his heart shouldn't lurch at the sudden proximity, the waft of her perfume or the light brush of her soft hair over his bare forearm.

"Ladies first." Javier gestured at the bags between them. She smiled and rummaged through hers, producing two thick stacks of folded papers, either parcel secured with a rubber band.

"Trade you?" she motioned at the girl, who was now intently examining the fingers of his right hand. Reluctantly, he let Miss Rivas pluck the small child from his lap and stand her next to the bench. Salome frowned adorably for a moment at having been interrupted in pulling his pinky finger off, then realized she was free to roam around and brightened instantly, hitting the bench a few times with chubby palms and babbling.

"Yes, of course I have your toy, sweetie." Miss Rivas said earnestly, presenting a brightly colored ball. Salome grabbed for it with a squeal, her momentum propelling her straight onto her backside. Miss Rivas turned back to Javier with that soft, fond expression still on her face and handed him one of the parcels.

"Do... did you want to go over this? While I'm here to explain things?"

"That complex, huh?"

"Well, it's a lot to do with creative book-keeping and tax law loopholes. It's more about how they structure their business to launder their incomes than anything else, but it'll still be helpful in building a case, no?"

It is, which is the whole reason he's been sent back here apparently. And while it's nothing the analysts back at the office can't handle (probably), he still likes being in the loop. And also maybe because he enjoys the sound of her voice. In any case he peels off the rubber band and unfolds the stack of papers, keeping a careful hand around it to ensure that nothing blows away in the spring breeze. Miss Rivas pulled out a pencil from her purse and shuffled closer. Close enough that he can smell her perfume again. - - - Over the following hour and a half Javier realized several important things:

One. Diana Rivas is likely one of the cleverest people he has ever met. By page eight his head is swimming with numbers, but her even explanations make even tiered corporate tax rebate systems sound fascinating. Even in his line of work, he'd never truly considered accounting to be the stuff of suspense, but she makes it sound like a thriller that even the brightest heads in Hollywood would have trouble coming up with.

Two. Having to do anything while keeping an eye in a rambunctious small child who is still learning to walk is a uniquely stressful experience. Little Salome is bouncing around the small patch of grass in front of the bench much like her ball, endowed with seemingly endless reservoirs of energy. She crashes into his knee a few times while chasing her ball or deciding that playing hide and seek underneath the bench is a better use of her time, and it puts him on edge that he feels responsible at all.

Three. The Rodríguez brothers make more than enough money from their few legitimate businesses to never have to worry themselves financially. Not that this had been in question, technically, but to see the numbers in black and white is still galling, even if he's not nearly as incensed about it as Miss Rivas seems to be. And while Javier is far from a religious man, he does consider greed that is levered with blood to be at least distateful.

Four. It's not her perfume he smelled earlier, but her shampoo, bright and fruity, with high notes of citrus.

Five. As long as this is all they have and all she can get, the DEA cannot make a move against the Calí cartel. His orders had been very clear on that. Nail them down beyond escape and make absolutely sure you get them into custody, in that order. It means that whatever Miss Rivas can reveal about the inner financial working of the cartel is valuable, but on its own won't be enough. As always in this job it's sorting through a haystack with a rake in search of needlepoints.

Which brings him to the next thing he needs to ask her. Needs to ask her to do for him, and the operation, to be specific, and he can already tell she'll say yes eagerly. Eager informants should be a blessing, but their eagerness seems to directly correlate with their likelihood of getting killed, or close enough.

"This is for you." He says instead, handing her the satellite phone. There's directions that go with it, but he takes the time to walk her through it nonetheless. Also his numbers, both office and home, just in case. He watched as she carefully tucked everything into her purse.

It's later in the afternoon now - past three - and Salome comes toddling over, handing Javier her ball and sitting down on the grassy ground with a world-weary sigh.

"Okay, time for your nap I think, young lady." Miss Rivas plucked the child from the ground and stood to deposit her back in the buggy, then holding out her hand to him expectantly. He hands the ball over after a split-second of dumbstruck hesitation.

"Well, goodbye then, Agent Peña."

He stood. Offered her his hand to shake, which she took. "I'll call you during the week. What time is good for you?"

"Any time between seven and ten. I'll probably be in Medellín again in a month. I'll let you know if I have more intel by then." He nodded, finally releasing her hand after realizing he still had her fingers clasped in his. She smiled and turned to leave, wheeling the buggy around from its resting position and onto the footpath. "Oh, and Agent Peña?" She turned halfway, throwing the words over her shoulder with a smirk. "Gabriela won't be available tonight, just so you know. We're meeting for dinner and general catching up."

His neck flushed hotly, both despite and because he'd had no intention of visiting her.

"Thanks," he said stiffly, "Give her my best."

"Will do!"

Shaking his head, Javier watched her retreat until she disappeared from view behind a bend in the path.

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

Further author’s note bc apparently I have more to say:

I’m gonna play a bit fast and loose with the timeline, because the show makes it look like Javi was sent back pretty much immediately and it only took those ~6 months to take down the cartel bosses, but in reality Escobar died in December of 1993 and the Calí godfathers weren’t arrested until summer of ‘95, so I’m sending Javi back to Colombia in the first half of ‘94 (April to be specific), meaning the time frame for this story is about a year

also I thought Maritza’s daughter in the series was still a baby, but upon rewatch it is actually stated in s2 ep4 that she’s two, and now I had to rewrite those parts. As to why she doesn’t speak, that’s actually something that will come up later and has nothing to do with my bad memory of the series. though tbh I probably assumed that because Olivia was a baby for like three years. (also according to the timeline I determined Maritza’s daugher would actually be between three and four at this point, but I’m going to disregard that. I’ve already had to age her up once and for the purposes of this story I need her to be still this little)

Chapter 2

#narcos (tv)#javier pena x ofc #series #I cling to your lips like gloss (series)#multipart #javier peña #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier peña fanfic #my writing #part 1 #like gloss tag

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ladyloveandjustice · 6 years ago

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I picked up Howl’s Moving Castle at the used bookstore and as expected it is wildly different from the movie version, though I don’t think the book as is would have made a very coherent movie due to having ten million subplots, so it was probably for the best Miyazaki did his own thing. But I did enjoy the book a lot and here are some elements I found most interesting/amusing.Probably a million people have done these kinds of posts but GUESS WHAT HERE’S ONE FROM ME

-Movie Sophie is kinda outspoken and snarky but she’s got nothing on Book Sophie who is cutthroat as hell with her snark. She’s delivering a sick burn like, every other page. It’s amazing. And her thoughts are pretty friggin’ vicious, it’s like, yes I’ve had thoughts that vicious and I think almost everyone has but it’s unusual to see a character in a book actually express them! There’s one point where she’s really annoyed about this lady asking where her boyfriend who went missing is at really aggressively, so she thinks “maybe I should just go grab that skull over there, wave it in her face and tell her its her boyfriend and he’s dead. ...Nah, it’s too far away. Also that would be unkind.” YEAH SOPHIE JUST A LITTLE. I like how “that would be pretty mean” is just secondary to “ugh and i’d have to get up to go get it”, relatable.

-there’s this whole subplot where Howl is like, actually from our modern world and crossed dimension to Sophie’s world. His name is actually Howell Jenkins (which he hates, of course. PENDRAGON IS SO MUCH COOLER) and his sister thinks he’s a bum. There’s this really convoluted bit where a spell gets mixed up with his nephew’s english homework (I HONESTLY DIDN’T REALLY GET IT I PROBABLY READ TOO FAST) so he and the gang go to see his fam.

and his nephew and his friend are there playing video games and he just walks over and pulls the plug (it took reading it a few times to realize that’s what he did, because Sophie doesn’t know wtf a console/computer is and describes it “as a box with roots that lead to the wall” and says Howl “pulled the roots out”) and the nephew’s like “oh great it’s my shitty uncle hey how dare you” “what haven’t you played this one before” “yeah but like, i don’t have a newer one, I only get them at Christmas” “well look i’ll get you one if you tell me some stuff here” “omg really!!! sure!!!!”

It’s just...surreal like you think you’re simply in this fantasy world then it’s like NOPE HOWL'S FROM WALES HE HOPS OVER THERE AND GETS HIS NEPHEW VIDEO GAMES WITH MAGIC SOMETIMES.

-it turns out the English homework was poem by John Donne and Howl just goes “JOHN DONNE” in this agonized voice when he finds out. I feel you Howl.

- his sister is so mean to him Sophie’s like “jeez no wonder he left this world” but then later when he whines that Sophie’s reminding him of his sister with how mean she’s being she’s like “WELL I’M STARTING TO THINK YOUR SISTER IS LIKE THAT BECAUSE SHE HAD TO PUT UP WITH YOU GROWING UP GOD I CAN’T IMAGINE.” Sophie shows No Mercy.

-Sophie meets with Howl’s magic teacher while pretending to be his Mom and she informs her she’s been a powerful witch subconsciously doing magic this whole time and Sophie just shrugs like yeah that makes sense, its the chillest ‘realize you’re magic” scene ever.

-the Witch of the Waste is not remotely redeemable here, she casually MURDERS howl’s magic mentor lady off screen and just meets Sophie on the street saying “lol guess what I just got back from doing”.Howl kills her later and like, justified, honestly.

-Howl’s pretty clearly deeply genuinely heartbroken about his mentor’s death, which you can tell because he DOESN’T make a big production of it like he does everything else, but surprisingly there’s like no moment of bonding where Sophie talks to him about grief or whatever, nope, business as usual. He turns into a dog to go to her funeral even though the Witch is after him and its super dangerous, but puts on this fancy black suit first and Sophie’s like “do you really need the suit if you’re just going to be a dog” “Y E S.”

-At one point Howl gets a cold and is super dramatic about it of course and Sophie is just super done and snarks at him to deal with it. Then later she’s like “hey are you goin’ out in the rain with that cold” and he’s like “YEAH I’LL PROBABLY DIE. THEN YOU’LL BE SORRY”. “ok have fun then.” “BURY ME NEXT TO MY DEAR TEACHER”. “kay, will do”. Legendary.

- Howl goes around getting girls to fall in love with him and then dumping them the second they do, and there’s this whole subplot where Sophie’s worried he’s gonna break her sister’s heart and is like “oh god gotta warn my sister about this fucker” but then it turns out her sister (who’s a witch in her own right) never fell for Howl’s bullshit for a second and was just using him to get info on Sophie because she was worried about her, it’s pretty great.

-seriously there are so many subplots there’s even a subplot with Sophie’s OTHER sister and Micheal (who’s 15 in the book) having a romance and there’s a thing with this dog guy too like...there are so many things, probably too many.

-Sophie gets SO PISSED when she finds out everyone basically knew about her curse (Howl and Micheal are like “uh was it supposed to be a secret??”) she almost murders Howl with magical weedkiller

-at the end, another fire demon attacks and tries to get Howl’s heart and he sorta-dies and Sophie just clobbers it with her cane and then enchants her cane to beat the shit out of it. After Sophie gets his heart from Calcifer and shoves it back in he’s like “wow ouch do I have a hangover?” and she’s like “ugh no you were dead now shut up and kill the demon”. I can see why the movie ended more romantically, but honestly, would have loved to see Sophie just go to town with her cane, much preferred climax.

-in the back there’s a q and a with Diana Wynne Jones, and she’s like “yeah a lot of women who read this book tell me they want to marry Howl and that really confuses me. He’s take so long in the bathroom every morning. you’d never get to use it.” and it’s hilarious that’s like, the dealbreaker for her.

Anyway, yeah it was a fun book!

#howl's moving castle

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betratyal · 5 years ago

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the first clear thought in years: I REFUSE TO DIE.

JACOB BATALON? No, that’s actually PETER PETTIGREW from the MARAUDERS ERA. You know, the child of AMBROSIA PETTIGREW and ALISTER MCALISTER? Only 20 years old, this GRYFFINDOR alumni works as a DISH WASHER and is sided with HIMSELF. HE/THEY identifies as AGENDER and is a HALFBLOOD who is known to be CUNNING, HUMOROUS and ALLOCENTRIC but also OBSESSIVE, PASSIVE and COWARDLY.

