#This is why I made the fake adoption papers so I could have someone decent to call my dad even if it was a joke

[sweetface-the-dollbaby]

You expect me to pretend to like my actual father today when he’s part of the reason I hate myself? The reason I hate my body? The reason I hate eating? The reason I hate people? No fucking chance.

[heavenlysan]

Cruel Love [4]

Mafialeader!San | Detective!Reader | Soulmates | Choi San x female reader | NSFW | Explicit language? |

Words: 2,494

Chapters:

1 | 2 | 3

(Y/N's POV)

Through all my life I've been always treated like garbage but tonight… what a fucking night. What a fucking exhausting ugly night. I was kicked in the ribs and slapped on the face I haven't felt so humiliated in a long time if this whole fake identity is gonna keep me feeling this way I don't know what I'm gonna do and for how long I'll be able to keep it, I admit that it could've been worse but it wasn't and that was thanks to Choi San.

At least the way back home was in complete silence this man Wooyoung didn't say much he just gave me his jacket to cover my legs and after dropping me off at home he just waved goodbye and disappeared.

I decided to take a long bath and a shower after that mess. Being around men and being treated like meat and just like shit in general definitely made me upset. But then there was Choi San, his behaviour confused completely an old man got shot by him and then the same old man apologised to him and then the owner he called him Mister and I swear his hold felt shaky he was scared of him too. But to me he was a completely different man he didn't seem scary he was… a gentleman.

My old phone started ringing I tried to reach for it as it kept ringing and vibrating but when I finally got it whoever was calling hung up. I looked at the screen to see who it was. It was Irene. But I didn't call her back because I didn't feel like talking to people right now the exhaustion was draining me completely and I just wanted to sleep.

I dropped on the bed to try to sleep but the only thing on my head was Choi San. If he is a cold blooded murderer the big head of a Mafia and a most wanted why was he so nice and even charming? And why was he so nice to me.

As I kept moving and rolling on my bed to find a good position to sleep I abruptly got up remembering that I forgot to put on all the artefacts that were given to me to record my first meeting with Choi San. I fucked up big time. If I didn't die at the bar I'm surely going to die when the moment to give all my reports to Irene comes.

"You think somebody is going to love you? You really think that? just look at you you're nothing an animal has more value than you do. You're ugly and you don't behave like a normal human being. If someone ever shows affection to you is only gonna be out of pity." I look around and I'm in a big empty room the lights are pretty dim and across the room there's that man laughing hysterically at me, the room feels extremely cold and I'm shivering and crying, as I try to hug myself to make myself warmer I realise that I'm tied up in chair. Why? "y/n you're still pretty naive if you could only be smart enough people would consider adopting you" he laughs "But you're ugly and stupid and that's why you're still here and you'll always be here" The lights go off but they come back on in seconds but now I'm no longer tied up and the man is now dead in front of me. And then I hear in the distance "RUN"

I wake up abruptly when I hear there's someone knocking on the door. I get up to open the door and before opening I check the clock it's 10am? When did I sleep so much?

I look through the peephole and I fall on my butt. What is he doing here? He knocks harder after the noise I made by falling down and I'm unable to comprehend what's going on why is Choi San at my door?

"I'm coming" I run to hide all the papers and my old phone under the mattress making sure this place doesn't look like a detective is living here. And I try to look a little bit decent before opening the door.

I shyly open the door "Hey"

He looks so well dressed he's wearing all black and his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to expose a little bit of chest.

"Hi" He says with a smile on his face, "I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind, Wooyoung told me where you live, I just wanted to make sure you were alright"

"Oh you didn't have to, everything's alright after he dropped me off I just went to sleep" I say awkwardly and then I remember that we're still on the door "Shit I'm sorry you wanna come in? I can make you some coffee" He smiles again and just enters.

"You have a nice place" he says and I get so embarrassed because all my normal clothes and my fake ones are all scattered around.

"I'm sorry for the mess let's stay in the kitchen please"

I'm doing a terrible job I'm supposed to be a confident and sexy woman but instead I'm being my normal awkward self, he's gonna find out that I'm a detective and he's most likely going to kill me.

"Don't worry about that princess I don't mind, it's making you blush and you look adorable"

I don't even want to answer that "So how do you like your coffee?"

"Black is alright" He sits and stares at me.

I try to analyze him he's staring at me but it's not the way my boss stares at me or they way Dylan does or the way any other man has ever stared at me. His stare feels… Kind and just different and Choi San keeps confusing me. I snap back when I get embarrassed and turn around breaking our staring contest.

"By the way, it's good that you're here your friend gave me a jacket last night you can take it with you" I say still not looking at him.

"That was my jacket, before you got on your car I gave it to him for you, your dress looked like it was making you uncomfortable"

"Oh" I genuinely don't know how to keep the conversation going I turn around to face him and he smiles really big… he has dimples, beautiful ones "Thanks and thanks for everything last night" I give him his coffee and I sit down next to him.

He sips the coffee and looks back at me "You were new right?"

"Yeah it was my first day there"

"No no I mean new as a…" He tries to find a better word than prostitute.

"A prostitute"

"A sex worker"

"It's the same thing but yes I'm new why?" I try to figure out where this is going to.

"It's nothing princess" He smiles and flips back his hair "I just knew it the moment I saw you"

And then I laugh not so much since I don't want to offend him "Then I probably looked lost"

"Not exactly princess you looked fierce like you weren't up to let anyone touch you and if someone even dared to you'd probably jump on them, you have this gaze that amazed me"

I look at him almost confused and lost. Choi San what do you mean with that and why did you have to appear here. I know that he's lying just to make me feel better about myself If I had looked fierce like he said nobody would've touch me but two men did.

"But anyways, another reason I'm here is because last night I paid for your services" He looks at me and I freeze completely he wants to have sex? As in right now? If he tries something what am I gonna do? I realise that I probably look like a fool when he starts laughing.

"What things are you imagining in your head? I'm not here to have sex princess I want to take you out for dinner"

"Dinner?"

"Yes" He puts a single piece of my hair behind my ear.

He is so close I can see every detail of his face he has a mole close to his eye and I must admit Choi San is extremely good looking and I kind of want to punch him in the face for that nobody should be that handsome.

"I'll go" I say and he opens his eyes not believing what I just said I give him a shy smile and he does the same.

He finishes his coffee and gets up to the door "I'll come back tonight to pick you up at 7pm" he gently holds my chin and I thoughtlessly hold my breath. "I'll see you later princess" And then he walks away.

I close the door and I drop on the floor holding my legs astonished not knowing what just happened confused it's not even the word to describe what I'm feeling right now what am I even feeling right now?

My old phone starts ringing and it brings me back to this dimension.

"Hello?"

"Miss y/ln, it's Irene I called you yesterday but there was no answer everything went alright? We don't expect you to meet Choi San right away that would be impossible he's definitely unreachable but we'll get ther…"

"I met him" There's a silence on the phone

"You what? You recorded everything right? That's crucial for this investigation"

Fuck

"No I didn't" I pause and I close my eyes with fear "I forgot to put on the mic"

There's another silence. She's pissed.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, today you're completely free I want an extremely detailed report I told you this is important and you're not in the place to fuck this up"

"I'm actually not free I'm seeing him again tonight"

"That is not possible we've been trying to get slightly close to him for the last 2 years and you got this close in one night? There is no way" She pauses "You had sex with him didn't you? After all you're pretending to be a prostitute I guess you played too well your new role"

Her words are hurtful and I take a moment to absorb what she just said.

"Okay I want the report tomorrow morning" Before I speak she ends the call.

No I did not have sex with him you stupid bitch. "you played too well your new role" that was disrespectful and so unprofessional just because she has a higher position than I do more money than I do and more in general than I do doesn't give her the right to talk to me like this.

I get in the shower and after that I quickly grab something to eat if I'm gonna be busy with Choi San and I have to send my report in the morning I need to start writing now.

Choi San

…

Hours pass and absolutely nothing comes to my mind what should I even write? Choi San is a charming man that respects women? They would laugh at me. I can't write about him shooting a man it would be just like the people that tried to report him we have no evidence without evidence we're back to zero I don't know who's the man that he shot to have him as the victim so that's not really an option besides that man looked frightened he didn't even want to make eye contact with Choi San I'm pretty sure he would deny everything or blame someone else.

There's a knock on the door is that him? No way it's still too early and I look like trash. I see through the peephole and there's a delivery guy. He probably has the wrong address but I open the door anyway.

"Hello package for y/n" Says the delivery man.

What?

"You have the wrong y/n then, I didn't order it"

"No ma'am I got specific instructions to send it exactly here just sign here please" Oh shit I don't have a fake signature, I improvise one and the man gives me a big red box I say thanks and I close the door.

I've watched a lot of movies and I just know that this is from him but this can't be good a mysterious box out of the blue is a big red flag, he totally found out about the real me and he probably sent a snake, a deadly one to kill me. I stare for too long at the box across the room he was too nice to be real it was just a facade.

After over thinking for too long I grow a pair and I slowly open the box there's thin paper covering whatever it's inside but thankfully there's no sign of a snake I remove all the paper. It's a dress and at the bottom of the box there's a card.

Just a little something for tonight you can wear this or whatever you want, I know you'll look beautiful regardless of what you choose

San

Wait… I take a few steps back not believing what I'm seeing. I jump on the bed and I put a pillow on my face and I let out a big and loud scream. First of all what the fuck.

I get up again and I hold the dress pressed against my body in front of a mirror it's a beautiful tight black dress with long sleeves and exposed shoulders. It's so pretty and it isn't too short and that's such a relief it's the perfect length for me.

It's 6pm he'll be here in an hour so I have to hurry up. I put on the dress and must say I don't look bad at all it fits so well it's as if it was designed just for me I check tutorials on the Internet to do my makeup no the one I'd usually wear to work or any other simple day but something more fitting to the occasion. I look at myself in the mirror I feel weird in all this since I don't think I've ever looked like this but I feel confident and happy with myself.

I look up to the clock and I apparently took too much time on my appearance it's almost 7pm and he'll be here any moment now. I run back to the room opening the briefcase and search for the artefacts to actually record my meeting with Choi San this time I grab the mic and the mini camera that look like earrings and I put them on.

I hear a soft knock on the door and I stare at myself one last time on the mirror and I turn on both the mic and the camera before finally opening.

Oh shit

[laughing-with-god]

Pen Pal 1.5

Summary- As a lonely person, the idea of exchanging letters with someone apart from society was actually quite appealing to you.  In a random act of charity and desperation, you sign up for a pen pal and get paired up with an inmate named Jungkook.  The letters were meant to help him cope with prison life, but little did anyone know it was actually driving him more mad.

Warnings- Yandere/Prisoner Jungkook x Reader.  Mature themes.  Mention of mental disorder.

Words; 5.4k

“Have you ever felt so connected to someone that you didn’t understand why they were inside another skin and inhabiting a different body than you?”

He supposed that he should’ve been more displeased with where he landed himself.  

A cage of a jail cell that was six by eight feet and enclosed with brick walls that were so old, the paint was chipping off more and more each day.  The only entrance and exit being the harsh bars of the metal doors where a police officer could always be seen patrolling the passage ways, eyeing inmates with a judgmental glare as if he knew each and every one of their stories and how they were menaces to society.  

But if Jungkook was being true to himself, he couldn’t find any need to relate to his fellow prisoners fantasies of being in the outside world once again.

He had no desire to integrate back into society.  

He hated the world for a long time.

He hated how obnoxious and fake people were in the modern era.  He hated how capitalistic and money hungry the economy was. He hated how surface level and crude the general community was.  

From the time he was born, his peers would only approach him because they had hopes of being friends with the son of a rich power-broker.  

They would smile to his face and claimed to like him, but behind his back they would complain about how ‘boring and weird’ he was.  

Indeed, as a youngster Jungkook had been very introverted.  

He loved drawing, and this caused looks of confusion as most boys his age would enjoy a game of football or soccer more than doodling.  The only reason he got invites to playdates or birthday parties was due to his family’s social status. He was quick to catch on when his ‘friends’ would always push to go to his house, to play with his toys and to drop the Jeon name when bragging to other people about the ‘friendship’.  

However as Jungkook got older, the less he cared about such trivial matters.  As an insecure little boy, it bruised him quite a bit. But as an older teen, he accepted it as a harsh reality.  No one liked him for him, yet it wasn’t as tragic as it sounded. Because, he didn’t accept them for who they were either.  The world and Jungkook had a mutual understanding for each other. He despised them for it used him.

So when he went and got himself locked up, he really didn’t have that much remorse for what he would miss of the outside world.  The criminal psychologist said he had a problem with feelings in general; having a low emotional capacity for settings or situations but a heightened one for certain people in his life.  But Jungkook paid this analysis no mind. After all, how many different settings, situations or people can he encounter while serving a life-time sentence at one of the most highly guarded prisons in the country?

He did what he had done, and he was at peace with everything concerning the matter.  

When other inmates would rant about how they missed very basic things of life; non-cafeteria food, going to parks, having your own home and schedule, Jungkook didn’t care for the sentiment at all.  In fact, he thought they were weak to not even be able to handle prison. Really, how bad was it? You got a bed to sleep on, a toilet to shit in and was fed three time a day. With the way these fuckers ranted, you would’ve thought they were world war soldiers talking about home life whilst serving in the trenches.  Pathetic, really.

One day, Jungkook walked into his cell after a decent work out only to spot a pristine and angelic white envelope on his bed (more like a slab of metal with a cheap blanket on top but what did you expect of a cell?). This caused Jungkook to quirk a brow at the odd sight, he was pretty particular with boundaries and it annoyed him to see his roommate not respect his space.  

“Joon, I told you not to leave shit in my area.”  Jungkook motonously commented to his cell mate that was currently on the top bunk, book in hand.  This caused the older to peek from his spot above and glance down at the lower bunk.  

“Uh...that’s not mine.  Plus it has your name on it and everything, bro.”  

Jungkook sighed and pressed his tongue against his cheek in an angry tick that he had adopted years ago.  He really just wanted to head to the showers and he couldn’t imagine who would be writing to him. His family having disowned him for his crimes and everyone else having forgotten him or shunning his existence like he had the plague.  Not that he was too disappointed with these developments, he could spend the rest of his days without a word from anyone from the outside and he would still die content.

With a huff, he snatched the envelope and opened it with very little grace.  

‘Dear Mr. or Miss. Prisoner…..’

Jungkook’s doe eyes skimmed passed the delicate but noticeably rushed handwriting, soaking in the words with hesitance at such unexpected vulnerability from an utter stranger.  It wasn’t a long letter (Jungkook was finished reading it after 30 seconds or so) but he plopped himself on his bed to re-read the letter when he was done, showers somehow forgotten.

Said person who wrote to him managed to sound very weak and tired through diction alone.  However, this moment of weakness from the stranger was somehow not at all judged by Jungkook.  This revelation startled the prisoner himself, given that he had always made it a habit to look down on those whom lacked the mental strength that he did.  A fucked up social darwinism philosophy that was only heightened by being around meager sheep while he was a full on ruthless psycho. But why? Why did he feel pity this time instead of the usual disgust whenever someone was so bare and raw to him?  

The answer was simple.  

He related to you.

He felt as though you had put it best into words exactly what he felt when he was living out there in the public.  The world was scary and he didn’t blame you for being paranoid or locking yourself up. He could practically feel your fear from where he was; locked in a tiny cell and miles upon miles away from civilization.  He got the sense that you were different, like him. Most people he had encountered in his lifetime have always been okay with how the world was, not acknowledging the sinister characteristics that came along with it.  Authenticity was oozing from your writing as you did way more than just acknowledge the bad; you did your best to stay away from it all together. In a weird way, Jungkook found this cute. You were like a frightened child that hid under your bed to avoid the evil babysitter, escaping was your pure and innocent plan of action.  Which was different from Jungkook’s more violent actions….but he concluded he liked the contrast between you two. While you decided to take it out on yourself and starve yourself from stimulation just to keep away from the barbaric world, Jungkook took it upon himself to make everyone else pay.

“It it that stupid Pen Pal program?”  

Jungkook glanced up from the paper to see his cellmate hang his head from the bed above, watching Jungkook with questioning orbs.  Jungkook just scoffed at the upside down face and nodded.

“I just threw my letter away.  I heard they put all of us in that program because it’s a tax-write off for them.  It’s bullshit.” Namjoon told the younger.

Jungkook didn’t supply the other with an answer.  Instead he carefully folded the letter and placed it smoothly under his pillow. Then, he headed out to the showers while thoughts of what to write back to you filled his mind.  

--

‘Dear Y/n,

Well I would feel rather….accepting.  

I think you must be a very wise person to keep yourself far from the wretched claws of society…..’  

Jungkook tapped the capped pen against his chin, looking over his writing for any errors or mishaps before he signed off entirely.  

His letter was more in response to yours, after all you hadn’t given him that much to reply back to.  But still, some communication was better than none at all. Jungkook wanted to let you know that he understood your fears.  Hell, he even shared them with you. He hoped that you believed him when he told you that he also harbored disdain for your enemy.  And he also wanted to learn more about such a like-minded individual. Surely, you both had to have other similarities too, right?

He added the request for an image of you toward the end of his letter, just out of sheer curiosity for his long-lost twin. He didn’t care what you looked like but he wanted to scratch the itch of placing a face with the writing, knowing the urge to know would never go away until he saw your face.  

Other prisoners watched shocked as they witnessed Jungkook make his way to the mail room to drop off a letter to be sent off, knowing that he never made contact with the outside world.  

--

Jungkook found himself pacing his cell in an anxious manner, arms crossed and brows furrowed.  His stomach was tied into knots and his palms were clammy, hinting at one of the first times that he’s ever been nervous.  

He really was hoping for a response from you.  

He knew that it was very childish and sad to be so giddy for a letter, but he couldn’t help but get excited at the prospect of another note.  It was refreshing to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t a felon. Someone who wasn’t there in person yet still reached out to connect with a corrupt scanderal such as himself.  

Which is why when the usual mail carrier came down the cells, cart in hand with envelopes, pictures, money and presents for inmates, Jungkook found himself holding his breath and wishing for the first time ever that the carrier would stop at his cell.  

He had never been on the receiving end of such transactions, he had no one on the outside to look out for him.  But the faceless recluse that had reached out to him in a cry for companionship had fogged his mind, leaving hims restless and jittery.  

Could it be that he found a genuine friend?  

One that didn’t use him for his reputation (unlike his former childhood friends) and accepted him as the fuck up he was.  

“Letter for a Jeon Jungkook?”  The middle-aged man paused in front of the barren cell, sticking a pristine white envelope through the metal bars.  It was almost comical the joy that bursted through his chest and the way he leaped to attrive the holy piece of material.  As if it glowed bright in the grim and grey limbo that he was stuck in.

Not being able to withhold the anticipation, Jungkook quickly took the letter to his bunk and carefully slit it open.  

‘Dear Jungkook,

Words cannot express how thankful I am that you answered my pathetic call for help…’

The writing was noticeably neater than the first letter.  Jungkook noted with a smile how much longer this one was prior to the last.  The inmate forced himself to pore over every detail at a slower pace, not wanting to accidently skim past any vital information yet also wishing to savor the ritual.  

You seemed very blindly kind to someone who was a wretched crook.  In fact, you claimed to be very grateful to hear from little old him.  The feeling was utterly foreign, the idea that someone was out there that genuinely wanted his friendship, someone who genuinely wanted to know his most bland personal preferences, who was practically pleading for his written company.  It made him feel wanted. After some thought he decided that he quite liked the new feeling. Even at his worst; locked up for a lifetime sentence, you went out of your way to kill his loneliness. He almost giggled when you told him of the disorder that the world had labelled you with, it was awfully funny to him that you both were called mentally unstable.  You two now had that in common as well. He felt a sudden stab in the gut when you mentioned your sister. He guessed if he had to identify the emotion it would be closest to sympathy or guilt. He supposed he felt...bad for your loss. Jungkook smiled widely.

Yes!  That’s it!  He felt bad for you!  

God if the psychologist who said he had no emotions could see him now...

Towards the end of your writing, you mentioned not being a ‘looker’.  As if the paper itself burned him, Jungkook dropped the object with great haste to dig through the envelope.  You had sent the picture! He almost forgot that he even asked for such thing.

And there it was, a small 4x6 printed image of a lovely face smiling shyly at the camera.  

Your face was small and round, skin serene and creamy with its (porcelain/olive/honey/amber/cinnamon) hued pores that was the canvas for your darling features.  Your nose was benevolent and perched regally as well as perfectly centered amidst the sculpture that was your appearance. The bridge of the blessed feature dipped discreetly and softly, complimenting the luminous orbs that were vividly painted with a the crispest shade of (color) that he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing.  The enchanting irises were artistically framed by magnetizing dark eyelashes that were as long as they were seductive. Somehow he just knew that the colors supplied by whatever commercial printer didn’t do the color-pads of your eyes justice, imagining the shiver that will go down his spine when he could be bare to them in their full and unfiltered glory.  They held a humane gentleness but still….a simmering witt was also bubbling under the surface. Overhead the eyes were carefully groomed eyebrows that were neat and shapely, one was elegantly arched in a expression of somber joy.

Underneath your nose was a pair of nectarous ruby red (or flowery pink) lips that looked perfectly cushioning to any lucky man who would have the chance to collide theirs with yours. Your pristine and snow-white teeth were barely poking out, show casting your shyness even when plastering on a friendly smile.  It’s as if you were unable to let yourself be one-hundred percent bare even in something as basic as a grin. He wondered what kind of mellifluous sound would erupt from such a devine cavern. Your (color) hair was sadly put up, unable to flow freely in the still-frame image. Even though he had very little to study, he still knew that he would want to (straight hair; run his hands through your silken strands) (curly hair; bounce the fluid swirls of your playful mane).  An odd urge to inhale the scent of your shampoo was what Jungkook felt next.

Lost in his own self-induced trance, he didn’t realize that he had been staring for so long until he felt a shadow loom over his figure.  

It was his cellmate and suddenly the infatuated man became all too aware of his slightly ajar mouth and his widened eyes that were stuck on the flimsy printed picture that was tightly held in his grasp (as if terrified that someone would steal the chef d'oeuvre...in an abode of criminals, this fear was somewhat relevant).  Quickly, he masked his expression to that of usual indifference.

“You’ve been sitting there staring for like eleven minutes.  You good?”

He just nodded, not a fan of frivolous speech or furthering conversation with people he cared none for.  Still, the fucker persisted.

“You sure?  Your girl didn’t send you something naughty or something, right?”  This was said in a matter of humor, an attempt to relieve the dark aura that Jungkook seemed to exude in every social interaction.  However, the serious face that Jungkook had on gave the other the impression that he had hit the mark precisely. Joon’s jaw dropped and an eager grin formed at the corners of his lips.  

“Really?!  No way! Can I see?”  The over-sized goon attempted to stride forward, hands already out-reached to grasp at the first smut he would’ve seen in a long time.  Out of primal instinct to keep what was his away from the snubby hands of others, Jungkook pulled back. But the fool had enlarged limbs and this meant his lengthy arms were very capable of plucking the picture off of Jungkook’s safe grip.  

