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wandering-travesty · 3 years

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Call Me By Your Name

You weren’t sleezy. That was just a word idiots used to try and pull you down to their level. Yes, your hair was slicked back. Yes, your eyeshadow was dark as the night. Yes, your suit jacket barely covered your chest. Yes, your nails were painted black and sharp as daggers. But, no, you weren’t sleezy. You were dressed for your job. What was your job? Well, that was a bit more complicated….

“I need you to get close to him.” Erwin said coolly, stubble covered chin resting on his strong hands.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, genuinely hoping you had too much wax lodged in your ear canals.

“You heard him.” You met the glare of the midget standing behind your boss.

“Okay, smartass, I did. But you can’t be serious, boss! He’s beyond dangerous. Shouldn’t someone like,” you gestured in Levi’s direction, “one of the Ackermans take care of this? I’m not discounting myself or anything, but fucking with a Yeager is basically a suicide mission.” You were actually shocked Erwin asked you to do something so important. More so, dangerous. You weren’t exaggerating when you said it was a death sentence. You’d lost enough comrades to know that.

“Listen, he’s the key to taking down the Marlian Syndicate.” You knew that, but still, this seemed out of left field. “The Ackermans are strong, yes, but they lack a certain…”

“They’re not ready to whore themselves out. Just say that, Smith.” You understood now. The Ackermans were cold blooded killers ready to strike at any moment. However, they were awkward and completely inept at things like lust and heated and frankly revolting rendezvous. That was how he wanted you to get information for him.

Erwin wanted you to fuck the leader of the Marlian Syndicate.

“I wouldn’t use that wording exactly, but your assumption is correct.” Levi couldn’t seem to meet your gaze, but Erwin continued to stare straight into your soul. He was the leader of La Peste Eldienne (The Eldian Plague) for a reason. Strong, debonair, charming, and slightly insane. He could down a beer in one swig, sip a martini all night long, or abstain from alcohol completely. Whatever he needed to do, he did. He murdered, sent the idiotic young and the hopeless old to their deaths just the same, and could absolutely wine and dine a stranger until their clothes practically flew off their body if it was for the cause. You needed to be like that. Especially at a time like this.

“I’ll do it. And I’ll do it well.” You assured your boss and his partner. Yeah, this would be easy. You could go low as the scum you were about to completely fuck over. You had been climbing up the ranks as of late, so this would be easy as pie.

Before going on your little date: you made a mental note of the main players you would have to deal with. The list you had went something like this:

Porco Galliard: Complete idiot. All brawn, no brain. Basically a bouncer with a fancier jacket and a higher salary. No worries about him doing anything funny.

Pieck Finger: The sweet little thing they kept around for good reason. Part of you wished you had to deal with her instead. She was witty and had a surprising amount of control over the shipments of cocaine and ammunition that went on about the city. Her pretty face and calm demeanor hid her true genius. She was one of the more concerning figures at tonight’s gig, but also one of the one’s more willing to hear you out before killing you.

Colt Grice: Basically a smarter but weaker version of Galliard. He was really only part of the Syndicate to learn from the best and become a great mafioso one day. You had high hopes for him, despite yourself.

Bertholdt Hoover: A freakishly tall mix of the last three members of the gang. So sweaty and shaky he wasn’t allowed to handle guns under any circumstance. That told you all you needed to know about his threat level.

Annie Leonhardt: Tiny, quiet ball of rage and skill. Could murder you in an instant, but would only do so if ordered. Not a concern unless someone else found you out, or you didn’t like being glared at all night.

Reiner Braun: His personality changed with the passing minutes. Could be calm and almost kind, or could snap your neck like a twig in his giant ass hand. He was a wildcard, and a dangerous one. Though he was obsessed with following orders and being the perfect little soldier boy, so you didn’t need to worry about him if no one told him to start shooting.

Yelena: Even more freakishly tall than Hoover. Also freakishly obsessed with the gang leader and his “master plan”, whatever the hell that was. Maybe you would find out tonight. Anyways, she would only do anything if you threatened the boss in any way. If you did your job right, that wouldn’t be an issue.

Eren Yeager: Easily the most brash and idiotic member of the gang. His problem was that he was trigger happy. In this business, trigger happy meant dozens of dead innocents piled up on the club floor in an instant. You had to be careful around him. Unlike most of the others, he would kill you without thinking.

And the top dog. The man of the hour. The man you had to seduce:

Zeke Yeager: Think Erwin but with more wit and charm. Not to mention more of a sadistic mindset. His favorite game was cat and mouse, seeing how long it took before he had a good excuse to have someone drawn and quartered. His expertise was slow torture that the victim didn’t even really know was happening before the barrel of the gun was already pointed to their temple. And you had to fuck him so stupid he leaked confidential information.

The only other issue with Zeke was his habit of sleeping around. Yes, he was a tramp by most standards. A harlot with exotic tastes. You had heard stories of him seducing women and men alike, and god only knew what they did once he succeeded. What that meant for you was he would be hard to impress.

So, you were here to beat him at his own game. And if you were found out, his younger brother would most likely shoot you on the spot. That was, if one of the others did it first. Or even worse, Zeke decided to be a tried and true asshole and torture you to death. The options were endless, and you hated them all.

So there you sat, ass perched on a bar stool, sipping on a gin rickey and waiting for your opportunity. The room smelled strongly of tobacco, rum, and cinnamon. At least you would die surrounded by what you loved, you thought, laughing grimly to yourself. Men and women danced to slow songs you faintly recognized. The air buzzed with haughty laughter and upper class small talk. You barely had any idea how to interact with high society shitheads as high and mighty as the ones Yeager surrounded himself with. You weren’t often sent out to jobs like this. You were like Levi, born in the slums and never taught how to properly behave. You knew what you had to, much like your knowledge of the goings on of La Peste Eldienne. You knew your gang traded drugs, ammunition, and whatever else was a hot commodity at the time, but nothing other than that. You were actually quite glad to know nothing, since that made you a pretty unimportant person to rival gangs. Not as many death threats and kidnapping attempts came your way, unlike the ones Erwin, Hange, and Levi got every day. You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts on the gang hierarchy.

“Excuse me, miss. The boss wants to chat with ya’ real quick.” A man with greasy hair and green, catlike eyes softly gripped your shoulder. Considering what you knew of Galliard, you figured that grip wouldn’t be soft for much longer if you didn’t do as he suggested.

“Oh, alright. Did he happen to mention why?” You were genuinely curious. Porco didn’t offer you any solid answer, but there was a reasonable explanation.

Zeke wanted to get his rocks off. Parties could be interesting, with the right people, of course. The right people hadn’t happened to show up that night. You, on the other hand, seemed interesting. To be frank, you were gorgeous. Even from a distance, he could tell there was something behind your eyes that spelled trouble. He loved people like you. Vicious, cunning, witty, all hidden behind an uninterested and bored demeanor. Those were the people he wanted around him. The best examples were Pieck, and surprisingly, Levi. They seemed to be completely different people than the ones hiding behind their eyes, and Zeke loved to see how long it took to break them down. Well, he was a bit kinder to Pieck, but you and Ackerman got the rough treatment.

“Zeke, what the hell’re you doin’?” Eren pulled him out of his rather disgusting thoughts of…things better left unsaid.

“I’m going to talk to a woman, Eren. What does it seem like I’m doing?” Zeke had a sharp tongue and quick wit, which he didn’t spare even his brother from.

“I get that, but why that one? She seems…shady t’me. I wouldn’t let ‘er get too close, y’know?”

“Eren, please be rational.” Zeke held a palm out in front of Eren, as if to physically stop his train of thought. “You and Yelena will shoot at the first sign of danger, so inviting this lovely woman to join us for a harmless chat isn’t a danger in the slightest.” Zeke reassured his brother, neglecting to tell him his true intentions. He was sure that would just make him more upset and skittish, which was dangerous for everyone there.

“’Kay, boss. Got the dame ya’ asked for.” Porco trudged to the brothers’ secluded table with you in tow. He had kept one hand on your shoulder and the other right above your ass. The two main reasons being: one, he didn’t want someone so seemingly important to escape his grip, and two, you had a nice ass.

“Ah, thank you Galliard…you can let her go now.” He gave Porco a knowing smirk. He let you go immediately and walked away, cheeks slightly reddened. Zeke didn’t want someone else touching his new toy.

