I really liked the line 'the dark side of the king' from your question about enforcers. would you maybe be willing to talk some more about Gavin and Ryan being terrible doing Geoff's dirty work??
Fake’s might joke that Geoff is a pushover, too adoring of his
crew-mates to really lay down the law as boss, but in reality there
are few men more feared than Ramsey. Few legends with more ruthless
reputations, more stories of heartless brutality; for those outside
his limited family Ramsey is nothing less than an unmitigated horror.
there are certain things Geoff can’t be seen to be involved in,
things he must stay above, be diplomatic about. Times when an issue
needs to be taken care of without the blowback, when there must be
violence without inevitable retribution; ferreting out moles,
persuading recalcitrant informants, dealing with a problem who
belongs to a gang the FAHC are supposed to be allied with.
easy enough to think that in a crew with a reputation as terrible as
the FAHC there is little need for a designated ‘bad guy’. They’re all
the bad guys, just ask the citizens of Los Santos, just look at the
bodies in the morgue, track down the ruins of all who have thought to
oppose them. There isn’t a single member with clean hands, isn’t one
who didn’t choose this, who isn’t having the time of their life every
singe day morality be damned. And yet there are still jobs Geoff
wouldn’t push any of them into, deeds too dark to be forced onto even
the most loyal. In those cases that call for abhorrent action Geoff
can’t take on himself there is one pair he tends to turn to.
would truly be surprised to hear that Ryan is one of the two who tick
this box, but that his partner in absolute depravity is Gavin would
catch some unaware. There are, of course, members of the crew more
suited to being paired with Ryan for all out violence, and those more
apt to accompany Gavin for subtlety, but together the pair of them
are unrivalled in their gruesome innovation, their unflinching
is being willing to do the dirty work, and then there is enjoying it.
Excelling at it. Relishing in the snap of bones and panicked
pleading, in the creativity of cruelty, the intricate art of fear.
They are violent and terrible, all wrath and retribution like the
stories of old, they are a reckoning. Unlike most others there isn’t
even a moment when either of them regret. Not a single hesitation
before doing whatever must be done, no matter how terrible, how
brutally unforgivable. No threat
is too dark, no act is too far, no reaction too extreme. In this
there are no lines to cross, no moral code to offend or gods to obey.
And worst of all, they enjoy it. They have fun,
entertain each other, safe in the knowledge that out of sight of the
rest of the crew, with none but Geoff really knowing what exactly
they are up to, there is no judgement. No one who matters will think
differently of them for unapologetic iniquity when they are each
other’s only witness and their ruin matches up oh so well.
is delightfully petty, can whip out flippant comments and passing
jokes from months or even years ago in his monologue, twist them into
some pithy one liner on the fly, like a hollywood villain without any
cheesy dialogue to detract from the menace. He knows just how to
frame their attack, laying out exactly what infraction has brought on
Ramsey’s ire and building an awful sense of suspense as he
delightedly meanders around what they are going to do about it.
not something that should be appealing, it’s awful really, bitterly
cruel, but it makes Ryan’s sense of melodrama sing. Ryan who could
have chosen any mask in the world but went directly for a blackened
skull. Who drops his already deep voice two octaves when he purrs out
threats and has a terrible habit of laying wait in dark corners until
he spots the perfect moment to loom in sight. Ryan who’s never crumbled in the
face of desperate begging, never seen grovelling as anything but
undignified, who can’t help but appreciate the way it merely makes
Gavin turn up his nose, roll his eyes, toss Ryan increasingly
incredulous looks; Christ isn’t this one pathetic?
share enough languages to communicate in privacy no matter the
situation but even without planning they are synchronised enough to
work in tandem, playing into each others proclivities, teasing
chatter as much for their own genuine amusement as it is for taunting
their prey. There are no hard and fast rules to their partnership-
sometimes Ryan’s feeling particularly chatty and sometimes Gavin’s
itching to pull out his lovely gold knives- but more often than not
Gavin wheedles his way into the mind of their victim before Ryan
quite literally pulls them apart. Just as Gavin strokes Ryan’s ego
when he leans in and pleasantly explains all the horrific things the
Vagabond has done, Ryan pander’s to Gavin’s ever vicious whim; drags
things out, slows them down, get’s disgustingly creative.
always been something distinctly animalistic in Gavin, the way he
slinks like a predator, grins wide enough to bare his teeth, the way
he can’t help toying with his food, but in this he isn’t Gavin Free,
the Fake’s happy-go-lucky wrecking ball of chaos, isn’t the Golden
Boy, Ramsey’s unbelievably persuasive frontman; this is another
creature all together. On these jobs Gavin is no less the showman,
still all insidious cunning and attention-grabbing flash, but for
once he does nothing to disguise his own decay. Doesn’t inject false
emotion where none exists, doesn’t manufacture empathy, won’t even
pretend to give a solitary shit about anything outside his own world,
his life, his people. Amusement as chilling as it is cold-blooded,
crushing any hope that he might be the tempering force, that the
presence of the glittering Golden Boy will reign in the Vagabond.