LINKS – pinboard, stats, app. CHARACTER PARALLELS – winston bishop ( new girl ), sid jenkins ( skins ), charles boyle ( b99 ), edmund pevensie ( narnia ), eric forman ( that 70s show ), bunny corcoran ( the secret history ) AESTHETIC – ketchup stains on band shirts, an incomprehensible minute long string of curses, tracing the veins in your wrist, the smell of breakfast and fresh coffee, card tricks at three in the morning, freddie mercury impersonations, lying on the floor of the kitchen staring a the ceiling for three hours, trembling hands holding a joint, a guilty grin. HEADS UP – this intro contains mentions of bullying, death, mental illness (eating disorders (bed & bulimia) and depression and anxiety), self destructive tendencies and weed. ive trigger warned each bullet point where it comes up.

history ( 1960 - 1978 )

peter was born to ambrosia pettigrew, a halfblooded scottish-filipino witch. his father -- a muggle -- was not in the picture and hadn’t been ever since he’d learned of ambrosia’s pregnancy; he would sent her money every now and then, in the first years of peter’s life, but was never in the picture. ( and that was for the best, thought ambrosia; she didn’t love him, and he was a muggle, but still --- she was heartbroken and wished that she could give more to her son ).

peter grew up living with his mother in a small flat in glasgow. his grandparents lived nearby, and he spent a lot of time with them. peter learned how to be alone from a young age, with his mother working a lot and he himself lacking friends and peers to waste the days with --- as a child, he delved into fictional worlds ( superhero comics, roald dahl novels, animated tv shows ) and found friends there.

bullying tw / went to muggle elementary as well, but never felt at home there. he was the odd one out: his clothes didn’t fit well, his nervous habits were annoying to his classmates, his words were too clumsy and his eyes too shifty. he didn’t mind not having friends ( or so he thought, until he did have them ) but he did mind being picked on and teased. end of tw

death tw / his grandmother died when he was seven and it was devastating; peter’s family was so small and compact, his social world so limited, that it had a huge impact. his relationship with his grandfather did grow much stronger through it. end of tw

and then peter finally went to hogwarts! and peter made friends for the FIRST TIME. and he found a second home! ah, my god --- peter was so happy, he was really so hyped and in awe of his life and his friends. it all felt a bit surreal; especially because he looked up to james and sirius and remus so much --- james, mainly, but all of them were so amazing, and he was so amazed that they liked him, too.

peter always loved heroes. he loves comic books and people who save the day and get the girl and do it all. i think he kind of … projected that onto james and sirius especially? did not know how to do this friendship thing as an 11 year old tbh, was a mess, was blinded by their amazingness damn, and thus kind of hero worshipped them, didn’t see their flaws and faults.

re: peter being a gryffindor; peter admires heroism and bravery and chivalry, and it’s your values that get you sorted some place. and he always did try to be brave, and he WAS in a lot of moments, because he became a damn animagus for his bud! i mean! he was not a hatstall btw — i choose to ignore that stupid bit of post canon. it took a while for the hat, sure, but no more than two minutes.

peter was a pretty bad student, to be honest. not because he was stupid, but because he’s just not build for school. deadlines? exams? homework? no thank you --- those were both sources of stress and horribly tedious things and peter was much too occupied with shenanigans and having fun. peter learned better in different settings: he got very good at certain charms because they allowed him to be lazy ( hello, accio! ) and was able to put his mind to becoming an animagus because there was a necessity and a proper motivation, and became better at potions because of all the hangover potions he brew.

becoming an animagus for remus was ! important ! to peter ! he did it for remus, not because of peer pressure, or anything else — he did it because it was right, and his friend deserved it and ! he did it, too, because he could. sure, his transfig grades may have been more than poor, but the kid did have some skill. he just needed motivation, which mcgonagall didn’t give (bc. she scared him.) and this situation? motivated the hell out of him.

peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t taken a bit aback when he learned about remus’ lycanthropy — not because he was scared of him, to be honest, but he was just ? shocked ? he was more scared for remus, and so sad? so fucking sad for him? : ( he cried

he also loved spending his time at hogwarts playing games; from muggle card games to chess to gobstones. collected chocolate frogs Very Seriously as well, and still does tbh.

weed & anxiety tw / peter started smoking pot in the summer between his fourth and fifth year, and never really stopped. it made him slack more at school, but also eased his anxiety, which had started to develop in his fourth year. as months passed, peter became more and more of a stoner, which made him both more relaxed and funnier, but also … a whole of a lot lazier. end of weed tw

peter had always been a bit … fidgety, easily on edge, a bit nervous, but he’d never really known anxiety until around fourteen years old. his insecurities grew, as he started comparing himself more to his friends and finding nothing but things he lacked in comparison to them, and questions as to why they put up with him. end of anxiety tw

so his schooldays mostly looked like … doing nothing, playing games, having fun with his mates, getting high, forgetting his homework, stressing about homework, and somewhere, in a tiny corner of his being, worrying about the war. whenever those worries started coming up, though, he was able to push them away, because the war was not yet there, not for him at least. there was graduation to worry about first, and once that was done, then he could worry about the war.

post graduation - now ( 1978 - 1980 )

peter joins the order along with his friends, because it was what was right. peter believes in their cause, hates the death eaters, hates discrimination and racism and terrorism --- of course he fucking does, and so he joins, even though he feels incompetent. i have written a lot about this in his app too, which is linked above!

he starts working as a dishwasher in muggle glasgow, preferring a bit of a break from the wizarding world every now and then. peter’s not unambitious, per se, but he doesn’t have enough faith in himself to try and pursue a career ( and besides, what’s the point in the midst of a war? ). plus, peter doesnt need any more stress on his plate, and dish washing is laidback and at least kind of fun.

depression & weed & eating disorder (bed/bulimia) tw | peter feels useless in the order, though. he seems to lack the skills, the guts, the everything that the people around him have. before, their heroics mightve inspired him; now they just make him feel like a shitty person, like a burden. peter starts secluding himself a little, hiding in his mother’s home. he smokes more pot. he sometimes goes almost week without seeing someone besides his mum and his coworkers. he watches too much telly and reads comics and drowns in fictional worlds and he becomes depressed. he sinks into it without noticing and can’t come back from it. his eating habits ( which have always bordered on unhealthy ) turn worse; peter binges, and then restricts, falls into a cycle. it’s the only routine he has.

when he’s around his friends, he lives up a little. he cracks jokes and wants to play games and laughs and feels a bit more alive, but he always craves his time on his own. that’s his new way to feel safe: to stick to his newly found routine, hidden in his room, away from reality. | end of tw

the idea to join the death eaters comes out of fear. peter feels like the order is losing, and feels like death is inevitable. i dont know how true this is, but the fact is that the death eaters are ruthless and that his life is on the line because of his position. i wrote a Lot about this in his app too, so if u want a more comprehensive explanation i’d def read it here, its the second hc!

he joins, because he thinks it will give him a saver position. play both sides, play for the winning side --- he’s always had a bit of an opportunistic streak, which definitely helps sway his decision. in the end he’s just afraid of dying, and that’s why he joins; he’s twenty, his life has hardly started --- he doesn’t want to die, no cause is worth that, none at all. ( he should have just ran )

he joins in may 1978, for timeline reasons, so he’s been a death eater for only a few months. it’s been a lot different than he imagined ----- peter thought he’d blend in the background quietly, that he’d have to do shitty jobs ( which is true ) and that he’d be left alone. he underestimated it, because well --- he was desperate when he joined, and he didn’t think about the consequences, and he didn’t think about how voldemort’s cruelty wasn’t just reserved for his enemies but for his followers, too. there’s no stepping out of line with the death eaters; mistakes are not treated lightly and peter --- afraid, a bit of a bumbling idiot, learns this quite soon.

his function is mostly just to be a spy; relay information and share plans, name members, etcetera. he’s not very active because he’s a spy, but i imagine that he is present at the bigger meetings. AND FML HE’S GOOD AT IT! he’s good at lying and sneaking and being a sly bastard --- he used those skills for pranks, once. now he uses it to betray his fellow prankers : D

peter, at that point, hates himself. he’s always had a bit of self loathing, but it’s gained the upper hand now and he’s drowning in it; it does allow for him to ignore his conscience, though, for him to ignore the reality and just stew in his negativity. he’s got a woe is me mentality, for sure, and he’s so god damn passive about his situation.

timeclash reaction.

peter’s reaction to the timeclash was ... a lot. i wrote about it in his app, so if u want to read my whole ass rambling, i rec that. but tldr: he’s shocked, at what he becomes. the peter he is now is a traitor, yes, but he’s not yet the person who ends up betraying james and lily and harry, who frames sirius --- and it’s ground shattering to find out that he’s on the road to become such a person.

self destructiveness, weed, alcohol tw / his self loathing grows more. peter wasn’t doing very well before, but the timeclash makes something snap inside him --- he abandons his needs, punishes himself in small ways, loses sight of himself. he drinks and smokes too much. he’s so scared of himself. he’s in hiding, when he first finds out, scared of his friends and the death eaters and the order members and the people from the future who have met a worse version of him end of tws

part of peter is also like “i havent done any of these things yet, i know i am not the BEST person but i am still . not That Bad! stop being mad for something i havent done yet!”

around this time, he’s realising that he can either keep hiding, that he can completely destroy himself and all the ties he has, or he can take this opportunity to change his course. to not become the person all these people from the future know, to change change change, to make up for the wrongs he has committed and the wrongs he will commit if he keeps on going the way he is --- and that’s where he’s at now.

on another hand, he definitely watched all the star wars movies that came out over the past 50 yrs and hates kylo ren and cried when han died!!! he is in awe of the mcu movies but also thinks they did the comics dirty. i wish someone would introduce him to video games bc he would cry from happiness.

personality & details

OKAY onto the fun stuff, that was way too depressing and peter is usually a comedic icon

peter parker is his favourite superhero just because … they share a first name and because peter parker is a bit of an underdog too and peter is just like! amazing! he named his owl parker.

he hates cats. used to love them — he was allowed to take the cat from home with him to hogwarts when he was eleven, but he brought him back home after an unfortunate incident where his cat nearly ate him while he was in his animagus form. “sorry ma, i don’t love him any more. here. have him.”

peter is actually a solid cook. this is because he learned to make some basic food when he was still a kid, first with his grandma, and later on his own. he liked doing it for his mother and he was. .. good at it? peter is also just passionate about food and finds comfort in cooking. breakfast food and baked goods are Prime Food Categories.

he is asexual af, panromantic. has kissed both guys and gals and nb pals but did not like it??? confused. does not understand sexuality and all that jazz but tries not to think abt it because like! he’s got enough stress! doesnt need to think abt this!

peter is also agender, but i think he’s a lot less aware about this, because it’s confusing and so he just tries not to think about it. he does feel okay with he/him pronouns, but just doesn’t feel connected at all to being a boy/man

peter has abandonment issues because his dad, well, never even bothered to be there. not even for a second. he’s just constantly scared that people will leave and it’s funny, because he will probably end up abandoning all of his loved ones KDJFHSDF.

peter is quite non confrontational but also not … meek? he just avoids it, either by physically staying out of people’s way or by dismissing most of the things said and getting out of there. a Passive Kid.

he’s such a fucking dork i swear to god. but he’s funny! peter is really funny. i deeply believe in this. he makes great puns and is able to just come out of nowhere and make a comment that just. hits the nail right on its head.

peter curses a lot and has a scottish accent and sometimes he will have a minute long cursing session that no one rly understands.

#quantum intro #this is . long ig

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broadstreetmisfits · 6 years ago

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Good Times - Carter Hart

Requested? Y / N “gimme happy carter hart @ maddie”

Prompt: N/A

Warnings: None

A/N: Okay so this is specifically for my friend @marnershart and I just wanna let you know that @fratboyvesey requested this so you’re welcome

A/N number 2: This was inspired by the song “Good Times” by All Time Low. Highly recommend the band

WC: 1,623

Age: 6

“Stop coloring my cat purple!” You whined as you pushed your best friend, Carter, away from your coloring book.

“But now it looks pretty” He replied as he went back to coloring his rocketship green

Grabbing a blue crayon, you drew a stick figure.

“Whose that?” He asked as he looked down at the figure

“That’s me, waving you goodbye” You giggled

“And,” Carter began as he picked up a red crayon and drew a stick figure next to yours. “That’s me”

Age: 10

“Come on Y/N! Don’t be a pansy!” Carter whined as you stood on the front porch of your neighbor’s house.