Greedy, Namjoon ran his eyes over the photo.  His grin slowly slid off as he realised that it was indeed nothing sexual.  Nonetheless, his eyes lingered far longer than Jungkook cared for….before promptly returning the image to it’s rightful owner, whose jaw was clenched and teeth now grinding at the recent events.   

“Who is she?”  

“My pen-pal.”  Jungkook promptly answered whilst hiding both the letter and photo under his pillow before placing his head on it, staring up at the bunk above him.  

“Damn, if I’d know that I could’ve gotten someone like that….”  A brief pause as Joon climbed up his bed as well. “I definitely wouldn’t have thrown mine away.”  

Jungkook felt the familiar agitation hit him, tongue pressing against his cheek and he wondered if it was too late to request a cell change.  

The lights went out and ponderings of what to write back filled Jungkook’s mind along with the bewitching photo that was just directly under his head…

--

Opting not to go to breakfast, Jungkook stayed within his cell.

He elaborately printed his response back to you.

‘Dear Y/n,

I thought you were a very smart person but obviously not…’  

The inmate was sure to make you aware of how breathtaking you were, but also very careful in tip-toeing around just how gorgeous you were to him.  He could have written a dozen novels about your exquisite appearance alone, but obviously he was unable to do such thing. He didn’t want you to think he was a creep and halt all communication with him.  In an effort to get closer to you, Jungkook added some sentiment in regards to your loss, adding an anecdote about his mother for dramatic effect.

Now, it was time to fulfill your wish to see him as he had seen you.  

He had no problem with such request.  Not that he ever paid attention to such pointless gossip, but he had always heard whispers of how handsome he was.  Jungkook didn’t consider himself to be a little Fabio on any scale, but he knew he wasn’t hard on the eyes of the opposite sex.  The trouble was, how exactly would he be able to send a photo?

After a year in prison, you get to learn that there are two ways you can survive in such element.  You either adapt or you crumble.

The fittest of the inmates learned real quick how to make prison into their home.  Some men have been here so long that they grew connections and were able to bring some things from the outside world in.  

Jungkook made plans to visit one the older inmates, knowing that he could trade a candybar for a favor of sneaking a photo out to you.  For now, he folded his letter and placed it in the envelope, awaiting his picture before being shipped off to the mailroom.

--

‘Dear Jungkook,

…..I guess you’re not the worst face I’ve seen….’

Jungkook smiled as he fondly traced the words that you have written onto the paper only days prior.  He imagined your endearing face scrunching up into a thoughtful expression as you scribbled your response back to him.  You were funny and he couldn’t deny the sense of pride he felt when you admitted to his attractiveness. In the past, he never gave a fuck if people thought he was the next Ryan Gosling or the ugliest mug they’ve ever seen.  But he felt a weird sense of relief behold him when you said that you indeed thought he was good-looking. He didn’t want to imagine what he might’ve felt if you called him ugly or stopped talking to him after seeing his face.  

But that was not the best aspect to be seen within your writing.  

The best thing that caused his chest to erupt in a warm and fuzzy feeling was when you agreed that you also felt a connection between you two.  That you found him to be ‘marvelous company’ and you enjoyed his letters. This just confirmed his suspicion that you were somehow tied together.  That you two were meant to stumble upon each other in the most unconventional way. Jungkook was sure of it, that you two have defied the odds that cruel reality set against you ‘mentally unstable’ pair and found peace along with understanding within each other.  

Jungkook didn’t know how to describe you.  Surely a ‘pal’ wasn’t it.

You were like another half of him.  

Like you both have fallen from the same star and were unfortunate to fall on this damned earth. Surrounded by the bizzare ‘humans’ and called odd for not being one of their species.  Jungkook decided then and there that you two were mates.

And yes, Jungkook meant it in the primal and borderline barbaric ways that animals did. He would prove his worthiness as a male specimen, he would shelter and feed you, he would breed and produce offspring with you.  Regular people would look at this plan and consider it cave-man like, but he thought it was considerably more romantic this way. Animals mated for life and were not afraid to get murderous when someone threatened this sacred bond.  What was so wrong with such animalistic viewpoint? Humans were the worst type of creature and he was not at all interested in their fake way of obtaining a lover. And he got the sense that you weren’t either. Dates, chocolates, flowers?  How is it that those things were put on a pedestal as a grand show of affection but having a genuine connection with a person was not? Jungkook couldn’t strain his brain to understand such mindset.

This all left the forefront of his mind when he read to the last parts of your letter.  Eyebrows going up in surprise at the ‘P.S’ adage that was never before seen from you. His smile slipped off his face when he saw what you wished.

You wanted to know how he landed himself in prison.  

Now….that was a touchy subject.  

He really didn’t want to scare you away.  

You were too understanding, too alike to him for Jungkook to ever want you to run away.  He knew that no matter how much he could try, his crimes were inexcusable. Even the holiest of saints would hinder their forgiveness.  

Jungkook came to the conclusion that it would be best to tell a white lie until he had more of a connection with you to reveal the truth.  

Sure, he was utterly enthralled by you but he didn’t know how deep your affections lied with him.  He just needed more time to spin a perspective to fill your ear with, he needed to get his claws deep within you, he needed you to be as dependent on him as he was with you.  Jungkook decided to create a fake story to keep you close to him.

Jungkook smirked and grabbed a pen and paper for the next letter.  

--

‘Dear Jk,

My day to day is also lifeless, I’m afraid…’

It was lunch time and Jungkook sat alone in his usual corner of the table, mystery meat forgotten in favor of absorbing the new letter that you had produced for his addiction.  

The first paragraph had the psycho inmate smiling as he pictured you in your tiny apartment, dressed in comfy clothes doing the most mundane things.  He liked to spend his free time just imagining what your comfy ‘nest’ was like, picturing your tiny frame skipping around it. You sitting on a sofa, bundled up in blankets and one of his oversized sweaters, book in hand and steaming hot cup of hot chocolate in the other.  You in the kitchen, humming some tune in your dulcet voice as you attempted to make him a home cooked meal, frowning when you realized that you had not followed a certain step correctly like the cook book said. You laughing at the movie that played on the television screen while you both reach into the popcorn bowl at the same time.  What Jungkook wouldn’t give to live in the little nest with you.  To occupy the same cocoon that you created.

He often found himself fantasizing about being the brave one for you.  

The one who would go to the outside world on your behalf.  He would get you groceries, get a 9 to 5 to pay the bills, go out at 3 am to get you lady products or any random craving.  Wouldn’t that be nice? It would be similar to a caregiver role. Him taking care of you so you just had to stay your pretty self at home, keeping it warm and pillowy for his return.  You would be so thankful for his willingness to go out into your worst fear for the sake of your happiness.

But then, as the letter continued, Jungkook’s mood soured.  

Your mother had violated your space and made you feel awful.  

Jungkook felt rage in that moment.  

He never held so much hatred for someone he had never met before.  

He instantly knew that he didn’t like your mother.  

A piercing sensation thundered upon his chest.  The cursed image of your sweet face covered in tears fogged his mind’s eye.  

God helped anyone who fucked with you.  

Jungkook folded the letter and put it in his pocket, shoveling some tasteless cafeteria food to distract him the familiar hellish itch that screamed at him from underneath his skin.  

Later that day, Jungkook responded with a letter of his own.  

He attached the drawings that he had mentioned to you, somewhat bashful that for the past weeks all he had been able to draw was you.  But he brushed the feelings off and focused on another task; getting you to start calling.

He would often see inmates taking up phone booths, talking and laughing with loved ones from the outside for a couple minutes at a time.  Jungkook wanted that for you two. He wanted to hear the blessed voice that he knew you had, and he wanted you to become familiar with his as well.  After all, you would be hearing it a lot in your lifetime.

--

‘My Dearest Y/n,

I’m sure you must’ve gotten busy, why else haven’t you written in a week?’

Jungkook was slowly becoming irritated at the lack of mail he has been receiving.  It had been five days since you had responded and Jungkook felt anxious at your sudden silence.  You were a sweetheart and would never abandon him. You weren’t like those other wretched people, right?  No! You couldn’t be.

Jungkook shook his head and mentally cursed himself for even thinking that for a moment.  

You must have gotten busy.  

Maybe your mom didn’t give up on pestering you.  

--

‘My Dearest Y/n,

Where have you gone?  You haven’t forgotten about me have you?’

Jungkook couldn’t bear the silence.  He was slowly growing restless. He needed the stimulation that was your communication.  Without it, he had no new material to fill his mind. No new scenarios to daydream about.  NOTHING to get him through the day in the colorless cell that began to taunt him. He attempted to distract himself with the picture of you as well as your 

former letters that now had tear stains because of his new habit of crying over them, knowing they might be the last he ever gets from you.

--

‘Y/n,

This isn’t funny anymore….’

Jungkook was not only uneased, but now he was worried.  Thoughts of what could’ve possibly caused your silence now haunted his mind at night when he attempted to get what little rest he could.  Time was only worsening his growing paranoia each day that he didn’t receive a letter.

He knew you lived alone and had very little outside communication with anyone.  The main ones being him and your mother. Jungkook could only assume that your mother and you would be taking a break due to your mother’s mental breakdown.  And that left him. Stuck in a penitentiary with no way to reach you. He nearly punched the brick wall of his cell when he came to the realization that something could’ve happened to you and no one would’ve known.  If you didn’t answer this letter, he didn’t know what he’d do.

--

‘Dear Jungkook (or should I say Easter Bunny?)

I know what you did.

I know that you lied to me.

I know you’re a murderer.  

Friends don’t lie to each other, Jungkook.

I think it’s best if we find different Pen Pals.

All my best wishes, Y/n.

The letter fell to the ground as Jungkook stared in shock at the absurdly short and cold answer he got from you.  

He underestimated you.

You found out.  

Jungkook felt his temper flare as well as his breathing.  

He’d be damned to let you go.  

You were soulmates….couldn’t you see that?  

Jungkook never thought he’d have to rely on this but he had no choice.  

In the cell block, there were some people whom have been there for 30 years, and other for 30 days.  Prison 101 is to not fuck with the guys who had time under their belts. It was best to respect them and acknowledge that they have connections.  But respect was the last thing on his mind as he stormed into the tiny cell room of an old geezer whose been committing crimes since before Jungkook was even born.  

The older man was used to people coming to his cell, usually asking about how to get hands on a cell phone or how to get the precious kitchen duty to sneak food.  Over time, the man humored many childish inmates with some insider tricks. Almost everyone had talked to him at some point, but Jungkook was one of the very few whom did not approach him seeking an easier ride.  Thus, he was shocked to see the young and deadly figure swoop into the area, eyes dead and jaw clenched.

“You’re going to do something for me.”  Jungkook said this monotonously while maintaining eye contact.  The older man couldn’t ignore the shivers that went down his spine but he still acted calm, knowing you couldn’t show weaknesses to the younger and violent inmates.  

“Is that so?”  The older quirked a brow at Jungkook though the rusty mirror and went back to shaving his face.  The younger was behind him and just tilted his head and stepped forward, still staring at the man through the reflection of the glass.  

“You are going to sneak me out of this joint.”  

This caused the older to laugh, not believing his ears at such a ludicrous request.  

Jungkook came up behind the older, mouth close to his ear and eyes lifeless and inky as they held the older’s through the mirror.  

“Listen here you senile fuck, I know that you know who I am and what I did.  It’s your best interest to listen to what I tell you. Would you like to hear a secret?”  The petrified and frozen man nodded, not having the balls to disobey or look away. “I never told the jury that I didn’t murder those people on my own….I had a partner.  A partner who is still out there and would surely take care of your pretty little daughter I hear you talking on the phone to.”

Jungkook smiled as the man grimly agreed to do whatever he wished.  

Now, he just had to inform you of his upcoming arrival.

--

‘My Dearest Y/n,

I see you found out about the nickname the hideous press gave me.

Well….this type of revelation is best talked over in person.  

I’ll see you soon.’

Author’s note; so....both JK and Y/n have mental problems, just to clarify.  Also, this wasn’t part two bc I think of this as just the other half of part one.  There will still be a part two and three.  Please let me know what you thought bc a full inbox makes for a happy writer.  It’s challenging to write for a Y/n character bc the point is for you guys to identify with her in the story and I wanted you guys to feel like you truly are her so when I did the part where Jk becomes very obsessed with the pic, I wanted to add details but obvi not everyone has the same characteristics so I added diff options...pls let me know what you thought of this.

[elecilaombre]

A waste

So I was in a bad mood an wrote al of this in one sitting. I’m now to llazy to edit it, so let’s just hope it’s not too bad. Enjoy !

Tim’s life has become a nightmare. Tim’s life is a nightmare, a living hell. It has been spiralling for days, for years and he keep going lower and lower. 

Deep down Tim known, he known it isn’t going to end well, he won’t have a pretty ending but damn, he did fight for it. He wanted it so bad, to have something nice, to be important to someone, to do good. 

Except he didn’t. His end was more than predictable. He was the worst, an echec to everyone. 

First to mother and father, stranger tied by him, him tied to them by blood. Tim wasn’t a good bound, not good enough. Alas, Janet Drake couldn’t have another pregnancy and they ended  stuck with him. 

He was tiny, he wasn’t good at sport, he was looking quite feminine, he was a lost cause to Jack by the age of 4. What a strange world where you decide the worth of a child in not even four full years, decide to ignore him as if he wasn’t part of your world.

So Tim tried, tried his very best to be the son Jack deserved. He did sport, trained over and over again to finally be good at it, to finally learn those skill. He wasn’t the greatest, but quite decent in multiple sport, from gymnastic to basketball, including escrim and boxe and others. Tim also tried to learn as much possible in the masculine interest, like cars, virtual market or science, skills that his father valued. 

Except that it was already too late, he was already invisible to Jack’s eyes. He was a waste of his father time. A failed investment

In the same time, Tim tried to please his mother, to be seen as smart she wanted, as dainty and graceful she desired, to be as much the son she wanted.

But she didn’t had time to wait for him to be that, it was a matter of born with or get rid off. He wasn’t born with those. So she get rid of him and spend her time at something more valuable.

He was a mistake, an error, a deception. They made it clear multiple time. Luckily for them, they travelled a lot and didn’t saw Tim so much. They had better things to do.

What was odd is actually how they praised him to their “friends”, acquaintance fitting better, how they praised Tim has if he was the greatest son they could had. How their son knew so much, could so much, was so much. Even if he wasn’t.

In the end, even if they were stranger to him, if they ignored him, he did cried and mourn them each when they died.

Then there was many other person he failed : teachers, nannies, friends … He wasn’t good enough for them, even at his best, he wasn’t doing good enough, he never could. And each left him, for their own good of course, they shouldn’t waste time on him, he didn’t deserve it. He tried, his hardest, but he still ended all alone.

But suddenly, there was an hope, in the form of Batman and Robin. Oh, how much he watched them, hidden on rooftop, through his binocular, then his camera. How he longed to be with them, to do as much good as them. But he didn’t deserve … And Gotham needed much better than tiny lonely Tim. 

He did ,anyway, trained as much as he could, as hard as possible. He tried over and over again to do some tricks seen during his stalking session, even if each time he failed it hurted very much. He might not be worth anything, but at least Tim knew he was determined and resistant, so he would do it until it became manageable, until it was worth his father and Batman expectation. Until he trained enough to be a vigilante.

On the other hands, he kept close to his mother’s mindset and trained his brain. It did took time, but 8 years old Tim found Robin’s and Batman’s identities after 4 months of study. Not fast enough but still some results. 

And he kept going, watching them with awe and dreaming of becoming as good as them, worthy their attention maybe. He kept watching when the new Robin stepped in, even adapted his training to not be only as flexible and agile than the first one, but also blunt and full of tricks as the second. He watched the duo adapt to their new partnership and Nightwing appear in Gotham’s sky. He knew them, all by name, all by face, by movement and by breath. It felt right.

When the second Robin died, he mourned him, deeply, knowing a teen died for this city, anonymously. He watched Nightwing move away shortly after. He watched Batman turning even more violent and lethal following those.

It took him time to decide to go to them, to offer his help. He hoped during months that another Robin would appear, as Jason appeared after Dick’s resignation. But nobody showed up and Batman needed his partner. Maybe Tim was ready, had trained enough. Maybe he could honor Dick’s role and Jason’s legacy. Maybe he wouldn’t fail Bruce.

Yes, indeed, at first, Bruce rejected him, but Tim was stubborn and kept pushing, knowing it was the right decision. And Bruce took him, gave him the Robin mantle. But the man was still cold and rough with Tim.

But it was alright, he could manage it. Tim customised the costume he had to wear, not wanting to wear the same as Jason out of respect for him, but wearing proudly the big R by love for his predecessors.

And it did work, for sometimes, Tim was barely good enough for the role, not worth anything to Dick’s eyes or Bruce’s, but he could take it. After all, they feared he would fill Jason’s place, except Tim couldn’t, because we can’t replace a person, just fill their role.

But he fought well, had a purpose to his life, worked hard to protect Gotham and defend it against the villains. He did team up multiples time with other outcast from the superhero community, formed a group with them, The Young Justice, and finally had friends in them, real one he didn’t disappointed. 

It lasted for maybe three to four years, a pleasant break in Tim’s nightmare, if he except the death of his parents. Because he did had support to mourn them.

Then Jason came back. And Tim loved that news, was so happy, he mourned the young man so much. He loved him so much. 

Except it wasn’t reciprocate, not quite the contrary to be fair. The first thing Jason did coming back to Gotham was to attempt killing Tim. Multiples times.

Each times ended in a near death experiences for Tim and left him deeply scarred. Tim told it to Bruce and Dick. Told them that Jason was alive, that he saw him in Gotham, but didn’t talked of their fight, by fear to be left out by them.

At one point, after almost one year, Jason stopped his tentative to kill him, telling him he didn't it mattered that much. That was fair.

And shortly after, his friend Kon died, during a fight in space. Then Bart, few months after, snatched by the spacetime and finally Cassie, who disappeared.

Tim was alone again, but not fully, no not yet, not yet ! He still has the bats. Well, not for so long though.

First, Stephanie, the second batgirl, his ex-girlfriend and best friend died during a mission.

And it’s will Tim was still mourning his former team and bestfriends that Damian appeared at the Manor. He was Bruce biological son. The true heir to the Batman legacy… And to Robin’s mantle. After all, every Robin, except for him, was a son of Bruce, by adoption, but a son nonetheless. But Tim wasn’t one yet, his father and mother just had died before Jason return and the adoption paper where in Bruce’s office, waiting to be signed by both Tim and Bruce. In the end, Tim never had the adoption paper filled, and Bruce never mentioned it again.

He was the odd pieces of the family, he knew it, Damian told him and Jason to. Dick had just begun to warm up to him. Too late as always. Too late.

Then Bruce “died”. To be fair he disappeared. Dick became Batman. Damian was still in training to become part of the vigilante. And Tim hadn’t barely time to proceed his second father figure death before Dick stripped him of his vigilante title. 

He wasn’t Robin anymore, he wasn't a vigilante. Those honor had been gifted to Damian.

Tim felt something broke this day, inside him, deep down, something that was already fractured and finally shattered.

He spent days alone in some flat he rented, laying in the bathroom, not moving, eating or doing anything. Just processing all of his life, this whole failure that he was.

When he finally got it under control, barely, but still, he got up and made a plan to find Bruce. He couldn’t be dead if there was no proof or body. There could be some other explanation. And if he could give back Gotham is hero and the family their Bruce, it would be a great achievement.

But nobody believed him. He was a fool to them, as always been. 

So he took it alone. He worked for Bruce firm all day, and for his father’s company as well. Became another vigilante to protect Gotham, Red Robin, for Jason and for Dick’s example. They mocked him.

And instead of resting between those two things, he built his case, Bruce case, disappearance. He was so alone, so broken, empty, he had not clue of what he was achieving in the end, how, why, nothing. His memory became a blur, things he couldn’t remember and other he doesn’t wanted to. Stuff to be proud and other ashamed. 

He did became “close” to Ra's, did horrible thing during this time that he happily forgot. 

And in the end, it paid off. Tim couldn’t remember what he traded exactly to Ra's but the immortal found a way to get Bruce out of time and back to their dimension.

And when finally Tim came back to the manor, exhausted, barely his own shadow, but proud of having saved Bruce, he didn’t earned any smile or acknowledgement. They knew he find a way to get Bruce back, but it was easier to ignore Tim. 

Things didn’t fell back as before Bruce disappearance as Tim hopped, new dynamics had been created, new dynamics and partnership in which Tim wasn’t needed.

But he stayed, he tried to fit in, to be useful. 

Even if Bruce ignored him.

Even if Dick had abandoned him.

Even if Jason was disgusted by him.

Even If Stephanie reappeared and had faked her death in his back.

Even if Damian hated him.

Even if all his friends were dead.

Even if he wasn’t enough.

Even if he never did fitted in this family.

Tim got reckless. He didn’t slept. Over worked himself at the office, and during his patrol. He stopped to feed himself properly. To tend his wounds correctly. He was decaying. He could pull lightly at his hair and his hand would come back with locks of it. He kept training his body even if he passed out everytime. If he ate more than 400g of food, he threw up. He was dying. And it wasn’t pretty.

Than there was the final day, the famous day when the last strip would romp. It happened as he had imagined it, almost ironically.

First, Bruce confronted him. About his reckless behavior. About his current state. About how Tim wasn’t good enough for the mission, to protect Gotham and should stop. He wasn’t welcome in the Cave anymore.

Then he stumbled on Stephanie who was avoiding him. And given this opportunity, she dumped all her hard truth on him : he never had been her friend, she never trusted him, that’s why she faked her death and didn’t told him… He didn’t deserve it, wasn’t worth the true.

And while Tim was currently crumbling on himself, the new Wayne, Damian found it funny to provoke him, belittle him. To remember him he was a failure, to weak, to thin, it was better if he just stopped to work, has a vigilante and for their incorporation because he wasn’t doing any good. He wasn’t enough.

So Tim just left, tried to not react because he didn’t knew how to. He was empty, that was it, there just wasn't any Tim left. His body was decaying and himself seemed to be no more. 

But he wanted to end it well, to make it pretty. After all, that had been the whole point of his life isn’t it ? He visited his parents grave and left there flowers. Did same for the monuments dedicated to his friends. Then made sure flowers will be delivered for each one on there birthday. Same for the living who mattered. Then, he tied up all his belongings. And tried to call Dick one last time.

He tried to talk to him. To tell him to not worry anymore he won’t bother them anymore. It would end soon, soon. But instead, Dick cut him off immediately and told him he hadn’t time - for Tim. So it would be it.

He got home and put his costume on. It was a last time to. After this patrol, he would burn all of his vigilante stuff, take his new fake identity and disappear somewhere in India, or maybe in Russia, he wasn’t sure yet. What he was sure, it’s that nobody would look out for him. They would assume him dead. Nobody had time for Tim. And he could finally decay in peace.

Except he saw Jason during his last patrol. Jason who turned out to known some memory Tim had forgotten. Disgusting stuff Tim had done to find Bruce. How dirty Tim got his hands for the sake of the family. How repugnant it made him, even more than before. Jason never had many tenderness for him. But him looking at Tim pitifully was the final straw.

