#cporttask05

[teecohenc]

TASK 5: ON THE JOB . 

&&. HEADCANON .  

Being a chef was in her blood. At least, that’s what her dad always used to playfully tell her. There are tons of wonderful, fond memories that she likes to call back on from time-to-time; how she would sneak back into the bustling kitchens of Double C Diner when she was just a little girl to try and catch a glimpse of all the big, impressive cooks in action — wanting nothing more than to take part in all of it herself.

Not long after, when she was at last old enough to properly ( and safely ) handle knives and work with heating appliances was when it became clear to all those around her the raw talent and passions the girl had — especially when she up and won Castleport’s huge pie making contest for the first time at age 12, only to go on and do the exact same thing every year after that.

The picture she made in her teen years was definitely an interesting one; a young goth girl with brightly colored streaks in her hair, walking around with old, annotated cookbooks mixed in with Edgar Allan Poe and Harry Potter. A good portion of her free time was spent trying new recipes and styles at the diner, which, of course, her parents were absolutely thrilled by. Soon enough, she started making goals that were far, far away from her little, limiting town. Tina dreamed of going out to New York or Paris and becoming a head chef in a 3 star Michelin restaurant, or even better than that, start one of her own. College only pushed those desires even higher, along with the praises from her professors, Double C’s patrons, and her friends. There was nothing she wanted more, and nothing that would stop her.

Or . . . so she thought.  

It wasn’t long after she’d graduated from Ohio University that her parents pulled her aside and excitedly told her of their intentions for her; how they wanted her to take over Double C’s permanently one day in the distant future. It was a sweet sentiment to be sure, and as much of a soft spot as she had for the restaurant she grew up in, it wasn’t at all what she wanted.

Then, the rejection letters started coming in one right after the other. Each one was a further, devastating blow to her heart and ego. No matter how hard she tried, no one wanted her. Yet, despite all of those no’s she wasn’t ready or willing to give up that easily. Not only that, but she was going to find a way to gently, but firmly tell her parents that she wouldn’t be taking over at the diner. 

That was the fateful day it happened: a huge restaurant in New York reached out and seemed rather interested in her and her work and wanted her to come out and cook a bit for them in a job interview of sorts. Tina nearly fell over at the offer — it was finally happening — and she’d just barely bought her flight out when, without warning, it all came crashing down at her feet. 

Her father had passed out in the living room ( later scans showing that it was cancer ), and desperate and distraught at the news, her mother begged for her to stay behind; to stay and help the family and their business while her father began his immediate radiation and treatment. Of course, Tina loved her parents to the moon and back, and as hard as it was to do, she declined the New York interview and the opportunity of a lifetime for them, without question. There was no other option or alternative. 

Besides, the optimist in her knew that it wouldn’t be long before her dad was back on his feet ( because he was going to get well, period ). He was strong and stubborn as hell, and then she could reapply and go back. They’d liked her, right? It would all work out in the end. 

. . . but her dad has only been getting worse and worse as the years go by, she still hasn’t had the heart to tell her struggling parents about what she wants for herself, and her recent string of applying for jobs in secret is getting her absolutely nowhere.

The dreams that once seemed so close, are now miles and miles away — most likely for good, and Tina doesn’t know what in the world to do. 

[snixxem]

HEADCANON ► SNIXCO.

instagram, snapchat, twitter.

[snixxem]

HEADCANON ► SNIXCO.

The first time Santana pricked her finger with a sewing needle was when she was five. Her abuela took advantage of her small fingers and fear fondness for the short, stern woman, by giving her the duty of webbing the string into the needles. Quickly, she was promoted to disbanding items deemed ‘tacky’ from clothes, purses, or shoes, to be reinvented by her abuela’s crafty hands. Sometimes it felt like putting together a puzzle; what pieces perfectly fit to create something that was worthy of it’s own second glance. By the time she was ten she moved up the ranks to her personal favorite, the tedious task of cutting the designs from the material.

Santana didn’t fall in love with designing until high school. That was when she began to make some money tailoring, and was able to use the skill to benefit her own closet. Which meant shortening the hems on all of her dresses and skirts, and taking in the material of most of her clothes to suffocate her curves. By sophomore year she was running a mini-business out of her room.

Over the years her designs have drastically changed. Santana’s motivation has always been three things: money, power, sex. And those motivations cross over to inspiration for her designs, but with time, how she exposes those elements are different. It’s an expose of a woman’s most desired parts in fits that hug curves, not suffocate them. Or seamless hemlines that celebrate the allure of a woman’s shape, not a rush to pinpoint only certain parts.  