“I’m sorry if this comes off as rude, but did you need something from me? That man made me leave my gin at the bar and I would like to finish it at some point.” Oh, Zeke was going to love you. You weren’t flighty or scared in the slightest. He knew you had seen some serious shit. Not to mention how you cared more about your alcohol than a dangerous mafia boss and his younger brother ordering you over to their table. You were attractive and relatable. What a catch.

“My apologies, Galliard tends to be a bit, how do you say, brutish. Feel free to order something new and sit down with us.” He gave you a smile that told you it wasn’t a suggestion. This guy was already just as bad as everyone had told you. He hailed a waiter over to the table. You knew that wasn’t some kind gesture, rather a show of how much power he had over everyone there. His long, thick fingers and suave smile also showed you how easily swayed you could be by dashing looks and raw power.

He held himself like a king but talked like a philosopher. At the same time, he was down to earth yet still slightly condescending. You never knew where you stood with him, and he liked it that way. His flaxen hair was parted down the middle, and unlike most of the men there along with yourself with their hair hardened with pomade, it was fluffy and moved as he gestured wildly when he spoke. He tended to talk with his hands, once again drawing attention to just how attractive they were. His face was indescribably beautiful. His eyes were like stormy oceans cascading with passion and intrigue. His lips looked soft and plush with a wonderful roseate hue. His beard was well groomed and framed his sharp jaw perfectly. His gold rimmed glasses had a habit of hiding his eyes when thrown into direct light, which often happened with how he talked with his whole body. The way he constantly made direct eye contact with you had you lost in a daze of desire and fear. Was this all some sick ploy to get you to slip up and get everyone you loved killed along with yourself? Or was he seriously that interested in you?

Eren was quiet most of the time, unless Zeke spoke to him. He didn’t like you. You were too similar to Zeke for his tastes.

“Say, Eren, could you pass me a smoke?”

“Oh, so you do have vices. See, you never ordered a drink for yourself, so I assumed you were a man above pleasures of the flesh.” You flashed a toothy grin at him, signaling that it was just playful banter. You two were both rather good at that.

“My dear, the more you get to know me, the better you will understand just how enthralled with earthly pleasures I am.” He winked, and it sent you to the moon with want. How could a man be so gorgeous, charming, dangerous, and sadistic all at the same time? And why did you have to deal with it? You needed him out of his right mind, but it seemed like that could never happen. Whether it came from alcohol, drugs, or sex. You planned to use a mixture of all three. As you continued your playful jabs and taunts at each other, you found your opportunity to seal the deal. One sniff of the white stuff and he was putty in your hands.

“Now you know, Mr. Yeager, gin isn’t my only vice.” You kept your usual sly tone.

“Oh really? That is quite the interesting thing to say.” He matched your energy perfectly. This was too good.

“Have you ever happened to try, well, what do they call it these days? Well, I tend to call it blow. Snow, stardust, snort, sugar, crack, whichever you prefer, I suppose.” Oh, how brave of you to mention your own trade to your top competitor.

“Why, yes, I have indeed partook in snorting blow. Is there any reason as to why you’re asking me that right now, darling?” You wished he would stop with the pet names. Or rather, you wished you would stop loving them so much. It felt dirty to enjoy your enemy’s company to this extent.

“Well, I was wondering if you might like to sneak off and try some of my personal mix.” You leaned in close, covering the side of you mouth with your hand. Eren wasn’t a bad kid or anything, but he’d mess with your plan, and you couldn’t have that. Especially not with his slippery ass trigger finger.

“Your own personal mix, eh? Don’t tell me you’re involved in the trade, now.” He leaned in just shy of touching your lips. “That wouldn’t be very good for either of us, sweetheart.” That’s it, you were fucking this man if it was part of your plan or not. The entire thing could go south, and you’d still want this man’s dick in your mouth. You didn’t really care anymore. He was too hot to handle, and you were this close to cracking under the pressure. Zeke was right, you were fun to play with.

“Not at all, I just happen to know the right people.” You grinned at him, knowing you technically weren’t lying. It was your own little inside joke, or so you thought.

The next thing you knew you were in Zeke’s penthouse, smashed up against the wall with a hand around your neck. By all accounts, this is what you wanted, but it was also quite the opposite.

“Dearest, I find it insulting that you think I would fall for that pitiful act.” He had you figured out from the moment you walked in. Zeke Yeager never forgot a pretty face. He’d wanted to have you naked in his bed for months, and here you were, all helpless and needy. You were adorable, thinking you could get whatever you wanted from him.

“Smith was a fool to send anyone, let alone a little minx like you.” You hated how good being insulted by this bitch felt. How did he make it so that your panties got wetter every time he called you a different synonym for whore? It was so awful and so amazing.

“I’m the slut, yet you’re the one actively trying to fuck me? Do I have that right?” You quipped the best you could from under the pressure of his strong hand.

“Alright then, we’re both sluts. But the difference between us is that I admit it, yet you pretend to be this perfect little princess in order to fuck powerful men like me.” His grip on your neck tightened as if to add injury to insult.

“Don’t insult me,” you had to catch your breath between each word, “I fuck men ten times more powerful than you.” But, god was it worth it. You figured he might slap you or otherwise reprimand you, but no, the bastard just smiled wide. What a fucking asshole.

“Maybe to you.” He widened his cheshire grin. “Maybe you think Erwin’s more powerful. That he has a bigger cock and sucking it will get you further in life.” He pushed you further into the wall. “Or maybe letting Ackerman smack your ass will earn you some cash. Or having Zacharius sniff around your cunt instead of your neck will rise you up the ranks, hmm?” You just grimaced at him, knowing none of it was true. “Or maybe,” he let out a chuckle, “letting Zoe do whatever the hell they’re into will get you more coke and gin.” He was mocking you, ruthlessly, with no signs of stopping, and without letting you get a word in. You were starting to see black spots in your line of vision.

“Well, fucking with me will get you much more, angel.” He finally let your neck go, letting you fall to the ground, left to look up at the devil in front of you.

“You fucking suck.” You glared at him, not necessarily trying to hide how much you were enjoying this. As it happened, you weren’t some innocent angel. No, you weren’t a sadistic maniac like Zeke, but you knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t necessarily vanilla. As if reading your earlier thoughts, he bent down to your place on the floor.

He slapped you, and it wasn’t gentle.

“You’re a sloppy whore on your best days, now get up and strip.” Well if worst came to worst, you could say that you got him where you wanted him…just not exactly how you wanted him, or with a guarantee you would get what you wanted out of him. Honestly, you felt kind of flattered by his attention and apparent need to fuck you.

“God, do I have to do everything for you, sweetheart?” Apparently you had been standing around catching your breath too long for his liking. He had made quick work of his own jacket, shirt, and dress pants, leaving him in a black pair of boxers. You hated admitting how magnificent he looked. He was muscular, but not in the same way someone like Reiner or Erwin was. Every single limb on him was lengthy and wiry, thus the bruise marks forming on your neck. While on the subject of length, from what you could see, it applied to his cock as much as it did his other appendages. If it looked that good through the black fabric, you couldn’t even dream of what it would look like out in the open, slapping against his defined v-line and abs.

You hadn’t even noticed him getting closer to you, completely forgetting about his earlier demand turned complaint.

“Not only are you a harlot, you’re a useless one, as well.” He came close enough for you to smell the hints of smoke, pine, and black tea that wafted off of him. He started playing with the collar of your shirt. “But damn if you aren’t a pretty one…” He said that more to himself than you, clearly not being comfortable complimenting you. He saw you as a toy, a pawn in his game of chess he was playing with the rest of the world.

You decided that would be your last deep thought as he began to undress you. Nimbly moving his fingers down each button of your dress shirt, until it came completely undone and bore your chest to him. You were by no means flat, which seemed to entertain the man in front of you.

“I knew you’d be the perfect slut for me.” He groped your breasts through your bra, hands greedy with the clear goal of making you yearn for him. “Perfect tits, soft skin, pretty face, nice ass, strong will. Yeah, you’ll be fun to break.” He gave you one of his signature smirks, making you want to crush his windpipe and deepthroat his dick at the same time.

You shrugged your top off your shoulders and let him snake his arms around your chest to undo your bra and expose your tits to the cool air of the room. He didn’t waste time kissing your filthy mouth, and instead skipped straight to your sensitive neck. He slowly dragged his soft lips down your throat, kissing his way over to both sides and under your jaw. He licked and sucked at any area that made you gasp or let out some embarrassing little noise you tried to desperately to hide. He hated how you hid, he needed you to need him, to want him at a level beyond human comprehension. He wanted to destroy you, do break you down to your most animalistic and pitiful form. You were strong, that was for damn sure, but he wanted to fix that.