Tim just fly away, ignoring Jason call. Ignoring everyone’s voices buzzing in his ear, sounding like if they were calling him - as if. He just threw his comm in a street. Then his GPS somewhere else. Then he got on top of his old-house, the Drake’s house, stripped of his uniform that he put in the big barril of acid he had lay out. Put on his new civilian clothes, with his bag containing his new identity and … 

And finally felt some tears run down his cheek, realising it was it, his life, Tim Drake’s life was officially a waste of time, of space. An error, an echec… 

Then why run away ? It was done. It could had been a pretty end, but Jason was going to tell his secrets to everybody and it would be a repugnant final. And what if he ended up messing his new life, just as this one.

Tim didn’t wanted to waste anyone's time or space anymore. His body was dying. His mind was broken. That was it.

He did heard someone calling his name, but he was already falling, halfly because his body couldn’t support him anymore, halfly because his mind choose too. He fall from the highest point of his house into the bay.

The surface of the water broke just like his heart did over and over again.

That was an end.

[ac-ars]

everyone needs a therapist

i am currently writing one thing, having another on my mind and     yet this happened: one hour of my life and zero proofreading, 

anyway i dont know what is the purpose of this thing, i dont know why i wrote it or what even, but it had been fun so i hope you do have fun too 

this shit is short so dont worry here lol please remember i have no idea about any actual therapist and what i wrote below is just a fic ok

everyone needs a therapist

“So you say you don’t have anyone to talk about your life?” He asks her, sitting with crossed legs, looking at her from above his black glasses, sometimes throwing glances at the paper he is holding.

“I don’t need a therapist.” She pouts and scrunches her nose, watching how he shakes his head. “Everyone needs a therapist, my dear.” He fixes his glasses. “Okay then, they say you don’t have anyone to talk about your life and recent life events, is that any more right?”

Luna sighs dramatically and nods. “I just don’t want to talk to them about that, you know?”

He smiles, lacing his fingers on his lap. “Well then, they pay me for that, but my name is Matteo and I am going to make you talk to me eventually.”

“Let’s start at the beginning.” Matteo hums. “You are Luna Valente and you come from Buenos Aires, but after the fire in your parents house, you were taken to the Mexico City, when Valentes adopted you?”

Luna crosses her arms and nods. “Why do you want to torture me?”

“Because they paid me for this,” he laughs. “And because I see some issues here.”

“They have issues, could you please just let me go?”

He grins, flipping the paper. “No. First we need to get over those sixty minutes for today.” He throws quick look at the watch on his wrist. “Actually, now it’s just 55 minutes, we are going so fast!” Hearing his fake-excited voice, Luna covers her face and growls. This is gonna be a mess.

“No offense, like don’t take it personal, but the whole Sol/Luna name thing is kinda dumb.” He gives her small hum and Luna opens her mouth wide to say something, but no words can leave. It is kinda silly. Silly yes, dumb no.

“One can’t pick their name really.”

Matteo looks at her with something serious in the eyes. “Are you Luna or are you Sol then?”

She straightens her spine taking deep breath and stares shook at him. She has no idea. She has always been Luna, but now when she got to finally find out who her parents were, she has no idea who she is. She still is sure of Miguel and Monica being her parents, yet at the same time her biological parents are knows. She has their names and last names, pictures of them.

The only thing Luna is sure of, is that she doesn’t like this guy Matteo for making her feel all of this stuff at once. “My name is Luna,” she says and it doesn’t really sound like she is certain.

“I know your name, Luna. What I asked was who you are.”

She shakes her head. “I am done.” He only laughs.

“You are 22 years old, so like they made you change your home, university and like, everything?” Matteo asks softly, playing with his glasses he took off few minutes ago.

“Yes.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes? That’s all?”

“What else do you want to hear?” Luna bites inside of her cheek leaning her head against the armrest of this big armchair he has in the office. He chuckles. “Maybe how do you feel about it?”

“Well, this sucks obviously. My… aunt,” she hesitates before saying her blood connection to Sharon Benson, or whatever her last name was before she took it. “She made me move here, live in this weird house and I don’t even know the purpose. Wasn’t it just easier to let me live in Mexico? She would have her money and all of this stuff she really likes.”

“I don’t know. Rich people want weird shit as their heads are filled with it.”

Luna giggles. “Aren’t you supposed to use all formal, smart words and not trash others?”

He shakes his head. “I am here trying to find some common language with you, so you have it easier, less stressful to talk to me. Open up.”

She sighs. “Rich people want weird shit as their heads are filled with it indeed.”

“Let’s proceed to your aunt. What do you think about her?”

Luna takes deep breath before letting all air out with loud sound and wide opened eyes. “I shouldn’t say this all out loud.”

Matteo nods, writing something on this weird paper he always puts into light blue folder named Luna Valente - observations. It kinda feels like she is in some more serious thing than therapist, or whatever he calls himself, but he promised to show it to her on their very last session so she will take it.

“Okay then. Do you like something in her? Anything?”

She bites her lower lip softly. “I guess she has nice…, hm, I don’t know. She is very determined? And hardworking I guess. And I admire her ability to manage all those headaches without painkillers.”

Matteo snorts. “I guess those all count. Now tell me what you don’t like in her.”

“Her personality.” Luna blurts and he drops his pencil laughing.

“Do you have any friends here in Buenos Aires?” He asks, scratching the tip of his nose with end of the pencil.

“I am not sure really. I have been for just a few weeks and I met just few people.”

“But you started attending classes at your university. So you have had to meet someone at least nice.” The brunette shrugs and Matteo sighs, not saying anything for few minutes and Luna is almost sure he has no idea what to say. He always does, though. “Your friends in Mexico. Tell me about them.”

Luna throws her head back against the back of her armchair. “I had one best friend, his name is Simón and he wanted to come with me here, but he got into one of better bands in Cancun so he’s been busy.”

“Would you talk to him about this whole thing if he were here or at least not busy?” Matteo raises his eyebrow at her and she has to admit that as weird as his questions are, they are somehow the same questions she’s been asking herself since she left the airplane to Argentina.

“I guess yeah. I would. And he wouldn’t take money for that.” She winks jokingly at Matteo, who shakes his head noting another thing. “He wouldn’t help you as I do, believe me.”

“Oh really?” She asks, throwing her legs over the armrest.

“Of course. Friends do tend to keep you in your comfort zone, trying to make you feel better. I, on the contrary, am here to take you as far from your comfort zone as it’s possible and it is gonna help you in some way.”

Luna blinks surprised. “You are very mean person doing that.”

“They pay me for this,” he smiles. “Next question.”

“The goddaughter of your aunt. What do you think of her?”

Luna snorts. “Ambar? She creeps me out.” Matteo frowns at first, and then laughs a little. “And why does she creep you out, like you put it in the words?”

“She always looks at me like she will get into my apartment at night through the balcony I surely left closed, and kill me in my sleep.” She shrugs when he looks at her surprised. Ambar gives everyone this vibe, so it doesn’t really mean anything. It might be as well just an impression, as the blonde girl wants to keep it all for herself, when someone else entered her great world filled with jewelry and fancy brunches.

“That’s… very strange description. But maybe something else? Something that isn’t really obvious, but you noticed it anyway. Something that wouldn’t tell how much she wants to murder someone.”

The Valente shrugs again. “I don’t know. She has a thing for texting her friends furiously when Sharon doesn’t say what Ambar wants. She always reminds that my name is Luna, when someone calls me Sol, which I’m really grateful for anyway.”

“Something else?”

Luna smiles. “She likes to hit Rey, who works for our aunt, when she flips her hair.”

“Rey is also a creep.” She blurts. “He always wears this weird black suit, I hope he owns more than one and does the laundry.”

Matteo frowns. “Luna, the fact that someone wears only black, doesn’t mean that they are a creep.” Mentioned Luna shakes her head. “You didn’t let me finish. He gives the vibe of a guy who would search teenager’s bedroom and when he is close to get caught, he decides to hide under the bed to wait until the person leaves. Well, it could be just me.”

“I guess this I should tell to your aunt, because this sounds alarming, but let’s ignore this as long as there is no teenager living at your aunt’s mansion. Tell me something else about people working there.”

Luna curls on the armchair almost like to nap. It’s definitely too comfy there. “I guess Amanda is super close to, or super fresh after having some problems with her head. She gets scared whenever someone gets into the kitchen, jumps at every louder sound and she keeps whispering everywhere.”

“Why do you think she is acting like this?”

She takes her hands under her cheek. “If I lived so long with miss Sharon, Rey and Ambar, I would have had problems as well.”

“What a lovely surprise, Luna. You are here two minutes earlier, this is definitely your record.” He grins taking a fresh paper sheet from his desk drawer.

“I finally guessed that the faster we get over it, the better.”

“I am sure you just couldn’t wait to see me,” Matteo says, scribbling something already and Luna shakes her head. “I thought you guys can’t flirt with people during the sessions.”

She grins seeing that he rolls his eyes very obviously at her. “I did not mean it like that. I am simply sure I am the only person who is able to have a conversation with you on some decent level and you really needed someone like that.”

“Okay, so can I pick today’s topic?” The brunette asks and he blinks at her surprised. “Yeah, sure. That sounds lovely.”

“I miss my parents.” She sits on the armchair, dramatically letting her purse fall to the floor nearby. “My aunt is an asshole and didn’t let them come with me here and there is still much mess with the lawyers and the money so I can’t go to see them.”

Matteo takes deep breath with some unreadable face, looking at her. “Well, this is normal, human reaction at those events.”

“It’s not really about that. At least not completely. I just can’t still take this shit to myself that I know who my real parents are, but don’t feel that big connection to them, you know? Is there something with me?”

“It’s not like you have some memories with them. You had been raised by Valentes so it’s, again, normal reaction.”

Luna sighs, sitting cross-legged on the armchair. “Will it change or will I be forever lost in the space, not knowing what even and my aunt will be sending me to another and another therapist to fix my brain?”

“Maybe next time you should bribe Ambar with some jewelry and sent your aunt to some therapist instead? Just not to me please, I have seen much, but I’m never sure if I would be able to help that woman ever.”

“I am hungry, can we finish earlier today?” She asks with small whine, because she ran here straight from uni and he kept making her uncomfortable for already very long twenty minutes.

“I think we can stay ten minutes more, and then add the other thirty to the next session.” Matteo nods few times with raised eyebrows, waiting for her decision. Luna almost jumps and fixes her t-shirt. “There is no way I would stay with you a hour, and a half and no break. I will have extra dinner later.” She freezes a little for a second. “Unless you are free and we can just order pizza here or go for pizza.”

“Hunger speaks through you very weirdly. I guess we can just add ten minutes to next three sessions, if you are so against more talking than needed.”

“Don’t you wanna go for pizza with me?” She asks jokingly and he puts the folder with the paper on his desk. “I don’t really meet any of my patients outside my office.”

“Well, for now I am your patient, but I am also patient person.” Matteo blinks at her shook. “You just didn’t.” Luna starts giggling loudly and hides her face in her elbow. “I did and I haven’t seen your face so surprised before. And I’ve said many weird things.

It’s the last session, the very last day she sees Matteo and he is wearing pretty nice, light blue shirt and he looks surprisingly well in it. He is talking some summing up shit, some kind of summary after the whole therapy and she feels light in a way she didn’t before.

His notes about her are very messy; in some Luna can’t really find herself, while others are so on point, she can’t believe. Most of the stuff she never mentioned, yet he caught them all, lowkey sweeping her off her feet and it’s weird feeling to have someone who knows you so much, while you know exactly nothing about them.

There are some words underlined as progress and some have this arrow directed downwards, which, she guesses, are bad, yet there is not many of them.

He keeps pointing at some additions to the notes, adds his conclusions and entire hour passes faster than she thought. The funniest thing is that she never noticed any change in herself until he did let her open the folder.

The last sheet of paper, though, at the very end, has written Luna’s pout is very cute and it confuses her so much she looks at Matteo, whose eyes are turned to the watch on his wrist.

“What-” the brunette intends to ask, but he stops her with his other hand up. “Wait.”

She keeps her stare at him, getting even more and more lost, until he turns to her. “Okay, the last session just ended. What about the pizza now?”

[omniscientprostitute]

Young Gun

Relationship: Trevor Collins x fem!Reader

Summary: You meet one of the infamous Fakes

Warnings: cursing, mild violence, random plot directions

Word Count: 2835

A/N: This is set in the FAHC universe. I took some liberties. Also, this work was inspired by a fic I read a few years ago called “down to ride (till the happy end)” by raewastaken (IWriteLove) on Archive of Our Own.http://archiveofourown.org/works/5838430

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It wasn’t a secret that Los Santos wasn’t the best place to live The city was full of gangs and corrupt cops. It was impossible to be sure who was civilian and who was criminal. It didn’t help that your apartment was in a sketchy part of town. It wasn’t your fault you were trying to pay off a college tuition and pay rent on a minimum wage paycheck. You worked at a cute little bookstore a few blocks from your apartment. You long twelve hour shifts caused you to fall into bed exhausted most nights. That meant you could normally sleep through police sirens, but they seemed closer tonight, as if the police were circling the neighborhood. You could have sworn someone was at the window in the living room. You held your breath and laid perfectly still, while you listened to the latch on your window click. There was silence, then soft footsteps creeping towards your room. You grabbed the book off of your nightstand and scurried behind your bedroom door. There was a tense moment before the door cautiously squeaked open. You swung the book, catching the tall man on the arm. He spun, and you looked down the barrel of a handgun. You squeaked, dropping the book and putting your hands up. The man moved you to the living room, where he turned on the lights after closing all of the drapes and blinds. He wore a black bandana over the majority of his face, but his brown eyes were soft and expressive. “Do you have a phone?”

“Right bedside table.” You instructed. “The password is Alexander Pope’s death date.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” The man sassed.

“Are you supposed to be in my apartment?” You automatically snapped back. “It’s May thirtieth seventeen-forty-four.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Stay here.” You did as he instructed. Your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeping shirt. He returned to the room with your phone pressed to his cheek. The person on the other end of the phone didn’t seem happy. The man said his general whereabouts before slipping the phone into his pocket.

“Excuse me.”

“I can’t have you going to the police and tracing back the number I called.”

“Then I need a couple hundred dollars, so I can buy myself a new phone tomorrow.” You took pleasure in his surprised raised eyebrows. “I work a minimum wage job and have to pay off student loans and pay rent; it’s going to take me months to make enough to afford a phone. I’m a petite, twenty-two year old female without a car; my phone is the only protection I have. So, unless you’re going to escort me around the city, I need enough money for a new phone.” The staring contest between you and the man was interrupted by a short honk from outside your apartment. Without addressing you, the man exited the apartment with your phone.

The first thing you did when you got back to your apartment after work was take your bra off and open the fridge. You settled for reheating Mac N’ Cheese, craving some comfort food after the last twenty-four hours of stress. You didn’t notice the little wrapped box sitting on the coffee table, until you plopped down on the couch. The box was rectangular and heavy, wrapped neatly in Happy Birthday wrapping paper. You carefully ripped the paper, exposing the newest smartphone on the market. You almost dropped it to fumble for the little card that was tucked in the box:

I can’t afford to escort you around the

city, but you’re too cute to leave helpless.

The password is Alexander Pope’s death.

~Zed

You smiled at the note despite the fact that it was written by a dangerous criminal who broke into your apartment and stole your phone. Despite everything, you unlocked the phone anyway and found that all of your contacts, photos, and applications had been transferred over. Reopening the card, you considered the name Zed. It was most likely an alias. Using your new phone, you googled “Zed in Los Santos”. The most likely result was a series of police reports linking Zed with various robberies as well as the Fake AH Crew. One of the articles had a picture included. The man had been caught on video robbing a gas station, and the man in the grainy image was definitely the same guy who had broken into your apartment. The new information did make the prior evening even more terrifying, but you figured you would never see Zed again. You didn’t have anything he would want.

Forty-three minutes. You had been sitting at the counter of one of the less seedy bars in Los Santos for forty-three minutes, waiting for a date that most likely wasn’t going to show. You hadn’t been on a date in years, which was supposedly some sort of social sin based on the way your coworker reacted. So, you had let yourself be set up on a blind date. Now you felt stupid, and slightly insulted, sitting alone at a bar in a nice black dress, playing games on your phone and drinking shitty beer. You were also sort of on edge due to the group of rowdy guys huddled around the pool table by the door. There was a woman with them, but she was obviously one of them. You pushed your finished beer away and checked the time. It was eight-ten; you weren’t comfortable being out alone after nine-thirty. You knew there was no point waiting around, but it was sort of nice being out of the apartment. You looked up as the bartender set a drink down in front of you. “Courtesy of Zed.” You startled at the name and fought the urge to jerk around and search for him. Instead, you brought the glass to your lips, pleased that he had sent you something decent to drink.

You left the bar after finishing the drink. It was closing in on ten o’clock which made you nervous, but you began your walk anyway. You were a few buildings down from the bar when you felt a hand gently grab your elbow. Jerking away, you lifted your bag to hit whoever had grabbed you. You thumped the man a few times in the chest with your purse before recognizing the bandana and the brown eyes. “Jesus, Zed.”

He seemed to perk up at the use of his alias. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to walk home alone. It’s not safe. You should take a cab.”

“That’s sweet, thank you.” You began walking, not wanting to be out on the street any longer than you had to.

“So, why were you all alone at a bar?”

“I got stood up.” You admitted. “Then you bought me a drink, but didn’t come to say hello.”

“I don’t really want my friends to know about you.”

“Yet you ditch them to walk me home?”

“I told them I was going to get something to eat.”

You decided to change the conversation. “So, is the bandana a crew thing?”

“No. They prefer masks, but masks mess up my hair.” Zed ran a hand through his hair. You laughed politely, but allowed yourself to appreciate the fluffy brown hair. The tips were a bit lighter, like it had been dyed. “You look very nice by the way.”

You blushed. “Thank you. I’m glad someone appreciated the work I put in.” You obnoxiously flipper your hair making Zed laugh.

“Did you know the guy?”

“No. He’s my coworker’s friend.” You noted that you were closing in on your apartment. You were a little sad that your walk was ending. “It’s not that big of a deal. I mostly agreed to humor her.”

“Really?” Zed inquired; his right eyebrow raising.

You didn’t know why you were being so open with Zed. He was a dangerous criminal, but he also seemed like a real person. “I’ve been single for over six months. I get a little lonely sometimes.” Zed walked you up to your apartment. “Thank you for walking me home. Even though you broke into my apartment, you made me feel safe.” You made it obvious that you were teasing. “Have a good evening Zed.” You suppressed the urge to kiss his cloth covered cheek before retreating into your apartment.

For the next month, you life returned to it’s calm state. Work ruled your life. Despite you coworker’s further pressing, you declined any other dates. You wouldn’t say you fell into a depression, but there was definitely a dullness that took over your life. If your landlord would have allowed it, you would have gotten a pet, probably a dog that would require you to leave the apartment for walks or get off the couch to play.

You were sitting on your couch eating a salad with limp lettuce and watching The Twilight Zone, when your living room window slid open. A short but wide shouldered man slid in before collapsing to the floor. You sprinted over, closing the window, and drawing the curtains The man rolled onto his back: “You’re Treyco’s girlfriend right?”

“Who?” You stepped back as the man got to his feet.

“I thought this was the right apartment.”

“The only criminal I know is Zed, and I haven’t seen him in over a month.”

“So you are her!” The man pumped his fist in the air. “Zed is Treyco.” He explained. “And, I’m Rimmy Tim, but you can call me Lil J. I’m Treyco’s best friend.”

“Umm, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I should be saying that to you.” Lil J followed you into the kitchen, where you began fixing yourself more salad since most of yours had ended up on the floor. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you, since he broke into your apartment to avoid the cops. God, it’s so annoying. ‘Oh Jeremy, she was so adorable. She’s so smart and she wears Batman boxers to bed. Her name is Y/N, and she works at a book store.” Lil J suddenly dropped the high pitched voice he had adopted. “it’s so gross. I just had to check you out.” You knew your face was bright red. You were flattered by the compliments, although it seemed like Zed or Treyco was stalking you. “I gotta’ admit; you are pretty cute.”

“Thank you?”

“Well, I’ve gotta’ run. See you around Y/N.” Lil J then walked out the front door.

The next morning you found a vase of flowers on your counter with a note that said:

Sorry about Lil J.

~Zed

You were in the middle of straightening the children’s books when the bell over the front entrance tinkled softly. “Welcome to Marlee’s Books. Holler if you need anything.” You called before peeking your head around the bookshelf. The most attractive man ever was looking at the display of new releases in the front. He was tall but not lanky. He wore light brown leather boots, fitted dark wash jeans, and a light gray jacket over a pale green shirt. His hair and the tips of his ears were tucked under a black beanie. He looked like a model. You hid back behind the stacks and internally screamed as you moved from the children’s section to non-fiction. A man that gorgeous probably already had a girlfriend.

“Hey.” You jumped at the voice that almost sounded familiar. “I was wondering if you had any Alexander Pope?” You nodded, quickly setting aside the books you were straightening and hurried out of the aisle. You didn’t make eye-contact with the man as he followed you through the store.

“All of our Neoclassical authors are in this area.” You stopped in front of the shelf housing works by Alexander Pope. “My personal favorite is The Complete Collection; it’s a little expensive, but it includes a partial biography and all of his literary criticisms. Most collections only include his poems and essays.”

“Thank you.” You took that as a dismissal and returned to the non-fiction section.

The man perused the store for more than an hour before approaching the counter. He had selected three books, one of which was the collection that you had recommended. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

“Yes, thank you.” In a lapse of self-awareness, you made eye-contact with the man. He had brown eyes that looked like pools of melted dark chocolate.

“Your total is sixty-five forty-eight.” The man handed you a fancy black card with the name Trevor Collins engraved in gold on it. “Have a nice day Mr. Collins.”

“You too.”

The rest of your shift was uneventful. A few of the regulars came in to buy some of the new releases, but other than that the store was quiet. The lack of patrons allowed you to complete your duties earlier than usual. You vacuumed and dusted before clocking out and handing your keys to the closing manager. Knowing that you had no food in your apartment, you decided to stop by a Mexican place on the way home. Had you been paying attention, you wouldn’t have gone in. Gang territory disputes could happen anywhere at anytime. Sometimes they happened in the middle of the street. Sometimes they happened in a Mexican restaurant. You were immediately knocked over the head with the but of a gun and bound with rubber hosing. The gang member waived a gun in your face as a warning to be quiet, then they shoved you in the back. There were three employees in the back, all of which had been killed by a bullet to the forehead.

They seemed to have forgotten about you until the cops showed up. You were forced over bodies of the losing gang and pressed against the storefront window. A gun was pressed to your head. You could see about three cop cars and a handful of reporters with cameras outside of the restaurant. You wondered if they were live, if somewhere hot guy Trevor Collins, or criminal nice-guy Zed was watching you be used as a hostage. Everyone was yelling, but you weren’t understanding what was being said. You figured they were negotiating with your life.

Suddenly the window in front of you shattered, and the guy who had been holding you dropped with a bullet in his head. You had enough mind to fall onto your stomach as the night’s second shoot out occurred over your head. You curled into a ball and waited for the police to get you. You were put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital, but you were sent home before midnight.

You entered your apartment to find the hot guy Trevor Collins standing in your kitchen with a familiar bandana hanging around his neck. “I should have figured you were gorgeous.” You walked past Trevor to throw yourself onto the couch. “So, were you there or did you see it on the news?”

