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darkdemeter · 4 days

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𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯 𝑰𝑵 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬

— 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒙 (𝑭) 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓! 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 —

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To the eldest as your charge, Death remained a permanently perplexing sort. This, from the wit of his banter and blunted sass, often leaves you fixated on the nature of his estranged and cold personality, however much you see the confliction of his inner turmoil within. But that is a personal affair you dare not intrude upon.

Most curious for a Watcher, Death often scowls in the closeted nest of his deepest thoughts. More so than not, Watchers tend to make a grand show of their power over the Horsemens’ leash, whichever sibling they hold to, it is but a taming of a trophy. A display, that in comparison to the feared Horsemen, the Watchers are the ones in power.

Darkened, boastful entities. Infectious, shadowy wisps that are bound and loyal to the Charred Council. Yet compared to the likes of your other wrist-shackled counterparts, you remain out of the way of his carnage-paved path. You don’t conduct yourself as a mouthpiece of sarcasm and venomous snark. Death already covers that trait and far more fittingly if you’re forced to confess. But no, you allow him his way without the threat of restraint, and maybe because he is the eldest of his siblings, he is granted that right.

But for you… well, the reason is not like that at all. At least, not entirely. You revere his strength and might, but in fact, you are also rather ‘young’. By this, you have very little experience amassed when chosen to govern a Horsemen; moreso that this is your first venture in doing so. You could also say you’re an admirer of Death. How precise he is in the midst of his outward battles, the radiance of his exuded power, it’s of little use to convince yourself otherwise by accompanying him as his so-called Watcher that you feel safe in his company.

And that is why you remain to that of a voiceless shadow. Quite literally. Upon first bindings to the one known as Kin-slayer, he has not so much as heard you utter a single word. And he knows not if he should be grateful or reserved. A Watcher that is silent?

He tries to not let it overcome his mind. But it's hard when he takes time of momentary rest such as this, to contemplate the path he treads and his next course of action, and then to lift his burning amber eyes to find you. Either staring at him or providing a level of cared attendance to Dust, adoring the crow’s purring chirps as his dark, crisp feathers quiver and fluff out.

When involving the former, all he can do is glare in return but that does little to deter you, gaze almost dream-like, as if you marvel at the sight of him in your muted presence. Though you may harbour a surmised amount of fear for Death, the dangers of other creatures scare you, and that fear only drives you closer to his side. Nights like this there crawls something sinister in the dark. It lingers there like a beast on the prowl. The wispy form of your blackened silhouette dances in hunched uncertainty, perhaps cowardly to the likes of his perspective, before a simple clutter of rubble ignites the last of your incited panic and you huddle to his side. Who better to protect you than Death? His scythes ring the song of victory without so much as a breath, the task of delivering those unto their demise one he is born and created to do.

Has been for many aeons. But he is still and undisturbed by the shifting of pebbles. He scowls, that much you can tell by the thinning of his amber eyes that burn with a thousand blazes of molten and fire.

“It’s nothing, little Watcher.” His voice is strung by the hoarseness of his remark, reprimanding you and your swiftness to scare easily. How often he’s marked you with such belittlement but you find yourself yearning for it. You interpret it as his term of endearment beneath that coarse exterior of his. Head fluttering in the direction of any miniscule note that sounds in the distance around you, you finally come from your hiding place, tucked close to his ribcage with a curious tilt of your head. Glancing from him to where you’d heard the noise, the trail of black at the end of your torso dances over his lap, stirring him with a chill that leaves a disgruntled noise to rise from his chest.

As ever the curious thing you were and that he’d come to know, your arms raise to bend at the elbows, nervously your tinged fingers ring together within your silent inquiry, Death takes an unseemly approach this time around; that of thoughtful gentleness.

“Nothing will come and harm you.”

This answer calms you. He tells by the fall of your shoulders that ease at his promise, and the way your head turns to view him with your eyes, glowing brightly as if you share with him a kind, thankful smile.

“So long as you don’t draw attention,” he quickly snips and that crinkle of your eyes wears away, that once illuminated smile within your gaze dims.