Carter had dared you to ding-dong ditch your neighbor. However, you were terrified of doing it, since you thought they would come out and yell at you. Nonetheless, after you gulped, you knocked on the door and then ran for your life.

“Quick! Here!” He whisper yelled as he pointed to a bush.

Both you and Carter crawled under some of the lower branches. The two of you watched as the front door of your neighbor’s house swung open. Old Man Jenkins looked around for a few moments before letting out a groan.

“Stupid kids!” Old Man Jenkins yelled as he shook his fist in the air. He then went back inside, closing the door behind him.

You and Carter giggled as you crawled out of the bush.

“That was a good one,” He said as he gave you a high five.

Age 15

Sitting at your desk, you continued to scribble down your homework. A few minutes into doing your work, you heard a knock on your bedroom door.

“Come in!” You called after the third knock. The door opened and looking over your shoulder, you saw Carter walk in. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

“I need to uh, talk to you about something,” He said as he sat down on your bed

You swiveled your chair around so that you were facing him “What’s up?”

“So you know how Everett had been scouting me for a few months last season?” He asked and you nodded “Well, they were continuing to scout me this year, and they offered a contract. They want me to play for them”

A smile broke out on your lips. “That’s amazing!”

“Yeah, I guess,” Carter said half-heartedly

Your eyebrows furrowed as you saw him clearly not super excited about the news. “What’s wrong?”

He let out a sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair. “You do know that Everett is in the States, right?”

Instantly upon hearing that, your smile disappeared “Oh,” You whispered

“So now you know why I’m hesitant of going” He replied and you nodded

“You should still go. You’ll be one step closer to achieving your dream.” You told him

He looked up at you, a soft expression on his face “Are you sure?”

You nodded and then spoke “I’m positive. And plus, most of the NHL teams are in the States. You’d probably have to go there anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” He agreed and then spoke again. “But what will happen to us?”

You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle “We’ll still talk. Just because you’re gonna be in another country doesn’ mean we can’t be friends.”

“Good. text and call whenever?”

“Text and call whenever” You agreed

And that’s exactly what you two did. At least to start. The first few weeks after he moved out there, you two were constantly talking on the phone or texting. He would tell you practically everything, from the general summary of the day, to what practice was like, to sometimes even telling you what he ate. Of course, you would do the exact same to him. You would update him on everything that was going on in your life.

However, as Carter stayed in Everett longer and longer, you two began to grow apart. You guys weren’t constantly texting or calling and left out a lot of details when you guys would talk.

Age 18

It was three years after Carter had left for Everett. The two of you didn’t talk much, if at all. Every once in a while, you would see that he would post something on social media, but other than that you had no contact.

You had just wrapped up your freshman year at the University of Alberta and was back at Sherwood Park for summer vacation. Since you hadn’t been back home in a while, you decided to take a trip down memory lane and walk around the neighborhood. For the most part, the walk was relaxing, seeing the familiar sights. However, as soon as you got to a familiar intersection, you froze.

Standing at the corner, you looked across the street to see the familiar house of your childhood best friend. All at once, the memories that you had with him came flooding into your mind. All of the times you would play hide and seek, or color, or have conversations about what you guys thought the future was going to hold. Both of you planned that you would have stayed best friends and would go on adventures for the rest of your lives. Of course, that obviously didn’t happen. The wave of memories slowed down to the point where you could relive each one without interruption of another.

A smile formed on your face as the memories of the times you and Carter would have snowball fights filled your head. Both of you would build massive and elaborate forts to try and protect yourselves against each other but they would usually prove to be useless as you two were too reckless and usually stood out in the open for the majority of the fights.

Once the memories faded away, you were alone by yourself looking at the house across the street. You were left with the same emptiness you had when Carter had left for Everett.

Age 20

It was your winter break from college, and your friend invited you to her house for part of the break. Since you had nothing better to do, you said yes, and so you found yourself flying down to Philadelphia.

One day during your break, your friend told you that she had gotten tickets to the Philadelphia Flyers game. You were ecstatic; you loved hockey and had always wanted to go to an NHL game, and now you finally had the chance to.

Walking into the Wells Fargo Center, you were extremely excited. The smile on your face was never wiped away. You found your seats were behind the net that the Flyers defended during the first and third periods. The two of you barely got to your seats in time to hear the starting lineup for the Flyers, but you’re glad that you did make it.

“In goal, number 79, Carter Hart,” The public address announcer said.

When you heard that, your jaw instantly dropped. There was no way it was the same Carter Hart that you used to be best friends with, right? You had to think that it wasn’t but as soon as the goalie hit the ice, you knew it was him.

Carter skated down the ice to the goal he was going to protect. For some reason, he had a good feeling about this game. As he took off his mask and place it on the top of his net for the national anthem, he looked up at the crowd, and his eyes instantly widened. There was no way it was Y/N; the girl who he used to be best friends with, right? But without a doubt, he knew it was you.

You could have sworn he was looking at you for almost the entirety of the national anthem… or at least you hoped he was. On one hand, you wanted to do something that would get his attention and maybe get him to recognize you. But on the other, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. He left you five years ago to fulfill his dream and you didn’t want to interfere with his career. So, you decided to stay quiet in your seat.

But Carter had a different idea.

Throughout the game, everything was going relatively normal. Normal penalties, normal scrums, normal goals. However, with less than a minute left in the game, two large workers for the Wells Fargo came up to you and your friends.

“We need you to come with us,” One of them said

Both you and your friend’s eyes widened when you heard what he said. The two of you had done nothing wrong, at least you thought you hadn’t. Nonetheless, you followed the two workers down the tunnel to the concourse.

When they took you to a section that said ‘employees only’ you started to get nervous. Where on Earth were they taking you? Both of you were led down some stairs and down a few hallways until you stopped at a pair of large wooden doors.

“Now we’re gonna have to wait here for a little while, maybe thirty to forty-five minutes,” one of the workers said. Lucky for you, you had nothing to do after the game.

The time went fairly fast, and before you knew it, the wooden doors swung open. As soon as the person walked out, your jaw hit the floor. It was Carter. Your best friend from all those years ago was standing right in front of you. He wrapped his arms around you and his first three words to you were as follows.

“I missed you”

From that point, you knew you wanted to stay in Carter’s life. And just like you, he wanted to stay in yours.

#carter hart #Philadelphia Flyers #philadelphia #flyers #hart #nhl imagine #nhl writing #nhl hockey #hockey writing #hockey imagine #national hockey league #National Hockey

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contradictionaddiction · 6 years ago

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We talk a lot about the women in the Castles series, particularly how individual and independent each of them are. This is especially true of the Hatter family, with each of the sisters taking control of their own fate in rejection of expected norms, but, rereading Howl’s Moving Castle again the other day made me realise... there is another sister whose story is very different.

Megan Parry is generally seen as another antagonist in the story - from the constant nagging of Howl that we see in HMC to Sophie saying that she doesn't get on with her later on in CitA. She's presented as controlling, judgemental, disapproving and, ultimately, disappointed in the choices her brother has made, and this manifests as anger and frustration and an incessant criticism that causes Howl to slither away so hard he ends up in another world.

A throwaway line from a sick, half-asleep Howl got me thinking, however... "Megan's full of envy because she's respectable and I'm not."

Now, that's odd. If Megan was so disapproving and frustrated, why would she be full of envy? Howl seems to suggest that actually, this frustration lies not in disappointment, but in jealousy. What if the reason Megan is so upset by her younger brother's lifestyle is not because she disapproves, but because she resents it - because she was unable to do the same.

When we look more closely at Megan's criticisms of Howl when they go to Wales, this becomes a lot clearer.

"You're a disgrace to me and Gareth" This is how her tirade starts, and it’s the theme that she returns to at the end. As Howl highlights later, Megan is very focused on respectability and how her family is perceived by others. It's very much about keeping up appearances, showing to their neighbours that they are proper contributing members of society. Which means that the problem here isn't actually Howl and his lifestyle - it's how he impacts on the way she is perceived by others.

"Lounging about in those clothes instead of buying a proper suit..." This is interesting, because this is Megan's perception of Howl - a perception that the reader - and Sophie and Michael - know to be untrue. Howl is notoriously fixated on his appearance and clothes, and is actually a very hard worker when it comes down to it. In fact, we frequently see Howl working exceedingly hard whilst dressed up in finery - tying back his sleeves, kneeling in mud, and then getting frustrated when a sleeve gets snagged on a nail, despite being able to fix it easily. So which is the true Howl, the lazy slob or the dedicated dandy? He's consciously chosen to present himself in Wales one way, and Ingary the complete opposite. Why? "...and looking respectable for once" Howl is Obsessed with how appearances affect outcome - the fancy clothes he buys for Sophie and Michael for their visit to Mrs. Pentsetemmon and the King, and his instance that they wear them later in the flower shop as it will be good for business. His refusal to do the same in Wales suggests to me that the baggy trousers and rugby jacket are a conscious decision to reject this notion of propriety in appearances improving status, and is an act of rebellion against... who? "Taking up with riff-raff and layabouts, bringing them to this house!" 'This House' - a respectable house, one I assume Megan has worked hard for and works hard to maintain. I say she - the unseen but ever-mentioned Gareth is the one who is out at work currently. How big is his role in Megan's characterisation? Remember how she greeted Howl with a pointed comment that he wasn't home yet, to which Howl quickly responds with "What a pity! We can't stay," and a fake smile. Howl and Gareth clearly Do Not get on, and Gareth's influence is unavoidable in the house he shares with his wife. "Are you trying to bring me down to your level?" As we've now established, Megan, like her brother, is obsessed with how people perceive her and, unlike her brother, she's very worried about losing the status she now has. Keeping it depends on making sure it is authentic - or at least, that it appears that way. Any blip of inconsistency or deviation from the norm - such as an unpredictable and unkempt younger brother - could bring it all crashing down. Megan knows that this lifestyle is a shallow one. "You've had all that education, and you don't even get a decent job," Now this is where I think it gets interesting, because it's now that Megan brings up Howl's known intelligence and the higher education that DWJ spoke about. Megan, at least, views this education as a route to getting a good job, the implication of which is upwards social mobility - something she clearly places high importance on in line with how the family is perceived. "Wasting all that time at college, wasting all those sacrifices other people made, wasting your money..." It's at this point I think Megan begins to get a bit... stuck, and I think it's to do with the central line here. "Sacrifices other people made" - which other people? It has to be someone close to them else she wouldn't be so emotional about it. It could be their family or parents, however neither of them are mentioned, so what if the person who made the sacrifices was... Megan. She also talks about college - or wasting time at it, at least. She doesn't necessarily think that college itself is a waste of time - but simply what Howl does there. She has an idea of what college should be used for - and it's getting that education to get a job and... improving your situation. "Never doing an honest day's work, never getting a job I can be proud of" I mentioned that I think Megan gets stuck - because now she's back to repeating earlier criticisms, simpler ones. The important one, the one she's really hung up about has been said. Again, there's the theme of Howl's shining dishonesty that is approached and disproved elsewhere in the book, but that’s not the bit that attracts me here. Notice, it's not a job Howl can be proud of - it's one that Megan can be proud of. It's almost as if her relationship with her brother is based in pride of his skills and achievements, something she can show off to her Proper Members of Society friends. "Look at Howell, look at what our family can do." "Shame on me and Gareth" All the time Howl is failing to be something she can show off, he is bringing shame on her and her husband. At this point, she's failing to see her brother as very little more than a status-asset, and he's not bringing in the revenue that was expected. "Coming here and spoiling Mari rotten," And then finally, this is how we end before Sophie manages to interrupt. Because Howl loves his family, his sister and his nephew and niece. They're the weak flank that he knew would spur him into action if the need arose - and he's prepared to rugby-tackle the witch and chase her over garden fences when it does. The door to Wales has to stay when the Castle moves house, because despite slithering out Howl doesn't actually want to leave forever. Megan knows he loves them, and he shows that love through his treatment of the children - but this isn't what Megan feels he should be providing for them.

Once we've looked at it more closely, we can see that Megan's problem with Howl isn't his lifestyle or choices - it's how they impact on her lifestyle and choices as a Respectable member of Society. More than that, her perceptions of Howl differ greatly from the knowledge the reader has of his lifestyle in Ingary. Howl's decision to reject the expectations of Wales and his sister is then overshadowed by his undeniable love for them and inability to completely walk away.

