#* the prevaricator

[waywcrdsons-blog]

“I’m sure that we can sort this like rational human beings,” Maks announces, hearing how that sounded a lot like wishful thinking shortly before a glass whizzed right by his head and shattered on impact against the wall of the bar. 

Good try but bad aim, should he be counting his blessings for that? 

“Or perhaps not.” 

[waywcrdsons-blog]

“Stop.” Maks commanded, patience growing weary with the young Savage he was aiding. It was rare for him to get involved with that aspect of things, being a special operative gave him plenty of purchase to distance himself from the day to day goings on of the organisation.

(He was trying to be more present, it didn’t always work out all that well for him.)

“Not bad. Your aim is decent, good instincts. Those alone won’t make sure you won’t get killed, not with the current climate we are living in.”

He lifted his gun, a hush falling over him as he cocked it and aimed, dead silence broken by the shatter of glass as the beer bottle he had resting on the worn wood that lined the perimeter of the land for gave up upon impact of a near perfect shot.

“Steady hands, you see?” He advised, his head turning slightly to glance over his shoulder as the sound of the breeze that whipped through the desolate field he was stood in was interrupted by the sound of grass rustling with movement. 

[waywcrdsons-blog]

Tony’s Thots on Their Big Night Out 

+ a wild sky.

[waywcrdsons-blog]

☎ moane :/

SEND A SYMBOL FOR A CORRESPONDING PROMPT/STARTER. | ACCEPTING.

[ ☎ ] my muse calls yours in tears.

Ever the work horse, Maksym was accustomed to long days and longer nights. His time served as a police officer helped to bridge the empty hours with cases, paperwork, graveyard shifts and the ever active criminal landscape of whatever city he was working in. 

His life has drastically changed from those days, a badge and a gun swapped for a bond and several guns, each one finely suited to whatever op he was next tasked with. The problem with working a position that was prefixed with special was that sometimes meant infrequent. 

As the sun sets on his third day with nothing to do but exist, Maks finds him sat at the table in his apartment, the television on behind him a low static form of white noise that does nothing to distract. 

(A sucker for solitude, he would work himself to the bone on solo jobs, but the times when he was truly alone were lethal to the otherwise stoic Ukranian.)

His hands clasped together and his elbows leaning on the glass surface, his mouth presses to where his thumbs have met as his third glass of straight vodka rests in front of him like a taunt. He tries his best to clear his mind as venomous observations continue to trickle in passed his triple distilled defences. 

Faces like ghosts seem as though they’re present in his peripheral, not worth so much as curious look because he knows there’s no one there – there never is. 

Despite his best efforts to tape himself together with duties and vows and obligations, a poorly constructed dam couldn’t hold forever – the first sign of water and destruction was inevitable. 

He hadn’t known when it started, the unwelcome wetness that ran down his cheeks like an shame riddled baptism, it’s presence alone angering him. Throat sore and eyes closing tight as he inhales and wills the tears to stop, his carefully clenched hands separate to form fists, one of which connects with the table top so harshly it causes his glass to jump and then fall. 

(Glass on glass, something cracks – object or man?) 

In that moment he knows he’s the shadow of the man who raised him, disgusted by such a show of weakness, even if it was only on display to himself. He can still hear that voice in his head, his father manipulating his mother tongue and weaponizing it to tell him of all the ways he had disappointed them all from first steps to now. 

(Maksym the first born, Maksym the waste of potential, Maksym the coward.)

His exhale is shaky, his palms resting flat on the table, the left in a puddle of white spirit and the index finger of his right pressing against a shard of broken glass until it hurt. 

A trickle of red lights up the surface of his phone when he realises that he’s not quite sure that this too will pass, as he searches and dials the number of the one person he’s seen in a similarly desolate state. 

(Logic alone is the only defence mechanism he has then, mind suggesting that he wouldn’t judge her and she would grace him the same courtesy.) 

He swallows while he listens to the dial tone, trying to even his tone before he so much as speaks. 