He’s not entirely sure if that was a necessity to add. By what logic would you draw attention to them? Half the time, your presence is invisible to the masked Horseman. Only made known in times where you guide him through his journey, a suggestive wave or push of his body to indicate a point of interest that may be of some use in his quest.

But other than quick outings to help him, watch over him, you don’t exactly serenade him with a chorus of banter he can combat with his own, and thus, enemies don’t take notice of your being there until you show yourself.

But nevertheless, he watches you hover towards him before coming to curl against him. Though he means to protest and brush you aside, you make yourself comfortable at his side and he’s forced to concede that this is where you plan to stay until you both are on the move again.

You sigh, the sound quiet and echoes faintly in the chamber of your enclosed, unmade mouth. Yet your jaw grows down in length as if to copy the motion to yawn and you rest your head against his shoulder.

“You know, you’re a very odd sort of Watcher,” he says to you, yet your eyes dwindle, slowly closing as you remain untainted by his words. They are not new to you. He’s commented a few times about your oddities. And you’re inclined to agree with a sluggish nod.

Still, he watches you, eyes cast upon you with a glare meant to intimidate you. But seeing the serenity of your peace when pressed to him, it comes to soften his gaze. Unexpectedly, something in his heart… beats. Blooms. A strange force threatens to dominate.

The blackened outline of your form fits to the line of his body, the fading tail at the end of your torso rests over in his lap.

Once certain that you’ve somehow drifted into some realm of slumber, his hand comes to rest along the ridge of your spine, he feels the pulse of energy within your shadowed, ethereal body.

The framing curtain of blackness that shrouds your head moves timidly like hair taken softly to the breeze. Much like a human, it is another quality that sets you far apart from the other watchers to relish in their power below the Charred Council’s will.

What Death finds himself now evermore torn and confused by, is the utterance of one word as you drift off into the sleeping abyss.

The quietness disturbed by a tune harmonic - angelic - that it fits not the occupation you find yourself in servitude under.

It is a word he often claims is in the interest of the balance only. That nothing else restrains him to such an esteemed and honourable title.

“Protector…”

#female reader #darksiders #darksiders fanfiction #death x watcher reader #darksiders death #x reader #death x reader #death x female reader #purely self indulgent #*cough* anyways #darksiders 2 #darksiders x reader #imagine darksiders #Death/Reader

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oven-thermometer · 1 year

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monster under the bed!death x reader

a/n: darksiders content??? who am i??

warnings: mentions of murder/death/stalking, not proofread

wc: 662

You lay unperturbed in a mellow state somewhere between sleep and awake on your plush bed. Your outstretched arm hung over the side – dipping past your peripheral vision into the darkness of your room. With your other hand twisting and turning between the moon’s rays running through your curtains; you were unaware of the cold fingers creeping their way further up the side of your bed closer to your unused hand.

You smiled to yourself. You enjoyed these rare moments of calm nights filled to the brim with moonlight and mindless thoughts. The pale white light danced between your fingers, landing finally on the crooked digits and broken nails holding themselves a few centimeters away from your delicate hands. They creeped closer ever so slowly, careful not to rouse your suspicion too soon.

Inhaling deeply, you swiftly turned over, missing the offending hand just as it withdrew back to it’s place under your bed. You chuckled. Forever amused by his antics, you humored him this one time. You rolled your eyes before letting them slip closed. With a deep, calm sigh you sunk further into the comforting sheets. Gingerly, you let your arm hang down once again, making sure it was so far down it almost reached the floor.

And as you planned, after only ten seconds of sweet silence, you felt the telltale signs of his hand reaching for yours and his eyes watching you. The calloused pad of his fingers and dry skin juxtapositioned your soft ones, maybe that’s why he loved holding your hand in his – just like he was now, having finally reached you. Dull amber eyes shined with new light as they took in your peaceful face. He knew you weren’t sleeping, but he was alright with that. As he peeked his out from underneath the frame of your bed for a better look, his jet black hair fell in unkempt tresses across your bedroom floor. The moonlight barely caught the ends of them, only lighting them where they could.

