reaper born

☽ [ jordan fisher, he/him, cis male ] ☾ [ micah harris ] has lived in [ mid town appartments ] for [ 7 years ] now. the [ 29 ] year old [ human ] is the [ road co-captain ] for the [ reapers ]. but they also make an honest earning as a [ bartender ] for [ eve’s place ]. truthfully, they remind me of [ gun powder staining your fingers, heatwaves distorting a winding road on the horizon, crimson split knuckles shifting gears ]. whenever it’s their turn to be the getaway driver, they blast [ bad guy by billie eilish ] on full volume. ☼☼ ooc info; chester, 25, they/them, gmt+10.

x.

Rolling her eyes enough for the two of them as he brother approached, Lucky couldn’t help but fall prey to his charms, like everyone else. “He worries about us is all.” The longer they spent out here the more her family was falling through her fingers like the sand that covered everything out here. She was proud of Micah and always would be, but after playing middle man for so long she felt like being pulled in two different directions.

Poking his side before he scurried off like the lying rat he was she thought back over the conversation. “Nothing important, just the usual, asking lots of questions about you.” Which often consisted of asking if they were keeping with training or had been given any further jobs. Only this time there were plenty of questions about Micah, no matter how hard she worked, how many times she proved herself to be just as good, if not better in some areas, Lucky never really compared to her twin in the eyes of their father.

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He didn’t know why he even had to ask, it was always the case with their father- wanting to know every ounce of the way they were living their lives. Even here, miles away from home- from him. He had to know. It was claustrophobic, but no different to the life he knew from the day he was old enough to walk. Let alone talk.

But what Micah never learnt was not to talk back, no matter how much harder it seemed to make things for him. Where he saw it, just how easy it would get to be for Lucky- the perfect daughter who could do no wrong. It didn’t surprise him their father had only called to ask a hundred questions about how he could have possibly fucked up this week- an expectation Micah seemed to constantly meet no matter what he did. From a young age he learnt that lesson, that he could have been the perfect son but never in their father’s eyes.

“One day we’ll be back there and he can say it all to your faces again. I’ll tell you what, I might miss the old man but I don’t miss how long the days felt. At least here we can rest.”

who: @preyfm​ what: a reunion!  where: pucks apartment 

Boxes still littered the place, and the couch hadn’t been moved from the center of the living room, but it already felt like home. For the first time in his life, Puck had his own place, completely his, and who cared if it was a shithole, it was his damn shithole! He hadn’t been able to hold it in for long, firing off a text to Micah, the first time in months, to invite the dude over. 

Then, he’d cracked himself a beer, kicked his legs up on an unpacked box, cause he knew his buddy was coming. It was the same energy he answered the door with, beer still in hand, “Dude! Did you sprint here or something? I barely had time to get into this beauty.” He gestured with the can, allowing his friend inside, “Come and check out the place, its pretty cool, if I do say so myself..” 

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“Yes. No.. Maybe?” The answer was yes. A text from one of the few people the man had come to call a friend over the years lighting up his phone, there wasn’t a hesitation to jumping on his bike and finding his way to the other side of town. To the man he though had left him behind- left them behind. 

The words drift past his mind, but he swallows them. Because he gets to see Dylan- no Puck he reminds himself. But through the excitement that bubbles over and spills between them, he can’t resist reaching out and pulling the man into a tight hug. One hand slapping his back, careless of the beer in Puck’s hand, “Fuck off- you’re here.”

Pulling away from the hug, Micah barley leaves any distance between them still. Shoulders still touching, warmth still radiating between the two of them. “Look at this place. Look at you. Look at your house!”

–

“Hmm,” Tae trilled with a quirk of their head. Becoming a god, what a thought. “Those are one of those things where I feel the need to tell you to be careful what you wish for.” The chuckled though, and nodded as Micah poured out some of his beer to the peach monstrosity.