“Sloane, hello. Can you come over? It is fine if you can’t. I am sorry to call so late.”

[waywcrdsons-blog]

Maks couldn’t recall the last time his feet had hit the pavement this hard. A year prior, chasing a dealer for a bust? Longer than that when he had to move faster than he was aware he could to stop his young son from stepping off the pavement into the road? Whenever it was, Maks wished it hadn’t been so long ago, as his heart hammered and sweat pumped from him. 

Cardio was a devious mistress and he had been a celibate man, something his calves, lungs and entire being currently hated him for. He chanced looking over his shoulder once, to see if the burly man who had loudly and proudly stated his intention of ripping your fucking head off you Ruski cunt. 

(He wasn’t even Russian.) 

When it became clear to him that his lower half wouldn’t carry him much further and the balding white Hulk was still on his pursuit, he thought fast and did the one thing he could do - bungled himself into the passenger side of a car that had been pulling out and hoped to sweet fuck that whoever was in the driving seat wasn’t carrying. 

“Drive.” He instructed, not so much a threat as it was an out of breath request, his head turned again to watch the corner from the window for his pursuer. 

“Drive, drive, drive and I will explain. I’m not stealing you.”

[waywcrdsons-blog]

* some things are long forgotten. | headcanon three.

With minimal exposure to the English language until he was forced to learn at fourteen due to his parents move to America, Maks found he got a grasp on it semi-well. It took a while, but once he used a certain word or phrase a few times generally it stuck for it. 

Except for one word. Picture. 

No matter how many times he tried, if he was using the word in passing and didn’t stop to think about it, it always came out the same way -- pi-kip-ture. 

(Still to this day, if he says the word too fast, that middle p sneaks it’s way in where it’s not wanted.) 

[waywcrdsons-blog]

i’ve turned all my sorrow to glass / it don’t leave no shadow.

Undetermined attempt number, found in a leather bound notebook, words scribbled out and edited. Unfinished.

My Nicholas, 

If you are reading this then I am no longer with you. I’ve always felt I wasn’t long for this earth, something I have always faced head on without fear or worry, until you came into the world. 

Being your father has been the only real, great privilege in my life. Something I have treasured since I first held you in my arms. I know I haven’t always been the kind you deserved, but I made the best of what little I could offer to you. 

At the time of writing this, it’s been just over a year and a half since the last time I saw you. You will not remember me, but I remember you. I remember your sweet laugh, your obsession with bubblegum lollies that turned your mouth blue and made your mother unhappy with me for giving them to you, how you call soccer football as I taught you. 

Small things, insignificant in the grander scheme, but they mean everything to me. 

It’s these memories that help me get up in the morning, and the hope that I will reunite with you soon. I’m sorry that did not happen. I went away because I tried to put our family back together, I’m sure it will not appear that way. 

You were named after my brother, my only other living relative. You never knew him, but you share his spirit. I knew it from the moment you took your first steps. Most children walk towards their father, you walked away from me. Curious and brave and bold, and ever the cause of my worries. 

I hope you will have a good life. Live loud and love sincerely, be the man you wish to be, even if it does not fit with what people expect of you. Be kind to your mother, she loves you more than you could ever understand. 

You will always be my heart.

Your father, 

Maksym Petran 

[waywcrdsons-blog]

never break | langhorne slim. 

i've been wounded / but i promise you this / you will never break me / love is the buddha / the christ on the cross / angels are weeping / their tears are for us / lies of our kind / well it comes at a cost / let's fall in love with our telephones off.

[waywcrdsons-blog]

@celiaem

“Sorry to barge in,” Maks apologised, even though he had arrived before she had and was sat there waiting for her. The blue sling he had been wearing had been removed from his arm and was folded neatly -- as neatly as possible with one hand -- on his lap as he sit in anticipation of his friend’s arrival. 

It was by her deft hand that the puncture wound on his shoulder (courtesy of the ill fated house party he regretted attending) wouldn’t scar much, and certainly wouldn’t leave as ugly a blemish on his skin as the healed bullet hole wound on his chest had. 