With the crickets outside your window singing the song of an undisturbed night under the lake of stars, he allowed himself to caress your hand, running his fingers over your knuckles and savouring the look that graced your features. You donned a cheeky smile, struggling to keep your eyes closed. Before you could open them, he lowered his head back slightly to cover himself once again – the darkness acting as his personal mask. Your gaze made it’s way down to what was unmistakably the eyes you’ve stared into hours for before. All you could make out from what he was allowing you to see were those fiery eyes and the worn down skin of his arm. The ends of your mouth were pulled down into a frown. Tattered cloth wrapped itself around his arm, further reminding you of the life he had to lead in the dark under your bed.

Every monster under the bed used to be human, or from what yours has told you. They were all people once. If someone plagued by nightmares all their life finally die to what was in those horrible dreams, they became a monster destined to live amongst the dust and boxes of forgotten memories sitting underneath everyone’s bed. Until they could claim the life of the owner of the bed they resided under, they stayed. Then and only then could they finally die and find peace within the death of another.

Both of you knew this, and yet the creature had never brought himself to end your life. You doubted he ever would, and he had to agree.

Between hushed whispers and long silences, you conversed with the supposedly nightmarish thing that found residence below where you slept. And you did just that. Eventually; his deep, hoarse voice slipped away and his hand drifted from yours as your eyes fluttered shut and you succumbed to sleep under the watchful eye of your very own monster under the bed.

#darksiders #darksiders death #darksiders 2 #darksiders ii #darksiders x reader #death x reader #darksiders death x reader

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askthedarksidersfam · 16 days

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In the Pines

Chapter 2- Death Throes

A new stranger arrives at the Dead Kingdom, and you question if he is friend or foe...

The method of dying isn’t a stranger to War. It is an unwelcome experience than a closely held fear that all creatures hold close to their chests. He wouldn’t be one to boast about having been through the whole entirety of dying, but he wouldn’t shy away from exclaiming he doesn’t fear it.

This time however, War can’t ignore the waves of shame that ache like a slug to the gut. Indeed, he’d felt shame when he perished in battle when carrying the Ravaiim relic to safety. But this was beyond what he felt all those eons ago.

A failure to keep a relic away from enemy hands was vastly overshadowed by the obliteration of War’s image, his legendary honor. All knew of War’s pride of being the warrior he was, the oaths he’d made and the extensions he’d reach to see them fulfilled. He’d been a poster child, in a sense, of the perfect enforcer of the Balance. The favorite of the Council with his diligent work ethic, outshining them all in how he’d throw himself into his duties. As if he’d have something to prove despite the need not to.

How far he’d fallen…

Stripped of his power, thoroughly chewed out by the Council and put under their chopping block to serve as their punishment for a supposed crime he didn’t commit.

After War opened his eyes, he didn’t need to see the sickly green hue clinging to his being to know he’s been transported to the Kingdom of the Dead. The stench of stale air and a musk of the ever decaying souls assaults his nose. Beneath him is a ground devoid of any green, and instead substituted with layers of dust that flutter through the air at the slightest disturbance.

He can still feel the vague wetness of tears that trail his cheeks. The rider never felt more vulnerable than before.

The racing images of the past events came flooding through his mind, from the moment of the call to his arrival. The chance meeting with Abaddon…

Abaddon. He must be here, War vaguely thinks between the onslaught of thoughts that plague his mind. If he can find him here, then he will find out why he was there… one way or another…

But that very thought sends a wave of anger through his chest, as War is only able to reflect on the accusations and confusion that follows. What purpose did the Archangel serve among the ranks, he was leader of the Hellguard, a division dedicated to the protection from Hellish infiltration of protected areas, especially the borders of Heaven. They were not at all meant to march at the front lines of the Apocalypse as it wasn’t their duty.

Yet there they were, among the ranks fighting with just as much ferocity as the summoned legions. The gears in his brain churned at an incomprehensible rate as he tried to key together this mystery.

What purpose did they serve, and what secrets are they hiding?

Something greater was at play here. Abaddon, the Call beckoning him to do his duty, and no sense of his brothers and sister in the Earth.

All at once, the frustrations bubbled and broiled over within the Horseman. The memories that lay bare across his vision began to crumble and branch into webbing cracks as his own wrath, hot as frothing lava, rose in terrible tidal waves, fueling dead veins with his famously irremovable ire.