They raised their own beer up in a sort of cheerings motion before pouring out some as well. “I suppose that responsibility might fall along the same lines,” they added with a smirk before taking a drink and stretching their legs out in front of them, watching as the dust the heels of their boots kicked up.

“So, aside from an increasingly interesting habit of taking drinks from strangers,” they tip their beer at Micah in slight as they speak this part, “what else are you doing out this way?”

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Most days Micah would just find words trailing from his lips without so much a second thought to them. As if they were nothing more than a place holder to fill what otherwise might dare to be silence, an empty space- waiting. Uncertainty to what the other could possibly say. He never quite knew how to be at peace with that, the idea of patience. Never once had the man dreamt of being a God- of anything really, let alone mutant peach trees.

Perhaps it’s fitting though, if he gets to rule over anything it be here in some forgotten part of the world where it only knows how to destroy what otherwise could be good. No matter how much he tries to make it useful. Twisted and churning through the homes, he’s certain it would be nothing more than unwanted.

“I’m glad you noticed, I’m trying to beat my record actually in strangers drinks I can steal.” Another idle sentence he’d barley even thought over before it left his lips, one that held no sense of truth. “So far I’m not even close, but the night is still young.” Given it wasn’t even night, he might have been onto something. But it was these light hearted comments that would hide the realities, that the man was there getting information about some supernaturals a local neighbour had found themselves concerned with.

“What about you? Make a habit of sitting on your porch commenting on strangers days?”

“They are —” She began, going back to point out the location when the man’s face came into view. “I’m so sorry, you don’t have to move them…” She continued, realizing that he wasn’t part of the delivery company or team of co workers at all. “It’s been so crazy in here, days like these usually are…I thought you were someone else.” Honestly at this point she was just glad he wasn’t someone who was going to yell or throw the flowers back in her face. “I appreciate you being so cool about this and lending me a hand, is there anything I can do for you in return?” 

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A rather proud smile stretches across his features, he did know what a tulip was. He’d start making his way over to the direction the woman gestured in as she spoke, wondering how many people actually worked in this store- or if everyone surrounding them at the moment were just the delivery company. “Don’t worry about it, I got two hands. Don’t mind lugging things around.” 

          “     not    things    that    went    bump    in    the    night    ,    no.     ”        horror    stories    and    matt    were    two    things    that    didn’t    mesh    well.    he    had    all    the    inspiration    in    the    world    to    write    about    the    supernatural    since    it    was    surrounding    him    at    all    times    ,    but    he    couldn’t    bring    himself    to    shine    a    bad    light    on    everything.    generally    ,    his    own    experiences    had    been    pretty    decent.        “     did    you    ?     ”

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“I was never a big writer- no.” Placing the paper back to the stack of others that sat between them, it’s hard not to let his mind wander to the type of things he would have written if he was a more creative child. Accounts of those sharp teethed creatures, tales of the scars that stretch along his side and claw marks up his arms. Battles he learnt to fight besides his sister as long as they could walk. Perhaps it would twist into something more knightly, with more honour. Guarding and dragons, and things not quite as real. But he always would have preferred to live in another world.

—

For a moment, he could have thought that the other hadn’t heard him. Part of Graham was hoping that he hadn’t, that there would be no room to tease him, no question of why his eyes had drifted in the first place. He hadn’t thought about how it’d sound until the words had already left his mouth, and by then it was too late to take them back, simply awaiting a response to be granted or denied. They didn’t have to do this, the pretend play at civility, the banter. He would not even bat an eye if Micah decided that the potential conversation was not even worth it and went on his way without so much as another word. He didn’t know much about the other man, other than the glaringly obvious, but he knew that The Waterhole did not house him. For that, Graham was grateful. This proximity was already too much for it to become a nightly routine.

His prayers were left unanswered, the smoothness of Micah’s reply flowing out into the night air between them. Fingers pulled at his zipper with little hesitation, not an ounce of embarrassment clung anywhere to him, whereas Graham felt as if he could melt into a puddle of it right there on his porch. He took another drink to occupy his mouth, and to hopefully kickstart his body into cooling itself down. Maybe if he didn’t grant a response, Micah would leave him alone.