Santana’s designs hit big on the internet in 2014. A particular dress and top hit the internet airwaves. Every IG influencer from the YT social circle, to the Nicole Peltzs of the world, wore it. That time period was a high, she road out for a good year. Orders after orders, pieces being featured in magazines, new friends, and best of all- money. Until all at once, it went on the decline.  The work hard, play hard motto took a steep hit towards play, and just play. Customers complained, got bored, and the next hot outfit swarmed the search bars.

Unfortunately they came during a time Santana had bought a warehouse to make her clothes. Which made sense when she had the demand, but her efforts were too late, and bills began to pile up. By 2016 her finances had hit rock bottom. Because of that she took odd jobs from escorting, to club gigs to pay at least the business bills. Now, business bills are paid due to shipments and only 50% of her personal checks from pimping out fit tummy tea on her personal instagram. While Santana made sure the bills, and her employees were paid, it means she hasn’t seen her own check the business in two years.

She moved back to Castleport because she was evicted and lost her car. Outwardly she strolled into Castleport like she owned the place, but internally she was dragging her feet. Head hung in shame, and still nursing a lot of wounds from steep slip into bad decisions and debt.

[inkedsevans]

SAM EVANS AESTHETIC: on the job

[inkedsevans]

HEADCANON ► ON THE JOB

If you were to ask Sam Evans what he wanted to do with his life (and he was asked that, quite frequently, and always, always came with a side of ‘you could be so much more if you applied yourself’), he could never give a straight answer. Working at the bar felt like the natural progress of things. His father’s pride and joy, the place that carried his late wife’s name and he’d poured every bit of himself into it...and it was precisely the reason Sam wasn’t interested in picking up the mantle. The Maggie wasn’t responsible for James’ problem but it certainly felt like a ‘fox guarding the henhouse’ situation. 

And so he moved to Boston, and he surfed on couches and picked up odd jobs, somehow always drifting back in the bar atmosphere, because the clink of bottles was familiar and it was easier than actually being responsible for caring for a ghost, but it wasn’t a career. None of it was. He sketched in his downtime, on the backs of matchbooks, in the corners of napkins, and pages and pages of sketchbooks. There had to be another way to keep his mother close other than being in that damn bar. So the lines became art, in the form of her namesake and favorite flower...a daisy. And the longer he looked at it, the more he realized it would look better on him, than a napkin. So he looked up Mystery Ink, booked an appointment, and made it a reality. Tattoos seemed to be the right path for a guy with artistic skill and a hell of a lot of impulse. A nice switch-up from his youth, the days of getting detention for drawing in textbooks, on desks, and just about any building he came across (much to the annoyance of local law enforcement). 

The artist who worked on his piece had been impressed, and as luck would have it, was in fact looking to take on an apprentice. Though he’d forgone traditional schooling, with college classes, Sam found himself eager to dive into the process of being an actual artist. Taking art workshops, first aid courses, care classes, and shadowing the artist, Ty, who would become his mentor and eventually, his boss. His charm and friendliness give him a natural edge and his talent speaks for itself. He makes his own hours, but more often than not he’s usually at the shop, taking with customers, joking around with his co-workers, and doing what he loves best: making art. He specializes in traditional, neo-traditional, geometric, abstract, and illustrative, and is eager to learn more, not just what’s trendy at the moment.

And like any job, there’s headaches. The long sessions and having to deal with pushy or picky customers, or shitty co-workers and office politics, he takes it all in stride. Because it’s worth it. And that alone is surreal. He really never thought he’d find something he truly loved, that makes him feel a little less like that aimless kid he left behind in Castleport. There’s reminders of his hometown and his life back there, etched in his skin. From the daisy on his arm, to the artwork of his ex on his ribs, every piece means something, even if it’s just ‘I got bored and had some time to kill, so here we are’. Being so firmly rooted in his tattoo work, and how seriously he takes his job, it’s what propelled him to make the next move, to return home and put his name on something else, besides the family bar. Opening his own shop hadn’t always been the dream but it feels natural...if a little terrifying. And it’s how he knows it’s the right next step.

[marleyonfilm-blog]

“Maaaarley Rose!” a goofy, booming voice greets her the very moment she appears through the large glass window of the studio, finger guns strong and following each step she takes to the door before she can even manage to haul it open with her still-tired muscles. Every single morning.

Good Lord in heaven above, grant her grace.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate her boss’ eagerness to see her bright and early every morning. It’s just that, even after all these years, Marley’s not enough of an early bird to be able to fully appreciate the greeting at five o’clock in the morning. She’s already been awake for at least an hour by the time she steps into the studio each day, and the sun won’t rise for another full hour after that.