Ryan, good grief Ryan. The Vagabond already has so very many tortured
tales attached to his name, already inspires so much fear, but people
do like to hope his reputation is inflated. Like to think the man
behind the mask can’t truly be as terrible as they say, must suffer
the same bouts of guilt and mercy as anyone else. Think the
Vagabond’s greatest secret is the fact that at the end of the day he
is just a man. The look in their eyes when they realise they are
wrong, realise that while the skull may be a mask Ryan
has always been the monster, is the stuff nightmares are made of. The
Vagabond isn’t soft on a good day, but in this role he is ruthless.
It would, perhaps, be a relief if he were cold, detached. Would be an
easier pill to swallow if he acted with his usual air of
professionalism, but this? This is Ryan in his element. This is the
Vagabond having fun.
a tossup who’s better off; the victims who die slow and painful or
the ones who get to live. The ones who spill their secrets, who
suffer their punishments, and in the end are left to crawl free.
Those who never really stop thinking about bloodstained teeth and
razor-blade smirks, distressingly fond banter and cold flat
eyes. None of them come back right, none of them return the same way
they left, have suffered terror beyond words, experienced horrors
they will never be capable of explaining. Most wind up leaving the
city, even a passing mention of the Fake AH Crew enough to send them
shaking, the possibility of another run in utterly intolerable, but
those who stay only serve to further boost the duos reputation.
one thing for anyone with half a brain to fear the Vagabond, it’s
quite another for well-known crooks to literally flee when he
appears, spike classic fear-mongering rumours with far more truthful
tales of vicious depravity, go to absurd lengths to steer clear of
the FAHC at any cost. In the same vein the denizens of Los Santos can
only say Gavin’s name with increased reverence after a mere wink
tossed at some thug playing muscle in the background of a meeting has
the man throwing up all over himself. Can only be more impressed when
a slow smile and whispered comment has another back-peddling so fast
the Fake’s make off with way more than they were owed.
of course, suits Geoff just fine, reaping the boons of the pet
horrors he keeps in his pocket for a rainy day; rare, but undeniably
memorable. To see the three of them at work is a sight to behold,
Ramsey strolling along flanked by his most wicked miscreants, one the
darkened menace of death incarnate, the other almost alight with his
own glittering hubris, not a scrap of restraint or morality between
them. They are apocalypse, are inevitable disaster, the end of all
things good and holy and with an unseen signal they peel off, leave
their grinning king to walk alone as they melt back into the night,
set free once more to hunt.
SLIGHT SMUT, not that you wouldn’t be uncomfortable
“You look stunning tonight, Harry.”
Potter smiled beautifully at you, his cheeks glowing pink. “You look well too, (Y/L/N).”
Draco wrapped his arms around you tighter, looking at Harry with what looked like a jealous smirk, “Too bad she’s mine, eh, Potter?”
“Too bad,” Harry agreed simply, winking at you. “If you don’t mind, Draco, can I borrow (Y/N) for a while?”
“Of course he doesn’t mind,” you smiled sheepishly, standing beside him. “Let’s go, should we?”
As you both left Draco looking rather stunned, you let out a silent giggle, knowing that he was furious and jealous of your action. You’re his; and no one could change that.
Draco stared at you the whole time; you had your arms around Harry most of the time, laughed at all of the jokes he made, wiped a chocolate stain on the corner of his mouth, and the way you moved your hips when you were dancing with him.
You love him being jealous; it would always end up serious.
“How’s your friends, Potter?” You asked, glancing at staring-Draco a few times. “Everything’s alright?”
“Fine,” he nodded. “Ron’s a little bit of a tosser, really.”
You laughed- yet, again at this stupid remark he made- but Harry didn’t notice the sarcastic tone. He, however, continued making horrible jokes out of the most common things in the world.
“Harry, hey-” you jerked forward, grabbing a tissue and wiped an invisible stain on his pink lips, “You’ve another chocolate stain here.”
Draco crossed his arms now and you cheered quietly in victory; knowing that he couldn’t resist you anymore, you kept on flirting with poor Harry.
“I would like to play Quidditch,” you shrugged, once again watching Draco from the corner of your eye. “It sounds fun- especially being a Seeker.”
And you would put your hands near to Harry’s crotch- which, he didn’t flinch, but looked at you admiringly.
“Everyone’s crazy about you,” Harry said, as you choked on your drink. “I think McLaggen has a picture of you in his trunk.”
You know Draco’s weakness- which is you sitting on his lap. It would become even more crazy when he sees you- sitting on someone else’s lap.
Unfortunately, this is a major turn-on for you.
You sat on Harry’s lap and whispered an old joke to him (which he found pretty funny), and Harry was blushing heavily and you noticed; he had gotten a boner.
Draco made his way towards the both of you; his blonde hair messy and his face unmistakably sweaty. You kept on whispering to Harry- brushing your lips on his earlobe a few times.
“Hello,” Draco cleared his throat. “Cozy being with my girl, Potter?”
“Draco!” Harry stared at him as though suddenly recovering the fact that I’m his girlfriend, “She’s a great company.”