And yet, there the man stood, curiosity laced in his tone as his own eyes found Graham’s work. His shoulders relaxed then, just slightly. Bikes were a good topic. A safe topic. Perhaps one of the only things the two men could possibly have in common. There might have even been the slightest bit of amusement on his face, the corner of his lip twitching, though he forced an eye roll, in case anyone were to look too close, or too far into it.

“I do work at a bike shop, you know. Don’t really have to steal parts.” And even if he did, he’d have liked a little more credit than to be flaunting as much out there in the open.

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“I wouldn’t put it past you.” His words occupied alongside a gentle shrug, as he continues to watch Graham at work. Hands covered in grease, stretching up to the occasional brush against his forearms. He can’t help but wonder what they would have been if they never found out about the other- perhaps if they met in some other universe, some other time. When they could just be the budding friendship they were when Micah first came to town all those years ago. Something that should be long forgotten by now. Or chalked up to sheer loneliness. Perhaps a desperation on either man’s end to make a friend. Any friend.

But that would be far from the truth. Despite how much Micah tries to convince himself away from it, the unfortunate fact is that the two of them got on all too well. Conversation once so easy between strangers. Shared drinks at the bars, and days spent discovering this town he once considered to be new. Back before they saw each other stood on opposite ends of that confrontation. Hellhounds and Reapers. He was everything Micah stood against. The exact thing Micah learnt to fight from the day he was born.

And yet, here he stood with the poor excuse of intoxication to justify his actions.

“You know now’s normally around the point you’re supposed to invite me in for a beer or two.”

x.

Her eyes flared with the rage that she was barely keeping restrained. “Yes you coward! You know we did.” Despite the fact that she look as peaceful as the next person, she would beat the living snot out of him if pushed far enough, and she was certainly getting close. Picking up the shoes she very purposefully left next to the couch, she threw them with enough force to cause some damage if he didn’t move. Especially seeing as they were her steel capped boots she normally rode in, the ones with the chunky sole to make her just that little bit taller than him. 

For as long as she remembered she had been playing peacekeeper between them, but lying for him on the fly and facing all that scrutiny alone was an entirely different thing than mediating a conversation between the two of them. “Come on, you know full well he just wants the best for us. To be able to look out for ourselves. He’s just … worried.” That tasted a little sour on her tongue, not even entirely sure of her own words, she sometimes thought that it was just that he didn’t trust them on their own. But that was why they had to work harder, to prove that they could, that they’d earned their spots.

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A boot dodged, a loud thud somewhere on the ground behind him. One he doesn’t care to look back to as he waltzes his way though the apartment, throwing his bag onto the couch before Lucky as if it was any other day. “We can already look after ourselves. He made sure of that.” He could have rolled his eyes at his twin’s words, but he understood exactly what she was saying. As hard as it was to listen to. He used to say the same things, used to find the same words leaving his lips. But those days were slowly falling behind him the longer he seemed to spend away from his father. Not that it was ever something his father acknowledged- even when Micah did everything right, there was always something wrong. 

“I’ll call him later then,” Another lie straight through his teeth, turning his back on Lucky and wandering to the kitchen. He didn’t understand why she was always defending him, always on his side despite everything. Not that he could blame her for being the favourite, but it really did get on his nerves sometimes. “What did he have to say to you anyway, anything worthwhile?”

Actual footage from inside Lucky and Micah’s apartment

open to: everyone @skullhqsreblogs​ location: crowned willows

Lennon was putting the finishing touches on an arrangement of roses, pleased with the results and hoped that when the customer who ordered it came into pick it up that they’d feel the same. She moved to grab a drink from her water bottle, her head turning back to the counter at the sound of someone’s voice. The blonde offered them a smile, swallowing the water in her mouth before finally giving the individual her attention. “Hey, I know the full stock can feel like you’re walking into a forest.” The latest shipment was a large one, different delivery people coming in and out of the doorway as if on a queue. “The tulips can go on the right in the front, roses tend to be more in the center to draw everyone in — you know how that goes. Oh! The Peonies you’ll be able to spot as you keep walking down…Am I talking to fast?” She questioned, not realizing that she’d been handing off tasks to someone who didn’t work with her.

