REAPER

#NECRISE.   highly   selective   ,   mutual   exclusive   REAPER   aka   Gabriel   Reyes   from   Overwatch.   as   blossomed   by   ASKLING   .   (   he/him/it/its   ,   22   )   mature   themes   present,   all   will   be   tagged   &&   requested   tags   respected.   READ   RULES   BEFORE   INTERACTION.

💀   CARRD   💀   PROMO   💀

Wariness is evident in his bones.  He gives a careful movement towards the other and exhales. “No, there are more pressing matters.” The Shimada blood always gets what it wants, even if it is at a price.

    𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐒  𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋.  the  study  of  the  other  man  is  only  apparent  in  the  way  white  mask  tips,  but  he  doesn't  dare  to  move  one  way  or  the  other.  he  is  ever  curious,  noting  the  wary  note  that  accentuated  the  man's  character.

    Empathy.

    The tapeworm adhered to her intestines. The parasite that sickens her when he speaks.     Empathy.     Empathy.      If she were anyone else, the aid camp would have drawn straws. But she is the unkillable Dr. Ziegler. The angel who would not break.     And they don’t trust Reaper not to shoot the messenger.     Her mouth draws into a hard line, blood welling from the fresh cut on her upper lip. It coagulates in seconds, the scab melting into freshly healed skin in the time it takes Angela to fold her arms. Her eyes narrow, studying the off-white mask for some magical mechanism that could will it to disappear.     No such luck.     ❝  You may call it what you wish.  ❞  She fishes a cigarette out of the pocket of her labcoat, lights the damned thing with sparks from a nearly empty zippo.  ❝  But I believe it is quid pro quo.  ❞  Thank G-d for Marlboro; another minute without and Angela’s heart would give out. A shot of liquor to steady the nerves isn’t enough.  ❝  I testified in your place for the U.N. hearings. I am owed a favor, Reaper.  ❞     Gabe wears the mask to distance himself, Angela has her nicotine smokescreen. Once again, they resort to Overwatch’s peculiar brand of kayfabe to get through the day. It ought to feel familiar, but an undercurrent of spite throws the choreography brutally off-kilter.      She shouldn’t be so blatant about blowing smoke in his face. Had Gabe known? He must have — Jack and Ana were once close as could be with him. Angela had been their pet project, their golden girl. And they couldn’t have their posterchild screaming on the floor of a bar, drunk out of her mind. Colt knew. Colt enabled, and Angela had indulged him in turn. 

    Angela sets her beaten whiskey flask onto the table.  ❝  Drink?  ❞  It takes everything in her not to say it with clenched teeth. This is an ostensible peace offering, but the underlying purpose is as ugly as purulent discharge. She wants Reyes to see. Look at what you have done to me, Angela’s bloodshot eyes and haunted expression say, Look at what we have done to each other.     ❝  I want your people to stop harassing the aid camps. Talon may do what they will elsewhere. But you will gain nothing by hurting the sick and the wounded.  ❞

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊  𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒  𝐇𝐈𝐌  𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘  𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒.

one  such  being  that  it  covers  the  curl  of  lip,  obscures  &  kills  the  scowl  beneath  that  settles  on  countenance  befit  a  living  corpse  seen  in  film.  

it  covers  any  &&  all  emotion,  even  the  ones  he  wouldn't  dare  give  a  name  to.  

❝  it's  a  favor  enough  that  i'm  here  in  the  first  place.  ❞  he  responds  pointedly,  vox  a  growl  that  claws  its  way  from  throat.  he  studies  her,  though  for  what  he  can't  decide.  the  toll  the  years  have  had  on  her  are  clear,  his  chin  tilting  up  as  his  silence  persists.  

❝  you  didn't  need  to  testify  in  my  place.  ❞  he  remarks,  hand  resting  'pon  the  table  but  it  does  not  reach  for  offered  flask.  he  merely  drums  metallic  claws  in  slow,  rhythmic  manner.  ❝  i  don't  much  recall  asking  you  to,  either.  ❞  the  words  hang  in  the  air  for  one  heartbeat,  two.  the  inhale  he  takes  is  slow,  unnecessary,  but  pointedly  made.  he  doesn't  need  to  be  here,  he  doesn't  need  to  entertain  this.

but  he  is.  he  does.  that  expression  on  her  face  makes  the  ever  constant  crawl  of  his  skin  all  the  more  agitating.  he  won't  put  thought  to  why.

