#d:02232020

[eoncrellin]

Intro - Eon Crellin 

It’s Ra back with my favorite garbage can of a character, Gideon, and he even has his own intro post this time. If you want to plot, pls like this post or hmu on discord and I’ll slide into your dms and bug you for plots. Happy reading, lovelies!

( CODY CHRISTIAN. TWENTY ONE. CISMALE. HE/HIM. ) in texas, GIDEON CRELLIN is known to most as EON. they have been riding with the reapers for TWO YEARS. they originally from STRATFORD and the SOLDIER is known to be very RUTHLESS & VOLITILE but the other club members will tell you they are DRIVEN & RESOURCEFUL. as the years go by, they’ve gained a lot of respect in the club and around town. they rarely ever drive a car but when they do LA MER by CLAUDE DEBUSSY is usually heard blasting. (claude debussy on quiet nights, cold eyes and an empty smile, rushed one-nights stands and stolen kisses, a fake ID wielded with confidence) [ Ra. 19. est. they/them. ]

TW: Child Neglect/Child Abuse, Violence, Patricide

& Basics

Name: Gideon Isaiah Crellin Nickname(s): Eon, Gid Age: 21 DOB: Febuary 12th Gender Identity: Cismale Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Pansexual, Aromantic Relationship Status: Single Occupation: Soldier with the Reapers Place of Residence: Stratford, TX Hometown: Stratford, TX Affiliation: Reapers 

& Appearance

Height: 5′7″ Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Hazel Distinguishing features: n/a Tattoos/Piercings: None...yet

& Personality

Negative Personality Traits: Sadistic, Ruthless, Volatile, Self-Centered, Power-Hungry, Envious, Callous  Positive Personality Traits: Driven, Resourceful, Loyal (when he actually gives a shit), Charismatic, Hard-Working MBTI: INTJ Alignment: Chaotic Evil

& Background

The product of an affair between his mother and a married man, Gideon made number three in a line of illegitimate children living off the scraps of a woman in love with herself and the word of God. 

His father refused to acknowledge he existed despite the fact that he looked more like the man with every passing year. Anyone could see it - he was the spitting image and yet no one said a thing. Not once. Every Sunday he sat through a church service next to a man who’s face haunted him in the mirror and pretend he didn’t notice. Just as everyone else did. 

If his brother was driven by lust and greed, Gideon’s vices were envy and wrath. Anger planted itself in his chest even before he was old enough to understand the emotion and it only grew as it got older - evolved until it became the core of his twisted being. He wanted to sink his fingers into the almighty God his mother so desperately clung to and rip out his heart.

The kids he went to school with - his peers - they were all so shiny and happy with their semi-functioning families and new clothes. With their full-stomachs and fancy pens. He wanted what they had - no he wanted more. He wanted to be special. 

Violence was commonplace, the urge to destroy what wasn’t his. Despite what half a dozen school counselors told his mother, it wasn’t the attention he wanted, it was the revenge. (Okay, the attention played a bit of a role, but not nearly as much as they gave it credit for.) 

His mother’s answer to his behavioral issues was always the same - pray to God. Force him to pray to God, to repent for sins he was happy to commit if it meant he felt something. Something other than envy - than the sickly green jealousy tinting his vision. 

He stopped believing in God the moment he understood what kind of life he was living. As soon as he was old enough to understand that his siblings were the only ones that gave a shit about the bruises on his too-thin body, about the holes he wore through his threadbare jackets in the winter. 

If God was real, he didn’t deserve the dirt under his feet much less the churches dedicated to his greatness. Nothing satisfied him more than the thought of burning one down - of watching the beautifully crafted building go up in flames. The idea was more beautiful than any painting his brother could ever create. 

Gideon realized he was no one’s favorite the day he turned eighteen. Not even his siblings - the only people he actually cared about. They’d choose each other over him, he was sure of it, just like their mother had chosen Lucifer over him. 

Someday. He promised himself someday he’d be someone’s first choice. And he found his opportunity with the Reapers - one of two Motorcycle Clubs in the area he grew up. Once he worked his way to the top, he’d have people willing to die for him. People would be jealous of him, of his power. 

Still, even as he worked his way up the ranks...there was something holding him back. His father - the bastard who he couldn’t run away from. The man who’s features followed him everywhere, who’s reflection he saw in every mirror. So...he took care of it. 

Killing his father was the closest to heaven he’d ever gotten. The sound of him begging - forced to acknowledge the monster he’d had a hand in creating - it was music to his ears. Even covered in sticky blood and bearing a few injuries of his own, he was content. And hungry for more. 

Lying low for a time until his father’s murder blew over, Eon spent his 21st birthday sleeping in a motel and blowing a bartender for free drinks before returning home - finally back where he belonged: with the reapers. 

& Useless Headcanons 

Eon is a huge fan of classical music, especially orchestral arrangements. He wanted to be a part of the orchestra when he was younger but he didn’t have the money to do so. He even dated the first-chair violinist for a while just for the free lessons - it helped that she was gorgeous and absolutely infatuated with him. 

The only people he truly cares about are his siblings - they mean the world to him, even if he does find himself jealous of them more often than not. 

His criminal record is miles long and mostly consists of petty theft, underage drinking, public disturbance, and aggravated assault.

He’s not great at reading people and he has a hard time emphasizing, though watching his brother has helped him figure it out a bit. 

If it’s not instigated by him, he hates it when people touch him. It doesn’t matter if it’s a gentle brush of a shoulder, a friendly hug, or a punch to the face - it sets him on edge. 

He rebuilt his bike all by himself after buying the thing for cheap and scavenging for parts. It’s not perfect but he’s too stubborn to let anyone else take a look at it. 

He can’t stand silence so he often puts on cheesy cooking shows in the background before he goes to bed - it’s no one's business if he actually stays awake for hours and watches Bobby Flay kick people’s asses.