“I saw it on the news.” You felt the couch dip by your feet.

“Why are you here Zed, or Treyco, or Trevor, whoever you are right now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then leave!” You jerked into a sitting position. “You’re whole--I’m going to be everywhere for a week then disappear for a month--thing is incredibly confusing, especially with you detached but protective attitude. Either take me on a date or leave me alone!” Your stomach dropped as Trevor got up from the couch.

“You should probably take off work tomorrow. Tonight must have been really stressful.”

Despite you being unable to close your eyes without getting vivid flashbacks, you didn’t call into work. Your manager and coworkers who had seen the news sent you home, but you didn’t return to your apartment you hunkered down in a cafe around the corner. Alone was the worst thing for you at the moment. You stared into the black mil of your coffee. You couldn’t tell if Trevor had been hurt or angered by your outburst. He definitely closed himself off, but you hoped that didn’t mean he was leaving you alone. Bot that he owed you anything. Trevor was probably busy with criminal stuff; he didn’t need to be messing around with you. “You are supposed to be at home.” You looked up, a small smile gracing your lips at Trevor’s exasperated tone. “Do you mind if I sit?” You shook your head. “So, coffee shop?”

“Didn’t really want to be alone.” You admitted. “I’m sorry about last night. That was out of line.”

“No, I needed to hear it.” Trevor looked down into his own coffee. “I like you a lot; I was just unsure what with my profession, but I talked to some friends, and I would really like to take you on a date.”

“Does this count?” You asked, nudging Trevor’s cup with your own.

“Only if you let me buy your next one.”

“I think we can make that happen.”

[ragehappysecretsanta]

The Not-So-Easy Road to Parenthood

Author: http://boulevard-of-broken-yeets.tumblr.com

Recipient: http://canadiantardis.tumblr.com

Summary: Being in a six-way polyamorous relationship has its ups and downs, and who knew that adopting a kid would be the bumpiest ride of them all?

Warnings: n/a

WordCount: 3,402

“I’m just saying, maybe we should think about this more?” Jack asked one of her partners, “I mean, we had to pull teeth just to get married. Should we go straight into getting a kid so soon?”

“Jack, I know you mean well, but shut the hell up,” Geoff chuckled, slicing a cucumber and putting it in a pot. “We all agreed that we wanted to adopt a kid. You don’t have to worry, we’ll figure it all out.”

“I just worry, Geoff. What with our... pasts...” She trailed off.

“Hey, we left Los Santos years ago. We’re in an entirely different country; no one from our past is going to come for us. We’re safe.”

“I don’t know, Geoff. There’s just a lot of uncertainty.”

“I swear on my life that things will work out. Have I ever led you astray before?”

“How long do you want to sit here?” Jack joked. Geoff turned and playfully glared at her.

“Watch it, Pattillo. I used to be the leader of the strongest crew in Los Santos.” He smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes back at him.

“And it was me who saved your ass on many occasions.”

“Really? I don’t recall.”

“Do you need me to make a list? I don’t think there’s enough paper in the world for that.”

“Shut up and help me peel these potatoes.”

Jack laughed and walked over to her husband, helping him with dinner.

It had been 5 years since they lived as the Fake AH Crew, 5 years since they faked their own deaths and moved to France. Jack, Geoff, Ryan, Michael, Jeremy, and Gavin all managed to fall in love during their time together, and they wanted out of the gang life so that they could live long, happy lives with each other. Geoff spent years using his connections to get them all legally married, and now they were moving on to the next step: adopting a kid.

“When are Ryan and the lads getting back from the store?” Geoff asked just as the door to their cottage opened. The four men came inside, holding an ungodly amount of bags.

“Sorry we’re late, Jeremy here got sidetracked at a pet store, and We had to stop him from adopting two of the cats.” Ryan chuckled.

“They were so cute! Can you blame me?”

“You know Gav’s allergic to cats, Jer. Wouldn’t have worked out.” Jack laughed, rushing over and grabbing some of the bags and helping to put things away.

“As soon as I find a good sphinx cat, that shit is mine. I’m getting a god damn cat, especially since we’re getting a kid. They gotta have something to play with.”

“Did we decide if we were going to adopt locally or go back to the states?” Michael asked.

“Actually,” Geoff started, “I was thinking that we could go adopt a kid from Los Santos.”

Everyone stared at him in silence, all with varying expressions on their faces. It was Jack who spoke up first.

“Geoff, adopting from Los Santos may be the most dangerous thing we could possibly do. According to almost anyone there, we’re dead.”

“Exactly, which is why we won’t be going as ourselves.” Geoff explained. “I’ve pulled some strings at the orphanage in Los Santos, and we’ll be able to safely go and get our new little one. They don’t know it’s actually us, but I... requested that this be on the down low. Money buys a lot of things, you know.”

“So, we’ll be disguised?” Gavin asked. Geoff nodded.

“Disguised in every sense of the word, other than physically. We won’t be there for more than two days; I figured that would be enough time to find a kid. We’re booked at a hotel about an hour from the city, so don’t worry about that.”

“So when are we leaving?” Jeremy asked.

“Tomorrow morning.”

—

“I have a horrible feeling about this, honey.” Jack muttered into Geoff’s ear as they all piled into a rental car.

“Relax, Jackie. It’s going to be fine. You know where the orphanage is, Haywood?”

“Yep, should be there in about 15 minutes.” Ryan responded. Geoff nodded and grabbed Jacks hand.

“I know you’re worried for our safety, Jack, and I understand. But please know that I took every precaution known to man to ensure that we all leave safely with our new son or daughter. Nothing is going to happen.”

They all sat in silence the rest of the way, all of them praying to every deity known to mankind that Geoff didn’t just jinx them. As they pulled up to the orphanage, Jack immediately recognized the area and harshly slapped Geoff on the arm.

“Geoff! This is like 2 blocks from the penthouse!” She cried out. Jeremy, Michael, Gavin, and Ryan all looked around in alarm. It was true; they could see their old home from where they were parked.

“Listen, it’s fine. Nothing is going to go wrong. Now, let’s all quickly but calmly walk into the orphanage and get our new kid, and then we’re getting the fuck out of here.”

They all did as Geoff said, and rushed into the orphanage. They were decently shocked at who they saw when they walked in.

“Mica?!” Jack yelped, rushing up and giving her a hug.

“Holy shit, you’re back! You’re actually back!” Mica said excitedly, returning the hug.

“Just for a few days at most, Mica.” Geoff clarified. “Also, why do you work at an orphanage?”

“Hey, we gotta make a living somehow since you guys ‘died’.” She stated, putting quotation marks around the died. “Holy shit, Kdin! get in here!” She called out.

“What have I told you about cursing in front of the little ones?” Kdin scolded as she walked into the room. She widened her eyes and ran straight for Jack. “You’re back!”

“Hey, Kdin, how are you?” Jack giggled, hugging her friend tightly. After around 15 minutes of Kdin and Mica asking every possible question known to mankind, Geoff finally got everyone talking about why they were there.

“We want to adopt a kid, and I thought that if we could save even one kid from this shithole, we should.” He explained. Mica clapped happily.

“Of course! Come on in and meet the little ones! Oh, Geoff, theres a little girl that you’ll just love...”

The fakes wondered around the large home, meeting each and every kid they could. Jack, not surprisingly, bonded easily with the little ones. She played with as many as she could as she made her way through the house. Michael and Gavin bonded easily with a specific kid who had an affinity for fighting anyone in his line of sight (Gavin would never admit it, but the kid had a pretty good hit). Ryan and Jeremy stood awkwardly to the side, watching kids run around them. Neither of them really knew what to do. One kid, a little girl, walked up to Jeremy.

“You’re short.” She pointed out. Jeremy grumbled in response. The kid shrugged her shoulders and ran away, chasing after her friend.

Mica led Geoff upstairs to the nursery, where there were three infants, all asleep.

“Their parents left them on our doorstep. Issac and Jamie had notes, but this little one didn’t.” Mica said sadly, bringing Geoff to the small crib. The child was probably only a few weeks old at most, maybe a month, but she looked pretty healthy for her small size.

“What’s her name?”

“Erica.” A voice said from behind them. Geoff turned to see a little boy, around 9 or 10 years old.

“Erica?” Mica asked, perplexed. “How do you know her name is Erica? I’m not even too sure we gave her a name yet...”

“Because that’s what she smiles at when I play with her.” The boy said quietly. Geoff turned and squatted down to get on eye level with the boy.

“Hey, I’m Geoff. What’s you’re name?” He asked, giving the boy a warm smile.

“I’m Sean. Are you gonna adopt Erica? ‘Cause if you are, you gotta know all the things she likes, and I’m the only person who knows what those are.” Sean told him. Geoff sat down on the floor, confusing Mica a bit.

“Well, what does she like?” Geoff asked. Sean looked shocked, like he wasn’t actually expecting to be asked.

Sean told him all the little things that Erica liked, such as toys and funny faces. Mica quickly left the room to get the others so that they all could meet Sean, already seeing a bond forming.

“Wow, you got a huge family. Erica is gonna love it. She loves bein’ with people.” Sean told them with wide eyes as the Fakes all piled into the room. “I’m Sean, by the way. You guys better be nice to Erica, ‘cause she’s the only family I got, ‘ven if we aren’t really brother and sister.”

“What do you like to do, Sean?” Jack asked him kindly. Sean looked taken aback.

“Oh, uh, I really like to draw things. Sometimes Ms. Kdin’ll sneak me some drawin’ stuff so that the other kids won’t mess with it.”

“You like any video games?” Michael asked him.

“I’ve don’t really get to play ‘em myself, but when I was on the streets I’d see some people in the arcade playin different things. One time, someone had a game with a guy in a green dress on it, and I really liked that one.”

“Legend of Zelda?” Michael perked up a bit. Sean nodded.

“Yeah! I wanna play it myself someday, it looked like a lot of fun”

“Hey Sean, why don’t you go get some of your art to show us, hm? I’d love to see it.” Geoff asked. Sean nodded excitedly and ran out to get his drawings. “Alright, so I think Sean and Erica are our kids.”

“Geoff, we’ve been here for 10 minutes-“ Jack started, but Geoff interrupted her.

“I know, but you guys have to have felt the connection. That is the sweetest little boy, and Erica is the sweetest little girl. We can’t take one without the other, because that would just be cruel. I really think Sean and Erica are our kids.”

“I agree.” Michael spoke up. “Sean’s got a fire in him. He’d be perfect for us.”

“I like the kid. I think he likes us, too. I say we go for it.” Jeremy added. Ryan and Gavin nodded in agreement. They all then turned their attention to Jack.

“Well?” Geoff asked, hopeful. It didn’t take long for Jack to respond.

“I guess we have two kids to adopt, then.” She smiled.

“Why don’t some of you take Sean out, get him a burger or something? He doesn’t get to leave here much, and I’m sure he’d love to see some of the city.”

Jack was just about to protest before Ryan spoke up. “I’ll take the kid. No one in this city has ever seen my face and lived to tell the tale, so there’s no way I’ll be recognized.”

“You sure?” Jack asked hesitantly. Ryan nodded in response, and soon found himself holding the kids hand as they walked around the city, looking for something to do.

“Y’know, it’s pretty mean to take me out like this without adopting me.” Sean said as they were walking into an ice cream shop. Ryan looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh? How so?” He questioned, curious.

“You’re just gonna give me hope before pickin’ someone else. It’s happened before.” Sean mumbled, walking up to the counter. “What am I allowed to get?”

“Anything you want, kid.” Ryan responded. Sean turned and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Really? Usually the people who take me out only let me get the borin’ stuff. Thank you Mr. Ryan!” Sean said brightly. Ryan simply smiled as the boy ordered, but his smile soon fell as he heard a familier voice in the shop.

“No, you moron, they’re dead. Of course they aren’t in the city.” Burnie Burn’s voice rang clear as day. Ryan stiffened, but didn’t dare look around.

“I got a sundae!” Sean cheered.

“Nice choice. Why don’t we head on back now? It is starting to get late...” Ryan trailed off, not even waiting to hear a response. He felt bad hearing Sean’s sad groans of protest, but he kept them moving. If someone saw them, they needed to leave. Quickly.

“Ryan, you were gon for like 20 minutes. What’s the problem?” Geoff asked as the two came back inside the building.

“Someone saw us. I heard Burns while we were getting ice cream; he doesn’t believe we’re alive, but someone did see us. We need to leave tonight.” Ryan said quietly, though loud enough so both Mica and Geoff could hear. Mica nodded and immediately turned her attention to Sean.

“Go pack up your things, Sean, you and Erica are going home today.” She smiled at Sean’s wide eyes.

“You... you don’t mean...” He trailed off, looking at Geoff with hopeful eyes, who smiled back at him.

“You’re coming home with us.” She said gently, full of love. Sean all hit squealed as he rushed upstairs to pack, ready to move in with his new family.

After a bit of rushing and hasty goodbyes, the former-fakes found themselves on a plane again, getting the hell away from Los Santos, with two extra passengers.

“I ain’t ever been on a plane before.” Sean said excitedly to Jack, who was sat next to him. “We’re so high up!”

“You really are the perfect kid for us. How’d we get so lucky?” Jack thought out loud, causing Sean to blush. He turned around to look at Jeremy, who had headphones in. Sean snapped to get his attention, and Jeremy looked up.

“So where’re we goin’ anyway?” He asked. Jeremy popped his headphones out.

“France, little guy. The six of us have a nice house on the countryside.”

“France? Where’s that?” Sean asked.

“Europe. It’s across the whole ocean; i’ll be sure to point it out to you once we get to the ocean.” Jeremy smiled and Sean smiled back. He then turned around, announced very loudly that he was going to the bathroom, and walked away as those around him chuckled.

“He really is a good kid.” Geoff murmured, holding Erica close to his chest. She wouldn’t stop crying unless he held her, and he was more than happy to oblige.

“You you think he understands that he has 5 dads and a mom now?” Michael asked.

“Probably not. We an explain it once we get back.” Jack responded.

“What’s he gonna call all of us?” Gavin questioned. Everyone looked at him.

“What?” Ryan said, tilting his head in confusion.

“Well, he’s got 5 dads and a mom. Who’s going to be dad, papa, that shit.”

“I... I honestly never thought of that.” Jack admitted. “I guess I really wouldn’t, since I’m the only mom.”

“Well I’m obviously dad.” Geoff announced.

“Well why do you get to be dad?” Ryan asked, crossing his arms.

“Because I’m the leader! Who else would be dad?”

“I have spent the most time with him so far...” Ryan mumbled.

“I connected with him by talkin’ about video games.” Michael pointed out.

The five of them quietly argued about that for a few minutes before they saw Sean returning. They didn’t want to have that conversation with him before returning home, so they all shut up about it.

Sean was more than excited to see the ocean, and then a whole new continent while he was on the plane. The 6 of them soon found themselves back in familier territory, and we’re more than happy to show it off to Sean and Erica.

“Welcome to your new home, little ones!” Jeremy cheered, swinging the door to their cottage open.

“Woah.” Sean said quietly, his eyes full of awe.

“You like it, little guy?” Ryan asked, ruffling his hair. Sean nodded.

“I do! It’s so big! Can I see my room?”

“Sure can! Michael, why don’t you and Gav show him his new room while we all make dinner?” Geoff asked. Michael nodded, and he and Gavin both picked up Sean, the three of them giggling wildly as the sprinted upstairs.

“He really is going to fit in here, isn’t he?” Ryan chuckled, bringing in the last of the bags.

“If he isn’t too weirded out by having 6 parents, he will.” Jack said nervously.

“Jackie, it’ll be okay. He’s a good kid. He’ll understand. Now, let’s make some lasagne; Mica said that’s his favorite.”

Meanwhile, Sean was ecstatic to find that his room was full of different video game things, all centered around The Legend if Zelda. There were Zelda posters, a Link bedset, and the walls were painted a nice green.

“How’d you manage to pull this off?!” Sean squealed in delight.

“We made some calls before leaving and had this all done before we arrived. You like it?” Gavin asked, smiled at the small kid.

“I love it! This is so cool!”

“Oh, just you wait, Seanie Boy. Let’s go to the best room in the whole house.” Michael smirked as he sprinted out of the room, hearing Sean and Gavin laugh as they chased after him. He came to a sudden stop, and Sean barreled into his legs at full speed, causing him to fall.

“Oh, sorry, Mikey!” Sean giggled. Michael felt his heart warm at the name.

“This,” Michael started as he got up, “is the game room.” He opened the door, and Sean’s mouth dropped.

“It’s like an arcade in here!” He squealed in delight.

“Once we finish dinner and everything, we can come play some games. You can start playing Legend of Zelda.” Michael told him.

“Are you two gonna play with me?” Sean asked. “I really want you guys to play with me, you’re fun!”

“Of course, we’d love to.” Gavin answered, smiling. Michael nodded in agreement.

The three of them hung out for awhile before dinner was ready. After they all ate, the 8 of them sat down in the living room.

“Okay, Sean, we need to talk to you about something.” Jack started.

“You wanted to tell me about how the 6 of you are dating or married or something and that you’re all my parents?” Sean stated bluntly. Jack nearly fell off of the couch.

“How’d you know?” She squeaked.

“You guys are really loud; I heard ya all the way from the bathroom on the plane! You got quieter after a bit, but I get that you guys are all my parents. I think it’s cool! I went from no parents to 6. How many people get that lucky?”

“Did you also hear us... arguing...” Geoff trailed off, and Sean rolled his eyes.

“About what to call you guys? Yeah, and you guys really overthink things, you know that? I already know what to call all of you, if you’ll let me...” He trailed off.

“You can call us whatever you’d like. It can be a variation on dad, or it can be our names. Whatever is most comfortable for you.” Geoff said quickly.

“Well, Jack’s either momma or Jackie, because both fit her really well.” Sean started, causing Jack to blush. “Michael’s Mikey, Gavin’s Gavvy, and Jeremy is JJ. Ryan, you’re papa, and Geoff, you’re dad.” Sean finished. “It just feels the most natural.”

“Oh come here, you little rascal!” Geoff said happily, picking up Sean and spinning him around as they both laughed. “I’m dad! I’m dad!”

“Mikey is the best name, I coulda never thought of that.” Michael smiled.

“Gavvy is so cute!” Gavin told him.

“So’s JJ.” Jeremy added.

Sean let out a big yawn as they continued talked, signaling his jet lag.

“Ready for bed, Sean?” Jack asked gently. Sean simply nodded in response, his eyes closed and already falling asleep. She picked him up and took him to his room, tucking him in to bed and planting a light kiss on his forehead.

“Goodnight, Sean. We’ll see you in e morning.” She said quietly.

“Goodnight, Jackie. Thank you for bringing me and Erica into the bestest family in the entire world. I think things are gonna be really great from now on.”

Jack, as well as the others, couldn’t have agreed more.

[one-deranged-son]

Sorry, I was at Jail

Written by Gossamere as John and Tony as Peter.

Warning:

Original story was posted in Twitter but due to it’s obtuse cleaning policy, some parts are unable to be saved.

John

How many days has it been since he's home? Three days? A week? A month? Who knows. 

 John never bothered to count, and perhaps the main reason was because he had lost count since the very beginning. Days well spent in the damp cells and blinding interrogation room had managed to mess his sense of time, and although the facilities given there are better than what he gets on a run, John prefers freedom over that shithole.

He was in Illinois a week ago, three days later he was in Kentucky, then Ohio. Shit, God knows how some people manage to travel around the world, but John clearly wasn't having funhitchhiking from car to car, stuffed beneath cows or chicken in the back of some shitty truck, orsleeping next to an addict in a building that could crumble if someone just punches the drywall.

Heavens, he misses his bed. He misses his noisy neighbor and kind landlord. He misses his night shift on Hank's place. He misses Marie's dogs. He misses the loud bickering of monopoly night.

He misses his home.

It's all nothing but flaw, but he can't help it.

He misses his kids.

"Let's not run away again."

John stands still in front of the door. His stubbles are long gone and his hair is shorter than the last time he went out. With backpack strapped and grocery bag filled with turkey and potatoes (along with some snacks his kids would love) John knocks on the door.

He expects no answer, but still, John says, "I bought snacks." His voice echoes through the quiet hall.

ㅤㅤ

Peter

The first three nights, Peter stayed at Stan's.

But no matter how much he loved Miss Amata and how fun it was having Stan around to bother, it still isn't his home. He doesn't quite feel comfortable with the the couch he sleeps on, of the dining table he does his homeworks in. The furniture is too... decent. Peter even feels weirded out by the good, functioning faucet Stan's sink has. Most of all, Peter doesn't like the feeling of intruding. Stan accepted him kindly, but he still didn't sign up to take two teenage kids under his wing. Not like his dad had.

And with home just next door, why won't he stay at home? Peter's a little less than one year away from being a legal adult—heck, El's already a legal adult. Between the two of them, they can manage.

But still, home was too empty. With two teenage kids running the place and no adult, the place quickly become even more a mess than it already is.

( Oh, who is he kidding. It is nigh impossible for the house to be messier than it is. It just felt empty without John's nagging and—

—and his constant presence, really, that it's become a little unbearable to live in. ) So they struck a truce. At Stan's sometimes, (and that one time when he had to abruptly leave)—and at home the other times. All those times, Peter picked up after the messes. The glass pieces left after John had gone, the dishes, the trash, he took care of it all. Stayed out of trouble, too, because what's the point, really? There won't be anyone to tell him off for it. 

But still, days pass and John didn't come back. Peter wondered if he didn't make it, or someone finally outsmarted him. He wondered if there was really no way for those people to know of, and contact, him and El as next of kin. If he has adoption papers stashed somewhere, if there is a note of his adoption under John's name somewhere in the system. 

Oh so uncharacteristically of him, Peter even allowed himself a brief moment to wonder whether John has abandoned him. Of course, Peter's not dumb—he later found out the circumstances of John's absence. He still wonders if his father had to drop the kids in order to make it out free. 

Which is why, when he heard a knock on the door, Peter's very hesitant. The call out that follows sound like his father, but his father can also sound similar to other white men. 

El's not even home. If he gets arrested, no one will find and bail him. If it's someone bearing the news that John fucking died and he's got to go back to the orphanage, then he's fucked. 

But, 'I bought snacks'—? Peter's going to take his chances. 

He unlocks the multiple locks on the door, then opens it— 

—and yes, he'd hoped, but Peter's starting to lose hope. Not in Jesus' green earth did he expect it to be really John.A rush of emotions flooded him, and without very much thinking, the first words out of his mouth was, 

"Holy fuck." 

Before he pulled his father into a hug.

ㅤㅤ

John

Does he expect the door to be opened so soon? No. Does he expect the door to ever be opened?

No. Yet he hoped, still.

John knows that it was his fault for not telling his kids any sooner, but really, who, on this goddamn earth, have had the sane mind to tell their children that they kill every Saturday night?

Nobody! Even a cold-blooded serial killer won't ever do the same. They're smart like that. It's just, John never get expected to get caught.

Now he owes an explanation, if the door ever be opened.

‘Shit.’

Yet he hoped, still. John should've expected that 'twas all for nothing 'cause the chance that El and Pete didn't freak out when they caught a glimpse of him on the news are... close to zero. Hell, even John would probably freak the fuck out.