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It was chaos from the moment he stepped into the florist, assorted flowers lining the walls, and enough ribbon Micah’s certain they could repave every sidewalk in Skull with the amount inside this shop. People walking in and out of the doors, deliveries non stop he’d come to realise as the blonde begins telling him the locations of the flowers.  Perhaps it was boredom getting the better of Micah, which to be honest most day’s it did. Or perhaps he was just happy to help. “Yes sir,” he nods rather enthusiastically for a job that wasn’t his own, starting with the tulips. Or well, he’s pretty sure these small budded flowers were tulips. Up until this moment Micah just assumed he knew what a tulip was, but now being faced with so many options he really did start to doubt himself.

“These are the tulips right?”

MICAH:

Where: Midtown Apartments Who: @preyfm​​

Golden hues breaking through the silent blue of the night, bidding farewell to the monsters in her nightmares, replaced by the very real monsters that lurk in the shadows. Looking around the apartment a small hint of a smile graced her lips as she saw the last message she’d left Micah on the fridge, ASSHOLE! It was only when she heard keys being lazily jangled into the lock that her interest was piqued. It was the early hours of the morning and while she doubted anyone would be dumb enough to try and break into this particular apartment, Lucky found herself desperately wanting someone to try. Things had been quiet around Skull, like the static clinging to you before a storm, it made her excitedly eager.

“You’re late.” Normally she wouldn’t give a damn what time her brother came home, but seeing as they got a phone call from their father, one which she had to endure alone, she was quietly simmering. She’d never truly done anything alone, that was the benefit of having a twin, but there was an odd feeling that the phone call stirred in her, one she couldn’t quite put a name to. “You should call him back.”

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Sunlight peering the horizon, blues washed away before him as he rides through the sleeping town. He should have been home earlier, when the sun was still hidden by the horizon and nothing more than the gentle gold begging for days warmth would stain the edges of the nights sky. But he couldn’t help but put off returning back to that apartment that didn’t quite feel like home. Especially when he knew there was a phone call awaiting when he returned. One he was certain Lucky would have been talking her way through takes as many detours as he can on his way home through the all too peaceful town.

“We had a call from him today?” He asked, tone all too high pitched for someone telling the truth. An obvious lie even he knew his sister wouldn’t buy for a second.  “Damn, god sorry I missed it. Would have killed to be there. I’m sure it was great- riveting stuff. Let me guess what I missed... Have you been keeping your skills sharp, and ah- how’s the crew doing? And oh I know, why aren’t you doing more?”

A low hanging sun streams the last of its yellowing beams through the large glass windows that surround the gas station. A hallow radio station plays through the speakers, something repetitive enough that Micah could have sworn it was playing each time he stopped by, but he’d be thankful for it because without it there would be that ever present silence that seems to cling to Skull. A silence that sinks into his core and settles in his bones, like a winter ache that one just can’t seem to shake. 

It’s near empty, but that’s not uncommon for a gas station in the middle of nowhere when it’s this far from tourist season. ( Not that Skull even had one of those if you asked Micah. ) It was only natural the only other person wandering the isles caught his attention, and an inevitable fact he was going to go up to him once he realised who it was. 

He causally drapes himself across Rhine, looking over his shoulder to whatever it was the other was looking at. “I’m thinking red vines and vodka, are you in?”