Once the gang leave Megan's house, the only acknowledgement we get of her rant is that... we're going to ignore it. "Howl said nothing about Megan" tells us that he is apparently immune to anything that she may say about him - or at least wants it to appear that way. He knows what she thinks and has heard it all before, and her (wrong, constructed) perception of him is not going to impact on his True lifestyle and choices.

But why would Howl - obsessed with image Howl - go out of his way to construct this fake image and make his sister angry?

We already know the answer to this, because he does the same in Ingary - destroying his reputation and blackening his name in order to try and slither out of proper society and expectation. However, in Wales he's not slithering out of becoming Royal Wizard, he's simply refusing to do what was expected of him by not getting a good job and settling down with a nice partner in a nice house with 2.5 children and a front gate... just like Megan has done.

Megan, who is full of envy for Howl because she's done this, and he didn't.

The very short description we get of Megan when they first arrive in Wales describes her as clearly Howl's older sister, disapproving in manner but with eyes "full of anxieties". Simply, anxiousness and jealousy do not make for a happy housewife. Furthermore, the only time we do see Megan expressing any vaguely positive form of emotion is when she talks about the missing homework, where she appears (to me anyway) to sound interested in the found spell. This suggests that she doesn't actually disapprove of Howl, and is actually quite interested in the work that he's done. Perhaps, in another life, she too could have pursued this curiosity, gone to college, researched spells...

Megan Jenkins is a mirror of Sophie. As elder sister, she dutifully accepted the role of inheritor of the family, fulfilling the expectations placed on her while allowing her younger brother to go and seek his fortune. Sadly, Megan didn't have a witch put a spell on her, indirectly allowing her to reject those expectations and forge her own fate. Her anxieties and disapproval match Sophie's helplessness and jealousy at the start of the book. Her anger and criticisms match Sophie's crankiness as an old woman, as expression of frustration at a situation out of your control.

Megan was the one who made the sacrifices. Megan wanted to go to college, get all that education, buy nice professional clothes and get a decent job. Instead, as traditionally expected of a young woman, she got married and had her 2.5 children, and has to work extremely hard to maintain that image. Meanwhile, she watched her brother throw away the chances that to her represented freedom, as he rejected what is traditionally expected of a young man.

Howl knows this, which is why he let's her yell - why he refuses to abandon her, rugby tackles witches, and spoils her children. I'd even maybe guess that it's why he leaves her with all his books - it's a subtle invitation to read them and be able to join him. Megan, of course, with her jealousy-distorted perception, only sees this as arrogance and selfishness.

I'm going to briefly move away from explicit textual evidence slightly now, and bring in some personal headcanon. I've written before about how I think Howl's interest in magic can be traced back to media we all have access too - and that he's really a Lord of the Rings, Led Zeppelin Fanboy at heart (lol) - but then I realised. Megan's house is called Rivendell. As in, the beautiful realm of the elves, manifestation of idyllic fantasy and a haven for reflection and knowledge. She and Howl had the same upbringing, and I'd guess read the same books - there's absolutely no reason that she wouldn't have had the same response as her brother. She was just unable to act on it.

Megan is an antagonist, but she's not a bad person and it's not her fault. HMC is a book about perception, and Megan is by no means outside of that theme. From her perception of her brother, to Sophie and Michael's perception of her, this face value should never be trusted. Howl - as with Sophie's curse - is the only one to see through his sister's facade.

#hmc #hmc book #howl's moving castle #howl's moving castle book #diana wynne jones #meta #hmc meta #howl's moving castle meta #christ i've never written meta like this before #it was an accident but NOW #i have so many fic ideas to slot into this

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jennycalendar · 6 years ago

Text

imperfections (65/?)

read it on ao3!

i should have packed for my college visit, but instead i wrote this chapter. smart? no. time-savvy? also no. i am a champion

Jenny returned to work a few days before Rupert was due to, mostly because she had missed more than enough class already. She made a polite apology to Snyder (who, based on his thinly veiled threats, had completely forgotten that he’d technically already fired her), assigned some homework to the classes she’d missed, and swung by the library after school to pick up a few of the books Rupert had requested for pleasure reading, Willow and Faith in tow. Willow had the list of books that Rupert had written up, and Faith said she’d left her headphones in the library.

They were extremely surprised to find the library already open for business.

“Is that supposed to happen?” said Faith, squinting at the propped-open door. “That’s not supposed to happen, right? Don’t they need an actual librarian to run the library?”

“That would be me,” came a voice, and the door was opened all the way. A young man, about college-age, wearing an impeccably pressed suit and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, was looking at them with an expression that reminded Jenny strikingly of Rupert at his stuffiest.

“Watcher!” said Faith loudly, pointing at the guy with a huge grin on her face.

Willow started giggling, and when Jenny noticed the affronted expression on the man’s face, she couldn’t help but join in. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, pressing her fingers to her mouth, “it’s just—your face!” and then she too succumbed to laughter.

“Yes,” said the Watcher, looking somewhat bothered, “well—”

“I’m getting good at spotting them, right, Jen?” said Faith, sounding extremely proud of herself.

“I’ll have to get you some reward ice cream on the ride home,” Jenny managed, squeezing Faith’s shoulder. To the Watcher, she added, “Sorry, did we, uh, ruin your moment? We’re really just here to pick up some books.”

“Now seems like a good time to formally introduce myself,” said the Watcher, now visibly flustered. “I-I had intended to wait until Miss Summers and Miss Lehane arrived at the library in search of Mr. Giles, but—”

“Oh, no, Giles is at home,” said Faith, looking bemused. “With us. He’s taking the day off today to take Buffy to the ice show, and then tomorrow he’s getting some TLC from his honey—” Willow elbowed her, and Faith hastily revised her statement, “—uh, some, some completely professional time with Ms. C, and then it’s back to work for him.”

“Yeah, we know where he’s at,” Willow agreed. “We’re all taking a break from vampire slaying till he’s feeling better.”

The opportunity was just too good to pass up. “You can’t really slay vamps without a smart, capable Watcher, right?” said Jenny innocently.

“Well,” began the new Watcher, puffing up.

“Let us know if you find one,” said Jenny, patting the new Watcher’s shoulder.

Faith hid her face in Willow’s shoulder, shaking with suppressed laughter. The new Watcher stared at Jenny as though not quite sure how he had lost control of this situation. “Wesley,” he said weakly. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I’m the, the Council’s new—this is my first—”

“We’ll be back on Friday and you can attempt to commandeer our meetings then,” said Jenny cheerfully. “Till then, I really appreciate you filling in for my boyfriend.” Her hand tightened on Wesley’s shoulder, and she couldn’t help enjoying the way his eyes fluttered fearfully down to it. “But you would do well to remember,” she said, her smile thin, “that Rupert Giles is irreplaceable. And any attempts to replace him won’t end well for you.”

Faith let out a low, impressed whistle. Willow looked extremely pleased.

“The last guy who tried something with him got stabbed,” said Jenny, still smiling. “Let’s hope you’re smart enough to avoid that.”

Wesley had stopped looking afraid and started looking affronted. “Ms. Calendar,” he said. “You are Ms. Calendar, yes? You would do well to remember that I am appointed by the Watchers’ Council to—”

“You didn’t get our memo?” said Faith. “Man, you guys are shit with memos.”

“We’re leaving the Council,” Willow piped up. “You can hang around if you want, but you’ll be contributing to world-saving, not leading it. That’s Buffy’s job.” She considered. “And sometimes Giles and Jenny’s, but mostly Buffy’s.”

Wesley pursed his lips, attempting to shake Jenny’s hand off. It didn’t work. “I will see you on Friday,” he said stiffly. “And I will expect—”

Jenny dropped her hand, turning away and beckoning for the girls to follow. She didn’t think Wesley’s expectations were all that important when it came to the fate of the world.

Wesley was utterly flabbergasted. Not one part of his first interaction with Calendar had gone as planned. She was volatile, certainly, but he hadn’t at all expected that she would have the genuine and unwavering support of one of his Vampire Slayers. From Travers’ description of the situation, Wesley had gathered that Calendar’s judgment was flawed, but that, with some provocation, the Slayers might be steered in the correct direction. However, Miss Lehane had seemed obstinate, coarse, and utterly ill-mannered—absolutely impossible to reach with logic and reason. He hoped Miss Summers wouldn’t be similarly defective.

Still struggling to understand where, exactly, he had gone wrong, Wesley headed in the direction of the staff room, and then stopped in his tracks. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen was rounding the corner, her soft, flaxen hair falling in gentle waves to brush against her shoulders. Her eyes were a sweet sea-green, her mouth a perfect pink—

“You are blocking the hallway,” snapped a thoroughly ill-mannered young girl, shoving past Wesley and catching the lady’s attention. She raised her eyes to his, then gave him a small, amused smile, and Wesley found himself utterly breathless.

“New here, huh?” the lady asked.

Wesley had found Calendar’s American accent distasteful, but the bluntness of the lady’s tone was…stirring. “Ah, yes, I, I’m certainly—yes,” he stammered, blushing. “I’m filling in for, for an absent teacher.”

“You and me both.” The lady shifted the books she was carrying, and Wesley caught the title of one: The Rise and Fall of Ancient Rome.

“You teach history?” he asked shyly.

“I’m subbing,” said the lady with a little smile, as though privy to a joke that no one else knew. “You could say I have a…rich background in history.” She stepped forward, made a motion as if to stick out her hand, and nearly dropped the books. Clutching them to her chest, she laughed at her own clumsiness. “Can’t shake your hand,” she quipped, “but it’s still nice to meet another substitute on staff.”

Something about her seemed different, Wesley thought, well beyond the women he had met in England. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” he said softly. “It truly is a pleasure.”

The woman’s smile was practically a self-satisfied smirk. “I’m Anya,” she said. “Anya Jenkins.”

Rupert and Buffy were already home by the time Jenny and the kids arrived back from school, Buffy chattering happily away about some ice dancer or another while Rupert listened with a small, relaxed smile. Upon seeing her, his smile widened, at which point Buffy noticed, grinned, and turned. “Guys!” she chirped. “I have to tell you about the ice show! Giles bought me one of those programs with the glossy pictures and we got hot chocolate after and he let me have half of his even though I drank all of mine—”

Jenny crossed the room, dropping down on the sofa next to Rupert. “So I think I scared the hell out of the new Watcher,” she informed him, cuddling into his side.

“It was awesome,” Willow agreed.

“There’s a new Watcher?” said Xander with interest.

“Wesley Snooty-Last-Name,” said Faith, making a face. “Thinks he’s gonna train us up.”

“He’s got another think coming,” scoffed Buffy. “I am a one-Watcher girl, and that one Watcher just let me have an obscene amount of hot chocolate.”

Rupert looked extremely pleased by this turn of events. Tilting his pad towards Jenny, he wrote, Can you just keep running them out of town?

“Sure,” said Jenny, and kissed his temple. “So is there anything supernatural on the agenda?”

“Well, Giles says there’s a cave downtown making a lot more noise than it should be,” Buffy answered, crossing the room to sit on the arm of the sofa. “Maybe Faith and I should swing by tomorrow, check it out?”

“Can we try out that clouding spell?” Willow added hopefully in Jenny’s direction. “You said you thought I was good enough at it to use it on vampires—”

“Yes, I did say that,” Jenny agreed, “but we need to practice it a few times tonight before bed, okay? Magic can be a little dicey in the field of battle.”

“Ooh, dramatic,” said Faith, “the field of battle,” and threw herself down on the sofa next to Jenny. “Giles, can you help me with my thing for history? Ms. Jenkins wants us to have a paper done by Monday—”

The name reminded Jenny of something else. “That’s another thing we should practice,” she added to Willow, who beamed. “Lost object spells. Can you check in the library and see if there’s anything we can use to help out Ms. Jenkins?”

“You guys have a library?” said Buffy disbelievingly.

“Sometimes I go in there and read comics,” said Xander happily. “It’s pretty cool.”

Why does Ms. Jenkins need a lost-object spell? Rupert wrote on his pad, looking bemusedly up at Jenny.

“She says she’s looking for some necklace,” Jenny answered, waving her hand.

And she asked you because?

“Uh,” said Jenny. “Willow and I were kinda having a discussion about magical rituals in the grocery store. I guess she must have overheard. I’m still a little on the fence about doing magic with someone I barely know, but at the very least, learning how to find lost objects might be good practice for Willow tonight.”

Rupert relaxed. So nothing’s writ in stone, then.