So when the door creaks open and a curse word eluded from a lanky figure, John feels his eyes burn. He doesn't even realize how dearly he missed them since the very response he gave was a direct hug. There ain't even hesitation or any fake groan, no, he was surprised himself. As soon as he found Pete's arms wrapped around him, John hugged him back. Pulling the younger lad into a tighter embrace which results in a shortage intake of air, but John didn't give a damn fuck about it.

He's home.

That's all that matters.

"Kid, where did you fucking study those foul language?" he jokes, his voice coming out slightly choked.

ㅤㅤ

Peter

He is so awash with relief that his father is here, his father is back, that he pushed aside all the other thoughts. All minor things, really, like how long it will take for this hug to turn awkward. 

The both of them are not known for physical affection, after all. Or really, affection in general. 

But fuck that. 

For days Peter was fucking terrified that he'd hear news that this man is dead. Now that he's here alive, breathing, no limbs missing, everything else is good enough. Peter buries his face on the crook of John's neck, crushing him in his arms. 

"Was taken at thirteen by a dad whose mouth 's worse than a fucking sailor, what'd ya expect." He murmurs. 

After quite some time, really an amount of time that could be held against him later, Peter pulled away to really take a good look at the man in front of him. He lost the stubble and the Jesus hair, much to Peter's dismay. Now the man's contact name must change. But considering Peter's own eyes are red from tears of relief he did his darnedest to hold back, everything's all good. 

"Uh," he stepped aside, clearing the doorway from his looming figure so John could step in. The house is as it was, not a little neater, but not a complete mess, either. 

"Uhーit's now Peter's Manor. And I fixed... the faucet. Googled how to do it." He grins,  before proceeding to babble a giant info dump on how exactly that came to be, as well as little things from school that John never seemed to care to know, but Peter told anyway. 

Ah, it's all the normal. 

Before Peter adds, hesitantly, 

"Next time you have to yeet, please don't break the window. Had to cover it with cardboard. And… For fuck's sake tell us." 

ㅤㅤ

John

John ruffled Peter's overly silky hair. As someone who looks like he had been worrying shit, his boy sure never missed a day of skin care or any wholesome shower.

He just laughed, of course. He did jump out of the goddamn roof instead of walking down the stair like a normal human would do. Hell, even now John thinks that he overdid that part. Looking towards the broken window which is now poorly covered with cardboard, John was even surprised that Peter managed to fix the sink using the help of (probably) WikiHow.

"Got ya some ramen," said the man instead, not wanting to discuss the prior subject even deeper 'cause, although it was obvious that the man is bluffing, he also knew that no subject in this goddamned world will ever, ever, actually make anyone distracted by the ongoing facts. For all the damned shits he hoped, his face was aired throughout the country and now he's a God-forsaken fugitive.

Surely, the topic of him getting arrested and causing a chaos over the whole State will pique someone's interest better, over a chicken flavored ramen.

Even though, the other person he's talking to is basically someone who worships it.

ㅤㅤ

Peter

For how brilliant John is,

(and yes, he'd helped Peter with some homework assignments before; what made Peter scratch his head in confusion, John had walked through with ease,)

his dad can sure be a tool sometimes. What makes him think that escaping through the window, of their battered, run down home, can be a good idea? 

But, considering what the circumstances of his escape was, Peter could only imagine that it was for the very best. The thought makes him fill with dread, because, 

because he knows. It makes his head spin with unanswered questions he isn't sure he even wants answers to, and unanswered questions he doesn't dare ask. 

For now, he'll take the chicken ramen. It sounds mouthwatering, appetizing, and Peter is hungry, hungry, absolutely fucking famished, 

except he is not. He just needs to not think, and MSG seems like the best way out. 

Peter's frustrations could probably be read all over his face, and when he caught himself, he puts the cheery face right back on. Hands rummaging John's shopping bag, pulling out the packs of ramen noodles, 

and a, 

turkey? 

Peter stares at the item, quite puzzled, before bursting out laughing. 

Is this thing cooked? 

"Dad, ya realize Thanksgiving is days ago?" The corners of Peter's eyes crinkle in the way they do when he is genuinely laughing out of amusement, 

and he is. 

Any kid would truly be puzzled to find out their father is a vigilanteーthat's putting it nicely, the Revelator is more likely a big time criminalーand Peter is any kid. 

How can his ol' man be the Revelator, and how can the Revelator be... dad? 

The turkey had been a reassurance, a respite. Only his dad can do shit like providing chicken ramen with their belated Thanksgiving turkey. 

"Man. Okay. I'm going to make the best thanksgiving dinner out of this. Dear Lord, we thank you for showing us to a cardboard to fix our window."

ㅤㅤ

John

"Amen!" John chimed, his laugh came out light and, Gosh, didn't it feel good to be able to do mundane shit like this again after a draining week.

Then it all happened casually. Like the usual drill, some old boring jokes and John asking how's school, as if nothing had happened for the past few weeks. As if the whole incident of him getting locked up, almost dying, and running away from place to play never happened.

Sometimes he takes a glance of Peter and can't help but to notice the slight frustration flashing across his face. And John had tried to ignore it, he sure do, but damn, it's fucking hard. So now he can't help but to throw some more awkward jokes which doesn't help anything.

"Do you know tur-turkey-key? It's a turkey stuffed inside a turkey and sometimes I want to try it, but the thought of stuffing a dead bird inside a dead bird is terrifying." 

That mental image might scarred his mind, but anyway, he had already ruined the mood since day one so it's nothing new.

ㅤㅤ

Peter

Yeahー

Yeah, Peter would definitely take this. Peter wonders if John noticed, even, that he's so fucking cheery today. More than Peter's ever, /ever/ seen him been. 

He supposes, getting home does bring the light out in everyone. Or maybe, Peter's vain ass whispers, he's just happy to see his kid. 

The conversation they breeze through; Peter laughing at John's weird as fuck jokes, and talking about mundane things like school, his sister, his crew. Peter even told him about Miss Amata. All the daily happenings around Peter. 

The thought that there isn't a word spoken about John bubbles up from time to time, each time stronger than the last, until it's a fucking chore to ignore. 

Curiosity kills the cat, and by now, Peter's murdered enough cats to stock a restaurant somewhere in scary ass China. He shudders at the thought. "Hey, Dadー" he begins, 

And John just cut him off in favor of the tur-turkey-key. Is that even /a thing/? A dead bird inside a dead bird? 

"Why you gotta put it like that!" Peter whines, his voice loud and booming. But then he laughsーthere isn't even another bird in the houseto stuff in this one, is there? 

Peter rummaged through the bags, just to confirm that yes, there isn't any. The laughter died down, and Peter busies himself with the pot he's making ramen in. 

The water's almost at the boil, and the oven feels hot against his calf. 

He's got to ask. 

"Dad, 

why did you do all that?"

ㅤㅤ

John

Sooner or later, someone's gonna ask. Sooner or later, he's gonna tell 'em. And John knows that too well to the point he can't bring himself to be surprised when Peter finally build up the guts to ask him that. The amount of distracted look the kid had thrown (even though there is literally a ramen in front of him) was enough to give John the impression that he ain't letting this topic easily.

Still, John just chuckled. Perhaps it was forced, damn, it was obviously forced and awkward and there are just a lot of things wrong about it. John just continues on fiddling with the ramen, maybe too much to be considered as a blasphemy towards the sacred religion. Then he stopped. Setting aside whatever he's doing and stared back at Peter with all seriousness he never actually thought will use towards any of his kids.

And it wasn't just John in those gray eyes. It was also the eyes of a cold, ruthless murder; of the false Messiah; of the goddamn Revelator and all the fucked up shit he is. And John doesn't know how to feel about that 'cause no matter what the reason are, he knows the shits he's doing ain't something... just. He knows there are a lot reason why he should just hand himself over the jail, but he didn't.

Even now John feels tongue tied 'cause he doesn't even know why he's still doing it. Perhaps the detective is right, though. Perhaps he just wants to satisfy the urge to burn everything in his goddamn sight like a fucking mentally derailed man he is. Perhaps he's just a fucked up man who should have killed himself already.

Or, perhaps, he just doesn't want to remember why.

John can't tell. All he know is, he just, “have to.”

ㅤㅤ

Peter

"What do you mean, you have to. Are those guys... bad guys?" 

Peter stammers with his answer, as he is hit with a startling realization. As startling as being drenched in a bucket of ice water, that,

he has really never met the Revelator, 

until now. 

Sure, the man standing in front of him is John, his father, but the feral, cold look in those eyes belong to someone else. Someone else Peter has never met, someone quite dangerous. 

So that is The Revelator. 

Peter, of course, has never been delusional enough to think of his dad as an upright suburban man. Heck, the man has probably ingested more drugs than a hospice patient. 

But even after his research, and the news outlet confirming his research, he still wasn't expecting this. 

For what felt like hours, there was silence. The oven timer, loud and shrill, breaking the silence between them. More silence, as neither of them move to acknowledge it's cries, as if it was unheard. 

There was fear. 

Of course there was. There was confusion, there was anger, there was sadnessーall of them jumbled together into an emotion not even patient, positive Peter can process. 

But then there was that sense, that feeling of, 

oh, okay.

An emerging acceptance. 

Suddenly Peter understands the families who protect their persecuted members, despite the heavy evidence against them. Suddenly he understands their disregard of the victims, maddening as it might be. 

The victims are faceless names amidst the sea of people. Faces Peter likely never seen and won't see now. The Revelator is John. 

John who raised him, fed him, listened to his day and helped with his homework. His father is The Revelator. 

The Revelator is his father. 

And there is nothing that could change that, not that Peter even wanted the change. Familial bond is one hell of a drug.

ㅤㅤ

John

The Revelator stared down towards the younger man with an indifferent expression, still, as if he was staring at a passerby or a faceless NPC in an anime show, as if the one he stared to wasn't someone he had raised for years.

And he was probably going to keep it that way, y'know. That, of course, until he heard the man's stammered words, the flashes of emotions across the dark irises. From confusion, anger, sadness. Everything jumbled into one and John couldn't decide which one snapped him back into his sane mind as there were too many of obvious, lingering pain.

John just hoped that there wasn't any disappointment somewhere there.

"Pete—" he was trying to reach out to him again. Goodness, even now his voice was trembling mad shit when he saw the distant look from the person he adores, yet never admits. John could feel his eyes burning again, and it feels like something had strangled the base of his throat, resulting on him to stand like a mute with his mouth slightly agape.

He wasn't even sure what he should do. At this point of time, the ramen might be overcooked already until it could be considered as a blasphemy. Everything is blotted in his ear, and the only thing ringing in his mind was a simple question of ‘why?’.

Why did he do that?

"I'm sorry," he said, perhaps his lips were trembling too, but really, John couldn't think of anything due to the guilt clouding his head—or the tears forming in his eyes.

ㅤㅤ

Peter

"Holy fuck, Dadー"

His knee-jerk reaction is to pull his father into a hug, tight and bone-crushing. His fingers grapple at the other man, his face burying on his shoulder. 

In his haste, it is really a miracle Peter didn't knock over the ramen pot.

It took him no thought at to embrace his father like this, to take him back, despite everything. Perhaps it was the tremble in his voice, or the tell-tale shine of tears in his eyes. 

In hindsight, it was the guilt. Perhaps Peter wished it into existence, or perhaps he wanted to believe in it enough that he sees things, but he can read the guilt. It's all over John. 

It's almost overwhelming to see the cold, feral Mr. Revelator pass the baton to human John with his human emotions. But for Peter, 

Peter who never really had anything, Peter for whom John's odd brand of love is he only one he knew, 

it's enough. It's more than enough. 

"Don't cry, dad. 'M gon' cry too," he mumbles. 

As long as John isn't gone to the Revelator, then it's all good.

ㅤㅤ

John

John lets himself get pulled closer, lets the younger's head rest on his shoulder. He can feel his heart getting stuck in his throat again, but somehow the hug had managed to take away the pain.

And for once, he feels safe.

It never seems to end, and although their dynamic was never the one with too many affectionate gestures, he doesn't mind. John brings his hand to rub Peter's back, hoping that, if it won't soothe him, then at least it will do the work for Peter.

"I ain't crying, you dork," he said, forcing a laugh, which might have sounded like he was choking on something. He was smiling a little, a smile with a twist to it. Like the one smile of a child who is determined not to weep, because John was still on a verge of tears and if its not because how his unnecessary ego, he might have been broken into sobs.

He was the first to let go of the hug, his eyes were still red, but the smile across his face never for once falter away. John pats the younger man on his shoulder, laughing at his expression before pointing out to the food.

"Come on. You’re going to regret this later.”

ㅤㅤ

Peter

Lies. 

They're both crying. 

Judging by the red rimmed eyes they are both sporting as the hug is released, that fact is indisputable. But neither of them mentioned it, as they broke into laughter. 

John laughing at Peter, and Peter laughing at John. He's never seen his father cry before. 

Fuck the Revelator—in a very non-literal way. Peter doesn't know him, he knows only John. Peter gives his father's shoulders a squeeze, 

"It's okay, dad." he mutters. He doesn't explain further, doesn't simply offering a smile. It's silence acceptance, all around good vibes, until something inevitably goes wrong. 

This time, it's a burnt smell. 

"Fuck, dad, you didn't burn the building in front on your way in, did ya?" Peter quips, but it's quite obvious that the burnt smell comes from the oven. 

And that's what Thanksgiving dinner ended up being. A mangled turkey, the non-burnt parts salvaged, and a pot ramen way, way too overcooked it's an insult to the Ramen Gods themselves. 

They both choked down the food, horrible, really. But there's a promise to come of board games and lazy evenings.

It's all good, really. 

For now.

[donttouchthegun]