He took all this into account as he began nipping at the tops of your breasts. He moved from one to the other with no clear pattern. He dragged his tongue down to your right nipple, only touching the tip of his tongue to it, making you shiver in anticipation and let out a small whine. Yes, that was the progress he wanted to see from you. He swirled his tongue around it, slowly making his way to the center, harshly sucking it into his mouth. He pulled his sinful mouth away from you, leaving a trail of saliva connecting him to you. He quickly made his way to your other nipple, doing the same and driving you just as wild.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to make more noise, darling.” He teased, sounding genuinely annoyed with you.

“Well, maybe if you did a better job, I would be louder.” You had discovered your talent of keeping up with his smart mouth, and you used it to your advantage. You wanted to rile him up; to get a rise out of him. As previously stated, you didn’t want a vanilla little love making session, you wanted to fuck.

“Alright then, if you’re so keen on keeping quiet,” he put his rough hands on your bare shoulders, pushing you back onto the ground, this time on your knees, “how about I stuff that mouth?” You hated how good he was at turning you on.

He pulled his dick out right in front of your face, letting it lay on his toned abs, just as you had envisioned it. It was easily 10 inches long, 5 inches thick, with a slight upturn that could drive you insane if it hit the right spots, which it would. It was flushed pink and dripping pre-cum; it was pretty.

“Well, are you just going to gawk at it or are you going to make yourself useful, slut?” The sweet pet names were out the window, swiftly replaced with the most debasing insults he could think of. To avoid any more of his smart ass remarks, you took his thick cock in your hands. You slowly stroked it, taking in exactly how big it was. You moved your plush lips closer, giving it a few small kitten licks to test the waters. You kissed the head and gave longer licks up the side, earning a grunt or two from the man above you. As you began to swirl your tongue around his tip, his strong hand came down and pushed on the back of your head. It wasn’t gentle, forcing you to take him down your throat. Considering his size, it was no shock that you choked on it at first, but he kept his hand on your hair, forcing you to stay on him.

“That’s it, sweetheart, keep that dirty mouth on fat cock.” Tears starting pooling in your eyes as you struggled to breath around his length. “Aww, are you actually crying?” He cooed, taking sick pleasure in mocking you. “How pathetic of you, darling.” His words send shockwaves of shame and pleasure down to your core. You abhorred how badly you needed him inside of you. As he let out a low moan, he pulled you off his cock, tugging your hair just enough to make you even wetter.

“Alright, angel. I’m not a big fan of blowjobs, so we’ll leave it at that.” You coughed a little as he bent down to your heaving form.

“Really? That’s a shock.” That was your genuine reaction. You were far too fucked out to be a smart ass at this point.

“Yeah, you’re not the first to make that observation.” Much to your surprise, he picked you up bridal style, barely breaking a sweat in the process of getting you to his bedroom. Though the lights were on, you couldn’t take in many details, your cock drunk state making it difficult to process anything other than the warm, bare skin of the monster you tried so hard to vanquish.

“Now, lets get these cute little panties off, hmm?” You had forgotten him taking off your pants in the heat of the moment. His menacing figure loomed overtop of you, slowly sinking down to your thighs. He placed licks and kisses all over them, leaving a few bite marks along with them. You moaned louder than before, feeling too blissed out to care about your pride. You felt large, tepid fingers hooking themselves between your legs and into your panties. He pulled them to the side, wanting to really take you in. Despite his lust for power and dominance, he much preferred giving head to receiving it, especially when it came to women and their soft, tender pussies. You were no exception to this rule.

“Goddamn you’re fucking wet.” You looked up at you, making you lean your head back to avoid his gaze. “You must like me more than you care to admit, sweetie.” Just after saying this, he ran one long finger up your dripping slit, coating his fingertip in your slick. He looked at it shimmering in the low light of the room, grinning before taking it into his mouth and tasting what your cunt had to offer.

“You taste like heaven. Surprising, considering what a nasty girl you are.” Unlike you, he could keep that smartass act up for hours on end, no matter how lost in your sex he was. He landed a chaste kiss to your throbbing heat before flattening his tongue to lick a fat stripe up the middle. He began to devour you, making the lewdest noises you had ever heard in the process. You felt amazing, and disgusting, and just about every other emotion you had ever felt in your life. He was a god at eating your pussy, feeling no remorse in having his lips and beard dripping with your juices. To hell with the burn marks he left on your thighs and the burning sense of guilt you had for moaning so loud and creaming all over the face of your greatest enemy. Shame and guilt were for foolish children with no place in the world, Zeke wanted to enjoy every last second of destroying you.

As he continued to lick and suck at your most sensitive spots, you began to feel your stomach tighten, signaling your closeness. Zeke noticed as well, taking note of your erupting moans and groans and tugs at his silky hair. He moaned on your clit, the vibrations sending you over the edge. You came all over his face, arching your back of the soft sheets and making you scream his name. He kept his lips attached to your clit as you came down from your high, keeping you ensnared in his trap of bliss.

“God, you moan like a fucking whore, you know that?” The way he insulted you felt disgustingly good, especially coming from such a obnoxiously handsome man.

“And you eat pussy like a god.” The veil of hatred came off in one foul swoop. You couldn’t hold back how you truly felt about Zeke Yeager. You were in love with the way he treated you, and spoke to you, and ate you, and soon enough, fucked you. He was so damn good, and you just hated to love and loved to hate him.

“Oh, do I now?” He let out a low chuckle, taking pride in how helpless and stupid he had made you. “Does that make me your god, pet?” It wasn’t a real question. He knew the answer, and he loved that answer: yes.

“Now, how about I partake in some earthly pleasures and fuck your brains out, sweetheart?” He questioned, moving his arms up to rest on both sides of your head. His face was right above yours, lips hovering over your breathless, panting ones.

“Yes, please.” Your eyebrows scrunched together as you grew impatient and needy as all hell. Zeke had a sinister idea. God was a nice term, but he could think of a better one.

“How about you beg daddy for it?” He was such a disgusting pervert, and he relished in it. You mustered all the strength you could in order to speak.

“Please fuck my pussy, daddy.” That was all he needed to push himself inside your tight heat. Your walls clenched as he thrusted balls deep inside of you, not caring if you needed to adjust or not. Luckily, you didn’t, despite his size.

“Fuck yes, angel. You’re so goddamn tight.” He thrusted into you with reckless abandon, using you more than making love to you, which is exactly what you both wanted. Your walls clenched and throbbed as he brought you to orgasm once again.

“Cumming all over my cock, sweetheart? Such a dirty whore.” He teased, continuing his motions, hitting your g-spot over and over again without much issue. His dick was perfect, reaching every inch of you that made you scream out in pleasure and overstimulated bliss. All of this for a few bags of cocaine and bullets. You weren’t even thinking of that as he pounded into you, getting rougher and sloppier than before. He was getting close to his own high just as you were about to reach your third. No one had ever made you feel like this. You never wanted to let him go. Fuck everyone you cared about, this was too damn good to throw away.

“Where do you want my cum, slut?” He asked seconds before climaxing.

“Wherever you want it, daddy.” That was exactly what he wanted to hear. You had been molded into the perfect toy for him, even if it was just for the moment. He had debased and perverted you, like putty in his hands. You thought you could just waltz in there and take what you wanted from him. But no, instead you were writhing around on his bed with his fat cock filling up your pussy while you screamed for your daddy. You were filthy, slutty perfection. He quickly pulled out of you and shot his cum on your stomach and chest. Noticing you were still squirming around, he pushed his thumb to your clit and rubbed circles as two of his fingers entered you and hit your sweet spot.

“Come on, slutty girl, cum for daddy.” This time felt different than the others. You were completely out of your mind with pleasure and lust, and he was hitting just the right spots. You came around his fingers, squirting your juices and ruining his sheets. As if he could sense it, he had moved his face down just in time for it to reach his mouth, coating yet another layer of your cum on his beard. He licked his lips, savoring you taste and the blissed out, fuck drunk look on your face. He wished he could keep you like this forever. No, he would make sure to keep you like this forever. You were going to be his for the rest of time, no matter what it took. Even if he had to play the long game and pretend you had a choice in the matter.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m afraid you have to go home empty handed. I’m sure those tarts will just pat you on the head and congratulate you for trying your best. That’s why they’ll never surpass me, and that’s why you will come crawling back to me.” You couldn’t respond, too disappointed and drained to say a word.