“Not yet,” Jenny agreed. “Besides which, we have bigger fish to fry than some substitute history teacher. That nest of vamps will definitely need our attention tomorrow.”

“Am I coming?” said Xander uncertainly.

Jenny looked up, surprised. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Well, nest of vamps,” said Xander. “Last time something vamp-related went down, you told me and Willow to stay home, remember?”

“Last time something vamp-related went down, Rupert almost got killed,” Jenny reminded Xander, trying to keep her voice light. “I wasn’t exactly operating at full capacity.”

Xander nodded. “Point taken,” he said. “But still—”

Rupert had written something on his pad while Jenny wasn’t looking, and held it up now. Your help is always valued, Xander.

Xander blinked, then grinned a little awkwardly. “Yeah?”

Rupert nodded, giving Xander a small, reassuring smile in return.

“Okay,” said Xander. “Okay. Just, usually I’m not that great with vampires—”

“The trick is to treat vamps like Jen treats Watchers,” said Faith helpfully. “Grab ‘em and stab ‘em. Right, Jen?” Buffy fell off the arm of the sofa, laughing.

“Grab ‘em and stab ‘em,” Xander repeated solemnly to himself.

“Glad to see I’ve imparted some wisdom,” said Jenny, doing her best not to start laughing herself. It felt really, really good to be back in business—especially since Wesley Snooty-Last-Name didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be causing any problems for them.

Generally, Anyanka didn’t involve herself with mortals outside of the vengeance gig, and flustered, stuffed-shirt academics weren’t usually her type anyway. But Wesley had been talking pretty loudly about his status as the Slayer’s new Watcher, and Anyanka knew for a fact that the Slayer wasn’t interested in any Watcher but Giles. Paying attention paid off, she thought, and paying attention to eager-to-please Wesley might work out pretty well for her in the long run.

The hardest part, she thought, would be keeping her smile placid and kind. Spending time with that idiot was somewhat akin to the sound of nails on a chalkboard. If she’d had her way, she’d be seducing whip-smart Jenny Calendar or bitingly sarcastic Rupert Giles. Or both. Now that would be interesting. Unfortunately, both Calendar and Giles were definitely smart enough to pick up on her efforts to regain her necklace—though Anyanka’s attempts to reach it through Calendar’s protégé did seem tentatively promising. Perhaps wooing Wesley wouldn’t be necessary after all.

Still, it was important to keep her options open. Anyanka decided she would stop by the mall to stock up on lipstick and business-formal clothing; those Brits really did seem to like their ladies all dolled up.

#fic #imperfections #canon at this point is now a mere suggestion #also expect LOTS of anya bc i am soft and i love her way too much

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ruffoverthinksthings · 8 years ago

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My friend keeps making fun of me cause I ship Freddie and chad

Then your friend is an asshole inthat respect. I give them the benefit of the doubt and believethey’re a nice person in general, but there’s no justification tomaking fun of someone’s ship choices, especially if it’s not ingood, playful fun you’re both in on.

You know what? Have some ship headcanon for how these too started, in my mind:

Chad and Freddie are initially very ambivalent towards each other,and have a very casual friendship--they know each other, they willwork with each other for class, and they will hang out with each other if oneof their other, closer friends initiates it, but they will not calleach other up on their phones or on Facebook to chat or hang out.

All of this changes as Ben starts to expand the Isle-To-AuradonProgram (not its official name, but you get the point) and more andmore VK’s and some of their parents start to enter Auradon Prep,the schools of other states, and their society at large.

Chad, being the Charm that he is (and also incrediblyentitled and shallow) sees that quite a lot of those VK girls areattractive and interesting, especially after you finally give themaccess to things like proper diet, modern medical care, and hope that theirfutures are definitely not going to be as shitty as their parents’. Inevitably,because VK is the new trend, they’re exotic, and he’s beenflirting with essentially the same people for all his life, fromawkward oblivious childhood to not-so-awkward, sometimes stilloblivious young adulthood now, he decides to try his chances with theladies of the Isle. (Before you ask about Audrey, I assume theyeither broke up amicably, or their dancing together was just for SetIt Off to not feel like the odd ones out.)

And he’s successful.

He’s just as exotic to the VK’s as they are to him, he hasmuch better hygiene than most other boys their age from the Isle (andsometimes even Auradon), and he’s got the appeal of hisself-confidence, his being co-captain to Ben, and great geneticscoupled with being ripped as hell from being a very effective andactive Right Forward.

But, as with all relationships, superficial attraction only lastsfor so long, and if you wan the relationship to keep going, you’regoing to have to find something deeper than looks.

And this is where it all starts going downhill for him.

The Ladies of the Isle begin to realize just how little Chad hasto offer in the way of personality--and for them, having a strongpersonality with deep passions, convictions, and personal values is much more attractive than justbeing a pretty boy. (It’s a practical and personal appeal: driven,determined men who have non-superficial values they hold fast to makebetter partners, protectors, and providers in thedog-steal-from-other-dog world of the Isle.)

And unlike the womenhe’s used to, they are NOT nice about it.

They will, up to his face, tell him he’s boring, vapid, and waytoo obsessed with his looks and nothing else. They will tell himoutright that they don’t want him anymore because he’s just atrophy boyfriend--looks pretty, but serves no practical purposeexcept maybe to pawn off for something better. And when they cheat onhim, seeking what he lacks in other men (and women and non-binary genders, Isle standardsare VERY loose due to the inherently low, limited population), theyare merciless with explaining why they cheated on him, and have zeroregrets for doing it.

The Isle Philosophy is that it’s really not you, it’s them, and you weren’t a good fit, or more often than not, the relationship will work but only with sanctioned, monagam-ish infidelity.

But Chad doesn’t know or believe that.

For him, it’s Rejection on a massive, constant, emotionally devastatingscale, all the damage aimed at his sense of self-worth—an entirely new experience for him.

And one that he’s notcomfortable with.

For all his life, he’s always been led to believethat he’s the best, that he deserves all the love in the world, andhis high achieving life and the people that surrounded him onlyhelped reinforce that. And now here he is, like manynarcissists and children raised by overpraising parents before him,finding out the hard truth of life we all need to know:

He’s not actually as great as he thinks he is.

Because Chad has a VERY fragile sense of self-worth, and hasconsciously or unconsciously lead himself to believe that if he stopsachieving, if he stops being the best, if he stops being one of thehandsomest of them all, no one will like him, and it begins hisspiral into a deep, dark depression that affects everything.

His grades plummet when he stops studying and stops bothering toget people to do his homework for him—what's the point of gettinggood grades when he couldn't do it himself, when he'd have no smartsof his own to rely on if there isn't anyone to do the thinking forhim? He stops taking care of himself—he begins to realize just howvapid and superficial the motivations for his twice monthly constantteeth whitening, nightly moisturizing rituals, and “three cans ofhairspray a day” habits were. His performance in Tourney evenbegins to suffer, him being benched more often, Aziz becoming themain Right Forward than his substitute, and after a particularly badgame when Ben tried to get his confidence back up with a Big Scoreand Chad failed to get it, Coach Jenkins reluctantly begins toconsider letting him go for poor performance, and the demoralizingeffect his newfound personal crisis is having on everyone else on theteam.

The night after that game, after everyone including the visitingteam has gone home, he's sulking in the Tourney field, sitting in themiddle of the bleachers, alone, ruminating on everything he's everdone in his life and what he's going to do now that his life has beenupended, that he realizes everything he thought was important isreally so temporary and superficial, that he's found himself, for thefirst time in his life, feeling down, lonely, and unloved with noservant, parent, or friend ready to comfort him and reassure him ofhis greatness.

Enter Freddie, out on a late night walk with a flashlight inher hand. “Hey, Charming, what're you doing here in the dark?”she says, shining it on him.

Chad flinches and shields his face.

“Trying to go for that 'dark, brooding, and troubled' look thatthe Auradon Girls love so much? Because believe me, it reallydoesn't fit you,” Freddie jokes.

When Chad doesn't reply, she frowns, steps up to the bleachers,and sits down next to him. “Hey, Charming—Chad, what's wrong?”she asks, hands awkwardly placed in her lap.

Chad looks at her, and for the first time in her life, Freddiesees him vulnerable, hurting, and hopeless—not an unfamiliarexpression on the Isle, but something she never realized the AK'scould feel too.

“Everything...” he mutters, holding back his tears, before heburies his face in his knees.

Freddie looks at him, and frowns. She puts her hand on his back.“Come on, we're going to the kitchen.”

“What for?” Chad moans.

“Cause you need some beignets ASAP, is what!” Freddie says asshe stands up. “Now get off your ass, I don't want to have to bringout some voodoo just to get you to move your butt.”

Normally, Chad would take offense to this, but at this point, he'sgot zero fucks left to give so he just ambles along after Freddie. Hesulks at one of the counters while Freddie fries up some beignets,not entirely sure why he's here, or why she's doing this, but notexactly caring to find out.

Freddie slides up some piping hot beignets with an extra generoussprinkling of sugar. “Careful, they're still hot,” she says.

Chad just looks at him, then at her.

Freddie frowns. “For Christ's sake, Chad, the fuck is eating atyou?!”

Up until that moment, Chad has mostly kept his problems and hislife revelations to himself, wrongly believing that sharing youremotions and problems with others will make him look less manly,threaten the “Prince Who Has Everything” look he's been workingso hard to cultivate.

And at that point, he just breaks. He doesn't spill everything,because he's still pretty bad at the opening up part, but he doesshare his woes with Freddie, about how every single relationship he'shad with the VK girls have all ended badly—they break up with himand aren't so decent as to do it in person, they cheat on himconstantly and sometimes his seeing them and their new beau togetheris his finding out they're no longer a thing, if they didn't bluntlyreject him outright.

He starts crying midway through, and he's just too emotionallydrained to care that he's doing it right in front of an almost totalstranger.

Freddie listens to him, saying the bare minimum of words to tellhim to keep talking, clarifying his words or which VK he's talkingabout exactly (she knows all of them—again, small Isle, limitedpopulation of potential dates), and just generally letting him know that she is in facthearing what he's saying.

He finally ends by saying that the whole experience has turned himoff from dating FOREVER—he skips on all the other elements like hisgrades, his Tourney performance, and of course, his sense ofself-esteem.

“And…?” Freddie asks.

Chad goes from “sobbing his heart out” to “pissed” in an instant. “'And' what?”

“And what's the problem...?”

Chad just stares at her indisbelief.

“Jesus fuck, Chad, are you really this broken up because you gotrejected a couple dozen times in a row? Dude, you realize you wereflirting with ISLE girls, right? We are vicious, you shouldknow that!”

Chad frowns. “I didn't...”

Freddie sighs, and puts his hand on his shoulder. “Look, Chad?Two things you gotta understand about VK's and dating: one, peoplebreak up, make up, and break up again all the time, you don't get onechance to make a relationship work then that's it; you just gottawait, and maybe work on whatever it was that lead to you breaking upin the first place.

“And two: when it doesn't work out with someone, you just findsomeone else that'll hopefully work better.”

Chad looks at her, stunned. With their culture of “love at first sight,” “one true loves,” and amazing stories about two people overcoming all odds and differences to love each other, this is an honestly new, eye-opening revelation to him.

“That's what we did, and we all basically just dated each otheror someone else's beau, but we still made it work!” Freddie continues, unaware of how much she’s blown Chad’s mind. “How much better isit going to be for you, now that you've got literally millions ofeligible bachelorettes, most of which you've never even met before?”

Her eyes soften. “You can't just give up completely fromyour first bad breakup streak ever, Chad—I swear, there is at least onegal out there who's going to be happy to make you beignetswhenever you damn well want 'cause she loves you that much.”

Chad smiles, for what feels like the first time in weeks. “Someonelike you?” he jokes.

“What? Hell no!” Freddie replies. “Chad, let me be clear:I'm only doing this because there's nothing sadder, and moreimportantly annoying, than a heartbroken dude who goes aboutall day moping and whining about how 'Love is dead.'

“Now come on: get yourself some beignets before they get cold,” she says, holding the plate to his face.

Chad does, they're delicious, and he feels a lot better.

Later in their relationship, Chad loves using this story both totease Freddie about how wrong she was and how thankful she is thatshe decided to do all that for him.

Figuratively and literally, she saved his life.