Then, akin to a weakened dam holding back a tsunami, the images of his mind, and the last of his reserves, explode in an extraordinary display.

Pulling his lips back to unleash terrible canines, War’s prosthetic arm clenched tight enough to nearly break the metal fingers. Eyelids snap open to reveal the blazing glow of glacial blue, near blinding as they’re fueled by his rage. He raises his fist above his head and, in one great swell of strength, swings it down with a terrible velocity as War unleashes an agonized bellow of betrayal.

The momentum of his arm stops short, colliding with the ground below, stone beneath shatters upon impact. Dust flies everywhere as the shockwave sends throughout.

War doesn’t need to see the ground to know he’s left a crater.

Though he doesn’t need air, War huffs as greatly as a rhinoceros. The fire within him surges through his body, showing no signs of slowing down soon. The rider can only stare hatefully at the cobblestone below as he tries to ride out this immeasurable wave.

For an immeasurable amount of time, the Nephilim stays motionless, sucking in deep lungfuls of dust laden air before forcefully exhaling. His right arm, the flesh one, shakes with tremors under his gauntlet, before the trembles slowly spread across his body.

The great injustice of it all enraged War greatly, he can’t help but reflect upon what the Council said to Fury of their elder brothers being absent. Strife had been sent out on a mission according to them, but Death’s case had his mind reeling.

The Eldest had done this before, in the distant past. Disappearing for five hundred years without a trace until finally showing his face in the wake of the Council’s urgent summons. He had disappeared, likely for his own sake of solitude after the Nephilim’s fall.

But what reason had he now to disappear? Where could Death go that not even the most sensitive ears or eyes could detect him on the furthest comer of Creation?

He wouldn’t abandon them. Not again… So caught up in the haze of his muddled thoughts, War doesn’t hear gentle footfalls coming up to his side. His hood, far over his head, obscures his peripheral vision and had he noticed, he’d be ashamed for letting an unknown person get so close.

But he doesn’t scold himself as he’s still caught in the fray. At least, that is until he hears a throat be cleared before asking him a question he’s never been directed to in his eons of existence.

“Hello there sir. Are you alright?”

——

The behemoth of a man doesn’t move when you call out. But you know he’s heard you if the tensing of his body is any indication. His face is obscured by the hulking copper pauldron and blood red hood pulled far over his head, blocking off any view of his features.

There’s a tremble to his figure, albeit faint, you can spot the quivers beneath his strange armor. You’d would’ve guessed him to be an Angel if it weren’t for the lack of wings and the doubt of seeing one so scared. Demon was far out of the question due to the obvious absence of a tail, malformed wings or the faint sulfur stink they possessed (a surprising fact to learn).

Was this stranger human? The question rattled in your head as you took in his huge figure, the apex of his shoulders were equal to yours at your full height. But the sheer size of him alone suggested Maker, but even this beast of a man would be minuscule compared to Engri.

But it didn’t matter who or what he was, but rather, the shaking that didn’t cease even as you both stood in silence. A pang of sympathy wells in your chest, remembering how you were just as frightened when you first arrived. Death throes, Engri had called them. The soul still yearns for life, and tries to command flesh that isn’t there anymore.

‘He could probably use a hand, after who knows what he went through.’ You shudder at the thought of the untold horrors that he must’ve endured at his death.

‘Friendly face…’ you remind yourself as you clear your throat and try again.

“Sir, are you alright?”

This time, you get a reaction. The man’s head whips around in record time, near startling you as you’re suddenly stared down by the mysterious newcomer.

Behind the copper pauldron and his hood, you spot two bright eyes staring you down, unlike anything you’ve ever seen. They’re pupilless, glowing like sulfur fire with just as much intensity. The twin flames stare you down like a wrathful lion roused from slumber, and you the mousy culprit.

You can’t help but find yourself lost in the void, sinking further into the crashing storm of anger and despair. It’s too powerful to pull away now, and you can’t gather the strength to as you spot something within him.