“I have a shower that I recommend you use.” He looked down at you, your eyes hazy and barely focused on him. You were completely exposed to him. You looked beautiful. “In an act of civility, I’ll let you sleep here tonight. On a different bed, of course, considering the damage you’ve done.” You laughed at that, and he followed suite.

“You know Zeke, for a monster, you’re not too bad.” You looked at him, admiration clear in your eyes.

“You’re not too unbearable either.”

#aot smut #snk smut #zeke yeager smut #zeke jeager x reader #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jeager smut #tw: drug use #tw: alcohol

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divineluce · 4 years

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An Impasse || Solomon & Luce

Timing: November 13th

Location: The Outskirts

Tagging: @shroomsbysolomon & @divineluce

Description: Solomon and Luce officially meet for the first time. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

For the third night in a row, Luce laced up her shoes and exited the Vural home. Her homecoming had been… rocky at best. A shitshow at worse. And, what with all of the bullshit she’d found out regarding Nadia, Remmy giving her shit for leaving, and the goddamn menagerie of animals in her room, sleeping was pretty much out of the question. Which left her with two options-- hit up Soul and risk running into frankly Frank again, or go for a run. It was a no-brainer. Jogging into the woods, she made her way through the familiar trails that wound their way behind Bea’s home. She’d run them so often that, even after spending a month out of town, she still remembered every curve and turn in the path. It was easy, it was simple, it was going through the motions. She could do that, right? And then, once she could do that, maybe things would get better. As she ran, Luce noticed a figure off the path, illuminated in the waning moonlight and she slowed to a stop. “You lost there?” She asked, squinting through the darkness.

Solomon had a bad habit of losing himself in whatever he was doing, hyper-focusing to the point that he’d forget the world around him until something demanded his attention. In this case, it was an unexpected voice, jarring him out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into and urging him to whip around, clasping his hands behind his back to hide their wooden appearance as he stammered and stalled. “Oh! No, I, uhh…” His struggle to find the right words seemed to lose importance as he took in the visage of the woman on the trail, and something inside of him got all twisted up. It took a few beats for him to be able to place the sudden rush of emotion, not knowing who she was or why he should suddenly feel… fear? But then it came to him, and all at once, that fear was intermingling with anger. “You,” he grumbled, standing up from his crouch and taking a step toward her. He’d seen what she had done in the forest… and the only reason she still stood was because he had also witnessed her pitiful attempt at making amends. It was enough to stay his hand, but the bitter tang of resentment never left his tongue. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, burning the woods like you did.” His typically soft voice was harsher now, still low in volume, but it carried a distinct edge. “I’m still trying to repair the landscape. What’s your problem?”

As the man stammered for a moment, Luce rested her hands on her hips, waiting for him to finish his sentence. It was a bit too dark for her to get a good look at him, but she could tell he wasn’t some lost hiker. For one, no one came hiking around here, not at this time of night. For another, if he wasn’t dressed like one. No backpack, no water bottles, nothing like that. But, then he rose and took a step towards her. Instinctively, Luce’s hands curled at her side, the flames that danced in her blood ready to be called at a moment’s notice. “What the fuck is your problem?” She shot back, startled. Burning the woods? For one thing, how did he know about that? For another, which time was he talking about? One of the many rainy nights when she’d hiked out into the middle of nowhere, to practice her flames? Or when she and Anita had run from the shitty moose creature and she’d lit the brush aflame to escape? Or was it the time she’d razed the ground around her and Adam in the wake of Bea’s death? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luce lied smoothly.

“Ooohhh, yes you do,” Solomon snapped, his dark eyes narrowing. “I saw you… fleeing the scene, leaving the poor forest in such a state…” It made his heart ache as he recalled the pain he’d felt that night, the sorrow that rose from the ground as it mixed with ash and embers. He was so in tune with the familiar landscape, so very much a part of it, that any damage it suffered bled over to him. It’s why most things never escaped his knowledge, and why he’d had to bloody his hands over the centuries, stopping men from cutting deeper and spreading further. What he couldn’t mention was how his fear had held him back for the first time — seeing that the woman was controlling the fire and not merely setting it free had stopped him in his tracks. If he died, who knew what would happen to the woods? It was too risky, and the damage had been done, so he’d decided to let her go and tend to the charred earth. Letting out a shaky sigh, Solomon appeared to be trying to calm himself, eyes closing while he regained his composure. “But… I saw you trying to make amends, too, so… I suppose it’s a start.” Peering at her once again, the disguised Leshy lifted a finger to point it at her. “Got my eye on you, though…”

As the man glared daggers at her, Luce kept her gaze level. She didn’t give a shit who this guy thought he was, she’d make his night real fucking bad if he decided to try and pull something. But, when he started yelling at her about fleeing the scene, she blinked in confusion. Was he talking about when she’d blown up the Ring with Erin months ago? Or when she’d tried to blow up the shitty mime restaurant? Christ. She really needed to narrow down her arson attempts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And, even if I did, you’re gonna have to narrow it down.” She said with a shake of her head. The man seemed to be… restraining himself? Like he wanted to move against her? Which would be a bad idea on his part for sure. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you some kind of stalker? Because you picked the wrong girl for that.”

Stalker? Oh. Solomon drew another weary breath, shaking his head as he pushed his anger aside. “The specifics don’t matter, what does matter is your lack of care when it comes to this place.” He gestured vaguely at the trees that surrounded them, letting his gaze slide away from her for the quickest of moments. “Look, I’m just… all I’m asking is for you to please stop burning it down with your fire… hands.” Whatever you’d call that, he wasn’t sure. He’d never really encountered anything like it before, and he didn’t exactly want to make a habit of it, either. “Lot of things live around here, you know, myself included… and we’re not exactly keen on having our home scorched on the regular.” Truth be told, it was something that half the damn town seemed to need to hear, given their track record. It was exhausting work, trying to keep up with every new threat.

“Uh, it sure fucking does if you’ve been following me around like some kind of creep.” Luce said as she continued to stare at the stranger. As he waved around at the forest and then mentioned her firehands, her eyes narrowed. Had he seen her use her magic before? No, he couldn’t have. For one thing, she covered her bases pretty fucking well. And even if he had, why the fuck was he only just now stopping her. “My fire hands? I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, dude.” She said, shaking her head as though he was speaking nonsense. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done or what you think you saw, but you’re mistaken.” She replied. She wasn’t sure what this guy’s deal was, but it was easier to deny this than to deal with the repercussions that came with someone finding out she was magically inclined.

“I’m not following you, I live here,” Solomon grumbled in return. “I see most things that happen, whether folks want me to or not.” Her continued rebuttals only made him growl in frustration, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You make fire. I don’t know how, but you do it in a way that… normal people cannot. Your denial does not change this fact.” He considered for a moment that perhaps she was like him—inclined to keep that aspect of herself secret. “And personally, I’ve nothing to gain from knowing that, I would just like to formally ask you to please stop setting fire to my forest. Take your flames someplace else.” Exasperation radiated off of him, but his gaze was steady. A hundred and fifty years ago, he’d have just slain her on the spot. But… he was trying to be a little kinder about it in this case, especially since she’d come back later to plant seeds. The gesture warranted recognition.

He lived here? In the fucking woods? Because that was any less creepy than the fact he’d watched her here. Luce bristled a little as he continued to speak. He’d seen her conjure the flames. How? She’d had run-ins with people before, but she’d always been careful to make sure there was nothing that could ever tie her to the blazes she started. People could look for the ignition point, search for the match or the lighter that didn’t exist because she was the spark. And yet, this fucker seemed to know exactly what she could do. “Let’s say I can do what you say I can do.” She said before gesturing around to them. “Where else would I do shit? If I could make fire, I’m not exactly going to just light up the Common.” She said, though the corner of her mouth turned at the idea. That would be funny, if only for the irritation it would no doubt cause her mother.

Solomon was, by every account, a very calm and level headed creature. That being said, there was one thing he had almost no patience for, and that was the petulance of a young firestarter. His entire existence revolved around a singular purpose, and he could only bargain for so long with people like her. His anger flared at her casual, careless remark, dark eyes widening slightly in disbelief. “Anywhere else, girl. Have some respect for the natural world — you’d be dead without it.” He’d taken another step toward her by this point, and something in his body language had changed. He moved less like a man, and more like… well, it was hard to say in the dark of night. “Stop killing things and find a way to be useful with your talents, won’t you? You came back to plant seeds, so I know you must feel some amount of remorse. Hold on to that, remember that, and do not light another blaze in these woods ever again. Do you understand me?” He was being rather generous, he thought, but if she pushed him further still, he couldn’t see himself keeping his composure.