Oceans Apart

Hi everybody! Wow, this has been a project in the making, and I hope you guys will all enjoy this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it! I've been told to tag @bnnxp when I finish this so here you go, the AU about sharks! This is the first chapter hopefully of many, and I hope you all will like this!! Read it here or on AO3- https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848341/chapters/26748594 Summary: Waverly is a straight marine biologist, who loves the ocean and specializes in the study of sharks. Nicole is a gay San Diego police officer, who can't stand the ocean and is stuck in a marriage to a woman she doesn't love. They shouldn't have anything tying them together, but when a human arm washes up on shore one morning, their worlds are suddenly destined to collide. Does that mean that it's meant to be anything more? *** Moving to San Diego wasn't exactly something that was on the top of Waverly's wish list, but being the absolute best she could be in her career was, so that's what she did. A month after she graduated from college and was certified in marine biology, she got a call from a middle aged man named Leo Williams, the leader of team of researchers in California that worked for a large organization that was focused on preserving ocean life. The team itself specialized in studying sharks on the coast of San Diego, who had heard about her credentials and were interested in making her the newest addition to their group. The invitation was a rare one- If anyone was aware of how stiff the competition was to get an offer like she did, it was Waverly. It had been one of her biggest worries when she declared her major. But, with some assurance from her professors and a bit of encouragement from Wynonna, she'd put her heart and soul into the study of marine biology, and by her junior year she began to specialize her studies to sharks. The ocean had always fascinated her, ever since she was a little girl. She had insisted that her room be decorated with shades of blue and green, posters of fish hanging on the walls, a bedspread that depicted waves, a small aquarium on her dresser, and a stuffed dolphin named Mr. Flippers that lived on her bed- Which she still had, but that was a secret. She'd spent a few weeks learning about the organization online- The SD Research Center for Marine Biology had a large research facility in the heart of the city, and speaking with Leo. He explained to her that while they of course spent some their time tracking, researching, and tracking sharks to learn about their lifestyle, they also focused a lot of their time on marine life in general, studying specimens in their labs and writing out research papers. All of which was to be expected, and didn't come as much of a surprise to Waverly. After speaking with some of her professors and looking over her credits, Leo explained that believed she would be an exceptional partner on their team. He informed her that of course, she would be a rookie in the field, and would spend the first few months of her time with them learning, not engaging nearly as much as the senior researchers, but she would still be paid a starting salary of around $40,000 a year, which was more than she was expecting and plenty enough for her to support just herself. Leaving her hometown of Purgatory and her family behind in Canada wasn't an easy decision. In fact, she almost turned Leo down at the thought of not spending her time bonding with her sister, or playing with her nephew Wiley, or seeing her friends from school. But, Wynonna had insisted that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to fulfill her biggest dream, and that she was under no circumstances turning it down. So, after a long conversation with herself, making a phone call to Leo, and finding an affordable apartment for sale near the facility, suddenly she had found herself in the passengers seat of Wynonna's truck, her sister at the wheel and her nephew in the back, the bed of the vehicle filled with all her belongings that she felt necessary to bring. Moving in wasn't a task that she found incredibly difficult. The apartment was small, but cozy for one person, with one bedroom, a decent sized bathroom, a kitchen that connected to a small living room, and an extra room that she quickly designated as a home office. Wynonna had stayed to help her decorate, and though she tried to keep a stone face Waverly could see that her eyes were glossy with tears as they hugged goodbye. She made the younger woman promise to keep in touch, and hugged a little tighter than was necessary, blinking rapidly and sniffling hard to keep her emotions in check. It made the departure harder than Waverly had hoped it would have been, but after they pulled away Wynonna flashed a bright smile at her, and it made her feel more confident that things were going to be alright. And now, two months after her move, she was getting along wonderfully. She settled in easily to her new job, spending most of her days in the research facility helping with lab equipment and mixing chemicals if need be, and she immediately got along with the rest of the research team. Leo was in charge of ocean exhibitions to retrieve tags that had popped off tracked animals, and was an expert diver. He'd spent many hours diving with sharks and observing their behavior below the surface. Next in charge was his wife Lydia, who was the lead scientist of the group. Waverly had at first been a bit worried that she was simply in charge because of her marital status to Leo, but she was quickly put at ease when she realized that the older woman was beyond qualified to be in her position. Alongside them were two other divers who were close in age to Leo- Kyle and Fiona- And a researcher only a few years older than Waverly herself, named Sarah. All of them had welcomed her instantly to the team, and Lydia quickly took the smaller brunette under her wing, making it her priority to teach her everything she knew. Of course Waverly got along well with the rest of the team, but Lydia became like a mentor for the young Earp, and eventually a mother figure as well. After the car accident that had resulted in the death of both her parents, she and Wynonna were adopted by their aunt and uncle, Gus and Curtis, and while they did their best to raise them in a healthy environment, they had never really felt like parents to the younger girl, only guardians. But Lydia immediately felt like someone Waverly would have loved having as a mom growing up, especially with their similar interests and passion for ocean life, and the older scientist had told her the feelings were mutual when she revealed she had no children of her own. Almost as quickly as they had bonded, Waverly also found herself looking up to Leo in a similar manner. Work quickly became play, and it rarely ever felt like a job more than it felt like spending time with family. Maybe San Diego hadn't been what she wanted when the opportunity first presented itself, but now, Waverly wouldn't have it any other way. Nicole would be the first to admit that her marriage was a mistake. The first to admit it to anyone, except to her wife. It wasn't like she had many people to admit that to anyway, but it still felt strange having people in her life who knew that she wasn't happy in her current marital status when her wife didn't. And Dolls and Jeremy weren't judgmental of her about it- They knew that she tried her best to make it work, tried for a whole year to pretend that things were good and she was happy- But they could see clearly that it was a lie. Every fake smile when Shae visited, every choked out laugh during phone calls and conversations, every forced kiss and physical touch. It wasn't that Shae was a bad person- Far from it. It was her devotion and kindness that made Nicole feel all the more guilty about not returning her feelings. Sure- The few months they'd known each other before the marriage were fun- She wouldn't deny that they were. And maybe even for a few weeks after their rushed Vegas wedding (Could it even be called a wedding? Or was it just the legal unification of their marital status?) hadn't been the worst of her life, but Nicole quickly discovered that the feelings she had for Shae weren't love- They were admiration. She was beautiful and smart, kind hearted, and she had a great personality. But despite all that, the feelings between them just weren't mutual anymore. It was shortly after the marriage that they moved to California, after Shae received a job opportunity in cardiovascular surgery. She was two years older than Nicole and had been in medical school since she was 21, and it was her first real offer for a position. It would have been easy to lie and say that she didn't want to live in California, or give some other excuse as to why they shouldn't continue their relationship, but Nicole had already made it perfectly clear that she wasn't happy with her current living situation in her cheap apartment, and the house they were able to afford with the salary offer that Shae was given had been enough at the time to convince the ginger that maybe things were meant to work out after all. Besides, if she hadn't gone with her, she wouldn't have her current position in the police force, or have met Dolls and Jeremy. They weren't exactly coworkers, as they worked in forensics and weren't officially officers. But, Nicole's credits from graduating at the top of her academy and her overall natural skill earned her a decent ranking position in the force to begin with, and as she moved up in status she was put in charge of dealing with more serious cases that involved the help of DNA testing and the forensics lab. With the advancement of her career and the hours Shae had to work at the hospital becoming more and more demanding, luckily it got easier for Nicole to avoid her wife. They only ever saw each other for a few hours at a time, and though they texted through the day conversations of depth were a rarity. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the company, or that they didn't get along. Their fun times were genuine, and they got on just fine as good friends. It was when things turned romantic that they got awkward and forced. Shae either didn't notice or pretended not to, and she wasn't stupid, so it was more than likely the latter. At the same time however, if she had noticed that things weren't as good as they once were, the fact that she hadn't said anything was also a big divergent of that idea. Maybe she really didn't know, which made Nicole feel all the worse about lying. Shae was a beautiful woman who deserved to be in a relationship with someone who loved her back equally, and that wasn't what she was getting. But, as guilty as it made her feel and as wrong as she knew it was, Nicole couldn't bring herself to confess. It was almost laughable, in an ironic but less than humorous way, how they could get married in a night, rushed through a poorly made chapel with the cheapest of materials, but getting divorced could take months, or maybe even years. They had built a life together, started from even before they were married. Maybe that was just the classic stereotype in them both, planning a life together and calling the U-Haul by the second date. (They hadn't actually used U-Haul strictly for the purpose of avoiding that joke, but they had moved in together in Nicole's small apartment quite early on into their relationship, and not long after their finances were also intertwined.) Not to mention that they now owned a house together, and any major purchases they made were in both their names. Shae had even brought up kids on more than one occasion, and Nicole hadn't shot the idea down, instead simply laughing and saying maybe not until they were more stable in their careers. She supposed, in a way, she did love her wife. She wasn't in love with her, that was for sure. But she did care deeply about her feelings. And even on the nights she went out alone to clubs and was presented with opportunities to sleep with gorgeous women, she remained faithful. Not that the idea wasn't there, was even tempting at times, but she couldn't do that to Shae. She didn't deserve that kind of love, that kind of marriage. Even if Nicole wasn't invested, she was at least free from the accusation of cheating. She knew that someday, there would come a time where holding it in would be an impossibility. She would get to a point where she wasn't able to fake another laugh or kiss. She would cry for the last time after sex and be unable to lie about the reasons as to why, no longer able to say she was just overcome with emotion. She would meet a woman, someone who stole her breath away unlike any other, and she wouldn't be able to keep pretending she loved someone she didn't. Something would happen, someday, and it would be the straw that broke the horses back. But, that day had not yet come, and the horse was still standing tall. For now, things would just have to stay the way they were, and there was nothing more Nicole could do. Waverly smiled walking into work that Monday morning. The sky was still dark and the sun was just beginning to bleed a wave of red and orange light over the city skyline, but the moon remained visible and there were still a few stars in the darker parts of the sky. The familiar scent of the building washed over her nostrils as the doors opened- A mixture of chemicals and water from down the hall where rescued animals were kept and cared for until they could be released. She didn't mind the smell really. No, it wasn't her favorite thing in the world, not by a long shot, but it was friendly and familiar and reminded her of her job, which quickly was becoming home. "Hey Waverly, have a good weekend?" a familiar voice sounded to her left and she turned to see the janitor of the building smiling at her. "Hi Gary, nice to see you too. My weekend was nice, I just worked on some papers for Leo," she explained with a friendly smile. "Always working you are. They sure picked a good one," he chuckled and waved her off as she continued on, making her way through the various rooms and hallways until she reached the space in the back, where the team shared an office, an attached lab, and a computer room. Lydia was already busy at the lab table, hunched down over a microscope, but she looked up and grinned when she heard the door. "Morning Waverly," the older woman greeted, and Waverly took a moment to look her over. Long, curly black hair, almost reflective in the light but always well kept. Deep ocean blue eyes, sharp and focused but also soft. A smile that always favored the right side of her lips, so it was always slightly crooked but always friendly and inviting. "Good morning Lydia, what's the agenda for today?" she asked, setting down her bag that really just held a laptop and two books she was currently reading when she got any spare time. The older scientist sighed and looked up again from the table. "Nothing fun, I'm afraid. There was an accident earlier this morning, we just got a call. Some poor woman's arm washed up on shore, and the police are already screaming shark attack," Lydia explained with a slight grimace. Waverly felt her heart sink and her head fell. "This early in the morning?" her questioned was confirmed with only a nod. "Poor thing... But... Why do they automatically believe that it's a shark?" she asked, running a hand through her hair. "Typical police agenda. No one wants to admit they can't do their job, and unfortunately a job in law enforcement is only something that exists after crime does. But, everybody has their weaknesses, some people just can't accept that they can't save everybody," Lydia shrugged off her lab coat and walked around to her laptop on the nearby table, opening a new page and typing away on the half full document covered in text and clip art style pictures. "I wish everybody would get the idea out of their head that they're these horrible monsters," Waverly groaned. "I know you do. And that's why we've decided to let you go investigate," a second voice, from Leo this time, came from behind her and she looked up to see the team's leader standing in the doorway of his office. "They want an expert to survey the scene and decide if it's an attack, but of course we can't just tell right away, we need some time to run some basic tests and see if the arm was forcibly removed, or bitten off, or even the victim of an attack at all." "Wait... You're serious?" she asked, her eyes widening in surprise. "Absolutely. You haven't had a challenge you couldn't handle yet, and no one is more passionate about these animals than you. You understand they need to be respected and maybe even feared, but that they're also beautiful and important to the ecosystem. I couldn't ask for someone more qualified," he smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. Waverly's eyes brightened and her smile reached the corners of her cheeks, and she was unable to keep from throwing her arms around the older man. "Thank you thank you thank you!" she squealed, giggling uncontrollably. Leo chuckled and helped her back down to the floor, handing her a piece of paper. "Alright, here is the location for the accident and everything they've been able to gather so far. You can take the company van down, it's not very far. Just be polite to the officers, and they shouldn't be a problem," Leo promised. After another loud giggle and throwing her bag back over her shoulder, Waverly raced outside to the back of the building where there were lines of vans with the logo for SD Marine Biology, each specified for teams of scientists that worked within the vast branches of study through the organization. She jumped in the diver's seat of their own van, taking in a deep breath before pulling out of the parking lot and making her way through the already crowded streets. By the time she reached the beach, the sun was high enough that the sand glistened in the morning light, and the ocean's waves sparkled with the reflection of the brightly colored sky. Nicole groaned and downed a large sip of her coffee as she hopped out of the cruiser. The steaming liquid burned as it slithered down her throat, but she knew that if she was going to make it through a day that started with an arm washed up on the beach at 5:49 AM she would need the caffeine boost. Since the arm was already beginning to decay and had been found by a teenage couple who had been night swimming, she was sent to investigate alone, informed that the scene was not high threat level and deemed not dangerous. The cruiser wasn't made to handle sand, which always baffled her considering it was a car for a town that revolved around the beach, and she had to fight her way down in the sand until she got to a point where driving any further would result in being unable to drive back out, so she was stuck walking half a mile to the scene. The teenagers who had found the arm were huddled together on a rock, a flashlight shining between them as the girl sobbed heavily against who Nicole could only assume was her boyfriend. "Hi there," her tone was gentle as she approached the couple who seemed unaware of her presence. "My name is Officer Haught, are you two the ones who called in about the- Uh... The accident?" she asked. The girl nodded and gestured behind her where sure enough, an arm was lying in the sand, a few bracelets around the wrist and the nails covered in a faded blue paint. "Can either of you tell me anything about what happened? Did you see anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary?" she asked, turning back to the couple. "Oh you mean besides a fucking arm lying in the sand?" the girl snapped angrily, then immediately shrunk back as if she were struck across the face, fear wide in her eyes. "I.. I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean-" she stuttered, her voice high and her face pale. "Shh, it's okay, it's alright," Nicole knelt down and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, rubbing it gently to soothe her. "My cruiser is parked about a half mile back, do you two think you can make it there? I can call your parents when I'm finished up here?" she suggested, looking back and forth between the two. The boy looked towards the girl and waited until she nodded before helping her stand. Nicole watched them walk until she was sure they wouldn't need any assistance before turning back to the remains lying half buried in the sand where the water washed up gently on the shore. She knelt down beside it and pulled on a pair of gloves before pulling it up out of the sand, brushing it off as gently as she could. "God, what kind of person..." she trailed off, her eyes landing on the dark water in front of her, sighing deeply. "Or animal," she finished quietly, falling from her kneeling position to sit down in the sand. "Good morning officer," a voice from behind Nicole startled her and she grabbed for her gun. It wasn't loaded, but whoever was behind her didn't have to know that. She whipped around quickly and aimed, only to let out a loud breath of relief and drop the weapon when she could clearly see a shorter brunette standing above her. "Jesus, don't do that, I could have shot you!" she gasped, running a hand through her auburn hair. "Well I'd hope an officer of the law was better trained than that," the shorter woman smiled at her, teasing, but friendly as well. She knelt down beside Nicole and her eyes quickly landed on the arm. "You uh... You shouldn't be here, this is a crime scene," the officer spoke firmly, though it was hard to be firm with a woman who was staring at the arm in front of her like it was a tourist attraction and not a literal human arm. "I'm from SD Marine Biology, I was uh... Called to investigate? They wanted to see if it was a shark attack," she explained, reaching into a bag over her shoulder and pulling out her ID badge to verify herself, then reaching back in to retrieve a small flashlight that was barely bigger than a key chain. It was light enough to see the immediate surrounding area, but not enough to distinguish any real detail. "I thought they were supposed to be sending an expert?" Nicole cocked an eyebrow to the woman in front of her who at the very most could only be 22. She snapped her head up, almost offended, and glared at her. "And what, officer, makes you so capable of judging that I'm NOT?" she shot back, raising a matching eyebrow in challenge. "Well, for one thing, an expert in the study of ANY science would know not to sneak up on someone with a weapon unnoticed. You're way too excited to see this arm, you seem to willingly be here at nearly 6:00 in the morning, and an expert wouldn't be using a flashlight out of a cereal box. Oh yeah, and you're definitely younger than I am, and I'm only 23. Need I continue?" Nicole shot a smug grin towards the woman, whose face flushed red, but she quickly returned to investigating the arm with the flashlight. "Well, considering that you're only two years older than I am, what makes you any more qualified an officer to be investigating a possible murder scene?" the brunette didn't look up as she spoke, something for which Nicole was grateful, because her face was now red and she opened and closed her mouth twice before finding her words again. "Okay, fair enough, neither one of us seem to be the best fit for this job. I got lucky because no one else wanted to come out here so early, and it's a chance to prove I'm capable of handling it. Officer Nicole Haught. So what's your story?" she asked, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips. "I'm here because I'm qualified, and I need to prove to the dimwits who can't see the difference between a shark attack and a murder that humans are the real monsters," she explained with a humorless laugh. "Waverly Earp," she quickly added, sitting up and looking over at the officer. "Um... Well Miss. Earp, I know they want an expert opinion to determine if this was a shark attack or not, and as much as I'm certain you are qualified to handle something like this, I'm not entirely sure I can just allow you to take this. It's evidence you know," Nicole observed. "Well Officer Haught, I'm certain that not even an expert could tell you just from looking whether this kind of thing was an attack, we need to run some tests. Can you give me 24 hours, just to look it over?" Waverly asked, looking up at her with a smile. Nicole felt her lips quiver slightly and she blinked twice to clear her thoughts as casually as she could. "I... It's really against standard operating procedure... But I guess if you guys really need to run some tests before you can give a definitive answer, I have no choice," the officer sighed, standing up and shaking the sand off her uniform. "Great!" Waverly pulled out her own pair of gloves, then carefully lowered the arm into a zip lock bag, before placing the entire thing into a small cooler. "Uh, here!" Nicole fumbled in her pocket as she held out a half folded card to her acquaintance. "It's my number, just uh... Call when you're finished." The scientist smiled and nodded, setting the bag gently down inside the larger one strapped over her shoulder. "No problem, thank you Officer Haught," she grinned, practically skipping her way back down the beach. Nicole found herself staring wide eyed after the woman, long after the sun had risen in the sky. "Haught!" a sharp voice barked in her ear and Nicole whipped around quickly to see her commanding officer, Randy Nedley, standing in front of her desk. "Uh, yes sir?" she snapped her head up, blinking rapidly to clear her thoughts. "Are you doing alright? You seem a bit off, and you're behind on your reports today," his eyes shifted to the stack of files on the corner of her desk and he looked at her expectantly, awaiting an explanation. "Oh... Sorry sir, I promise to have them done before my shift's over! I guess I'm just a bit distracted today," she apologized. "You'd better. You're already walking a thin line by letting those scientists take that arm earlier," he reminded her. "I know sir," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You're just lucky it was me who found out and not Lucado, otherwise you'd get a lot more than paperwork duty," with that and a shake of his head, Nedley turned and walked away from her desk, and she let out a loud sigh. "So what happened to you?" a different, higher pitched voice came from behind her and Nicole turned to see Jeremy and Dolls standing in the doorway. "Hey, I didn't know you guys were here today. Isn't it supposed to be your day off?" she asked, spinning in her chair and pushing the thought of her reports to the back of her mind. "Well, we were supposed to be investigating an arm, but it seems like those plans aren't exactly going too well are they?" Jeremy teased, his lips curling into a satisfied grin as he saw her cheeks burn bright red. "So? What's up? A highly trained officer of the law such as yourself isn't normally so willing to break the rules." "First of all, I did not break the rules, I just may have... Bent them, a little," Nicole snapped. "And second of all, she was younger than I was, and she seemed so adamant that it was important, I just-" "Couldn't say no to such a pretty face?" Dolls interrupted, earning a laugh of agreement from Jeremy. Nicole's face was now the color of her hair and she glared at the two of them. "How would you know? You weren't even there!" she shot back defensively, and both men in the doorway held their hands up in surrender, though the smirks didn't leave their faces. "You know, this isn't good for you. You should-" before Jeremy could continue, Nicole held up a hand. "If this is another lecture about Shae, can it, because I've heard it all already, and nothing you can say is anything I haven't heard before," she waved her hand dismissively. "Now if you two don't mind, I have paperwork I need to finish," with that the officer turned back to her desk and the two scientists in the doorway sighed, ultimately deciding that there was no point in pressing the issue any further and leaving her to her work. Waverly was careful in dialing the numbers on the card she'd received from Nicole earlier that day. The testing on the arm hadn't taken 24 hours- Not even close- But she'd wanted to be sure that Leo and Lydia had enough of a window that they wouldn't need to rush. But, after determining that the arm was not bitten or ripped off, and instead had been forcibly removed by a sharp object like an axe or a knife, there really was no need for them to hold on to it any longer. "Hello?" a voice on the other end answered after two and a half rings. "Uh, hi, Officer Haught? It's Waverly, from this morning?" it wasn't like she didn't think the officer would remember her- They'd only met earlier and it wasn't like there were other people around- But clarification on who she was felt important anyway. "Oh, right, the expert marine biologist," a teasing laugh sounded through the phone, and Waverly felt her cheeks burning and she let out a sharp exhale. "Yeah, that's me," she answered. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Waverly could hear the smirk in her voice. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that we're done testing here, and that there was no shark attack," she explained. "I thought you needed 24 hours?" "I may have overestimated a bit," she grumbled through gritted teeth, and she heard a melodic laugh through the phone. "Alright, bring it by the station, and I'll hand it over to forensics. Do you know where it is?" "Yeah, I'll be there soon," Waverly hung up the phone without waiting for another response, and shoved the device back in her pocket quickly. She let out a deep breath, shook her head once to clear it, then made her way back to the van outside. "Uh... Is Officer Haught here?" Waverly asked as she walked inside the police station, the cooler with the arm in her hand, and was confronted by a thin man with darker skin and a friendly smile. "Yeah, she's just over-" he began, then paused and looked her over. "Wait, are you Waverly?" he asked with a grin. "Uh... Yes?" she answered with a cock of her eyebrow, staring at the man in confusion. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to sound weird, I'm Jeremy. I'm a friend of Nicole's, I just heard about your encounter this morning," he explained with a giggle, extending his hand out in front of his body. Waverly hesitated, but eventually shook his hand and smiled back at him. "Nice to meet you Jeremy. I uh... I just needed to return the-" she was cut off. "Oh, the arm! Yeah, come on, I'll show you to the lab," he took her hand and led her quickly through the station, to a large room near the back full of lab tables and forensic equipment. "Wow... This is impressive," she breathed out, taking a moment to observe the room around her. "Yeah, it's pretty nice," Jeremy beamed. "I guess," a third voice came from behind them and they turned to see another man standing over a lab table, looking down at a petri dish. "Oh, hey Dolls. This is Waverly, she came to bring back the arm," he explained. "Oh, so you're the famous Waverly Earp," he chuckled, standing up straight to get a better look at her. "Fam-Famous?" she asked nervously, her eyes skittering between the two scientists in front of her. "Well, at least around the office," Dolls grinned and reached out to take the cooler out of her hands. "So, what were you guys able to find?" he asked, pulling the arm out and setting it down on the table. Rigor mortis had set in and the arm was now stuck bent in a strange angle, so keeping it in the cooler hadn't been easy. "Well, it definitely wasn't a shark attack. The arm was severed for sure, by something sharp. Not teeth, not force," she confirmed, reading over the report that Leo had drummed up after their tests had come to a conclusion. "Well that means that it was a murder after all," Dolls sighed. "Uh, thank you Waverly. It may not make my job any easier, but for what it's worth, I'm glad it wasn't a shark," he smiled briefly at her. She returned the smile and waved goodbye before letting herself out of the lab, making her way back through the station. As she reached the door, she caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye, and saw the back of Nicole's head across the room, turned away from her. She smiled, then continued on her way outside to the van. "Shae?" Nicole's voice echoed throughout the house as she stepped inside, running a hand through her hair. "In the kitchen baby!" just the tone of her voice was enough to make the officer cringe. She sounded so excited, so happy and full of love at her presence, and not feeling the same way always made Nicole sick with guilt. But, like she did every other night, she put on a fake smile and made her way into the kitchen where her wife was currently standing over the stove cooking something that the ginger didn't recognize by name. Shae was always watching cooking shows and attempting to copy the recipes she saw on TV. Normally they didn't turn out exactly like what she'd seen, but they never tasted bad, and that was enough for the both of them to be satisfied. Nicole paused to press a chaste kiss to her cheek, pulling away before Shae could lean back against her. "How was your day?" the doctor asked, not turning away from the stove. "Eh, it was alright, we had an arm wash up on the beach this morning," Nicole chuckled, taking a seat at the kitchen table. The revelation was enough to snag her wife's attention away from the stove and she snapped her head back to stare at the officer sitting at the table. "A human arm?" she asked wide eyed. "Uh huh. They thought it was a shark attack and had a scientist come in, but she said that it was cut off, not torn, so I guess we have a murder investigation now," Nicole sighed, pulling her hair out of it's tight braid, letting out a sigh of relief at the was it relieved the tension in her head. "Jesus... I'm sorry that happened baby," Shae apologized. "Are you alright?" "Well, I'm a bit shaken up, but I'll be fine. I'm a cop, I'm sure that I'll see worse eventually. Just part of the job description," the ginger sighed. Shae nodded in understanding and turned, setting down a plate of food in front of her and kissing her. Nicole leaned into the kiss, though not entirely willingly, and quickly turned her attention to the food in front of her. "Aren't you eating?" the auburn haired woman asked when she noticed that Shae had not fixed a plate for herself. "Unfortunately I can't join you, I have another graveyard tonight. I'm so sorry," she apologized, but Nicole held up her hand to show it was fine. "No, really. I spend so much time in that damn hospital, and we never spend any time together anymore. We should do something this weekend, just the two of us," she suggested with a smile. "Maybe we could head over to that new rock climbing exhibit? I hear it's insanely high and only for experts," she chuckled. "Uh... I'll have to see if I'm busy, but sounds fun," Nicole lied quickly. Well, it wasn't necessarily a LIE. Spending time with Shae wasn't hard or a burden, especially not when they were hiking or rock climbing or going on some athletic adventure together. It was just that trips like that often turned romantic by the end, and then the guilt bubbling under her skin always found it's way to the surface. "Great. I gotta go, don't wanna be late for another shift," Shae leaned down and kissed her again, her lips lingering just a bit longer than usual. "I love you," she smiled, her voice just above a whisper. "Love you," Nicole mumbled back, kissing her again just to avoid looking at her when she forced the words out. Lying was never her strong suit, not by a long shot. It was part of the reason being a cop suited her so well, except during interrogations. Normally she had to play the good cop when they were trying to get a confession- She was practically transparent when it came to trying to lie. She watched her wife hustle around the kitchen and prepare herself before walking out the door in her scrubs, and Nicole let out a loud sigh of relief, sinking down in the kitchen chair. She let her head fall into her hands and groaned, running her hands down the length of her face. Someday she would have to come clean about her lack of feelings. Someday she would have to explain that she was no longer happy in their marriage, hadn't been for a long time. That she wanted more in life, that she just didn't feel romantically about Shae, that she didn't think they were meant to be. Someday. Just not today. As soon as Waverly set foot in her apartment, she heard the sound of the phone ringing. "Hello?" she asked as she picked it up, holding it between her shoulder and her ear as she walked through the apartment, setting down her belongings in their respective places. "Hey! Am I reading this text correctly? They found an arm on the beach today?" Waverly quickly recognized the sound of her sister's voice and laughed. "Yeah, right on the shore. Some kids found it and called it in," she confirmed. "And WHY were you there, can I ask?" Wynonna continued. "They thought it may have been a shark attack, so they wanted someone to confirm it. I went and brought it back to the lab for investigation, and we found out it was cut off, not torn, and it definitely wasn't a shark," Waverly explained, collapsing down on the couch and letting out a loud sigh. "Jesus, I didn't think you'd be investigating murder scenes when you said you were moving to California to study sharks! Are you alright?" "I'm fine, it's all good. I mean yeah, it's a bit strange to have been touching and holding an arm today, and the poor girl was the victim of something that was probably vicious and horrible, but I'm alright. I even met a cop," she chuckled, knowing her sister wouldn't like the sound of that. "An SD cop? What did they say? Were they a bitch? Did they do anything to you?" Wynonna began to ramble and the shorter woman cut her off with a laugh. "It was fine, she was nice. A bit uptight, but that may have been because there was a human arm on the sand five feet away." "Well, if you want my advice, I suggest doing everything you can to avoid working with them as much as possible. Nothing good can come from police," the bartender grumbled, and Waverly had to grin. She knew her sister and the police didn't have the best relationship with each other. As a teenager she was often caught vandalizing or shoplifting- Always minor things, candy or gum and things of the sort- And she'd developed a serious distaste for authority. "Well you know, they aren't all assholes, just because you kept getting nailed by the same guy in a town you could throw a rock over," Waverly teased her. "Whatever. Well, Wiley's up and he sounds like he needs attention," it was true, the muffled sound of a cry could be heard from the other end of the phone, "You'll let me know if anything else comes up yeah?" "Yeah, tell Wiley I said hi. Miss you guys!" Waverly smiled softly. "Miss you too, bye." The brunette tossed her phone aside and let out a loud exhale, running a hand through her long tresses of hair. She closed her eyes and had just begun to relax when the buzzing of her phone tore her from her thoughts and ripped her eyes open. Groaning, she leaned over and picked up her phone, unlocking it and opening her messages app to see one unread text. "Hey Waverly, I just wanted to say thank you for all the help today. Keep it up, and you'll be more than an intern in no time. -Leo." Waverly smiled at the text, though ultimately she decided not to respond, and instead thank him personally the next day. Yes, moving to San Diego definitely wasn't what she'd seen for herself when she first graduated college. Even after the move, she initially had her doubts, as any sensible person would about a new job located in a new country. But this was finally starting to feel like home, and her team was finally starting to feel like a family. She may even have a new friend in law enforcement, even if Officer Haught was a bit uptight. She laughed at the memory of their meeting earlier in the day, and reached over on the coffee table, pulling up one of the books she was currently reading. She fell asleep with the book hanging open and her head leaned against the arm of the couch, though a smile remained on her lips throughout the night.

[faeriekim-blog]

P.I.S.T. - Chapter 4

               “I wish you wouldn’t just turn up out of the blue like this,” she said, “I could’ve been in the middle of something.  I could’ve been at work or in class.”

               Her mother just waved away the complaint, quite literally.  She actually physically waved her hand in response.  “Oh Christine,” she said. “We know it’s only Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays you’re in college.  And you only work weekends and evenings.  Why can’t we come visit our little girl just to check on how you’re doing?”

               Chris rolled her eyes and turned around to walk to the kitchen.  Because it’s invasive, creepy and inappropriate, she thought.  I mean I could’ve been masturbating or having sex! “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” She asked.

               “Oh, that would be lovely, dear,” her mother replied.  “Tea for me. And Jeffrey?”

               “I’ll have a coffee,” said Dad.

               Typical of him to be awkward, Christine thought. But she kept her frustration to herself and with a deep, calming breath, she put on the kettle and got the cups, coffee, teabags, milk and sugar ready.

               “Hmm,” mother mused from the hallway.  “This place could do with some work, and a good spring clean.  I honestly don’t understand how you can live this way.”

               Chris turned round with a frown and looked around at the kitchen and the hallway, where her mum and dad were still standing around, putting down bags and taking off coats.  How long were they going to stay?

               “It’s fine,” she said.  “I tidied and hoovered two days ago.  What else do you want?”

               “Now, now, Christine,” her father replied, “don’t get testy.  Your mother’s just concerned about your wellbeing.”

               Testy?  What kind of word was that?  Chris sighed again and returned to the business of making the brews.  It was best to let it go.  “Go through to the living room,” she told them.  “I’ll bring the drinks in shortly.”

               They went to the living room.  She finished making the drinks and then she brought them through.