Draco glared at him sharply; his cold, dark grey eyes like his father’s glinting furiously under the Great Hall’s floating candles. You could see the tension between these two- and it wasn’t a pleasing sight.
“Harry-” you smiled once again, though this time rather quickly, “Thank you for tonight.”
Harry smiled sincerely and nodded, “My pleasure, (Y/N). If you don’t mind, I would like to return to my friends.”
“What a fucking git-” mumbled Draco when Harry fled from our sight to his fellow friends, “Thought he could take my girl away from me.”
You playfully fixed his tie and gazed dreamily at his face, “What’s that?”
“You’re a bloody teaser, (Y/L/N),” Draco groaned, swapping your hands away. “Out of all boys you could pick; Harry!”
“Well, he’s cute.”
He glared at you, “I don’t approve of that.”
“You’re not approving what I approved,” you poked him on his chest, earning an even sharper glare from your partner.
“I heard Harry said something about McLaggen having a picture of you in his trunk-” Draco stared at you longingly, “Is that true?”
You shrugged, “There’s only one way to find out.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He grunted, running his long fingers through his light-coloured hair depressingly. “Can you be more specific?”
“Well, maybe I should go to his dorm sometimes,” you smiled innocently. “Maybe I should ask his permission to open his trunk.”
This wasn’t funny to Draco as it was to you- he had a frown on his face and you knew you were fucked.
He pulled you out from the Great Hall and off to one of McGonagall’s old classroom rather aggressively, where he pinned you against the hard wall and began cursing at you while you chuckled deeply.
“Being a fucking whore, aren’t you?”
“I’m not the one who pulled his partner to an empty classroom,” you chuckled, feeling his hot breath fanning your neck. “Who’s being a whore now?”
He attached his lips on your neck as you moaned softly, feeling his arrogant smirk formed against your skin. You weren’t surprise- of course he had to show something about you being his.
His action continued hotly for a few more minutes before he pulled away to take you right there and that time, but you stopped abruptly with what a teasing smile on your face.
“Should we continue this in your room?”
He smirked and licked his lips, his breath unstable and his hair even more crazier than it had been before;
Jerome Imagine - You and Me Are Gonna Have A Lot of Fun."
Imagine yourself being the first person Jerome sees after Dwight brings him back and he walks out of the City Morgue.
It’s late and you’re walking home to your apartment near the Narrows. You stop for a minute underneath a flickering street lamp. ‘Stick to the lights.’ You think to yourself. You know your Aunt would be pissed that you walked home in the dark instead of just calling her to come get you, especially since you live in a bad neighborhood, but you like the night air. It gives you time to think.
You hear footsteps out in the dark which break you away from your thoughts and cause your head to snap up, looking in the direction they’re coming from. That’s when you see him beneath another street lamp, his head tilted upwards toward the black night sky; ginger hair, staples running across his forehead that are almost unnoticable in the dark but appear to be holding his skin together and a leather jacket conceiling the top-half of what you notice is a GCPD uniform. It’s Jerome Valeska. You recognize him immediately despite his altered appearance and you try to shrink back into the shadows but he’s already seen you and he starts walking over with that same self-confident stride, an eerie grin spreading slowly over his face.
You’re frozen, knowing you should run as your mind wills you to move but you stand still just staring at his face as he approaches. ‘Dear God,’ you think, 'what is he doing here?’ You’d heard from all the news reports that he was dead, yet here he was standing in front of you.
“Hey,” he says, still grinning as he notices you taking in the staples on his forhead again. “You know it’s not polite to stare.”
“Um…uh, I…” You stutter out.
“What’s your name? And what are you doing in a place like this?” He makes a grand gesture around, indicating the quiet empty street in the heart of the Narrows.
“Y/N.” You respond without thinking. “And I don’t really live that far from here.” 'Idiot!’ You say inside your head, “don’t tell him where you live.’ “I, uh. I better get going. I was just on my way home.”
Jerome grins menacingly and steps towards you, grabbing your chin with a gloved hand. “Oh, I don’t think so, sweetheart. I think you’re coming with me instead.”
You try to pull away from him but he has your arm with his other hand. His grip is shockingly firm. “Wh-what are you going to do?”
He laughs and takes in your form. “Not sure yet. Guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”
“No,” you say, struggling in vain to break his grasp. “We won’t.” You stamp on his foot trying to injure him but he simply laughs and pulls you in closer to him until your chest is pressed closer into his. You don’t want it to, but suddenly everything about him intoxicates you. His eyes, the GCPD uniform and that leather jacket, the smell of his cologne, the way the staples on his forehead make his face look. All you can do now is stare up at him with big eyes and you notice that the region between your legs feels as if it’s vibrating and you think you might faint.
Jerome catches on and grins again, staring down at you, trembling in his arms. “You and me, I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun.”
** So it’s not done yet, I’m definately gonna add more to this, but just wanna give you guys a little preview. Feel free to request any Jerome fics you guys would like to see. This is my first Jerome imagine. **