At the sound of the word “girl,” Luce’s eyes narrowed. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Folding her arms across her chest, she felt the heat of her body begin to grow and rise with her increasing anger. “Respect for the natural world? You think I don’t have respect for it?” She said with a growl. “Fire is just as natural as anything else here. What happens to a forest that’s overgrown with brush and shrubs? What happens to the trees when they get overcrowded and parasites begin to take over? Overgrowth saps the life right out of the soil just as much as my fire does.” She said before shoving her hand into the soil beneath their feet. Pulling up a handful of loamy soil, she let it sprinkle from her fingers back on the ground. “Ash feeds the forest, makes space for new things to grow. I planted those seeds because it was what should have happened. Death. Rebirth. Life. And death again.” She spat.

“Fire may be natural, but you are not,” Solomon snapped in return. “Forest fires at the hands of humans are anything but natural.” His relationship with humans had been… a bit tumultuous, over the years. While he found them to be an interesting sort, it was true that they had, time and time again, shown him that they cared not for the earth that had so lovingly lifted them from their evolutionary cradle and taught them how to walk. “It is not for you to decide when that cycle will happen, purely because you have no place else to play with your magic. Insolent… insolent, the lot of you!” His voice had raised in volume and boomed unnaturally around them, anger rushing to the forefront as he relived the countless times he’d seen the land ravaged by humans. All across the continent, as he moved from home to home, he’d encountered ones like her. Or at least, the picture of her that was piecing together in his mind’s eye. He’d slaughtered a whole village for poisoning the nearby river, and while that level of unhinged rage was rare for him, it was far from impossible. His glamour flickered, his focus waning as he became more irate with the woman standing before him. “Humans have been nothing but a blight on this world—you’re parasites, feeding off the land while you expand your rotten towns and cities, razing whole forests to the ground without care! That is not the life of someone who has respect for it.”

Unnatural. Yes, because she was unnatural. Who was he to say these things anyways? Obviously not human, but what was he? “You think I play with magic?” Luce said, temper flaring once more. Magic wasn’t a game, it wasn’t some toy to be played with, something casual to be used and forgotten. “Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong about that.” Magic lived in her, it breathed in her, it was a grounding tether of power that challenged her and demanded her to rise to that challenge. His voice rang through the woods, but Luce held her ground. This man-- no, not exactly man, obviously not. Whatever he was, he yelled at her and she resisted the urge to let her flames ignite. It would be so easy, so, so easy to let the blue flames lick the ground and spread. But. It would only be proving him right. Watching him, Luce caught the shimmer to his appearance, saw it shudder and caught a glimpse of what looked like… mushrooms? She couldn’t be sure, because the image disappeared almost as soon as she saw it. “If I’m a parasite, then what does that make you? If I’m so beneath you, what are you?” She asked, goading him on. What did he think he was, some kind of god?

Upset as he’d become, it didn’t matter to Solomon whether or not he’d accurately judged her entire character; he’d seen what he’d seen, and she seemed to think that setting his wood ablaze was a perfectly acceptable way to kill time, so he had no further words for her. His gaze was fixed steadily on her, eyes narrowed into slits as he stared her down furiously. It wasn’t until she called him out, questioning the authenticity of his appearance, that he faltered. Well, it wasn’t so much that she’d seen something—that was happening increasingly often, as of late—but it was her question that had him tripping over his own tongue. “I don’t—that doesn’t matter,” he growled. He didn’t rightly know, since he’d been forced to live alone as little more than a sapling and had never met another of his kind. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you…. and how you really ought to find a better hobby.”

Quirking her eyebrow, Luce heard the misstep in his voice, the falter in his words. “It doesn’t matter?” She repeated, incredulity mixing with venom in her voice. “Oh, so you can dish it but you can’t take it? You can go around, accusing me of being unnatural, calling me out for ‘playing with magic’ but when it gets turned back around, suddenly it doesn’t matter?” She said, nodding. “Well, now, we’re talking about you. Who made you holier than thou? Who crowned you king of the forest? You don’t know anything about what I am, who I am, or what I’m capable of. Because, if you think that me coming out into the forest and setting fire in the middle of thunderstorms is a hobby, you don’t know me as well as you think. Fucking creepy forest stalker or not, you don’t know me.” She shot back.

Frustration was coming off Solomon in waves, brought to life by both his anger with the individual yelling at him, and his own personal battle of not knowing who—or what—he truly was. He always told himself it didn’t matter, but in situations like these, it certainly seemed to. She was right, he didn’t know anything about her, and he’d never allowed himself the patience to try and change that before judging someone. Perhaps… perhaps he ought to give it a try. New millennium, new Solomon, and all that. Waiting until she was done, his gaze averted for the first time since their heated exchange had begun, Solomon interjected with a wavering voice. “If I had a word for it, I’d tell you,” he muttered, the defeat in his tone barely masked by indignation. “All I do know is that I’ve been alive for almost a thousand years, and I’ve always felt compelled to protect my home and my innocent neighbors from people like you.” On the last, accusatory word, Solomon flicked his dark eyes back toward the woman, brow furrowed. “So tell me… why shouldn’t I see you as a threat to the forest? Why should I give you a pass, when I’ve cut others down for smaller offenses?”

“Sounds to me like you should figure your shit out before you go around throwing words like “unnatural” around.” Luce fired back, not giving up any ground in this verbal sparring match. She really didn’t give a fuck who-- or what-- this guy was. She was tired of being used as someone else’s punching bag. She was tired of being the who had to make amends, who had to apologize, who was wrong. “A thousand years? Well, it seems you’re hardly a judge of character if you’ve been around this fucking long and can’t tell the difference between a pyromaniac and someone who gives a shit about this place. Because, this is probably really fucking surprising to you, but I do. I actually do give a shit about this town and this forest and the people who live here. I know these woods, I know the forest, I know the animals who call it home. Maybe not the way you do, but I know them.” She held up her hands, an innocent gesture. “I owned my shit. You saw me plant those seeds, you said it yourself. I destroyed that part of the forest the night that--” She caught herself. This person, creature, whatever. He didn’t need to know why she’d burnt the forest down. Why it had been grief and fear and sorrow that had turned her flames blue, that kept her flames blue. “It happened. And that wasn’t right. So, I went back to make it better as well as I could.”

She was a persistent one, and Solomon could feel that it was wearing him down. This conversation was exhausting, and not doing much more than running in circles, so he caved. Deflating, the fae brought a hand to his forehead and let himself slump against the tree behind him. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered in annoyance, shaking his head. “While I can’t imagine that something would ever drive me to hurt this place like you did, I suppose I’ll have to just accept that fact and deal with it. Just… try to refrain from doing it again in the future, alright? It really does take a lot out of me, trying to fix messes like that.” Heaving a sigh, Solomon waved his free hand in the direction she’d been running when they first encountered one another without looking up at her. “Get out of here, go finish your run. You’ve given me a headache.”

“Yeah, you can’t. And, honestly? I hope you never do.” Luce said, remembering the grief that had overwhelmed her that night, when she’d thrown herself into the forest and done her best to run away from the reality of her situation. She’d started running that day and she’d never really stopped, not even now, when it was over. But, it wasn’t over, was it? Shaking her head, Luce focused her attention on the man who was waving her away. While she was glad that this guy was at least giving up with the whole “protector of the forest” act, she wasn’t a fan of the fact that he was telling her what she should do. Hands still up in the air, she flipped him off, the triangle tattoos on her knuckles a nice added touch of irony. “I’m not in the business of making promises to people. I do what I want. But,” She lowered her hands, and offered a single nod, “noted.” With that, Luce turned and continued on her run, not caring what he thought of their encounter. As far as she was concerned, all this meant was she’d discovered a new self-righteous neighbor.

#p: ai #p: solomon hawthorne #chatzy #wickedswriting #//does luce piss off a forest god? we just dont know

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tangent101 · 6 years

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Rachel was not alive

After seeing a comment from @whelpme concerning a fan theory claiming Mark Jefferson only murdered Rachel during the week that Max and Chloe got back together, I decided to revisit this subject. There has been considerable back-and-forth concerning Rachel and when she died in the past... but while some folk want to believe Rachel was alive for the summer she was missing, the truth is she died back in April.