LOCATION: TBH, any sidewalk will do. STATUS: open to all 

Why, why did she decide to do this? Running was never strong suit of hers and somehow, this was pure torture in her mind and she wasn’t even sure why she was still doing it at this point. Each thud of her foot pounding the pavement sent waves of pain up her legs, her body burned and she felt her lungs restrict in her chest. “Oh, fuck this.” she came to a shuddering halt, leaning against a nearby streetlight. “Why do people do this, why do people enjoy this? It’s psychotic.” she gulped, eyes briefly flickering closed as she tried to gasp for air. 

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Gravel kicked beneath his feet, the morning air once something fresh and dewy makes way for the sun that climbs into the sky. Heat quickly begins to make itself known, shimmer of sweat glistens Micah’s forehead as he makes his way on his morning jog. Something so ritualistic to the man, heart pounding in his chest, sweat building on his back. A bit of peace he could find in the day, but god he would find himself missing the beach by his side. The waves crashing at the ocean’s edge.

“It gets easier,” A poor attempt at swallowing his amusement at the woman before him as he eases his jog to approach. “Either that or we’re masochists.”

location  :    anywhere  w  chairs  and  tables  lbr open  to  :    everyone

          “     well    ,    these    are    just    made    up    stories.    none    of    them    are    …     ”        real.    that’s    what    he    meant    to    say    as    his    eyes    found    the    stack    of    papers    he’d    dug    out    from    the    creative    writing    era    his    students    had    entered    during    his    first    week    of    teaching.    he    liked    to    think    all    the    darkness    and    talk    of    supernatural    creatures    roaming    around    skull    wasn’t    as    violent    as    they    made    it    seem    like    it    was.    matt    wanted    to    use    the    town    for    inspiration    ,    not    spend    his    days    worrying    about    children    that    weren’t    even    related    to    him.        “     kids    have    big    imaginations    ,    y’know    ?     ”        a    pause    ,    then    the    male’s    worry    began    to    show    in    the    crease    of    his    forehead    and    furrow    of    his    brows.        “     are    things    really    that    bad    around    here    ?     ”

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Curiosity gets the better of him, reaching across the table to grab one of the writings that he can’t help but begin to read. Micah knew anyone else would have bat at his hands for such a notion, he was almost surprised when the person across the table from him didn’t. “It’s wild the imagination some kids have,” His voice an empty echo of the sentiment as he skims through the page of children’s writing. “Didn’t you ever write stories of things that went bump in the night?”

–

“Thank you? I think people would be cursing you–or just continually gifting you with the fruits of their labor from trees,” Tae said, the look of disgust touching the beginning of their statement, shifting into a bit of a mischievous grin. “Peach cobblers, peach teas, peach pies, peach ointments, gummies, peach everything.”

While Tae knew they couldn’t cook for shit, they’d be certain to learn if the Waterhole ended up covered in sour peach trees. Tae shifted back once the beer is taken and watched as the young man flicks open a lighter. “Lighting it on fire or the beer? The fire would be more fun but the beer would probably help.”

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“I like to imagine I could become a God they would worship, you know after giving them life and all that. They can gift me with their fruits of labour.” Some days Micah thinks he would have enjoyed moving into the Waterhole, there was always an atmosphere about the place that gave him the smallest, most somber hints of a desolate city. The closest thing Skull had to one at least.

A small piece of the town where there always seemed to be life, wandering and welcoming. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it reminded him of California, but it was something.

Listening to their response, Micah gives an earnest nod, “To the twisted mutant roots that will grow here,” Pouring out a dash of his beer before he’d bring it up to his lip and take a mouthful. “Now, I knight you protecter of this tree, it’s your responsibility now.”

—

Javi made a slight face at the prospect of what could come from an estate sale. “I’ve never been to one of those before actually, but when you put it like that — I’m not sure I want to go to one of ‘em,” he commented with a bit of a laugh as he finished throwing the load of laundry into the machine closest to him. He didn’t have too much, enough so that he was cutting it close with wearing clean things to work but it only added to the list of things that he needed to get for himself or he’d end up at the laundromat every few days until he went shopping. “I don’t know. You’d think they’d come up with places to sell furniture for people that don’t have a lot of money an’ don’t want to spend a lot either. Not like one of those showroom places, but like cheap shit that doesn’t fall apart in a few months.”