#Descendants #Disney #Headcanon #Chaddie

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fastmusclecar123 · 6 years ago

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New Post has been published on http://fastmusclecar.com/best-muscle-cars/how-to-paint-muscle-cars-show-cars-like-a-pro-review/

How to Paint Muscle Cars & Show Cars like a Pro Review

Review By Mark Weisseg

I like many of you have seen big changes in the classic car industry over the years. Jalopies, Hot Rods, Customs, Rat Rods, and more. One must keep a Rolodex to keep track of all these changes. In the current era “Rat Rods” are the latest wave that has engulfed us. You see, many cars and trucks today are “Patina’d. That is never mind painting your vehicle, just leave it the way you found it. To each his or her own I guess, but there are still artisans out there. They desire a beautiful paint job for their ride. And, if you want a great paint job it will cost you dearly to have a professional do it. But wait, what if YOU did it? Can you? Should you? Will you? How?

Well, Cartechbooks.com has a new book out for you to learn something of value. A wonderful book has been written by two fellas from across the pond. Tony Thacker along with Mick Jenkins have written a book just for you.

The book is a hundred and forty three pages of “The How to” and it could not be laid out any better. The book contains eleven chapters. From the start the authors encourage you to make a plan first. That in itself is tough for many. But, the authors provide a detailed road map for you. Let me share the track to run in as explained in the book.

As mentioned you must make a plan. Without a plan you will certainly fail. That is true of most things in life. Then, tools and equipment. What do I need? Is it expensive? Next and this is a big one- Buy the right car.it’s in the We all know that is so critical to the entire project. Buy the wrong car and you are doomed from the start. Next, tear down and how to remove the old paint. We all have heard that preparation is the key to any project. And this project is no exception. Next, the authors take us to Panel Debate. No, not a political debate but a panel debate. You know, are the current panels on your vehicle any good? Are they filled with bondo? Are they straight? You get the idea. So what’s next?

So, you have done your homework. You have prepped, bought the right tools, torn your dream vehicle down to pieces, so what’s next? Paint! Yes, types of paint, paint that you can expect to make your dream a reality. With this in mind the authors want you to understand sanding, grinding, prepping, and eventually priming and painting. This can be daunting. However, follow a proven formula and success is within reach. The book explains in great detail how to do it all. From start to finish and what to expect along the way. You will see many photos that show you the right way. The way professionals do it.

You see friends, even though the Patina craze is here today many still love a great paint job. Just like me. I own vehicles that are barn finds and I left them alone. But, I have other vehicles that are painted and look better than new. It’s safe to say there is plenty of room for everyone. I recently overheard a comment that some prefer the patina look because they fear the paint. In short order that means they are afraid to pay someone big money. Or, they are simply afraid to paint it themselves.

Let’s be honest here. Painting your own vehicle can be a daunting task. But, it’s only daunting because nobody ever explained to you how to do it. And, to do it right. The answer is right here. Cartechbooks.com has once again found experts to help you. This book is as easy as it gets. Plenty of explanations, clear, crisp pictures, and an easy formula to follow. The authors take you through all the scenarios so that you feel at ease. We all know many hobbyist’s don’t try this at home because they just don’t know where to begin. Well, this book is broken down into easy to read chapters. I assure you that if you read this book, and follow along, the end result will make you proud.

Think you can’t do it? Think again. You will shave off possibly thousands of dollars from your budget by doing it yourself. I encourage all of you to go online and pick up this fantastic book. Go to Cartechbooks.com and order one today. You will be amazed at what you are capable of.

More Muscle Cars For Sale – http://fastmusclecar.com/muscle-car-for-sale/

#How to Paint Muscle Cars & Show Cars like a Pro Review

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cover32-yahoopartner-blog · 7 years ago

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AFC Town Hall: Raiders, Bengals, Chargers, and Jets

As we look forward to the stretch run in the AFC, several questions jump to mind. Joining the discussion today are Kyle Hirshkind (Cover32 Jets), Andy Hammel (Cover32 Bengals) and Mike D’Abate (Cover32 Chargers).

How would you fix the Raiders?

Hirshkind: The Raiders have been a massive question mark in my mind all year. When I say that, I mean I can’t really figure out the problem. It’s like one of those impossible math questions your middle school teacher would give you for extra credit homework, and you may spend too much time trying to figure it out. To me, the Raiders’ struggles are minuscule ones, which, similarly to the Jets, are taking a toll on their overall record. Some areas where I think Oakland needs to clean up a bit: play calling, deep coverage, and running attack. In my opinion, the Raiders are getting beat in all of those areas on a weekly basis, and for some reason they aren’t addressing it even though they have the potential pieces to patch them up.

Hammel: Start with the defense: the back seven needs a talent infusion, especially at linebacker and cornerback. NaVorro Bowman is ideally a two-down player at this point in his career, and the guys behind him are hardly better in coverage. Reggie Nelson, the veteran of the group and the only defensive back to be on the field for 100% of Oakland’s defensive snaps, has been solid. Karl Joseph has as well, and Obi Melifonwu is set to return from injury. The cornerbacks have been bad. David Amerson and T.J. Carrie aren’t a starting combination, while Sean Smith hasn’t lived up to his free agency billing. 2017 first-round pick Gareon Conley has been invisible, especially next to fellow rookies Marshon Lattimore and Tre’Davious White.

D’Abate: The Raiders still have a lot of pieces in the place to contend, and be a force in the AFC. Despite that, they find themselves with a sub-.500 record. To fix this, I would start with the secondary. The Raiders defensive backs are not the only reason for their struggles this year, but they are the biggest. The Raiders have been slow to adjust their scheme when opponents are exploiting a weakness. How else can you explain allowing 311 yards passing to Jay Cutler? Some of that can be blamed on coaching. However, the production that they have received from backs like Sean Smith and Reggie Nelson has been less than stellar. Perhaps, it’s time to unleash talents such as TJ Carrie and Obi Melifonwu, while brining in some new blood. Malcolm Butler, if available, might look awfully nice on this team next year.

In less than two seasons, Joey Bosa is fast becoming a nightmare matchup, where can he improve?

D’Abate: Bosa is one of the most fearsome defenders in the NFL and is still coming into his own. He is a defensive total package. He has speed, strength and toughness that few are able to achieve. However, with less than two seasons on his resume, Bosa still has some improvements to make. One of the most glaring of these is field awareness. Bosa is prone to penalties, and he must learn to harness his energy. Far too often, his emotion clouds his judgment. It has been a known issue for him since his hit on DeShone Kizer, while he was at Ohio State. Fundamentally, Bosa is pretty sound and will only improve as time goes on.

Hirshkind: Man, Joey Bosa has been emphatic for LA. Putting him and Melvin Ingram next to one another has worked magic for the Chargers and their pass rushing abilities as they both continue to rack up sacks. It’s tough to say where Bosa can improve his game. As a young player, he’s only going to grow more adept to the NFL. The Bolts are tapping into some serious potential, and it’s truly exciting to see. If you really need me to choose an area where I’d like to see improvement, I’d have to say his open-field tackling abilities. While Bosa doesn’t necessarily get a lot of work in the open field, it would only make him more dynamic if he could be that type of player as well. His tackle totals are decent so far this year, but they could certainly be higher.

Hammel: Everyone’s favorite comparison for Joey Bosa is probably J.J. Watt — Bosa shares Watt’s rare blend of speed, strength and lateral agility, and he has a feel for the technical aspects of the position well beyond his years. He’s not physically the perfect speed rusher or the perfect interior lineman, but he’s only a step behind in both categories. Bosa can learn from Watt’s career trajectory — Watt developed an uncanny and well-documented penchant for batting passes at the line of scrimmage early in his career, even occasionally intercepting them and returning them for touchdowns. Bosa can get home in a number of ways as a pass rusher, but I’d like to see what else he brings to the table when he can’t.

How does Marvin Lewis keep employment, despite underwhelming results?

Hirshkind: In my opinion, it’s quite simple. Marvin Lewis is a solid and knowledgeable coach. He’s been Cincinnati’s HC since ’03 and has only let the team finish under .500 four times. He’s also helped the Bengals reach the playoffs in seven of the 14 years he’s been the coach. There’s a thin line between the players and coaches when it comes to team success, and while many organizations prefer to knock the latter of the two for dormant play, the Bengals feel as though Lewis is the one piece keeping them afloat. My prediction is that change will find its way through the Cincinnati doors sooner than later however, unless Lewis is finally able to get his team over the hump.

D’Abate: This may be one of the greatest mysteries of our age. However, all kidding aside, Lewis’s familiarity with the Bengals ownership and front office seems to be the best reason for his continued employment. Lewis does have a great wealth of defensive knowledge, and this makes him a valuable football mind. The lack of offensive production, as well as the behavioral issues that have plagued the Bengals should make this the final season for Lewis in Cincinnati. Enough is enough, and it’s time for a change.

Hammel: Bengals owner/president Mike Brown is among the most conservative decision-makers in the NFL. His firing of OC Ken Zampese after Week 2 this season was the first time in his fifty-year run with the team that a staff member was fired midseason. Lewis’ status as head coach is more a product of this leadership philosophy than his results.

If the management of the Cleveland Browns over the years is one logical extreme, Cincinnati’s is the opposite extreme. It appears Brown would rather have the bird in the hand than chase the two in the bush, maintaining a stable floor for expectations and passively waiting for playoff windows. It’s an uninspiring look, but there’s little anyone else can do about it.

After early season struggles, what did the Jets did to change their fortunes?

Hammel: I don’t know that the Jets changed anything in particular so much as they were just grossly underestimated, but they’ve gotten big performances from players they’ve needed to step up. On defense: Muhammad Wilkerson is back to playing like himself, Demario Davis is doing well, Leonard Williams was a known stud, and Kony Ealy looks like a player that the Patriots could use about now. On offense: Josh McCown is having an oddly great year, the backfield mix has pulled their weight, and Jermaine Kearse, Robby Anderson and Austin Sefarian-Jenkins have done more than initially expected as receivers. The Jets started the season with two road games on opposite sides of the country and several key contributors were only acquired during the preseason. I’d just write it off as a slow start.

D’Abate: It’s as simple as this…they realized they have talent and they can play. Josh McCown has been more than a pleasant surprise running the offense. They are getting defensive production from their secondary for the first time in years; thanks in part to the play of safety Jamal Adams. I also think that some of the negativity that permeated the Jets locker room in 2016 was purged. That can go a long way toward making the type of leap that they have made in 2017. Todd Bowles deserved a lot of credit in keeping the team focused. Prior to the start of the season, no one would have believed that the Jets would, by far, be the best football team in New York. That is a reality and the Jets have a bright future.

Hirshkind: Another year, another roller coaster season for Gang Green. They started out the year in an 0-2 hole, then won three straight, then lost three straight, and are now coming off a blowout win in prime time. Their struggles are few and far in between, but the Jets have really been a competitive football team this year, which only sounds surprising because no one thought they would be. Ultimately though, they still have a lot to improve on as any young, rebuilding team should. While they have extended their charge with their most recent win over Buffalo, they will still face severe adversity throughout the rest of 2017. Some things they have improved on as of late however are their pass rushing abilities and running attack. Some areas where work still needs to be done: reducing penalty infractions, finishing out games.

#_uuid:ee5d4767-87bc-3344-9530-ca869d4a02d1 #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DIJnLEAX #_author:Cover32 Staff #_revsp:cover32_362

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flauntpage · 7 years ago

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Amateurism Isn't Educational: Debunking the NCAA's Dumbest Lie

By now, you've probably heard many of the National Collegiate Athletic Association's justifications for amateurism, the ancient Greek ideal of letting coaches like Nick Saban collect six-figure salaries while limiting compensation to the athletes who do the actual on-field work in the billion-dollar economy of big-time campus sports to the value of their scholarships.

Pay players, the NCAA warns, and the delicate competitive balance between the University of Akron and Ohio State University will implode. Athletic departments—like the one at the University of Texas, which earned $183.5 million in revenue in 2014-15—will go broke. Athletes might even have to pay income taxes, and really, who wants extra cash if it means hassling with W-2 forms? And perhaps most the risible reason yet: if we compensate athletes, their educations will suffer.

Former United States Naval Academy player and retired NBA Hall of Famer David Robinson chuckled out loud when VICE Sports recently asked him about that last one.

"Would getting paid [as a college basketball player] have affected my ability to study?" he said. "No. I don't think so."