First, there is a simple explanation for this, but it's the answer people least want to hear: the writers failed to do their homework. Alternatively, Max may have a super-sensitive sense of smell and it was her first dead body so getting a noseful of months-old death in the face made her overreact. After all, Chloe shoved her face in there without a similar reaction (more horror than revulsion)... and for all we know Max may have encountered dead bodies before as a child and is just flashing back at that moment. But again, folk don't appreciate the simplest of answers.

Of course, there is one other factor: in the Everyday Hero timeline, Max sends David Madsen a text sending him off to investigate Jefferson and Nathan that Monday. If Rachel was alive until the Thursday that Nathan is last seen on, she would have been alive rather than dead in the junkyard when the Feds arrested Jefferson and Nathan. Again, the easiest answer but not one that is necessarily satisfying.

Anyway, in the past I actually studied the area where Rachel died, and considered the possibility the ground she was in had been frozen. This would explain part of the reason for such a shallow grave (seriously, Max and Chloe are able to dig Rachel up with just their hands, no tools, and only dig down six or so inches before uncovering the plastic that covered her), but folk who live in the region have jossed this as the area of Oregon where the game took place in doesn't see long stretches of cold weather that would result in frozen ground.

Furthermore, on the 22nd it was 61 in Tillamook, Oregon (the region where Arcadia Bay is located) during the day, and 40 at night. For that matter, a search of weather records for Tillamook finds highs in the 40s and lows only barely reaching freezing a few times through January and February - definitely not enough to freeze the ground. It was a fun theory but with some basic research it doesn't pan out.

That doesn't mean, however, that there was no ice involved. You see, Rachel vanished on Monday, April 22, 2013. She likely remained in the Dark Room for at least a day before dying of an overdose. Given school was in session, it's likely Rachel's body was kept in the Dark Room for a week... and likely kept on ice to keep her body from getting ripe and buried a week later.

The Dark Room also likely only uses space heaters, so in April it probably would be quite chilly in there and without space heaters running it would grow chilly within a couple hours. If you've an unheated cellar you'd know how they trap the cold even in the middle of summer... so in April it would stay fairly cold and act much like a refrigerator even without ice. Once buried, she would remain chilled as the ground likely never got that warm even into the summer months - and even a couple feet underground it would remain in the low 40s which would slow certain processes.

She did start to decompose, mind you. But the ground temperature is a big factor here. Her body quickly being dropped to 40 degrees or colder would slow decomposition and a body kept at an average temperature of 42 degrees takes 80 days to reach a state of advanced decomposition - which would be in mid-July. Add in the body being wrapped in plastic (and the possibility she was put on ice to keep from stinking up the Dark Room) and the smell can be explained without having her living up to the start of LiS.

Besides. Do you really want to think of Rachel being raped by Jefferson and Nathan for weeks on end until she finally met her end? It's kinder to let her having died of that initial drug overdose back in April. Don't torture the poor girl. Better the death she got than a daydream of rescuing her only to find a shattered wreck of a girl who was used repeatedly over an entire summer.

Finally... because I know someone is thinking it, no, Max could not grab a photo and go back to save Rachel. First, leading up to being kidnapped by Mark Jefferson, she had no idea Rachel was dead so she would have nothing to warn Rachel about. Saying "don't abandon Chloe" doesn't mean much, especially as Rachel was sleeping with Frank and then Jefferson so why is she going to listen to some girl who abandoned Chloe for years? And after Max learns about Jefferson... she is fixated on one thing. Saving Chloe. Don't forget, Max saw Chloe get gunned down before her very eyes. Saving Rachel isn't a thing at that point, it's all about saving Chloe.

Once Max initiates the final timeline, it's already too late. Max will show up after her time-jumps when the Storm is in full effect... and we have no idea which photo would work for this. There is one other major concern going on here: at any time Max uses time travel she risks going to a Timeline in which Mark Jefferson has kidnapped her and if he kills her before she wakes? That's it. Fade-to-black, game over, no saving Chloe, Rachel, or anyone else. Mark Jefferson walks free and will kidnap, possibly rape (as the photography is very much a symbolic and metaphoric representation of rape (something that can bring a young woman significant pleasure but is used for male satisfaction and power over women while poisoning the joy of the act for some time to come while also being impossible to ever tell anyone that it happened because no one will believe her)) other women, all because Max overreached.

Sometimes? Sometimes you can only save one person. Sometimes... that's all you have to do.

#lis #life is strange #rachel amber #chloe price #max caulfield #david madsen #frank bowers #mark jefferson #nathan prescott #my posts

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madlitparanormal · 5 years

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You wouldn’t know just by looking at the above picture, that this man murdered thirty three people. If you hadn’t seen him before, you may just think that he was a normal member of society. In fact, he was a well known, well liked, successful citizen to most.

Childhood:

John Wayne Gacy Jr. was born on March 17, 1942 in Chicago, Illinois to father John Stanley Gacy, a mechanist and a WWI veteran (June 20, 1900-December 25, 1969 —Merry Christmas) and mother Marion Elaine Robinson, a stay at home mom (May 4, 1908-December 6, 1989).

Gacy Jr. had a good and stable relationship with his mother and his two sisters, one older and one younger, but his relationship with his father was strenuous. John Stanley Gacy was an alcoholic and mentally and physically abusive towards his wife and all three of his children.

One of Gacy Jr.’s earliest memories is of his father beating him with a leather belt. The reason? John had accidentally disassembled a group of car engine parts that his father had previously put together. A second memory he had was of his father hitting him over the head with a broom stick so hard that he was rendered unconscious. Gacy Sr. Consistently belittled him and often told him he’d never be anything, leaving John to feel that he was never good enough.

In 1949 John W. Gacy was caught fondling a young girl. His father whipped him with a razor strop as punishment. Shortly after this incident, at seven years old, John was sexually assaulted by a friend of the family. The man would often take Gacy Jr. for rides in his truck where he would violate the boy. He would never disclose this information to his father, afraid that he would blame him for the occurances.

Among other problems, John Wayne Gacy suffered a congenital heart defect and was not able to keep up with other children. He spent a year being hospitalized after fainting one afternoon. His father assumed that he was trying to gain attention and sympathy from others and saw his son as a complete failure.

John Wayne Gacy, also known as the infamous Killer clown, was a seemingly upstanding citizen of Waterloo, Iowa where he and his first wife had moved shortly after Gacy graduated and gained a degree in business. He was someone the town looked up to, someone who was charming and charitable. John dressed as a clown to attend fundraising events, parades, and was even hired to perform at children’s birthday parties. At one point in his life he was a a member of the Democratic Party and even a candidate running for and gaining the title of precinct captain. He was a highly liked member of a charity group called the Jaycees, the honored man of they year as well as Vice President of his charity group. Gacy held secretive meetings to induct new members of Jaycee. He would rent out hotel rooms, hire prostitues, and host orgies to convince people to join.

In 1966 he managed three KFC properties making the equivalent to today of $115,000 per year, plus a share of earned profits from the restaurants. His wife, Marlynn, maiden name Meyers, gave birth to two children, their son Michael in 1966 and their daughter Christine in 1967. One of his sisters told reporters that he was an amazing father and that he truly loved his children and she knew that because growing up in their household, love and affection was not a learned behavior. John once described this portion of his life as perfect. Even his father said he had been wrong about his son, that he did turn out to be something.

His marriage was secretly rampant with taboo fetishes. He and his wife engaged in swinger activity. They would often go out together and go home with someone else. These sexual acts were consensual among him, his wife, and their numerous partners.

Gacy and one of his sisters:

In 1967 John W. Was convicted of sodomy with a 15 year old boy named Donald Voorhees. Donald was the son of a fellow member of the Jaycee group that John had been socially accepted in. Gacy paid the boy fifty dollars to keep quiet but his silence didn’t last long. Gacy was charged and convicted of only sodomy after claiming the interaction was consensual even though he was twenty five years old. He was hit with a maximum sentence of ten years. Shortly after his sentencing his wife Marlynn divorced him.

In prison he took to working in the kitchen. Surprisingly, one thing he really was accomplished in was cooking. His knowledge of kitchen work could have come from not only helping his mother but working at KFC.

Due to his fathers death in 1969, Gacy changed. He began acting out while serving time yet out of the ten year sentence, John only served a year and six months. He was released for good behavior. He felt that his fathers death was his fault, that his father had died of shame.

When he was released he immediately moved to Chicago to start over. There he met another woman named Carole Hoff. Carole was recently divorced with two young girls. John had opened up to her about his jail time and his sexuality and while hesitant, she decided she could move past it. In 1972 the couple married, Carole’s two girls called Gacy “daddy” and loved him. However, in 1976 Hoff divorced Gacy after learning of one of his victims, John Butkovich.