The pain was still present, but it was manageable and only flared up when he was doing something taxing on the area. Such as a few minutes prior, when he had removed his t-shirt awkwardly while alone to make the process of examination smoother. 

Sporting a pair of comically red ears, there was nothing else about him that indicated how self-conscious he felt at that moment. Thankfully. 

“Thought you might take a look at this. Make sure my arm won’t suddenly fall off.”

[waywcrdsons-blog]

[text] I want you to be happy. Saks

MORE TEXTS FOR YOU BITCHES | ACCEPTING.

[ MAKS ] — 📱: You texted me so how could I be anything but happy. 

[ MAKS ] — 📱: 🙂

[waywcrdsons-blog]

connection | onerepublic. 

These days my waves get lost in the oceans Seven billion swimmers, man I'm going through the motions Sent up a flare, I need love and devotion Traded for some faces that I never know, notion Maybe I should try to find the old me Take me to the places and the people that know me Tryin' to disconnect, thinking maybe you could show me If there's so many people here, then why am I so lonely?

[waywcrdsons-blog]

A trembling hand was placed over where a recently yanked out shard of glass had pierced at his shoulder. The warmth of his own blood pumping from a deep open wound and coating his cold clammy fingers didn’t register with him, instinct all that was telling him to put pressure on the wound rather than logic. 

It was as though there was a detach between his body and brain, one moved while the other had come to a crashing halt. 

(Shock was a hell of a trip.) 

His feet were carrying him through the mansion, the first blast had been responsible for the nasty impact to his presumably broken nose, while the second had sent the piece of glass flying through skin.

His lower half remained all but untouched, making it possible for him to walk zombielike through the wake of disaster, his mouth mumbling the one word his mind could conjure like a mantra. 

“Niko, Niko, Niko.”

His younger brother never missed a party, it was the only reason Maks was in attendance. He had to find him, he would walk the walls until he did or he dropped -- whichever came first. 

[waywcrdsons-blog]

⋆ ◦ ° ☾ henry cavill + cismale + he/him — have you met maksym petran? they are a thirty eight years old known around town as the the prevaricator. they’ve been in the gang life for two months, and currently work for the gang as a soldier, as well as a private investigator. they are a bisexual gemini, which means they are protective + level headed, as well as stubborn + secretive. faded bullet hole scar, worry lines, frayed photographs. × tony. twenty five. he/him. gmt. 

hey there! i’m tony. i’m 25. irish. generally a mess but sure look, who isn’t. i’ve managed to get mamma mia! here we go again (2018) to step off my neck long enough to free up one of my two braincells to let me figure this lad out and i’m very excited to write him with you all. 

                                                         ABOUT.

Maksym Hadeon Petran -- goes by Maks.

Born in May in 1980 in Kiev, Ukraine to Adrian and Vivianna. 

Older brother of Nikolas Petran. 

Father to Nicholas Petran (5).

 Moved to Valdez, Colorado with his family when he was 14 years old. Initially, he found it difficult to acclimate to life in a new town, in a strange land, but gradually he began to get used to it. Unlike his father, he was a free thinker with dreams bigger than that of a company man. 

He was out of Valdez and out of the family home as soon as he got his college acceptance letter, leaving barely a trace of himself behind as he set off to Seattle on a scholarship. He did fairly well despite English being his second language, but he dropped out of college in his second year to pursue a career in law enforcement. 

This was the same year that he was woken up at 3am by a phone call from a sympathetic voice telling him they were sorry to call so late, but something horrible has happened. Both his parents slain like pigs in their home, leaving him and his brother orphans. Despite his intentions to look after Niko himself, it was too late by the time he had returned, Balthazar Caito had gotten his hooks into him deep and with nothing to offer him, he resolved to leave him there until he got his life together and then he would return for his only remaining family. 