So the cheeriness... it’s a lot to take in. No matter how many days she’s subjected to it, Marley doesn’t think she’ll ever be totally ready to return the enthusiasm.

She tries, though. Of course she does. John is her boss, after all; Marley won’t risk disappointing him. It’s taken her years to get where she is. She made it through the days as a coffee-toting intern whose name was never even mentioned, and now she’s introduced along with the rest of the hosts at the start of the show, ready to chime into her very own mic whenever she feels the need to add her two cents.

It’s a good gig. The people are kind and the job itself is so much of what she enjoys doing (talking, joking, sharing opinions, talking talking talking). Marley loves her job, and she most certainly needs it.

So every day at five o’clock, she heaves open the door without spilling her coffee or letting her purse slip off her arm, puts on her biggest and brightest Marley Rose grin, and returns, “Goooood morning!”

Some days it’s truly a struggle to get the words out. But you suck it up and do what you need to do, and it just so happens that taking on a sunny disposition before the literal sun is even up is what Marley needs to do.

The following hour involves the actual wake up process. Marley settles in, downs a coffee or three, and discusses the events of the night before with the hosts. They come up with a basic idea of what they’d like to talk about --- of course, they almost never follow their own guidelines because it’s so damn easy to get sidetracked and take a joke way too far.

It’s fun, so much fun, even on the days when she’s rubbing the sleep from her eyes after a mere three-hour rest the night before and praying she didn’t just completely smudge her makeup (the listeners can’t see her, sure, but her co-hosts will surely talk about it for their entire four hour block).

This isn’t what she imagined she’d be doing with her life. If you went back ten years and asked a newly-graduated Marley where she wanted to go from there, she doesn’t think she’d have said she would continue on her track of morning radio show host as she spent her high school years. But they tell you that you’ll find your true passions in college, and it turns out her half-baked plan to dig deeper into the film industry and “see what happens” wasn’t such a great one after all. It wasn’t her. Radio was, and still is; even if the camera will always be her first and strongest love, she’s good at what she does, and it’s a passion nonetheless.

Ten a.m. rolls around all too quickly each and every day, and more often than not Marley is wiping tears of laughter from her eyes rather than grogginess while they go around and say their goodbyes.

“---and I’m Maaaarley Rose. Thanks for tuning in and we’ll see you tomorrow morning!”

She’s aware that it’s perhaps the silliest she’s ever sounded and also that it happens to be on a live broadcast every single day. But it’s a simple fact that Marley wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[goldenchildlynn]

RYDER LYNN// TASK 05 “THE CAREER”

This was his biggest fear since she sent him that letter.

With how much he’d had to miss practice, it was a breath of fresh air to be back on the field. Ever since he was little, when he stepped out on that bright green grass in his football cleats...it was like coming home. A home where it didn’t matter if he wasn’t the smartest or the brightest, but instead a home where he felt fully accepted. Football was his saving grace, something he was completely confident in and knew that he couldn’t really mess up. At this point, it was basically muscle memory for him, second nature to hit the field and truly shine. It was that chance to be the town’s success story and prove that he really was that golden boy that they all deemed him to be.

A loud whistle signaled the end of practice, which went by far too fast for him. His mind had been all sorts of messed up after the kiss with Bree, and when he was stressed was when he enjoyed what he did the most. It was a chance to distract his brain and keep himself busy, and when he was in LA he had endless distractions at his fingertips. Football, parties, girls, the list went on and on.

As he headed back to the locker room, helmet tucked under his arm as he let out a sigh of relief, he heard his name called by the coach.

“Lynn, can I talk to you in my office real quick?”

It brought a raise of his brow, but he figured they’d have to have a little chat about his absences from the practices here and there. Sure, they weren’t mandatory, but they were sort of like a test to see how committed you were to the team. And normally he was committed, but with the whole Rachel disappearance and the Bree thing and his friends...he had to admit he wasn’t entirely putting his all into this. Which was crazy, after all this was his dream job, something that only happened to the lucky ones. After the holiday season he’d focus a bit more, stop visiting back home and put his all into the team. Granted, it would be after the busy part of their season, but still...it was all he could do at this point.

Stepping into the office, he leaned against the door frame, using the towel he’d grabbed to wipe his face off and push his hair back out of his vision. “Hey coach, what’s up?” Ryder questioned, pursing his lips together as he watched the older man remove his glasses and gesture to the door.

“Close that behind you and have a seat please.”