On December 21st of 1978 John Wayne Gacy went into a pharmacy to discuss a possible renovation project on his home. He found a teenager, Robert Piest, and asked him about a summer job doing some construction work. The teenager told his mother and went to Gacy’s house to further discuss the job he had in store. When the boy didn’t return home his mother filed a missing persons report. Because he was seen at the store at the time of the boys disappearance, the police went to Gacy to find Robert. What they uncovered when they conducted their search led to Gacy’s arrest.

At the age of thirty six, Gacy confessed that between the years of 1972 and 1978, between the ages of thirty and thirty six, he abducted, sexually assaulted, tortured, and murdered at least thirty three young men and buried most of their bodies in a shallow grave in the crawl space beneath his house where he lived with his wife and two children (for the first four years of his killing spree until Carole divorced him). His most common method for killing the young men was a tourniquet, used for suffocation and asphyxiation. A few of his victims were stabbed to death. His first murder of Timothy McCoy in 1972 was unexpected and unplanned. After engaging in sexual acts with the boy, Gacy grabbed a knife and stabbed Timothy in the chest. From then on, Gacy continued his killing spree. He had opened up a door of emotional, physical, and mental release that he had never felt before.

After killing them, Gacy would embalm his victims which he learned how to do while working temporarily in a mortuary in Las Vegas, Nevada when he ran away from home to escape his father earlier in life. He would then systematically cover the shallow graves in quicklime to accelerate the decomposition process. Of those victims that weren’t buried in the crawl space, five were dumped in the Des Plaines River. One body was also discovered in his garage.

He was arrested and began his trial 1980. The prosecution question his sanity and Gacy played along, telling them that the murders were committed by an alternate personality.

At thirty six years old, he was sentenced to twelve death sentences as well as twenty one natural life sentences. This meant that John Wayne Gacy was sentenced to death twelve times even though you can generally only die once (of course other circumstances can come into play) and with a general life expectancy of seventy years old in the year 1980 for men, Gacy would serve no less than at least 1,470 years in prison outside of the death sentence. Naturally, no one could live to that age so the basic mentality was that he would never be released from prison and he would be executed by the state.

Gacy spent fourteen years on death row until he was executed by the state of Illinois. During his time in prison he did a lot of painting and created a lot of visual art pieces, and some were even sold at an auction.

Identified Victims:

Timothy McCoy

John Butkovitch

Darrell Sampson

Randall Reffett

Samuel Stapleton

Michael Bonnin

William Carroll

James Haakenson

Rick Johnston

Kenneth Parker

Michael Marino

William Bundy

Gregory Godzik

John Szyc

Jon Prestidge

Matthew Bowman

Robert Gilroy

Russell Nelson

Robert Winch

Tommy Boling

Jon Mowery

William Kindered

David Talsma

Timothy O’Rourke

Frank Landingin

James Mazzara

Robert Piest

Unidentified Victims:

Male aged 14-18

Male aged 23-30

Male aged 18-22

Male aged 15-24

Male aged 22-32

Male aged 17-22

Execution: Stateville Correction Center, Crest Hill, Illinois

On May 9, 1994 Gacy was allowed a private picnic with his family. I have not yet found which family members he spent time with but my assumption would be his sister(s) after two cases of divorce.

For his last meal he ordered a bucket of Kentucky fried chicken, fried shrimp, French fries, strawberries, and Diet Coke.

That evening he visited with a Catholic priest, one of the few people allowed to visit on your execution day, before being escorted to the Stateville execution chamber.

His form of execution was Lethal Injection. A clog in the IV delayed the execution for a short period of time but was quickly put back on track.

John Wayne Gacy’s final statement to his lawyer before his execution stated that killing him would not compensate for the murders he committed and that the state was in turn, murdering him. He even attempted to recant his confession before his death.

John Wayne Gacy was a diagnosed psychopath. He had no remorse, no empathy, and no regards for human life. He even went as far as saying he never committed any murders and he blamed others for his “unfortunate” circumstances.

It took Gacy Jr. 18 minutes to die after lethal Injection. He was prounounced dead at 12:58 AM on May 10, 1994. He was fifty two years old.

His final words: “Kiss My Ass!”

#lethal #lethal injection #creepy #horror #death #murder #serial killer #john wayne gacy #killer #killer clown #infamous

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maraudersandlily20 · 6 years

Text

Making A Promise

Remus stood silent. He was shivering, the snow falling in flurries around him. He couldn’t move. His feet were frozen to the ground and his heart was racing. The chilling air soaked into his skin, and he knew if he moved, it would help. But he couldn’t. He was just frozen.

People were bustling around him, going home to their families and friends and warm dinners. There was a feeling of excitement in the air because the snow was actually sticking. It meant there might be a day off tomorrow full of fun. Remus didn’t feel excited. He had a place to go when he was finished, a warm bed to crash in, at Andromeda’s house. But he couldn’t, not yet, because he had some business to take care of.

The expanse of the cemetery laid out before him. His feet were stuck right before the gate and all he had to do was step one foot into it and he would be there. But he hadn’t been in there since the funeral three years ago. And it felt impossible to do so.

“What are you doing, Lupin?” He muttered to himself, trying to shake the daze out of his head. “All it takes is one step. One push forward. And you’ll be in there. You owe it to them. Now stop being such a worthless coward and MOVE.” With every bit of will power, he shoved his body forward until he was entirely in the cemetery.

There were huge stones on every side, markings for people’s places of rest. Remus hated cemeteries. Always had. His grandmother had died when he was younger, and now he just felt uncomfortable in them, like he was too tall, or that his skin didn’t really cover all of his body. It shook him to be in one again.

He slowly made his way to the back corner, where a large tree stood, covered in a sheet of snow. Beneath it stood a monument for two of the people that Remus cared for more than anyone. Lily and James Potter, two of the bravest people that Remus had ever known. And now, here they were, buried under six feet of frozen earth.

Remus stood before them, uncomfortable, and started rubbing his hands together. He was alone on a snowy December evening, a week from Christmas, and felt lower than ever.

“Hi Prongs, Lils. Happy holidays. Glad that we could get together for the occasion. Obviously you’re both doing well. You’re together of course, so that means you’re lucky. And then there’s me.” Remus trailed off, sighing deeply.

“What am I doing?” He muttered for the second time in a while before turning to leave. And then he stopped, twirling around to face his friends’ grave again.

“No, you know what? It’s fine. I don’t need to leave, because I don’t leave. I NEVER leave. I’m always here. Always stuck in places I don’t want to be, waiting for something that won’t ever happen. Merlin, I’m just one pathetic mess, aren’t I?”

“I’m sorry Lily. I think… I think you would be disappointed in me. In everything that’s happened. I haven’t been very strong. I’ve been weak, honestly. Hiding in corners, cowering behind Dumbledore, choosing to disappear rather than face… everything I have to face. Everything about the Order, trying to the war, to move on with my life. As if I could. I think you would be ashamed if you could see me now.”

“James, you were always… more than I was. Smarter and better and kinder. You wouldn’t allow your emotions to cloud your actions. Or maybe you would, but I feel like you wouldn’t. How could you? You and Lily hid for the sake of your child, the most selfless action you could pull off. And where was I? During all that time, that last month, where was I? Trying to find Fenrir. It seemed important, at the time. I didn’t even hear the news about your… about you until a few days after. Gideon told me. He was crying. But I couldn’t… not at first. But, I did for days after. And then I couldn’t stop. Andromeda was the one who forced me to come to your funeral. She said I owed it to you.”

He was trying very hard to keep the tears from falling, and so had to take a few calming breaths. “We lost so much. Dorcus, little Dorcus with her huge curls and those brown eyes. She was always sweet. Like chocolate, dark as her skin. We all took it hard when she died. Killed at the hands of He Who Must Not Be Named. I remember, Lily cried for weeks. Sirius…” Remus’ voice cracked at the mention of his lover. He hated talking about him, thinking about him. But he couldn’t stop. “Sirius talked about it all the time. Missing her. And Marlene. God, I don’t think I had ever been angrier when I heard about Marlene. And her family. Her brothers. Her parents. All gone in a blink of an eye.”