But here's the thing: the NCAA isn't joking. It's painting itself as an academic guardian, and that tactic is working, at least in federal antitrust court.

Remember the federal class-action lawsuit brought by former University of California, Los Angeles basketball star Ed O'Bannon against the NCAA? The landmark case that sought to allow college athletes to be paid for the use of their name, images, and likenesses (or NILs) in television broadcasts and video games?

While arguing that no, actually, people like O'Bannon should not get a bigger slice of the money pie, the NCAA's lawyers insisted that the current one-small-size-fits-all portion doled out to players somehow enhances their schooling. And believe it or not, the three-judge panel that oversaw an association appeal of the case agreed—at least enough to overturn an original injunction from U.S. District Judge Claudia Wilken that would have permitted schools to pay players at least $5,000 a year in deferred cash. Instead, the panel decreed that all college athlete compensation must be tethered to educational expenses.

There's more. The same tether could apply to a pending class-action suit brought against the NCAA and the major college conferences by former Clemson University football player Martin Jenkins, a case that essentially seeks to bring free agency to campus sports. Which means that the ludicrous logic of "if we write them checks, they won't study" could end up acting as a legal firewall that prevents college players from ever being paid.

"It's insane," says David Grenardo, a 40-year-old attorney and associate professor at St. Mary's School of Law in San Antonio, Texas, who played football at Rice University in the 1990s. "What the NCAA has done is a great job of marketing and propaganda to say that amateurism is all about education."

College sports have a long history of making the basic claim that amateurism and education are intrinsically linked. In 1953, the Colorado Supreme Court ruled that injured University of Denver football player Ernest Nemeth was eligible to receive workers' compensation. Petrified of the financial ramifications, the NCAA created the term "student-athlete," a signal to courts and the public alike that Nemeth and his peers were simply young scholars who happened to be very good at sports—think undergrads tossing a frisbee on the quad, only with 50,000 paying spectators—and not de-facto school employees entitled to pay and legal protections.

Little has changed in the 60 years since. During the O'Bannon case, NCAA lawyers argued that amateurism rules "focus [athletes] on spending their time doing what students do, rather than trying to make as much money as possible, which is what professionals do." While testifying, University of South Carolina president Harris Pastides said that paying players would create a "wedge" between them and their classmates, and make uncompensated, non-revenue-sport athletes feel "worse about themselves." NCAA president Mark Emmert, meanwhile, fretted that if an "athlete was being paid and it changed significantly their lifestyle, they probably would not be living in a residence hall. They probably would not be eating in the cafeteria, they probably would not be as—as active a member or participant in the life of a campus."

Translation? If we pay them, they won't hang out on the quad. The. Horror.

Mark Emmert (left) and Harris Pastides are deeply worried about where paid college athletes might choose to eat. Photo by Bob Donnan-USA TODAY Sports

In an Oregon Law Review article—and over the phone, too—Grenardo picks apart the NCAA's argument connecting a lack of compensation and enhanced academics. Exhibit A? His own experience at Rice.

Coming out of high school, Grenardo could have gone to Harvard University, but he chose Rice because he had dreams of playing in the NFL, and the Houston-based school then played in the Southwestern Conference alongside powerhouse programs like the University of Texas.

During Grenardo's junior season, he won the top student-athlete award for football; that same year, he struggled to make ends meet. Every month, he received a $385 check from Rice to cover his expenses, including a $300 share of the rent for an apartment he lived in with two other athletes. "It was supposed to pay for utilities, gas, and lunches," he says. "That never made it."

Being paid to play football, Grenardo says, wouldn't have made him study less or spend extra time on the sport, but it would have made his life as a student easier. "I would have had money to go to a movie or buy food," he says.

According to a report from Georgetown University's Center on Education and the Workforce, between 70 and 80 percent of college students are active in the labor market. Roughly 40 percent of undergraduates work at least 30 hours a week, while 25 percent of all students enrolled on a full-time basis also work full time. Some of those employees—a cohort that once included yours truly, who worked at the Georgetown bookstore—even get paid for campus jobs.

The NCAA's member schools don't prohibit any of those students from making money. Because that would be utterly ridiculous. Why, Grenardo asks, are athletes treated differently? Because they're especially good at catching footballs?

During the O'Bannon trial, Stanford University athletic director and amateurism advocate Bernard Muir was questioned by players' attorney Renae Steiner about computer-science students at his school earning income from software they developed in class, a pretty fair analogue for playing revenue sports. It did not go well:

Steiner: "Are you aware that some of those students at Stanford were making $3,000 a day on their apps?"

Muir: "[I] was not aware of that."

Steiner: "And they were making more than the professor teaching them in that class?"

Muir: "Okay. I will take your word for it."

Steiner: "Okay. Do you know if those students are no longer integrated into the academic community at Stanford?"

Muir: "I would assume that they are."

"It's crazy, the idea that if we put $20,000, $30,000, $40,000 into the pockets of these athletes who don't have a lot of money, who knows what they will do with it," Grenardo says. "Even at my law school, some of my students have better cars than me. Nobody says about kids who are affluent, 'Oh my God, we need to rein this in.'"

Last year, Emmert took his employer's logic to its dopiest possible conclusion and claimed that paying college athletes would make them no longer students at all, presumably because simultaneously (a) playing campus sports, (b) being paid for playing that sport, and (c) being a college student would require a heretofore unknown quantum state.

Except: former University of Michigan basketball player Juwan Howard finished his undergraduate degree during his rookie year with the Washington Bullets, the same year he earned $1.31 million playing basketball. Likewise, former University of North Carolina basketball player Antawn Jamison (career earnings: $142.5 million) completed his degree while playing in the NBA. So did former UNC players Vince Carter ($169.6 million) and Jerry Stackhouse ($84.5 million), former Colgate University player Adonal Foyle ($63.4 million), and former Georgetown player Jeff Green ($50.3 million).

Or take John Urschel. As an offensive lineman for the Baltimore Ravens, he made $726,000 last season—and as a student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, he's currently pursuing a doctorate in applied mathematics.

Urschel previously played football at Penn State University, where he earned bachelor's and master's degrees, taught undergraduate math courses, and never missed a game. On Saturday nights, he recalls, he would retreat to his office in the school's math building, the better to catch up on his homework. "My friends would come by and try to bring me out, and it would be 1 AM," Urschel says. "I would always swoop in for last call [at bars].

"I loved my college experience, but it was a grind. What I have to do with MIT and the NFL is much easier than what I had to do in college in terms of time."

John Urschel, courageously overcoming NFL paychecks to pursue a doctorate at MIT. Photo by Kyle Terada-USA TODAY Sports

Hold up. By the NCAA's reasoning, Penn State should have been easier—because as NCAA vice president Oliver Luck has said, paychecks and the "opportunity to do an autograph signing, or an endorsement, really distracts that young person from what's really important, which is the educational component."

Isn't that right, John Urschel?

"It's not even—"

Urschel pauses. At MIT, he's focusing on numerical linear algebra, machine learning, and spectral graph theory, whatever the heck that is. Nevertheless, right now he sounds stumped.

"I'm not sure how to—"

Another, longer pause.

"No," Urschel says. "I don't believe so. But it feels like a ridiculous question to me, to be perfectly honest."

Speaking of ridiculous, on its website the NCAA says that "maintaining amateurism is crucial to preserving an academic environment in which acquiring a quality education is the first priority." Great. If that's true, then college sports should be relatively free of academic compromise and malfeasance.

After all, they're already amateur.

Except: a 2014 report from South Carolina's College Sports Research Institute found that the graduation rate of football players in the Power Five conferences was 20 percent lower than that of their non-athlete counterparts; for men's basketball players, the graduation rate in major conferences was 31.5 percent lower.

Three years ago, the NCAA reportedly was investigating 20 cases of academic fraud at its member schools, 18 of them at Division I institutions. One of those schools, the University of North Carolina, was placed on academic probation by its accreditation body—the first Tier 1 research university to receive such a penalty. UNC remains under NCAA investigation for a massive scandal in which hundreds of athletes over a 23-year period were steered toward bogus "paper classes" that never met and required students to produce single, end-of-semester papers, which often were plagiarized or written by others and sometimes graded by non-faculty members.

None of this is new. When former North Carolina athletes Rashanda McCants and Devon Ramsay sued the school and the NCAA in 2015 over the paper classes scandal, their 100-page complaint cited 26 different examples of academic malfeasance at schools ranging from the University of Michigan to Texas Tech University. Among the cases was a University of Georgia class taught by an assistant basketball coach in which several of his players received A's despite rarely attending—and were given a final exam that included the question "How many goals are on a basketball court?"

While researching Billion-Dollar Ball, his book on big-time college football, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Gil Gaul spent a morning walking around the University of Kansas' 1,000-acre campus with "class checkers" (an athletic department official called them "varsity ambassadors") who stood outside classroom doors and had revenue-sport athletes sign sheets of paper confirming when they entered and exited their classes.

Sure sounds like an environment where preventing athletes from being paid is ensuring that quality educations are the first priority, doesn't it?

Pay players like coaches, and academics will be imperiled. Photo by Bob Donnan-USA TODAY Sports

There are real reasons why players struggle academically, and they have nothing to do with money. When a regional director of the National Labor Relations Board ruled in 2014 that football players at Northwestern University qualified as school employees under federal labor law, he did so partially because they spent 40 to 50 hours a week on their sport during the season and up to 25 hours a week during the spring semester, compared to 20 hours a week on academics.

That wasn't an anomaly: in a 2011 survey by the NCAA, athletes in big-time football and basketball programs reported that they spent, on average, more than 40 hours a week on sports and about 38 hours on school; a recent Pac-12 survey found that athletes in the conference spent an average of 50 hours a week on their sports, and often were "too exhausted to study effectively."

Grenardo graduated from Rice with degrees in political science and policy studies, and earned a 3.57 grade-point average. "But I could have done much better without football," he says. The sport was a grind: training camp double sessions in Houston's 100-degree, 90 percent humidity heat; road games that began with Friday afternoon walkthroughs in the opponent's stadium and ended when the team returned to campus late Saturday night or early Sunday morning; daily afternoon practices that made taking classes after 2:00 PM impossible, and almost always included a blocking drill that saw Grenardo and his fellow defensive backs spend ten minutes head-ramming each other.

"Usually, by the end of every day my head and body were so worn out that I didn't have the ability to think straight," he says. "I would do all my homework on Sundays, just a mad dash to catch up.

"When I got to law school, my first day of class ended at like, three or four in the afternoon. I literally felt like I was on vacation. You mean I can go to class, and afterward, I can just study? It was strange to me."

Law professor and former Rice football player David Grenardo. Courtesy David Grenardo

The desire to win—which, again, is unrelated to player pay—also leads schools to admit talented athletes who are woefully unprepared for college. A 2014 CNN analysis of the SAT and ACT entrance exam scores of football and basketball players at 21 NCAA schools found that between 7 and 18 percent were reading at an elementary-school level. Those numbers are lower than what former North Carolina learning specialist turned whistleblower Mary Willingham said she found when she studied 183 football and basketball players who attended the school from 2004 to 2012: 60 percent read between fourth- and eighth-grade levels, while about 10 percent read below a third-grade level.

That doesn't surprise University of Oklahoma professor Gerry Gurney. Over the last 31 years, he has worked in academic support for athletes at four major schools—Oklahoma, Iowa State University, Southern Methodist University, and the University of Maryland—and served as the president of both the National Association of Academic Advisors for Athletics and the Drake Group, a national advocacy origination of academics whose mission is to protect academic integrity within campus sports.

Shortly after starting his first academic counseling job at Iowa State, Gurney noticed something odd about the school's football and men's basketball players: "None of them were reading." Puzzled, he gave the athletes reading tests. "I found that 95 percent of them were reading below the tenth-grade level, which is the level at which college textbooks are aimed," Gurney says. Ten percent were functionally illiterate.

"The admission of unprepared students is the original sin in big-time sports," he says. "We know damn well—and college presidents know damn well—that schools are admitting athletes to competitive institutions that have no business being successful students there."

Gurney created a remedial education program at Iowa State and saw some success. But too many universities, he says, refuse to be honest about what truly hurts athletes' educations. Instead, they funnel time-strapped, unprepared young men into what he and others have dubbed an "eligibility curriculum"—a campus-by-campus patchwork of undemanding courses, friendly professors, overly helpful tutors, lavish study halls, and substance-free majors that keeps athletes eligible to play under NCAA academic standards, while leaving them with substandard educations and Potemkin degrees.