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"They’re pretty fun, if you know you don’t think about the possibility of everything you getting being haunted. Like every last thing you touch, that could be the person’s favourite memorabilia- how would you know that? Sorta like robbing the dead..” The man finds his words trailing from him, these thoughts he’s had each time he wanders through the yard sales of those who were no longer walking this earth. He can’t help the train of thoughts, “I bet you could find something good in The Hills though- who knows what they stash in their couch cushions.”

Honestly Micah was thankful their main street apartment had enough furniture to suffice when they moved into it, nestled somewhere above a few of the shops. But as much as it would kill him to admit it, he was certain if it wasn’t there, their father would have sent a truck with furniture in it. “There might be some second hand stores in a town or so over, that might be the closest thing to a cheap store.”

—

He didn’t often pay mind to the coming and goings of the Waterhole at this time of night. He’d lived there long enough to know that if you kept your head down and knew how to mind your business, others would follow suit, leaving you free to continue on with whatever activities had you hiding in the darkness for in the first place…for the most part. 

There was nothing for Graham to hide, that night–not even from Arden, a rarity. He simply could not sleep, which was not a rarity. Some nights, he would slip out to his front porch, light a cigarette (or a joint, depending on the night), and just sit in the darkness, not bothered to turn on the light, not needing it. Tonight, however, his hands found themselves busy with more than just a lighter, the parts of his bike’s engine laid out before him, a sweating beer settled by his knee.

A beer he nearly knocked over at the sound of Micah’s voice. He’d seen the man, from the corner of his eye, and had wrongly assumed that he’d keep walking. Even if there was any room to mistake the relationship between the two, there couldn’t be, not here of all places, where the head down policy Graham abided by wasn’t full proof. Wouldn’t keep word from spreading around. Could imagine it now: Hellhound and Reaper seen conversing. Hellhound promptly murdered by his brother.

He had no words. Not at first, when it was just his eyes speaking, glancing from the parts of his bike to the man before him in a way that he’d tried to keep bored, uninterested, but clung to the shape of Micah’s body, the disheveled t-shirt, the mused hair, in a way that was anything but. He couldn’t speak, knowing not that his words would betray him, but their breathless edge, and so Graham nearly snorted, reaching for the beer by his knee and raising it to his lips, even as a blush began to creep up his neck. He could feel the heat of it through his shirt.

“Your fly’s down.” He gestured with his head, though even that felt too intimate, and so his eyes lowered, returning back to the task at hand. It was clear between the two of them whom had been up to the nefarious activities.

⊹     ⊹     ⊹    

Stood amongst the obscurity of night, with the moon something half lit and low in the sky, washed out by that yellow glow of a place Graham would call his home- it was all to easy to be tempted away from the rulebook. That rulebook that was drilled into Micah from the day he was old enough to read, he’d know these things like the back of his hand. What it was to be a hunter. A Reaper. And he knew the consequences as well, for a man who walked through the world like world on his shoulders weighed no more than a feather- it could have come as a surprise the kind of gravity he held situations with.

Micah knew just how many rules he had to be breaking right now, standing before the Hellhound. But he was unable to resist playing with the enemy, especially here where no one looked twice your way, and that was if a soul was to walk past. Which there wasn’t. Not at this time of the night. So perhaps, he thought to himself, it’s not so dangerous to stand here and watch Graham’s hands at work.

There wouldn’t be an immediate reply, instead a smile settling on his features as he rests himself against a nearby post. “I didn’t think I’d have to tell you my eyes are up here.” Amusement burning his tone as he zips up his fly. Not a sheer hint of embarrassment, despite the possibility of it bubbling ever so slightly under the surface. 

“Is this your bike at least? Or one you’re doing a poor job of stealing?”