“That’s war for you, Moody would say. But it wasn’t war. It was hell. Or maybe they’re interchangeable.” Remus, though the ground was covered in snow, lowered himself to sit cross-legged in front of the grave. “I didn’t get out of bed for three days after Marlene. Sirius couldn’t console me, no one could. Except Alice. Oh… Alice. Her and Frank are in hospital. Bellatrix really did a number on their minds. They’re barely there now. Their son, Neville, he lives with his nan. I hope he grows up okay.”

Remus sniffed, rubbing his eyes and trying to keep the moisture in his body. A sigh left him and he looked down at his hands. They were scarred and pale and it hurt to look at them because of the memories they represented. Remus pulled his eyes back up to study the words on the stone.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. Why, out of all the people who didn’t deserve to die, was I the only one who lived? Albus says now I have a chance to help the next generation, to teach them the kind of heroes that sacrificed their lives so that the magical world could be free. But how can I? Everything and everyone I have ever loved is gone. And I don’t have anything to say anymore.”

Silence followed his admission and he sat in loneliness, staring at the grave. His best friends grave. “You’re gone, Sirius is gone, Peter is gone. Marlene, Dorcus, Alice, Frank, everyone who ever cared about me. They’re all gone. And I’m here. I’m always here. I don’t know what to do. I’m so lonely and angry and hurt. It’s just me now, I don’t have anyone else. I can’t face Sirius after what he did, and no one else cares. No one else wants me.”

“I wish I wasn’t angry at you. That this all didn’t hurt so badly. But it hurts so damn much. To know that the ones who should be here are gone and the only person left is the only one who doesn’t deserve it.”

“I have imagined, time and again, what you would be doing if you were alive. What kind of people you would be becoming as you matured. Lily would become potions master at school, James would probably own some ridiculous shop down Diagon Alley. It wouldn’t make any sense, but everyone would go there anyway. You’d be raising your son, teaching him the kind of person he needed to be in order to be happy. I can see you all, the three of you in your little house in Godric’s Hollow, warm and safe. And I wish I could give that to you. To allow you to live just a little bit longer so you could have a semblance of the life you deserved.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, letting the words that had plagued him for so long flow freely. “I was angry when you died. For a lot of reasons. I felt like, after all of the promises we made to each other about keeping each other safe, that you had betrayed me. The least you could have done was take me with you. That’s all I wanted, to stay by your side, through anything. And then, on top of losing you, I lost Peter. Peter who never could do anything right. He was gone and with him, all of the humor he had brought. And then, worst of all, I lost Sirius. God, that idiot. That absolute monster. To not only take you all away from me, but then to take himself away too. And leave me here. Alone”

“I wish I was with you, wherever you are. There’s a part of me that wants to do it myself, to end this feeling, this suffering that won’t go away. I almost have, so many times, I’ve been close.” He cries in earnest, admitting the feelings he couldn’t say to anyone else. He had been tempted to take his own life many times, but he never could. “I won’t, though, because I know how you would feel about that Lily. If I was allowed to see you after I died, I can only imagine your disappointment. I could never do that to you. I’d rather endure this awful existence than disappoint you.”

A part of Remus that he had locked away for so long suddenly was being examined, taking a prominent place in his heart. It hurt, more than anything had hurt in so long. “I think you would be disappointed in me anyway, Lils. I’m not doing very well anyway. There doesn’t seem to be much of a point. If I ever said that to you, I know you’d hit me over the head. But you can’t because you’re not here. And I am.”

“I almost didn’t come. I’ve been running from everything for so long, the idea of turning and facing it makes me want to collapse and never get back up. The war took so much from me, so much from everyone left, that for a while, I don’t think any of us knew how to go on. I still don’t. If it wasn’t for Andromeda and her insistent presence in my life, I don’t think I’d be here.”

“You remember Andromeda, don’t you James? She was the cousin of Sirius’ that married a muggleborn. It got them both labelled as blood traitors. I didn’t think I could face her after what Sirius had done, but she didn’t let that stop her. She’s very kind, and if it were up to her, I’d be there in her home forever.”

“Her daughter is sweet too. Young. Nymphadora is her name, though she doesn’t like to be called that. It makes her so angry when I say it. But she goes livid when her parents do. So I think she doesn’t mind it quite as much when I do it. She just received her letter, and she’s a lot like her dad. Her hair changes color in a moment and she can do the funniest things with her face. She’s sweet and likes to make me laugh. I think she may have a little crush on me. But she’ll get over it when she grows up.”

Remus felt better thinking about Andromeda and her family. They had done everything they could to make Remus feel more at home and accepted. Whenever Remus returned to the area, he would stay with the Tonks.

“I keep hoping that I’ll be able to… figure this out, I suppose. What I’m supposed to do, how I should act, what kind of man I’ll be now that you’re gone. So much of who I am is because of you both. Now that it’s just me, I don’t know how to… go anywhere or do anything.”

“Albus said that, if I ever wanted, he would make me a teacher at Hogwarts. But I know he’s doing it to keep an eye on me. It would never work. Kids are much smarter than we give them credit for and someone who work out why I disappeared around the full moon. I don’t want to put Albus in that position. But who knows, maybe one day I’ll accept and I can just figure it out.”

He laughed, shaking his head, his grief and his thoughts of the humor mingling together and causing him to cry once again. “I suppose you’ll want to know how Harry is doing.” He sniffed and wiped at his nose with his gloved hand. “He’s… well, when you both passed, I begged Albus to let me have him. I know it wouldn’t have made sense and it would have been hard, but I would have figured it out. All I wanted was to give him a life where he was loved and told about his parents and the kind of people they were. But Albus refused. He said my condition would be too difficult to manage with a child. I fought him for days, but he wouldn’t hear it. I suspect that he has a reason, but I doubt it will be good enough.” He tried not to think of it and started to play with the threads that were fraying on his scarf.

“He’s five now. Big, with your eyes, Lil. I haven’t seen him as often as I would like. But I’ve caught glimpses. Green eyes and messy black hair. He’s beautiful, everything you ever dreamed he would be. I’m sorry that I’m the one keeping track of him and not someone more reliable. He deserves more than a depressed, broke werewolf who always has to keep moving. But, for you, I’ll try to make sure he’s alright.”

Thoughts of Harry made Remus smile. He reminded Remus so much of his parents “God.” He whispered, placing a hand on the cold stone of the tombstone as feelings of overwhelming grief filled him to the brim. “God, I wish you were here.” His heart felt like it was breaking into a million pieces and he began crying.

He stayed that way for a while, hunched over and crying silent tears as he mourned over the lives of his friends, snuffed out much too early. He was so emotionally distraught that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. When a voice gently cleared their throat, he spun around in a flash.

Andromeda. She had a sympathetic look on her face and was bundled up against the chilling snow. She walked toward him slowly. When she got to him, she placed a hand on his back in comfort and looked down at the grave marker. “I thought you might be here.” Her voice was quiet so as to not break the stillness around them. “Hi James, Lily. Nice to see you both again.” There was a hint of sad humor in her voice, but it made Remus laugh and he rubbed his eyes to rid them of all the excess moisture. Andromeda’s hand rubbed soothing circles onto Remus’ back before she patted twice.

“I know you need to say whatever it is you need to say, Remus. So do it. I have dinner waiting for you when you get back. Ted will be excited to see you.”

Remus nodded. “Thanks Andromeda. I’ll be there soon.” She nodded, smiling, before whipping out her wand and in a moment had aparated away. After her departure, Remus looked back toward the headstone, placing his hand once again over the words carved into it.

“I miss you.” He said, his voice hoarse. “But I think… I think I’ll be okay. And I promise, I’m going to do better. I promise. And I won’t let you down.”

He stood, wiping off the snow from his pants before looking down at the grave and letting a little piece of his heart feel healed. “I’ll be back soon. No excuses this time. I’m going to get better. And when I do, I’ll come and tell you all about it.” He pulled out his wand, smiling down at the resting place of his best friends. “I love you, the both of you. I’ll see you again soon.” With that farewell echoing around the graveyard, he thought of the warm living room of Andromeda Tonks and the warm meal waiting for him and aparated away.

The cemetery was empty once again, not much evidence of anything disturbing itl in the first place to be found among the snow covered graves. But there was something left behind. Where Remus had sat by his friends’ grave, there was a small white flower, barely noticeable against the snow, but there regardless.

It was a lily. And it was a promise. One that Remus fully intended to keep.

#hi kiddos #im baaaaaaaaaaaack #took me a long while to write this #but its full of angst #so youre welcome #i wont be posting writing as much but i'll do my best #here's some broken remus for you #remus lupin #do you like the hint i put in of tonks #so sneaky #my writing #happy reading #jily #wolfstar

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