Maks kept his head down and relocated to Kansas so he could at least feel he was nearby and got a job as a police officer, rising up the ranks to detective. While he loves his work, another part of him wondered if it was a final of rebellion against his father -- what was more of a fuck you to the son of a criminal than that same criminal in a badge and blues putting away guys who were like the man who raised him? 

But for the most part, Maks has a strong moral compass and a clear idea in his mind of what’s right and what’s wrong, and he settled into this job well. It was easy to forget his roots when faced with a new life and a path that he chose to walk instead of being told was what he had to do but there was one piece of his past he couldn’t leave behind -- his brother. 

The weeks meshed into years before he knew it, his career remaining steady and the fulfilment he got from it like no other. The idea of reaching out became more difficult as time got the better of him. He kept track of Niko, of course he did, but he had been taught well and it grew harder and harder to get information on him. 

Until one fateful evening when assisting on a narcotics case with one of his detectives he spotted a familiar face in a photograph. Older than he remembered and rough around the ages, the grainy CCTV screen capture bore an image of his brother with the words PERSON OF INTEREST underlined in bold red letters beneath. 

This discovery was what lit a fire beneath him, despite the life he had made for himself in Kansas, he knew that the time had come when he had no choice but to go back for his brother. This departure was made equally as difficult by the fact he wasn’t just leaving behind a job but a little boy too, with eyes as blue as his and a name he shared with his long lost uncle. 

Telling himself it was in his boys best interest did nothing to soothe the ache that it caused in him, but he couldn’t be deterred. His return to Valdez was done quietly, getting the lay of the land and a feel for the town again. Rather than join the police force in his “homestate” he had quit altogether, electing instead to set up his own private investigation business which allowed for him to continue to gather intel without raising too many suspicions. 

Six months after he moved back he made it known that he wished to take what he called his rightful place in the organization. With two parents who had given their life for the cause, he was sure that his long sabbatical on the moral high road could be overlooked with some useful information that only someone who had walked down the roads he had could provide. 

He’s been a soldier for the past two months, deliberate in his attempt to not make too many waves as he tries to toe a dangerous line between a good man and a good soldier. 

                                                         PERSONALITY. 

While Maks can be withdrawn and sullen, for the most part he projects himself as easy going. A pathological liar, he’s gotten used to having to tell fib after fib since his return, which has gotten easier with each time he’s had to do it. Slow to drinker and never one to dabble in using drugs, he likes to keep a clear head about him at all times -- it was safer that way. 

Stubborn to a fault, he can be hotheaded when pressed despite trying to remain reserved. He’s deeply devoted to his family, to the point where he’ll let other personal connections wither if his brother or his son need him. They’ll always come first. 

                                                         WANTED CONNECTIONS. 

These aren’t fleshed out yet, but I’ll send them to the main when they are! The general gist of them would be:

GHOSTS OF THE PAST -- those who would remember him from age 14-18 as a quiet Ukranian teenage boy with a funny accent and broken English at first. Could be friends, lovers, enemies. Pretty much open to anything. 

KNOWING ME, KNOWING YOU -- His baby mamaaaa. I’m keeping that as vague as possible but he would have met her in Kansas sometime six years ago. Could have been earlier and they could have been a relationship, could have been a one night stand that resulted in a son. This one would have to be discussed && plotted in great detail because aside from Niko it would be the most central personal relationship in his life. Could be unrequited feelings, antagonistic as shit, exes with feelings. I’m breeeeezy. 

MONEY, MONEY, MONEY -- people who work in Valdez with connections with law enforcement out of state. Maybe they worked a case or two in Kansas? Maybe they interacted at out of state meetings? Worked together on cross state cases? Maybe they know the extent of his career as a police officer and realise what a fun blackmail opportunity could be given his current attempt at gang life.

YES two out of three of them are song ABBA song titles. and YES i am deeply sorry for that. if any of these interest u or u just wanna yell at me about life, dogs or the mamma mia franchise my ims are open and or feel free to add me on discord @ -- can you hear the drums fernando?#0510 (i know that’s another one... meryl streep pay for my therapy 2k18.)