None of this is the result of some quarterback somewhere getting a cash handshake from a friendly booster.

"It's absolute lip service from the NCAA when they say they are about education," Gurney says.

Does the college sports establishment even believe its own malarkey? Not entirely. University of Notre Dame president John Jenkins told the New York Times that permitting player pay would be an "Armageddon" that "does some violence to [the] educational relationship" between athletes and their schools—but school athletic director Jack Swarbrick told VICE Sports at a campus sports reform meeting in Washington, D.C., that he doesn't think there's a link between amateurism and education. The NCAA touted education as its raison d'être in the O'Bannon case, but responded to McCants and Ramsay's lawsuit over the North Carolina scandal by arguing in federal court that it has no legal duty to make sure said education is actually delivered.

"This is the underlying lie of the NCAA," says Michael Hausfeld, the Washington, D.C.-based antitrust attorney who headed the O'Bannon case and is also the lead litigator on McCants and Ramsay's suit. "Up until we filed the North Carolina case, you had the NCAA saying they are there for the welfare of athletes as students. Now they say they have nothing to do with that. You can't be more of a hypocrite."

Jack Swarbrick doesn't see a link between education and amateurism. Photo by Matt Cashore-USA TODAY Sports

In fact, allowing payer play could actually help athletes be better students. How so? Former NFL player Shawn Stuckey grew up poor, and told VICE Sports that one time he sold his own blood plasma to make ends meet while playing college football. "There was no NCAA prohibition on that," he said. A paycheck certainly would have helped. Likewise, more money arguably would encourage athletes like former University of Kansas basketball player Ben McLemore—who loved college but jumped to the NBA after his sophomore year largely to help support his impoverished family—to stay in school longer.

NCAA schools already pay coaches bonuses for their players' academic performance. Why, Grenardo asks, shouldn't that cash go directly to the athletes actually sitting through classes? Instead of banning player pay, why not hand out $5,000 for making the academic all-conference team, $10,000 for graduating, $20,000 for landing on the dean's list?

"I don't want to exaggerate this as being a reason for saying [amateurism] rules should be struck down, but I certainly believe there could be some academic benefit for letting students be compensated," says Jeffrey Kessler, the lead attorney on the Jenkins case that's seeking free agency in college sports. "We have a lot of evidence that students who come from higher-income backgrounds tend to do better in school.

"A lot of [athletes] comes from very poor backgrounds—and the extent to which they are under financial stress for themselves or their families and others, and that is relieved in some way, you maybe can focus more on your studies and your education without worrying, I don't think it would be a negative. I think it could only be a positive."

All it would take, Grenardo says, is for the NCAA to stop pretending that it's a self-styled, tough-love parent permanently withholding players' allowances in order to make sure they do their homework—and for federal judges and everyone else to quit playing along with the association's cynical ruse.

"If the NCAA really cared about education," he says with a laugh, "they would quit scheduling football games on every day of the week."

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Amateurism Isn't Educational: Debunking the NCAA's Dumbest Lie published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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frosttreatment-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Log 2 - Intake

The following is a transcript from a recording, beginning at approximately 20 minutes into my weekly session with the Muriel Jenkins.

Having been unable to sleep every night this week, anticipating a moment again similar to what I experienced during dinner Sunday night, I spent a great deal of time pondering what steps I could take. Finding an inconspicuous recording app for my phone was a suitable use of my time waiting for Emma Frost to force herself into someone else’s mind, so that she may get a quote from me.

I spotted it as soon as it began during my afternoon appointment with Muriel. Mrs. Jenkins was in the middle of a story, an altercation with her daughter-in-law, when she suddenly went blank behind the eyes. By the time she was done readjusting her posture, I was already waiting for the RP dialect.

I did try to hide my outrage, my anxiety, my exhaustion in wanting to know what this game was that I was being forced to play. Most importantly, I stayed calm while reaching for my phone, to check the time as a reference for my next discussion point - when in actuality, I was turning said recorder app on.

____________________________________________________________________

DR: -irty[thirty] five minutes left in her session. You don’t think that’s unfair?

FROST: Oh please; I’m creating a false memory of her blathering on to you for another hour, before coming to the astute observation that she desperately wishes she could be the one married to her son. Homework for next week is to stop putting that reverse oedipus baggage on other-

DR: Ms. Frost.

FROST: Please, darling, you can call me Emma. No need for pretensions here.

DR: Funny you should say that, don’t you think?

FROST: Excuse me?

[silence]

DR: You know, many health professionals would agree that I would need to need to see you, in person, for a proper intake.

FROST: I’ll mail you a bloody picture, then. I think we can both agree that my situation calls for a level of…discretion. I would much rather project an image of myself wearing only the finest Oscar de la Renta for you to see instead of this wrinkled landscape, but…You’re immune to telepathy. Or so they say.

DR: My reputation has held up, I imagine.

FROST: Why? Because I’ve only tried reading your mind 4 times since this conversation began? Yes, you’re just as advertised. I can’t hear anything but ocean sounds in there.

DR: Oh, c'mon-

FROST: It’s true! Like listening to a sea shell. It’s rather calming, actually.

DR: …I like to think telepaths enjoy being around someone whose mind is closed off to them.

FROST: But then however do you blackmail them? [silence] FROST: See? I don’t need telepathy to know you’re waiting for me to tell you I’m joking.

DR: May I ask what your goal here is? Are you seeking treatment, or is this…part of some…

FROST: Grand scheme? As if I were some entendre-named Bond villain. Really doctor, I thought your bedside manner would be much better than this.

DR: Well in both our defenses, I’ll admit to considering you a far more serious threat than a Bond villain. I don’t think you can blame me for anticipating that the White Queen might have moving pieces at work

FROST: Flattery will get you nowhere. And for your information… [silence] FROST: Yes. I am looking for an intake. To begin seeing a therapist. To begin seeing you as my therapist, I’ve decided.

DR: Alright, and what are the circumstances surrounding your-

FROST: You can’t be serious.

DR: -I know the headlines. I also know you can’t always trust the news.

FROST: Would you look at that, Muriel has a lovely stash of airline liqueurs in her purse…

DR: Although when the news is–

[Frost opens Muriel Jenkins’s purse]

DR: Please, don’t make a patient of mine drink in session.

FROST: But it’s my favorite kind of drink. All the chemistry, none of the calories. I’ll just add a little, clearly already present, alcoholic’s guilt in her morning routine’s memory.

DR: Emma, I won’t talk to you if-

[Emma has Muriel Jenkins drink from one of her travel sized bottles]

FROST: You were saying; something about the news?

[silence]

DR: Reports…of you shooting down an aircraft full of human beings-

FROST: -INhuman beings, darling. And my god, how does anyone expect to get drunk off these? [Emma has Muriel take another drink.] FROST: Now, allow me to clarify something. Firstly, you *are a mutant, yes?

DR: Yes.

FROST: And I know from poking around your husband’s brain that he’s a mutant as well, among other things-

DR: Excuse me?

FROST: -So you’ll allow me to be candid with you, I’m sure, in asking you…Do you know what an Inhuman is?

DR: Ah…yes. Those with Kree ancestry born human, but affected by the Terrigen Mists by way of-

FROST: Very scholastic, but you know that’s not what I mean. Mutant-to-mutant, love. What is an Inhuman?

[Emma has Muriel take another drink.]

FROST: I’ll tell you what a mutant is. The next step. The future of our world. And hated, set aside as “other” because of it. Because of fear. An Inhuman, on the other hand, is a party that the pleural YOU can join! No messy ‘mutation’ to pile onto an already abysmal puberty, rather Terragenesis is the wonderful prize given for being otherwise completely mundane. A change you CHOOSE to become part of so there’s something to fill that deep deep void. Hate your job and wife and sodding kids? Well cross your fingers and pray your ancestors were experimented on by aliens, because you too can become a completely different person overnight! Sounds rather akin to Scientology, don’t you think?

[Emma has Muriel take another drink.]

DR: I’m hearing a lot of anger.

FROST: Oh ding-bloody-ding–These monsters have taken EVERYTHING from me! With everybody watching on slack-jawed and hypnotized by a royal sovereign’s PR machine! Those savages have a piece of my fucking body kept as a TROPHY!

DR: I…feel your…frustrations; obviously. My husband and I were terrified of M-Pox, we didn’t know whether to pull the children out of school, if we should–did you say, “a piece of your body”?

FROST: They’re super-powered cult, and somehow in the name of unbiased news we’ve once again we’ve allowed lunatics normalcy. While perpetuating THEIR lies!? What about the people THEY’VE killed!? If they want to gas us, I say what I’ve done is proper justice!

[silence]

DR: Alright.

[silence]

FROST: Alright!

[silence]

DR: So…do you want to take that again, or can I speak?

FROST: Excuse me? Don’t you think for a second that the rumors might not true, doctor. You have no idea what I can d-

DR: Why are you giving me super villain?

[Muriel (Emma) stands up from my couch, throwing an empty miniature bottle to the floor]

FROST: YOU will learn your PLACE. If you’re going sit there ‘throwing shade’, I will remind you that I am not only the ONLY Queen in this room, but I was the closest thing to the bloody matriarch of the whole damned mutant species!

DR: And I don’t disagree.

FROST: Then maybe you can tell me why I turned into some INSANE BLOODY BACKGROUND FUGITIVE OVERNIGHT!!

DR: Emma-

FROST: And I know I’ve done a hell of a lot of wrong in the past, so maybe I simply deserve it by rite; you don’t have to tell me that! But first you better ring Wanda Maximoff: We can have a 3-way session comparing the pros and cons of genocide vs solving world hunger for a few months - If she’s not too busy doing yoga all across Europe-

DR: 'The Scarlet Witch’ is not a patient of mine-

FROST: I even specifically put the old college try into NOT killing Charles Xavier, for YEARS longer than reasonable, some would very well say!

DR: -but if it’s any consolation-

FROST: If Scott and I got amnesia and snoged Dr. Doom would Captain America have given us a shiny new team as well??

DR: -I agree with you.

FROST: I-……………….

[silence. Muriel (Emma) collects herself.]

FROST: ….I mean, What Is this trend? This sudden surge of affection for some Camelot sideshow-

DR: You don’t need to tell me. You were in my husband’s mind: I’m sure you selected us based on extracting from him memories of us, well, discussing you, often. I dare say he’s a fan.

FROST: Of course, though I didn’t stay long enough to see your feelings through his memory. There was so much affection for you and your children gushing in there that I thought I was going to be sick.

DR: Thank you.

FROST: Clever boy; I’m still holding you hostage though.

DR: To treat you? Treat your anger? Your guilt?

FROST: I never said I felt guilty.

DR: You mentioned feeling deserving or your…status change.

FROST: Watch it.

DR: And you did shoot down a shipload of Inhumans.

FROST: Yes and I would do it again.

[silence]

DR: So then…just your anger?

FROST: Just my…everything.

[silence]

DR: And I’m going to assume that I don’t have a choice.

FROST: Obviously. Especially since I can’t erase your memory of this conversation.

DR: But you’ve made it very clear that you have easy access to anyone in my life.

FROST: So we shouldn’t have any problems with privacy, wouldn’t you say?

[A knock from outside my door can be heard]

FROST: Now shall we set a day and time where you’re meeting with someone more pleasant looking? Though I do enjoy how delightfully vacant Muriel’s head is. Complimentary drinks certainly have their appeal…

[End of recording]

___________________________________________________________________

The next few minutes were somewhat staggering. My next patient cut my recording off by impatiently calling my cell, and suddenly Emma was gone. Then there was a very confused, and very suddenly drunk, Muriel Jenkins to deal with.

Emma left no indication of when I would next hear from her, but I believe her self-conducted intake was a success. My professional opinion was that Ms. Frost was looking for validation, some sign that she’s not completely out of touch with reality for seeing her past few years as an undeserved role reversal. From what I can gather, it seems as though this encounter was a test of how sympathetic I would be to her in her current state. Behind the razor sharp wit and the scowl, she was looking for someone potentially unbiased, someone who would not be intimidated into saying what she deeply wants to hear: Emma was right. Whether I meant to convey that message to her, and whether I’ll regret it, remain to be seen.

I’ve also emailed my current patients to remind them all to never have foreign substances in their system, or on their person, while in session.

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