For just a moment, in the moment that time was creeping between the two of you, there was the slightest hint of fear swimming beneath the surface. As quick as you caught it, it was dashed away as those wild and raw eyes hardened. It was not unlike watching the surface of magma cool into solid rock, but beneath did the liquid fire still burn.

Caught up in the swirling hues of burning blue, you failed to catch the stranger’s face contort into something more offensive. If you did, you would’ve wisely backed away instead of gawk dumbly as lips pulled back to reveal glimmering teeth.

“What?” He snarls the question at you, the deepness of his breathy tone pulling you in like a magnet. You still don't give an answer, caught between the urge to swallow up your concern and run and to stay and comfort the man. If you could call him that.

Quicker than you’d expect a man his size to move, the stranger throws himself backwards. Adopting a protective stance, his left arm is poised to cover his body more effectively as he bares his teeth warningly. Simultaneously, you jolt back instinctively putting distance between you and him.

How ironic.

Dead as dust, and your mind is trying to keep alive as if you still possessed a beating heart and blood in your viscera. Even more so concerting, considering how you’d been so adamant on approaching him first.

Briefly, there’s a thought that comes into mind, asking if this was a wise idea. But what could one soul do to another when both are dead?

You doubt the dead can be killed again. With that logic you feel less insecure about an attack. So you gulp down your nerves and clear your throat.

“Everything‘s okay,” you begin, arms held up placatingly as the man eyes you warily, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Not that you could even land a single blow on your best day.

The man thinks the same, as his lips pull into a deeper scowl as his nose curls. Though he has no discernible pupil, you can feel him sizing you up. Definitely determining you to be as much of a threat to him as a fly is to a lion.

Seconds tick by like eons, neither one of you twitching a muscle as you stare each other down. One with barely restrained apprehension, the other suspicion and lingering animosity.

Until finally, the man curls his nose with a huff.

Completely unimpressed, he motions to leave you in the dust, metaphorically and literally as he spins on his heel and makes his way out of the tiny pocket of room off the road. The ground below shudders with a muffled tromp, displacing dust to flutter into the air and stray pebbles to rock.

If you’d a moment to think about his sheer impact on the ground, you probably wouldn’t have so brazenly charged forward to meet with him again. Hellbent on trying to understand what was his grand plan here.

Maybe you would’ve wisely backed off, especially when you were so hesitant to approach due to the very threat of bodily harm. Even beyond the grave. You’d definitely be reflecting on this tonight to find the answer to this crazy ass decision. But the only answer you’d receive after racking your brain to find is probably “whoopsie” or “I’m not fucking up my first day of Soul Guiding”.

Just as your hand is about to make contact with the man’s armored arm, there’s a great flash of gray as the world suddenly spins on its axis. Roughly, your back slams into the ground as the beanie hugging your head jostles loose, half handing to your skull. If you’d any breath it’d be knocked clean out, but all you do is gawk, breathless regardless.

In one swift motion you’d been slammed into the ground with the giant of a man hovering over you. Enormous legs cage you in as he keeps a grip so ironclad on your guilty arm you can legitimately feel the pressure near breaking. You fear he’d break your bones had you not been so caught up in staring him down, dead heart lurching in your throat.

Pinned, outsized and far in over your head, the only plausible thing your panic riddled mind can do is teeter on the precipice of two options. Gather the last remnants of human survival and urge you to break loose or relive the last moments of your life cornered in that concrete trap like you are now. The only difference you felt was no roaring of blood into your ears nor the stir of a certain pounding cardiac organ.

You swear in this very moment this man was really those hound monsters in disguise, ready for a part two in their revenge.

Get off.

You see those hungry eyes through the cracks. Blues bleed into fiery orange, the shadows eclipse into coal black leathery skin of hellish hounds.

Get off.

Pulled back lips contort into snarling maws like permanent grins. Bare gums glinting with teeth bigger than your arm. A heavy pant like laughter among the prowling pack that close in on their prey.

GET O F F !

The crushing grip melds into the pain of your arm —- your missing flesh arm —-

You can taste the blood, feel it running down your throat and flood your lungs—

G E T O F F !