               She sat down.  They all drank their tea or coffee.  There was a weird, tense silence.  Chris wondered what they objected to about the house.  She lived here with two other students.  It wasn’t super tidy but it was only usual household clutter.  A few books and papers in haphazard piles on various surfaces.  It was fairly clean too, especially by the standards of most students.  She kept the kitchen as clean as she could and she dusted and hoovered once a week. Sure, there were some decorating issues but the house was perfectly functional for their needs.  Parents could be so picky!

               “How’s the course going?” Dad asked.

               “Great, yeah,” she replied, “I’m loving it.”

               “And the job?” He asked.

               “Ok,” she said.  “It brings in the pennies.  And I love my customers and fellow workers.  It’s really a lovely place to work.”

               “Vegetarian restaurants,” mum said in a disapproving tone, “art degrees, feminist groups.  When are you going to make something of your life, Christine?”

               Oh here we go, Chris thought.  Another annoying lecture!

               “Now, now, Mary,” Dad interjected.  “Let’s not start another argument.”

               “I can’t help it, Jeffrey,” said mother, “it’s grandfather all over again.”  She brought out a handkerchief and started mopping away a few tears.  Chris was sure they were fake.  “Do you know how much my mother suffered because of his half-baked ideas and crackpot ways?  We were so poor growing up and all because he wouldn’t get a proper career to support us but devoted his time to that silly psychic group.”

               Christine didn’t like to hear her grandfather spoken about in that way.  She sighed deeply, inwardly furious.  Why did she always have to bring that up?  Chris had already heard the story a thousand times.

               “They weren’t a silly group,” she argued. “They were pioneers.  Grandad even got a book published on the phenomenon! He was a visionary.”

               “Oh come now, Christine,” said Dad, “you know that ghosts and fortune telling aren’t real.  It was ridiculous bunkum and he wasted his life on it.”

               “Times were different back then,” Chris argued. “And Grandad was a success at what he was doing.”

               “It didn’t help pay the bills though, did it?” said mother.  “It didn’t bring the pennies in to support his wife and children.  My poor mum had to scrub floors for a living.  Such a disgrace!”

               “Well, maybe men and women should work together to support the family!”  Chris said, her pulse racing with sudden anger.  “Maybe a man shouldn’t be expected to be the main breadwinner all the time.  What was feminism for if not to fight against those sexist stereotypes?”

               “Well, like you said,” mother replied, “times were different back then.”  Christine fell silent then.  It was actually a valid point.  She could hardly hold past generations to the standards of today.

               She sighed again and looked at her feet.  She wasn’t unsympathetic to grandma’s plight, or her own mother’s unhappy childhood either.  But Grandad was a great man in her eyes.  He was so kind and funny, so creative and wise, so leftfield and interesting in his views and lifestyle.  He was a lovely, old Irish man, who she loved to death as a child and his ideas and work inspired her.

               “Look at your father and me,” mum continued, “we worked hard to support you and we’ve built a good life for ourselves.  He works in a bank and I work for a respected legal firm.  We’ve made enough money to have a comfortable life when we retire.  But what about you, dear?  How long are you going to coast through life, following impossible dreams of being an artist or wasting valuable time on activism, instead of putting aside money for a family or so you can comfortably retire when you’re older? When are you going to settle down with someone and have children?”

               “Mother,” Chris said, “I’m lesbian!”

               “I know,” she replied, “and I respect that. But lesbians can adopt, can’t they? Find yourself a good woman and settle down.  Get a decent job and build a life for yourself.  That’s all I’m saying.  I know you loved your grandpa and were really upset when he died but please don’t follow him in wasting your life and your potential on crackpot ideas and fruitless dreams.”

               “They’re not fruitless dreams!”  Chris snapped, slamming her teacup down on the table so that the teaspoon chimed angrily against the china.  “I’m not wasting my time on activism!  Being a feminist or a vegetarian are not ‘crackpot ideas’!  Art can change minds and hearts, mother.  It can change the world.  I’m helping women and the LGBT community with my activism. I’m doing good things with my life! Maybe I don’t want to conform to society’s expectations when society’s ideals are rotten to the core.  Maybe I don’t want to work for the rich man and contribute to the continuing oppression of the poor, the disabled, people of colour, women and lesbian, gay and transgender folk.  Maybe I want to make a difference to the world!”

               “And how can you do that with no money and no power?”  Dad said, calm as anything but with eyes so cold and disappointed.  “Listen to your mother.  She’s talking sense, Christine.”

               Mum shook her head and placed her hand on her brow dramatically.  “Oh, it’s your grandfather all over again,” she said.  “We tolerated the haircut, the clothes, the lesbianism.  But honestly, Christine, try to think of the future.  You can’t just be a student and an activist for the rest of your life.  You’ve got to pay your way in this world.  That’s just how society works.”

               Chris sighed again and looked at her shoes. There was no point arguing with them. They had a completely different outlook on life.  She wondered how they had managed to be teenagers during the 60s but let the ideals of the hippy generation completely pass them by.

               She barely tolerated the rest of the conversation. Once they had got their concerns off their chest and Chris had stopped arguing the point, they soon moved on to talking about aunts and uncles, weddings and children.  Christine responded as best she could but her mind was elsewhere.  Eventually they said their farewells, gave her a hug and left.

               She crept up the stairs, exhausted and shook by the whole exchange.  Why couldn’t they just let her live the life she chose?

               She entered her bedroom and took a box from under her bed.  She pulled out a photograph and an old paperback book.  They smelled musty and old.  The photo was of her and her grandfather.  She was only a little girl at the time.  They were both smiling so happily in the picture and his arm was around her so lovingly.  She turned the photograph over and on the back were the words, “don’t let the bastards get you down” and it was signed “Grandpa Willie”.

               She put the photograph back in the box and looked at the cover of the book.  She brushed off the dust with her hand.  The book was called “Psychic Phenomena and the findings of P.I.G.”  That was the name of grandad’s Psychic Investigation Group. He had found it amusing that it spelled out the name of an animal.  In fact Grandpa Willie had been the one who told her that pigs were highly intelligent animals and that we shouldn’t eat them.

               And there was his name under the title: William McInnery.   It was him who had formed the Psychic Investigation Group or P.I.G. to study mysteries and the paranormal.  Suddenly a drop of clear liquid splashed onto the cover.  It came from her eye.  She was crying and hadn’t noticed.

               She sniffed back the tears and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  Then she put the book away.  Pull yourself together, she told herself.  You can’t save the world if you break down in tears at the slightest setback.

                 The next day after classes, Christine went to the radical feminist discussion group that met up every Wednesday afternoon at Bedford College.  As usual the room was a bit cold.  They needed better heating in here.  But it was a large room, the walls were white and the floor was clean.  They sat in the centre of the room in a circle of chairs, the same kind of grey plastic chairs with metal legs that you get in schools.

There was a new member there this week, a cute, feminine looking Indian woman in her early thirties.  Her name was Sophie, which seemed like an unusually European sounding name for a woman who was clearly from a South Asian background.   Then again though, Chris thought, there was some Greek influence on certain parts of India during the time of Alexander the Great and after hundreds of years of Colonial influence, surely some Indian parents gave their children English names anyway.

               It was nice to see a new member.  The group was getting kind of stagnant these days. Radical feminism was hardly as popular as it used to be.  It was intersectional, fourth wave, “choice” feminism that was all the rage now.  Some members of the group were very vocal in their criticism of it.  Even Chris had to admit that celebrating young women flaunting their bodies for cash and focusing heavily on the latest PC crusade with regards to race or disability did seem to have deflected the feminist movement from its primary aim of empowering women and challenging sexism.

               Following a preliminary introduction, one of the group decided to raise a topic that reminded Christine that even her own side could annoy her at times though.

               “I want to raise a serious topic that I don’t think we’re really talking about enough, to be honest,” said Heather, a plump, rosy faced middle aged woman that Christine knew well.  “I want to talk about the current wave of ultra politically correct transgender activism and the worrying consequences of bowing to its demands too willingly.”

               There was a tense pause.  Christine knew that the room would be divided on this issue. She glanced over at the new member. Sophie was visibly squirming in her seat.  She looked around at the room nervously and for a moment their eyes met.  Chris gave what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. Sophie smiled shyly back and swiftly looked away again.  Was she blushing under her brown skin?  Had Chris accidentally made some kind of move?

               “A key aspect of women’s oppression is to do with our reproductive rights and our bodies,” Heather continued, “and in an age where we cannot even talk about pregnancy or periods without treading on eggshells around the language we use, when we can’t even talk about vaginas as female organs anymore, our ability to even talk about this oppression is being eroded by politically correct transgender newspeak.  This is a problem.  Controlling our language and our ability to talk about our needs and our rights is a form of oppression in itself.  And have you seen these videos on YouTube talking about how not being sexually attracted to women with penises is transphobic?  How rapey is that?  It’s not ok to be a lesbian anymore?  It’s not ok to be repulsed by penises?  Are they really saying that lesbians have to be ok with sucking some guy’s cock and if we’re not, then we’re the bigots?  And then there’s the issue of women’s spaces being invaded by men who believe they’re women.  Not just toilets, but prisons, changing rooms, rape shelters.  They don’t even have to have had the surgery or been on hormones anymore.  We’re supposed to just welcome them in because they wear a dress and high heels and call themselves women!  Well, when are we going to speak out, sisters?  When are we going to stand up and say it’s not ok for misogyny and entitlement to creep in through the back door in the name of trans activism?”

               There were several cheers and murmurs of agreement in the room.  But there were other women there who looked uncomfortable and uncertain.  Chris felt like she should be the one to speak up.

               “I agree about the erosion of language,” she said. “I’ve been a bit concerned about that myself.  As you know, I have my own misgivings about language policing and the picky PC culture of the fourth wave.  However…” She paused, trying to collect her thoughts.  “I’m not sure we should be so eager to paint every single person who has a penis as part of some homogenous group of misogynistic male rapists-in-training.  The thing about trans women in women’s spaces, is that these are not men we are talking about, and certainly not the same kind of men who would be any kind of danger or risk to us.  Don’t we believe that gender is a social construct?  Don’t we believe that there are no intrinsic traits that define someone as male or female other than those that come from biology? So if a trans woman, who by nature feels uncomfortable in a male role and desires to adopt a female role, needs to access a female space, what exactly are you saying the problem is with that?”

               “They’ve still been socialised male,” said Heather, “they still have been trained to objectify women and view us as lesser. They still benefit from male privilege.”

               “Do they?”  Chris challenged her.  “Do you even understand anything about the transgender condition?  What privilege has been afforded them has been tarnished in their own eyes by the crushing limitations and pain of having a gender role forced on them that is utterly anathema to their own nature and desires. In short this should be something we understand only too well from having femininity forced on us!  How can you sit there and claim that people with penises all think the same, feel the same, are the same?  How can you imply that there would still be a risk from these people even after they have sought hormone replacement therapy or sexual reassignment surgery?  Are you really claiming that there is something other than the physical that defines our genders?  And socialisation?  The whole reason that socialisation and gender stereotypes are so damaging is because men and women vary in their natures and our genitals do not define us. Do you not see how you are complicit in the very faulty thinking you claim to be fighting by stating that these transgender women are actually rapey, sexist men in disguise because they are somehow utterly defined by their evil male penises?”  She paused for effect.  Heather was frowning, as were some of the others, but they didn’t interrupt. Several other women were watching and listening with interest.

“I wonder when we lost our way,” Chris added, shaking her head.  “I wonder which side of feminism has lost its way the most.  There are many things about fourth wave feminism that cause me concern, that worry me that the feminist cause is in danger of being watered down or that we are being distracted by intersectionality and losing sight of our true focus.  But when I listen to you assigning stereotyped, unchanging attributes to people based solely on what genitals they were born with, taking the most desperately miserable, most persecuted and most misunderstood demographic and vilifying them as no different from brutish, arrogant men purely because of the possession of a penis, I wonder if you truly understand anything about gender or what makes a trans woman different from a cisgender man.”

               “Is this a ‘not all men’ argument?”  Quipped Jean, a skinny young lesbian with short hair and crooked teeth.

               “Yeah,” added Heather, “and what about the erasure of lesbians and the insistence that we should all be eager to sleep with a woman who has a penis?”

               “Of course you don’t have to get sexual with a penis,” Chris responded, losing her patience with the tone of the discussion. “And of course it’s ok if you define your lesbianism as including a preference for vagina.  But it’s also ok if other lesbians define their orientation differently.  It’s ok to acknowledge that a trans woman is a woman and that in any case trans women do not relate to their penises the way men do.  Many trans women do not even want to use their penis like a man would. Do you know that?  Many of them do not even like to be touched there.  If a lesbian can see beyond anatomy to the person beneath, then who are you to invalidate her identity?  Isn’t that just as dangerous as invalidating the identity of someone to whom the genitalia of their partners is important?  Both things are wrong and we should all support each other.”

               Chris paused again and looked around the room. There was no verbal comeback this time. But several of the women looked shocked by her words.

               “I don’t know how to explain this any better,” Chris continued.  “When did this become a battle of words or an assigning of labels on people?  Are we doing the same thing as the fourth wavers now? Man, woman, lesbian, gay, straight – these are all just words.  It’s people that matter, not labels!  ‘Not all men’, you say.  Well, damn straight it’s not all men!  Men are people too you know.  They don’t all think alike, or feel alike.  And I would’ve thought it obvious that a trans woman is the type of person, among those born with a penis, who is the most unlike the macho stereotype of the sexist man.  There is no universally applicable attribute to what men or women are like, other than mere biology.  That is what we believe, isn’t it?  So how can you sit there and say that a trans woman is any more of a risk to women than a butch lesbian or a trans man?  Even if you assume characteristics to those who have testosterone pumping through their veins, which may well be a reasonable assumption to make, then I’m sure you can see that once those factors have been altered then we are no longer dealing with a man.  This is certainly the case after surgery.  If you somehow think we are, then you no longer believe what you claim you believe.  You are tacitly asserting that there is some non-physical, essential difference between men and women, a difference of the mind.”

               Chris paused again and let out a long sigh. The room was silent.

               “I remember the eighties and early nineties,” she explained, “even though I was only young at the time.  I think we have badly lost our way.  Not just the fourth wavers, but us radical feminists too. Socialisation or no, physical anatomy or no, we are all just people underneath.  Whatever someone does with their own body, or their legal or social identity, it is not my place to judge it.  Men and women come in a variety of forms.  We are not defined by our genitals.  There is no essential difference between one born male who wishes to transition to female and someone who was born female to begin with.  If I were to believe that there was an essential difference then I would no longer be able to declare myself a radical feminist. I would’ve bought into society’s and patriarchy’s lies about gender.”

               She sat back in her chair, breathed a long sigh and relaxed.  All was silent for a while.  Then Heather began to speak, a little less emphatically, about her concerns and the conversation continued.  It didn’t matter though.  Chris had said her piece.  She had checked their bigotry just enough that they when they continued it was with more care and compassion than before.

                 After the meeting was over, Sophie came up to her. “I wanted you to know that I agree with you, wholeheartedly.”  The Asian woman said with a cute little smile.

               Chris looked down at those delicate features, those big brown eyes and that long silky black hair.  Why were Indian women so beautiful?  “Oh,” Chris said, blushing, “thank you.”

               “It was a really great speech,” Sophie added, looking down and away with another shy little smile.

Chris didn’t know what to do with herself.  She found herself fidgeting with her hands, not quite knowing where to put them.  In my pockets, by my side, clasped together in front of me, where do hands go again? Suddenly Sophie looked up at her again and Chris stopped moving her hands, as if frozen to the spot.

“Are you a lesbian?”  Sophie asked.  Chris looked down at those big dark eyes looking up at her hopefully.  She merely nodded.  “Ah, good,” Sophie replied, looking down at the ground again.  “Only I was thinking of going to the lesbian night at the Barley Mow on the weekend, and wondered if you wanted to come.”  She looked up again, expectantly.

Chris smiled a warm, broad smile.  “I’d love to,” she said.

I’m only posting the first 8 chapters of this story on this blog.  To read the rest of it, please buy The Psychic Investigation and Study Team on Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk

[taneyhana]

It Matters How This Ends || Combination Head Canon and Manes Dream Para || July 20th to July 29th

I will leave my heart at the door I won’t say a word They’ve all been said before, you know So why don’t we just play pretend Like we’re not scared of what is coming next Or scared of having nothing left Look, don’t get me wrong I know there is no tomorrow All I ask is If this is my last night with you Hold me like I’m more than just a friend Give me a memory I can use Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do It matters how this ends

Let this be our lesson in love Let this be the way we remember us I don’t wanna be cruel or vicious And I ain’t asking for forgiveness

Everything seemed to be falling apart around Taney. It was like watching old wallpaper flake off a wall. Then, as she tried to keep herself together, she felt like the harder she tried to grip reality it dissolved like ash in her hands. Her happiness had been wholly reliant on a few things, and even those seemed to drip through her fingers. For the last six or so months, Taney had devoted about ten hours a week to yoga and meditation. It was how she had weened herself off the cocktail of medications her quack-doctors had put her on and it was a large factor of her depression. Then there was Lucas and Wednesday. Between the two of them her life had mean. Lucas was her best friend and confidant, Wednesday a reason to keep waking up and moving. Together they had encouraged her to progress healthily.

As the twenty-seventh approached, however, Taney was without both of them for a short window. Axel had vanished and Lucas was rightfully worried about him. Taney took that time to keep her focus on Lucas and keeping him de-stressed and happy. Meeting his needs kept her mind off her own chaos. As time ticked on, she tried to focus on when she’d have Wednesday again, the twenty-fourth, rather than the absence of her daughter. The latter task was easier said than done as Maverick plastered his relationship with Lilja on the network. His words made her bleed, time and again.

He’d sworn he’d never get married again, she swore she’d never get married in the first place… then they’d eloped. He’d sworn he was too old to be a parent and Taney had long since accepted that the array of medical issues she’d had made her chances of being a mother something needing a miracle… then they adopted Wednesday. He’d agreed to love her until they died and now she was alone in loving him. So, when he couldn’t accept her relationship with Lucas and they parted ways and he’d insisted he’d be alone forever a deeper part of her hoped that those words were true and that she would be someone of value to someone. The other part of her deeper than that doubted that it would happen, that it would be another thing that he went back on. Sure enough he had reneged on that too.

Lilja was extremely different than Taney. Taney was genuinely happy for Maverick to have found happiness again and with someone that wouldn’t bring up the slightest chance of an associations with her. However, the constant push and pull from him regarding Taney’s attempts at being nice had made even that little bit of happiness turn sour. In six months she had listened to attacks on Lucas, belittling of her character and motives, and what seemed to be intentional mind games in some sort of sick attempt at making her sick. She questioned everything every time they talk and she was tired of trying to keep score of the good parts of him and his ugly side.

Taney loved Maverick. Despite the spiraling of their relationship that had not changed. Despite the blood and tears, he was the person that had shown her that she could find things she wasn’t looking for. Every night when she laid down to go to sleep since she’d realized she loved him she felt lucky for knowing that she was capable of doing something that was in her own realm of impossible. In her fuckedupness she had not considered Maverick wanting that for just himself. Now it didn’t matter, that endless fight over what the parameters of her emotions and sex life should be in an open relationship had long since come to an end.

Signing a piece of paper didn’t stop her from loving him. It wouldn’t stop her from missing him. It wouldn’t stop her from questioning if leaving him instead of Lucas was the right choice. Sometimes Taney thought she should have stayed. Her thoughts would pull back to her last mental breakdown in front of him, the grabbing on his part and how she fell through one of her many mental rabbit holes. Taney thought that if she’d walked one way instead of another that they would have worked through their problems, no more silence or violence. Excuses for him were made. Blame was easy for her to place on herself. It was Lucas that reminded her of the bruises and gaslighting. Still, she loved him…even when she hated him she loved him.

As the twenty-seventh approached, Taney tried to define and understand that love. Her mind was always most clear in her first tattoo session. She did her yoga in the morning before work and let her mind wind up and pour out as the needle hummed like a bird against her client’s skin. It was a fruitless chore, trying to understand her relationship with Maverick. It always left her with lingering questions. With a heavy feeling of failure she would trudge back to Flex Appeal after work and clear her head again. It felt like a true physical weight to still love her husband so much when it was all about to end. Marching to the end of that road felt like walks in a dark clouded room wouldn’t stop crowding in on her.

No one at Flex Appeal seemed to notice Taney’s stress, anxiety, or depression. Most of the instructors that knew the state she was in when she started saw the big-picture progress and not the small steps back. The few instructors she was sleeping with thought she was just being more playful than usual. It was amazing in a way, how little people noticed. She was shocked that a person so desensitized to emotion had become overtaken by them and the world was now desensitized to her having them. So, she put on a face and kept it on because she was determined to not let her sadness rub off on anyone.

It was the first time in her life she had been so fake. Taney could remember some points in her childhood where she’d been fake. Funnily enough, on the compound when she put on a face it had been to make herself cry to get some attention from her father. With countless children from a dozen wives, Taney was a mere number floating through a sea of prettier, smarter, and funnier children. She remembered being happy there, particularly with her half-sister Whitney. Beaten by life, that happiness would end with years of pain and running. It made her cold and blunt.

Being fake for Taney, until this point in her life, had been putting on makeup and playing pretend, usually in a sexual way. As she logged in to the network she flirted half-heartedly. Taney put on fake smiles and made fake jokes. She forced herself out of the house to drink and fuck, but her heart wasn’t in it. It was all an act to keep her preoccupied and her head to busy to think of the voices that would tear her apart as soon as time stopped. However, time always did stop at night when she was alone and until Axel came back she was lucky enough to be able to avoid even that.

Taney was so filled with self-loathing she couldn’t even look in the mirror. If she got out of the shower she let the fog sit there. In a way the blurred smokey shadow was her true visage. The weight of regret would be painted over through a smaller lens of a compact as her life moved closer to that day. She painted on the eyeliner, covered the bags under her eyes, and rolled on lipstick. Nothing seemed out of place because she was, in a way, just as scary as she had ever been. Others that knew her and didn’t recognize the woman in front of them took it as business, motherhood, or… and at its worst….that the fake smile was real and a representation of her happiness at the nearing end of a tumultuous relationship.

So many people at kINK knew Lucas. He was a client, true. He was the guy Taney talked about the most and the one she was going home to a lot these days. When she said she was going to her happy place, home to Lucas, she meant it. His mom had welcomed Taney into their family and now Wednesday too. It was the first time she felt that things didn’t have to be so tiring and lonely. The road didn’t feel like it was forking. The sky didn’t always feel like a dark and starless night. Cheesy as all that was, she was finding peace…or so she thought.

Whitney, her sister, had hung around more as the divorce date approached. At first she was just doing her usual routine of picking up and dropping off Wednesday on her way to work. Then it became lunch break visits. Whit soon added texts of pictures of Wednesday in daycare at CC West to the mix. Taney knew what she was doing, trying to keep her positive. It worked a little until Luke left to help Axel.

Axel needed Lucas. Taney knew that they were best friends, practically brothers. She didn’t to interfere with whatever was going on with Axel. After all, Axel had been the only reason she’d had a decent lawyer and wouldn’t lose custody of her daughter. She owed so much to Axel and she knew a mere thank you wasn’t enough. He’d pushed her away a few months ago and they hadn’t talked, but whenever Lucas worried about him she made sure to shoo Lucas off to check on him. It was the right thing to do for Axel, but it didn’t change that it left her alone at night, when the depression came in to crush her.