Under his breath, he let out a sigh with a slow nod, shutting it as he made his way to the chair in front of Coach McVay, sitting down as he began to apologize, “Look, coach, I know I’ve been a bit out of it lately...I just have some stuff going on back home. This girl I went to school with is missing, it’s been a big deal and a little confusing, I promise that I’m completely dedicated to this team---”

Holding his hand up, he got the message to stop talking and held his tongue, nodding as the male before him reached into his desk. He couldn’t help but knit his brows together as he watched Coach McVay mess with the manila envelope in his hands. “Listen, Ryder...I think you’re a great kid, and one hell of a player. We took a big chance signing you and when you play, you make us confident we made a right choice...”

“Thank you so much-” He began, only to get cut off once more.

“But, some things have been brought to our attention. Putting aside the lack of focus, which we have noticed and tried to sympathize with seeing as it is your first year in the NFL with us...” Mr.McVay took a pause now, clearing his throat as he opened the envelope, but not removing the contents inside. Instead, he slid it across the desk and to Ryder, looking at it before at his player, “This was delivered to our office this morning.”

His brows were still drawn together as he tilted his head to the side, picking up the envelope now, fingers pulling out what was inside. And what was inside made his stomach turn, his hands automatically sweating as he clenched his jaw.

The pictures. Screenshots of that damn video that he regretted even thinking was a good idea, hell it was Rachel’s crazy idea to begin with, and he was too worked up to even tell her know. Once again, he didn’t use his brain and fucked up something that was so important to him. After staring at the pictures, limbs tangled with the missing girl who was seemingly still haunting him, he shoved them back into the envelope and clutched it in his hands, “Coach...I-I can explain, it was....it’s not even as bad as you probably think, I was eighteen, I wasn’t thinking---”

Another hand to stop him raised, and Coach McVay straightened up in his chair, “I know, I know this was probably a mistake, but...we can’t have something like that getting out. Look, we get examined all the time with scandals and it’s not the end of your career. But, we just think it’s best if maybe you just take the bench for the rest of the season. Lawyer up just in case too, we can provide you with some good ones...but, until then, we can’t let you play. You understand that right? You seem a bit disoriented lately anyways, maybe it’s for the best if you just relax. First years are stressful, and this doesn’t help it. We just need you to get this under control. The last thing we need is a sex tape leaked, it’ll look bad for the team.” Pausing, he leaned forward on his elbows now, folding his hands over one another, “Go home, kid. Visit your family for the holidays, you can still sit on the bench and watch the games...come to practices if you want, but, this is for the best.”

His heart was racing as he nodded again, because he understood, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t furious. His dream, the one thing he cherished most, was being taken away from him in this moment. Someone was fucking with him, intentionally, by sending this directly to his coach’s office. So, fist clenched around the now slightly crumpled manila envelope, he stood as Coach McVay did. He watched as the older man came around the desk and clasped his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, “I’m sorry, Ryder.”

“Yeah, me too.” He murmured, nodding as he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, slowly backing out of the office. He could feel the anger bubbling in his chest, he could feel it after he packed up his locker, ignoring his friends on the team for the time being as he pushed out of the door and headed to his car. He could feel it as he sat in his car, staring out of the windshield in front of him before hitting it over and over again until his palms turned red. Hell, he even felt it as he booked his ticket back home...one way.

He hadn’t lost his dream, not entirely, and when he got back home...he intended on figuring out just who the fuck was to blame for this.

Even if it killed him.

[hcclarington]

Though Hunter isn’t really the type to admit it, when first approached with the expectation that he would be taking over the family business, Hunter declined. There’s never been anything about the way his father runs this company that interested him. Yet, as he grew older, Hunter saw more than just a construction company there in his father’s control. He saw power. The people of Castleport respected his father – often times more than Hunter thought the man deserved – and for the most part it was said that the Claringtons built the town, quite literally. With that sort of power behind him, Hunter began to dream of the life he could have – the freedom. So, as he grew older, there was a bit more of an interest given to the business despite the fact that his father had already given up on him. In Clarington senior’s eyes, his son was a disappointment not fit to run the family business – something he could never really say out in public.

Then addiction hit. Hunter began his spiral downwards, giving his father even more of a reason to turn his back on the boy. It was then that the company’s future was practically set in stone to never go to Hunter – not while he could hardly get his own life under control.

Now, as Hunter has returned to the business and taken his seat among the higher ranks, whispers spread like wildfire through the office. What is Hunter doing? What should be a hostile takeover has never really been done this way, with so much thought, planning, and what can only be described as takeover assassination. Though currently Hunter works under his father playing the role as the dutiful son, such a status has been a front until he gains enough credibility and resources to completely take the company out from his father’s feet. Part of that plan involves one investment with a Mr. Samuel Evans, an investment which Hunter is sure will really put him over the top and open the board’s eyes to the truth – Hunter Clarington deserves to be the man running the show.