The proximity between him and you is near atoms apart. You feel the wisps of breath he exhales, fluttering over your cheeks like ghosts in the wind. There is no heat, unlike the breath of the hounds who felt hotter than the pits of Hell. A complete antithesis-

“GET OFF ME!”

The shriek echoes across the empty field, rattling the naked limbs of a nearby tree and disturbing the dust to flutter around the air. Dancing between the two of you carelessly.

The man above you does not move as you demanded, instead he keeps his grip steady, the only indication of him listening to you are his raised brows and slightly widened eyes. Clearly surprised by the outburst. But he still doesn’t make a single move, instead vying to keep you pinned as his lips form words that your brain fails to comprehend. It’s only after a few seconds of silence after his words have passed his mouth did your brain catch it like a delayed echo.

“Who are you?! What is the meaning of this?” Though he nearly splits your ears with his bellow, the demand sounds as if you’re hearing him with cotton stuffed in your ears. And underwater.

When you don’t give an immediate answer, his patience seems to wear thin, given by the deepening furrow of his brow. Vaguely you think how it’s even physically possible before your ears pick up on a voice ring through the air.

��I-I just-!”

“It will do you good to let them go boy!”

Both you and the man’s head swivel to the origin of the newcomer. Poised for attack, the stranger is dressed in armored regalia, finely detailed with bone imagery long since worn down. He carries a glaive, or at least an imitation of the weapon due to its dramatic length of the blade. It’s pointed in your general direction, but not at you. But the head of the man above you.

He stares you down with well worn eyes, cataracts cloudy yet sharply focused on you.

The stranger doesn’t give away what he feels about the situation, but from the pinching of his brows and snarling of teeth, he doesn’t like what he sees.

The soldier jabs the weapon, the edge near kidding the red hood of the man above. He merely grunts at the proffer of the metal blade, unphased about this. Which was rather ironic given his need to attack weaponless you.

“I will not ask again! Let the ‘uman go.” He snarls, dripping with authority to make you rigid upon hearing. The man above you snaps his head between you and the newcomer, brows pinched together as you shoot him a weary grin, silently begging he’d listen.

“Yeah, uh, please let the human go…” you say weakly, struggling under his grip as you feel an atom more confident with this stranger. Though that is promptly squashed when the man glares daggers into you, sending a wave of cold dread shooting through your chest. The crushing grip tightening even more.

“I am not asking you again boy! ‘ave you no sense o’ ‘onor that you’d attack one without a weapon?!”

That gets his attention.

His ironclad hold violently wrenches free, and you immediately scramble out from underneath him. You drag yourself away from the man and put some distance between you and him, with the stranger as a barrier. Despite not knowing either, you’d take your chances with the soldier rather than the goliath.

The guard shuffles until he’s blocked the view of the red hooded behemoth, weapon poised at his head. He tilts his head back to eye you as he calls out. “You alright ‘uman?” Dazed, you can only offer an unsure grunt, grasping at the arm with fresh indents in the dead skin. You wince as you doubt there’s a chance it’ll recover.

“Y-yeah.” Is the feeble answer.

He grunts before turning his attention to your attacker, whose face is twisted into a vicious snarl half hidden by his hood. Those blue eyes are pure murderous as he glares at your savior. However, he is completely unaffected, instead vying to puff his chest out and raise his shoulders. Immediately, the man becomes larger than he already is, the armor assisting him as the oversized pauldrons that sweep towards the air flare out like boney wings.

The tension growing between the two is heavy, like a thick fog and tingling with electricity. Though you’re not caught in the middle of it, you can feel the sharp sting that leaves you dizzy.

Just when you’re sure the fog will stretch out to you and wrap you in the static blanket, it’s so abruptly interrupted.

“I do not know why you attack this ‘uman, but know that this will not go unnoticed by me. ‘owever that is not why I am ‘ere,” the man straightened his posture as he keeps his glaive pointed straight at the man, “I am ‘ere to escort you, Red Rider, to the King, for you are hereby summoned to appear ‘fore the Dead Court.”

That gets your attention.

Engri had spoken of the monarchy and his exclusivity on the few to no guests he harbors in his Court. In fact, practically no one has made company with the king in the last century other than his guards and royal advisors and overseers.