@huckleberrytm  sent  ; child  wobbles  up  to  the  reaper  with  big,  needing  eyes;  a  tinge  of  red  glows  in  the  right,  perhaps  evident  of  distress.  clawed  fingers  raise  upwards,  reaching,  lower  lip  poking  outwards  in  a  pout  beneath  little  fangs.  the  only  word  he  speaks  is  a  soft,  echoing  chirp  of  ❝  up.  ❞

    𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐓𝐎  mind  a  child  was  an  interesting  task,  especially  for  such  an  entity  that  otherwise  would  have  no  true  kinship.  but  learn  he  would,  for  the  creation  of  the  little  thing  was  his  own  doing  —  born  from  a  yearning  he  couldn't  otherwise  understand.  

    the  narrow  of  dark  eyes  is  near  impercievable  as  his  regard  falls  to  little  one.  form  bends,  &&  he  is  scooped  up  into  arms,  held  with  all  the  tenderness  a  demon  the  likes  of  him  could  muster.  ❝  here,  i  have  you  now.  ❞  growled  that  his  words  may  be,  they  had  no  edge  to  them  nor  even  a  trace  of  the  otherwise  harsh  nature  of  the  Reaper.

i still haven’t rewritten his actual lore but league verse he is in fact a demon just vibing in the ‘guise’ of a mercenary because perpetuating the chaos & encouraging the fall of societal structure via killing important people is just sort of his thang 

forgive me if this sounds feverish i am VERY bad at explaining my thoughts 💦

on one hand, while i already figured it to be a thing, i won't lie, i can't help but roll my eyes over the wife / family thing. we already knew he had a family he'd been haunting after for a while, and like ... sure ok i get it. it's a little tiresome of a trope tho haha i don't like the idea of background characters in this sense ; characters alive & well but with 0 depth and just existing to say they're there. that is & will always be to me like... madly boring. 'cause its like cool ... these very important people to reaper just exist very distantly in the story? what do i do with that ? it's very counterproductive to me as a RPer but even still its ok i can like work with it without making him like roped to these one off NPCs

then theres the whole can of worms of ex-cop which again i roll my eyes but also it's not necessarily like. ground breaking. if anything it fits very well into his issue of constantly trying to be part of things that are "Good" in theory but bad in execution which just consistently added to his frustration of being undermined and otherwise things just Weren't Working As Intended. so like it makes sense. do i still cringe over the idea of him being a cop? i mean. yea. but also he's part of a terrorist organization rn so i like 😭 rlly can't say much in his favor to begin with LOL

ULTIMATELY. it plays into the general ideas i had and so i don't mind. i still frown a little but like in general overwatch kind of is LIKE THAT to me, so it's not like it's unexpected or otherwise ... like... groundbreaking

i came into this thinking as reaper as someone who still largely struggles with himself due to sincerely never having been evil but instead was turned into a jaded, constantly in agony monster of a man who's humanity isn't necessarily gone but oh lord it is BURIED. that's exactly what he was shown to be and is exactly how i interpreted him to be. i'll probably poke at things and make things more cohesive for myself & for the potential plots i can have. rlly my biggest gripe is over his family ; and it's not even that they're a bad addition but i generally kind of loathe having ties to NPCs that are as important as a wife and kid & are like. tangible but otherwise useless narratively

@huckleberrytm  says  (begs)  ; ‘  don’t  leave  me.  ’

    𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄  of  vox  grants  him  pause.  for  once  there's  a  touch  of  pain  that  draws  above  the  ever  constant  agony  —  –  like  a  stab  in  the  heart  that  was  equally  physical  as  it  was  purely  emotional.  his  turn  is  a  slow  twist,  stare  fixing  on  the  gunslinger.  words  simultaneously  fill  his  head  &  leave  him  all  the  same.  he  inhales  &  exhales  sharply  ;  hardly  a  necessity  to  his  form  &  yet  something  about  it  was  grounding  in  the  very  least.

@ciiberz  says  ; ‘  i  want  it  all.  ’

  𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐒,  shaking  his  head  slowly.  there's  a  number  of  things  he  could  say,  none  of  which  were  particularly  kind  or  PLEASANT.  ultimately,  he  affords  only  a  spare  glance,  glowered  from  the  darkened  stare  of  his  mask.