When Taney picked up Wednesday at CC West on the twenty-fourth she hugged her extra-tightly. Winnie wasn’t going to spend the next few days at Taney’s. She’d taken off work and Whitney had too. Winnie would stay with her aunt until after the divorce’s finalization so that Taney could focus on her meetings with her lawyer and preparing for any possible issues. Despite trying to listen to her lawyer’s tone of confidence she didn’t feel like she knew Maverick and that meant that she was terrified about what he would do.

With Lucas at Axel’s and Taney at home, she kept busy cleaning and re-reading paperwork. If that wasn’t enough to keep her mind busy she went out. Isabel and Tanes got drinks. It was a relief to listen to someone else’s problems. Then she and Emmett went for smokes and whiskey, the laughing and swearing was nostalgic to a pre-Los Angeles version of herself that was more authentic than Emmett knew. Then Keila came over to talk and eat. Keila, or Maahsy as Tanes affectionately called her, was like a sister to Taney. It was more than a distraction talking to Keila. It was constructively working through her friends problems that felt like real progress.

Still, when she thought about what Maverick could say or do she was terrified. Would he, at the last minute, change his mind about their custody arrangement? If he dragged her through the court systems would Axel keep paying for her lawyer? Would her medical history and sordid past be brought up? Taney wanted to say that Maverick was fair, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know the man that ignored her across a waiting room. She didn’t know the man that stared at her coldly across a kitchen or coffee shop’s table. She didn’t know the man that dug at the parts of her they was theirs. That was, to her all that was being left as the divorce process went through.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she looked over the balcony of the loft and down on the entryway and kitchen below. She couldn’t think of how they ended up there. Peeling off her clothes, Taney left them in a pile on the floor rather than chucking them into the hamper. Passing the wicker basket on her way to the closet, She looked at all the things she could wear. It was a small and mostly colorless arrangement. In the back, however, was one long gown, delicately wrapped up. It wasn’t her dress, not technically, but it was the dress.

Taney pulled out the white dress that Whitney had loaned her for their wedding in the courthouse. It was as pristine as ever. She pressed the fabric to her face and inhaled. The faint smell of either Maverick or the place she had once called home seemed to still be saturated in the places he’d held her. She dragged the heavy garment to the mirror and held it in front of herself. Truthfully, Taney couldn’t place the woman she was to the woman she had been at that time. Now she was physically healthier that she had ever been. Emotionally, however, there were new scars and uncertainties that had shaped her into an unrecognizable creature.

The longer she stood there, looking in the mirror for the first time in a week or so, the more anxious she grew. Her wedding dress slipped through her thin fingers and cascaded to the floor. Taney’s chest tightened with the weight of an incoming panic attack. Try as she may to blink away the familiar burn of oncoming tears and stinging lungs, it wouldn’t let up. She tried to be strong, to look at that unfamiliar face in the mirror and tell herself that she was stronger than the person she had become. She tried, and failed, to reassure herself like Lucas could. Her gaze fell from her own eyes to her slender frame and the ink that pained her porcelain skin. There he was, etched into her existence covering scars. The woman’s thin fingers brushed across the watercolor lion on her side and immediately tears streamed down her face.

She had to wonder if the stabbing had been some kind of omen that she should have left him. Looking back on their relationship she now felt more than ever that she had brought him nothing but pain and suffering. It wasn’t like he hadn’t flat out told her how badly she’d ruined his life either. As her sides burned from the pain of her panic attack and she gasped for air, every fight seemed to replay with vengeance in her mind. Her fingers pressed and dug into the tattoo. A part of her wished that she could claw it off, as if the action could rid her of her unrequited love for him…The other part of her, however, simply wanted to be closer to him. The mere thought that ink was as close to him as she would ever be again led to an even heavier bout of crying.

At some point she’d collapsed into the pile of the white dress on the ground. Choking and crying she kicked it away, backing up across the loft’s room until her back was against the half-wall that looked down. She looked through the glass and, again, her bickering mind seemed to be in that place of chaos between self destruction and lucidity. Her thoughts danced between throwing herself over and how stupid it would be to kill herself over someone that neither knew nor loved her. She tried to cling to the reasons not to do it, the simplest reason being that it most likely wouldn’t kill her, and then moved to simply counting out her breaths until she calmed herself.

Knowing full well that Luke was busy and that Taney didn’t want Whitney to come over and help her when she had Wednesday, Taney became all to aware of how few people she had in her life to take care of her. Keila would have come, but Taney knew she was grieving in her own right. Genaya and Taney always found means of distraction, but Taney didn’t want to drag her into more of the mess of the divorce than she already had. One by one, Taney crossed off the list of her ‘friends’ and made her way downstairs to the kitchen where her phone was docked on its charger. Picking it up off the cold marble she looked at the time, the blank screen, and felt more alone than she had upstairs naked with a stranger in a mirror and that wedding dress.

Leaving the phone on the counter, Taney fell onto the couch and turned on the television. Everything seemed to remind her of Maverick or their relationship, so she rolled onto her back and shut her eyes. Her mind ticked away at how this was the last day of their marriage and how low of a note it would be ending on. She felt heavy and almost sick thinking about how wrong it had gone and instead tried to recall some of their happier moments. As they played over in her head, the sound of his laugh, his smile when she woke him up with her mouth trailing down his body, the way his body wash filled up the smell of the bathroom, she felt at peace.

Almost as quickly as that sensation of peace sank in she felt jolted out of her dream. She tried to remember it, whatever it was that had made her feel better. It didn’t seem to matter now, as she trudged back to the kitchen. Glancing at her phone she saw the texts and missed calls from Maverick, but there wasn’t a notification of a voicemail. Here it was, she thought, the last day as his wife and after months of not wanting shit to do with me he calls

Taney wanted to be mad at him, she tried to stay mad by refusing to open the texts. As she went upstairs to get dressed and brush her teeth scenarios started to play through her mind. What if, a freakishly uncommon optimistic voice chimed in, What if he doesn’t want the divorce? What if he’s ready to accept the open marriage if that means he doesn’t have to lose you? She shoved the thought away, calling it ludicrous bullshit as she rinsed off her toothbrush and moved to the closet. There another voice found her, one she had heard far more often, Just go see him and see what he wants. It’s not like it’s about Wednesday. She’s safe with your sister. Go see him, Tanes, it might be your last chance. That voice seemed far more logical as she pulled on a tight dark wash jeans, a MuteMath shirt, and her leather jacket.

Maybe she hadn’t realized what she was doing, that she’d listened to one of the voices. There she was, on her bike, riding the familiar route to the house she’d called home. Every light was green and she tried not to take that as a sign that she was making the right choice. The next thing she knew she was at his door, panicking. What could she say to explain turning up there? What if he had called her on accident and the text she had refused to read was just him saying it was a butt-dial, the second then being a question about Wednesday. She felt like and idiot and began to think about turning back, but her hand went to the doorbell as if possessed.

With no way out, Taney thought up a new horror: What if Lilja opened the door? It was still a raw subject, knowing that Wednesday would have a second mom that was a hands-down better person than her. Turning on her heels she took the first step back to her bike, muttering under her breath that this had been a bad idea. A hand reached out and pulled her back to the door. Turning around nervously she realized it was Maverick. She was about to apologize when she realized he wasn’t letting go of her hand. “When you didn’t call back I didn’t think you would come.”

Putting up her guard she looked into his blue eyes and tried to read what those words meant. “I didn’t read them. The texts, I mean… I saw them, but I didn’t open them.” Her confession wasn’t defensive, but it seemed to be the only thing she could say as she tried to be brave. “I should go.”

“Wait,” he pulled her closer. It was gentle, which completely surprised her. Taney swallowed nervously, but was surprised that there was no stinging pain where their skin came in contact with eachother. She wanted to tell him to stay where he was. A part of her was genuinely afraid of what mistakes would be made if he closed any more space between them. Maverick, however, tried to change her mind with ‘please stay’s and she wondered if something really had changed.

Taney had underestimated her ability to resist him for his own protection and followed him in. As she stepped into the familiar house she tried to be brave as she saw the new paint on the walls covering what had once been a loving paint war. Then there were the pictures of his new family. As she felt the walls close in on her she realized just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be the person that had casual conversations with a person she missed to the point of breathlessness. “I really have to get out of here. I shouldn’t have come.”

It had been her fifth or sixth protest and as she feared the nothingness that awaited her outside the front door, Taney shut her eyes and tried to turn around and leave. His familiar firm hands took hold of her, one wrapped around her thin waist and the other tilted up her chin. There was an eternity and then no time at all between him holding her and their lips meeting. Her heart raced, but she couldn’t ignore her walls crumbling down as that buried love for him finally received what it had begged for every second of every day since she had come back from England.

At some point he had picked her feet up off the floor as they kissed and they’d wrapped around his waist in the familiar ways they used to greet each other. Between kisses she whispered she loved him and she was certain she heard him say it too as he carried her upstairs to their room. As different as the rooms had looked just moments ago, Taney now wondered if it had just been that she’d simply forgotten the details of the place. Before she could thing about it Maverick had collapsed onto their bed and she looked down at him. A part of her told her not to do it, that she’d asked for this and he’d flatly laughed it off. Another told her that he was too logical to do this without being okay with it. So, Taney hoped that maybe something had changed and that this wouldn’t be a mistake.

The entire day seemed to move slow, like a movie montage. His fingers silently undressed her. His lips rediscovered her skin. When he was ready he rolled her over and reclaimed his wife, slow, deep, and full of love. Their fingers tangled in each other’s hair. The only music was their own panting and moans of pleasure, a symphony of the headboard hitting the wall. Then, as he emptied himself deep within her and the moonlight glimmered into the room, kissing him in places she’d been marking with her lips, teeth, and nails all day, she realized just how different he looked.

It was the realization that he didn’t have all of his scars and tattoos that her chest tightened with panic once more. It was like the world quickly began to shatter. No amount of I love you’s or begging to never leave could stop him from going away, fluttering away like ash. As she reached out and called his name she shot upright, her eyes wide open. Surrounded by the white cloth of her wedding dress, the sunlight pouring in stung her eyes. Taney curled up, sobbing on the floor, her small hands hitting the ground until she couldn’t feel the pain in her chest, only the pain in her wrists and hands.

Eventually she couldn’t cry any more and her body was shivering with cold. She clumsily moved to the kitchen, picking up her phone and sifting through old notifications, as there were no new ones, for anything from Maverick. When there was nothing she wrapped her arms tightly around her sides, her fingernails digging into her skin as she tried to gauge the reality. When she felt the stickiness of blood on the tips of her fingers she quickly rinsed her hands off in the sink and splashed water on her face. The voices were screaming a million commands but she reached with shaky hands for her phone to call Lucas.

As her wet fingers dripped on the screen she felt the guilt of calling him for a dream when he was taking care of his best friend and no one was taking care of him. Taney pulled out the small trash can under the sink and moved to the utensils’ drawer. Her fingers moved slowly over the blades of the knives and then she scooped them up and dropped them in the bin. She shoved it back under the sink and went back upstairs to go grab her razors and get dressed to take it all to the dumpster. As she stood in the closet she saw the same dark wash jeans and shirt on top of her clothes. She reached for them, pulling them on as she felt herself making a decision, to go to Maverick and talk ….to really ask if they were making the right decision.

While she moved downstairs with everything in her hands that she knew she couldn’t be left alone with she made a some semblance of a speech in her head. She wanted to ask him if it was really over and if he wanted to really give up on them. Taney wanted to tell him she’d changed. Taney wanted to tell him they could be what they needed and still be happy with other people too. Honesty was all she wanted from him, to give him, and she didn’t want to end their marriage without him knowing how much she still loved him.

Throwing everything into the dumpster she thought about how fair all of that was to Lucas and Lilja, and to Wednesday if it didn’t work again. She couldn’t justify anyone being in a relationship with her and as she shut the door to her apartment she slid down the door, throwing the small trash can across the room. No one needed her and she was finally admitting that she wanted to be needed. Torn between trying to control her emotions and the overwhelming self-loathing, Taney pushed herself up of the floor before she could cry herself to sleep again. Here it was, the last full day of their marriage and she wasn’t trying to spend it crying.

This was it, she thought as she dragged herself upstairs, Lucas had found his moment to step out. He could focus on Axel and put distance between them because there wasn’t a chase if she wasn’t married. Maverick had long since moved on, she cried as she pulled the duvet of the bed and dragged it into the bathroom. Tragically, even as she thought it she still couldn’t fully accept it… despite knowing it wasn’t her place to have an opinion. Wrapping herself up she climbed into the tub and fell asleep in the small space, withdrawn from the world. She didn’t know what would wait for her on the other side of the twenty-seventh. Taney couldn’t bring herself to think about it, but she refused to leave the bathroom and let herself run to Maverick begging and groveling.

When she fell asleep this time there were no dreams and when she woke up she was short on time to get to their meeting. Her appearance was only as put together as it had to be, though days of crying were still noticeable under the light layer of makeup. Again, they shared no words or gazes and when it was mentioned again that it was the easiest divorce the lawyers had handled Taney quickly blew through the tabs needing signatures, stood up, and asked if there was anything else they needed from her. What may have looked like pride was the final collapse of a woman who had once been a mountain and now struggled to understand basic breathing.

If anything the breakdown was made worse by being forced to have to stay in Los Angeles. She kept her fake face on for the people that offered to occupy her time. Still, at the end of the night she was up and forced to see comments about her child on the network, forced to witness petty stupidity, and it all seemed meaningless. Her phone had long since died and her laptop was left on her bed after a few more disgustingly happy smiles. With no appointments at her job until the first and Luke busy with Axel, though she still felt like he might leave too, she stayed in the bathroom as some kind of blanket burrito warrior trying to kill the voices in her head. Whitney checked in on her lunch breaks while Wednesday was in daycare and eventually she managed to fake it enough to get back to work and enjoy her Saturday with her daughter before handing her back to her now ex-husband as if it was a final seal on her fate.

[icodogio]

How To Evaluate Cryptocurrencies

Looking to get involved with a project that has caught your eye? How can you be sure that the technical jargon really cuts the mustard and isn’t just some mumbo jumbo put together with fancy marketing and nothing but vapors under the hood? Well, there are some acid tests you can apply when sizing up projects and we’ll give you the rundown in this guide; so that you can avoid getting pranked with a heavy bag of excrement and separate wheat from the chaff when assessing the market and what constitutes a probable bid.

…Is It Gonna Bang Though?

The first concept you must understand when sizing up cryptocurrency projects is they are ten a penny and in 2017 due to the parabolic bull run, even more frequently appearing on the scene in a seemingly never-ending onslaught. In short – everyone is playing bullshit bingo in crypto.

Just try and see how many projects feature essentially exactly the same thing, just with different colors and branding and maybe a few extra bells and whistles, at its core mostly all projects barely differentiate themselves from one another and purely offer buzzwords or conceptual ideas whilst working on the backbone of another successful project in the interim.

The Core Pillars of any cryptocurrency

1. Speed – It will be sold as fast, faster than X and able to handle more TPS (transactions per second) than Visa.

2. Accessibility – After speed, it’s easy to use and literally ‘just works’ the software is super simple and anyone case use it. Or can they?

3. Reliability – It’s secure. More Secure than Fort Knox according to the marketing guff. It’s unbreakable and cannot be hacked. This is as an important pillar as the other two. Of course, if you can double spend or attack a network it’s not going to ever work. So it must be reliable without a shadow of a doubt.

After these three, a niche will be added to the cryptocurrency. This could be literally anything from logistics to file storage to tokens in a virtual world. One must ask himself, that’s all good and decent but why not just use Bitcoin, Ethereum or Ripple for that part? Why would this specific use case token or coin be a success, what is the unique selling point? What is the call to action? Why would people use this over an existing large cap project?

If you cannot come up with a sizable argument, one that warrants the usage. It’s highly unlikely the coin is going to be a big success. You can argue that it just won’t be a banger. It will most likely be a dud, that fades and fizzles out after the hopium of expectations has evaporated and left a market full of bag holders who want to jump on the next greatest thing. Be careful of joining a train of investors just because of hype. Give it a fair evaluation.

  SWOT Analysis

The strength, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats is a business planning methodology that goes back to the basics. Any entrepreneur writing a business plan has had to deal with their SWOT analysis and why not do our own on projects we’re going to invest our hard earned coins into?

Take a pen and paper, draw a cross to quarter the page and write out your SWOT for the project (check the picture below). What are the key strengths? What are the weaknesses, the opportunities, and threats to the business? Size them up, the pros and cons. If you find it is really not making sense by this point, you sir have found a pile of excrement.

Often projects do not hold any value and are purely marketing hype born from the multi-level marketing swamp that is slowly being drained. Avoid such projects like the plague don’t give power to their cause.

  Repository Activity

So you have a project that passes the shit test. You have done some appraisal and found that after looking at it under a SWOT analysis and pragmatically comparing it’s pillars – this diamond in the rough actually holds water and shows a lot of promise. It has an X factor about it, something that just oozes success. You are really sold on the concept

…but what about the team?

Don’t take some marketing spiel with nice profile pictures at face value. That’s just idiocy. I can go and get a wall of temps and make a whole hierarchy for a penny. Why should that make you believe it. So you see a wall of faces, does that mean they cannot all be dullards? Is your money really safe?

Remember when you deposit your ETH into an ICO, there are really no guarantees that the team is going to use your money to finish the project. You wish they will, you assume they will. But how can you know for certain, once you send that transaction that they will honor you as you have to them? Do you know who they are, I mean really? Looking at a marketing website, you know a sales face.

Let’s look at how they actually work to understand the project. Load up their github and check the commits coming in. Go through each developers profiles and see what is going on. Forget Linkedin, that’s just floss. Get to the underbelly, look inside the guts of the machine. If you see hundreds of commits, loads of code being updated and a active community with issues being closed, a slack chat or similar (maybe discord, telegram or such) that you can engage and have a nice conversation with the team. You should mark this project a success.

  Because it’s impossible to fake that. You can fake marketing, you can buy views, you can write all about your project in the best possible light. But you cannot fake code commits, you cannot fake bug fixes and updates with the public. So for me, the repository is the heart of the project.

You could skip even the first SWOT step and just go straight for a project’s repository really, but I wanted to explain how important the methodology is to get the direction of a project and it’s the viability of market success first. Because despite developers being active, it doesn’t mean they are working on a great project necessarily. They may just be hired to work at the time of marketing, and once ICO is completed, fizzle out and stop updating the project.

  Get to know the Team

Get to know the team, find out who are the key developers. See if they have socials you can follow, and just get involved. Talk with them, see what they zeitgeist is inside that team’s ecosystem and where it’s going. If you feel the fire in their bellies and know the hunger is there for success, you can sleep soundly knowing the team is working hard to finish the project and your investment will grow.

If you cannot vouch for that, and after looking for development work you find very little to none. Again you have found a real shit coin. No matter what the fresh-faced marketing messiah has written (who very probably has a long LinkedIn title/twitter bio mentioning buzzwords like serial entrepreneur/crypto god / MLM marketing pro/blockchain expert / disruptive tech expert / fintech disruptor / ico consultant, you know he’s full of it) just look for the actual code.

Because after all…“Show me the commits, don’t show me promises.”

is the only real-world test for these things. I solid project will hold up to this scrutiny.

  Let Me Have a Test Drive

So you managed to get all this way, the project is gonna bang. The SWOT is on point. You are sure they are not a bunch of cretins at the helm and you are ready to open that trusty wallet and dip your toe into the market. You are going to invest, but how much?

Well before you even think about putting a nice chunk of change into this thing, let’s just give it a test run. Go and buy a $10 worth of the crypto and give it a little play. Send it to your friend, send it to yourself, see how it works. Does the chain actually have mining power? How long does this transaction take to clear? Is the wallet really buggy.

Be completely critical, even hypercritical of the project. Because it’s going to get the same hard testing in the real world when someone who has no involvement, no investment and is just a an end user who is using it for the first time – because of the amazing world changes claims it made on its whitepaper has finally come to light and its adoption has become mainstream.

If the experience is really shabby and you are saying what the heck a few times. It’s safe to say

…you have found another dud

And many projects have their ups and downs so make sure to check back later if you feel it was just a bad day, or the network was having upgrades. Don’t just do one test, check it over a period of a few weeks and see how the network is behaving. Try the mobile wallets, and exchanges it is listed on.

  Keeping Liquid

The project must be liquid, there must be a buyer when you are selling. You cannot contemplate holding a million tokens of some project if there is no volume –

…who are you going to sell to?

Be super skeptical of projects that have no liquidity and promise the earth. If no one is trading, how are you going to get price appreciation? Markets with low liquidity are highly risky because if you want to exit the market and cash out, and you have no buyers. The price will quickly fall to whoever wishes to make a bid.

Say you buy at $1 because you hear the project is going places, you did all that boring checks I mentioned prior and you are sure this project is not a shit coin. You buy $10k of the token. After a week the token is trading at $0.70, so you double down and get some more, another $10k to the investment. But a week later, the volume is non-existent and after that sponsored promotion dried up, no one is trading the token. Quickly bids start to fall down towards $0.10.

At this point, you have lost over half of your investment. Nearly all of it is gone unless you are a very optimistic person with a high tolerance to risk, you probably don’t want to look at the number. So you wait for a better day. Let’s hope that day comes. Do you want to just be in the land of hope and hope alone, waiting for that magical day when people find your project and decide to start pumping the price up and buying it like there was no tomorrow? Sounds like quite a dicey bet now.

Maybe it would have been better to buy a solid company with earning reports that was traded on the regulated stock markets. But no, you want that growth, you want that X factor this project is alluring too.

…So you continue to hold.

After 6 months the project is delisted from several exchanges and trading at $0.05 with extremely low volume. You bite the bullet and try to sell some of your stacks, but you cannot find a bidder and the price keeps falling away. There is no reason why this could not happen to even a good project that passed SWOT analysis and holds water because due to many outside factors there can be all kinds of bearish sentiment thrown into the mix and people decide they don’t want to invest in the project.

So even when you have found good plays that you really want to get involved in, don’t get comfortable. Don’t marry any trade. There is no guarantee on what the weather will be tomorrow. You might be sure it’s not going to rain, arrive at the beach and it’s a torrential downpour. Unless you can rule out all possible bearish factors, with real life stability ensuring action such as buybacks by the managing team – there is no way to ensure the price of a crypto.

Even the biggest cap coins can shed double-digit percentage losses in matters of hours, what makes you think that this new shiny coin you have heard all about is going to be any stronger?

  Trading Pure Alpha

There are fleeting chances for alpha in the cryptomarket, meaning coins which move independently of the pack of large caps such as BTC, ETH, and XRP. Finding that alpha and riding it will be highly profitable, but it’s not a sure thing and moves in an agile manner. You will find coins often run up 5% or 10% in a day before reversing those gains only a week later.

Don’t get caught holding the bag on the wrong side of the trade. Do your own research and know what you are buying by following the steps we outlined prior and using pragmatic thought when entering a market. Don’t just follow the chat and Twitter, use common sense. This way you will never find yourself panic buying, or selling again.

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source https://icodog.io/opinion/how-to-evaluate-cryptocurrencies/