Not that making company was as simple as approaching the throne room and waltzing in to share your grievances. Between the tales of the men of the Arena who’s battle prowess could match that of the aged Maker and cynical advisors, you’d heard of one such obstacle to meet the king.

The Arena and its heralded unbeatable Champion.

Engri had shared the stories of the Champion, a creature of bone and sinew, nigh invincible. How she’d faced the beast before in boast, promising to bring the skull to the Court not for an audience, but to wipe the smirk off their smug faces when they claimed she’d be unsuccessful as the others. And they’d been right.

The monster was unpredictable in its attacks and twice as formidable in strength, even against a seasoned warrior as Engri. In the end, the battle mage decided it best to abandon her quest and turn tail to save herself the near severed limbs and a wounded ego during the excursion.

That was the only ticket to meet the king.

And this guy gets a free fucking pass.

A trickling sensation of horror and suspicion runs up your spine as you wearily eye the stranger. What had he done to warrant the king’s audience per his demand?

Probably something terrible. Right?

The “Red Rider” or he’s been addressed, near snarls at the soldier whilst rising to an impossible height. Your eyes shamelessly bulge from their sockets as your jaw fails to keep itself hinged while you wordlessly gawk.

You knew he was tall from how he nearly reached your shoulder on his knees, but not like this. He towers over the soldier who himself boasts an impressive height, and his glaive stands taller than his helmet which adds a few extra inches. You doubt your head even reaches the bottom of his sternum if you stood on your toes.

“What would your king,” he spits the word out like rot on his tongue, “want with me? I am no stranger to this realm nor am I a foe.”

The soldier doesn’t stop the scoff, making the taller shoot a nasty glare. “Do you think us so shut in from the world of the livin’ we do not know o’ your affairs?” The hooded man immediately stiffens, your head tilts as you questioningly stare at the accused wondering if-

“I've done nothing of the sort. I am not guilty of the crimes the Council accuses me of!” He bellows, voice so powerful you can feel it punch you in the chest. Though the other male seems completely unaffected, not even a flinch.

“Whatever those slags o’ molten rocks decide is none o’ my concern. I am ‘ere merely to escort you to the Court.” He cooly says.

Council? Crimes? Molten rocks?! What in fuck’s name are they talking about?!

Too caught up in the haze, you shake your head in efforts to clear the very muddled thoughts you’re trying to piece together. You don’t even register their conversation.

Yeah, the man straight up attacked you, but he hadn’t seemed to do so blindly. Though the whole parameters of why he’d think of you as a threat doesn’t click.

But beforehand, prior to his… lashing out, he seemed completely caught up in himself. The scream you’d heard, how the raw bellow was so pained, opposite to his aloof attitude. How he sounded so… betrayed?

Scared.

Like when you first opened your eyes on the cobblestone road.

A pang of sympathy worms its way through your chest, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste of the past. A frown stretches across your lips, remembering that wretched feeling.

Why should you not extend that mercy to him? Because of some self preservation to your corpse? A guard claiming he’s to be punished for a possible crime? Your survival instincts screamed not to, and logic dictated that this was none of your own business.

But the man’s protests of innocence were too heartfelt. Too… fervent.

Unlike the aged corpse of a soldier, you listen to those cries. You know them well. Distant wails that cut through the ears of the endlessly noisy city like a gunshot. Too many times you lie awake on your bed, listening helplessly to the sound.

You once burst out of your room with an urgent desperation to quell those cries. Tirelessly searching for the endless laments, overwhelmed to find the city overrun with souls that scream for a life stolen away, of being lost with this insufferably ceaseless city.

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help anyone. It seemed as if the screams were not from souls, but part of the very ambience of the city.

You barely slept a week after that, regardless of your exhaustion.

This man, this soul- you can’t bear the thought of leaving him to his fate. It’s selfish but you don't want to bear another moment in the city after the day is done. Returning to that unshakable tune. Maybe this once, you could quell this one’s cries so he wouldn’t join that accursed choir.

Leaving him to go to the Court did not sit right in your gut. You couldn’t stop it, but maybe you could sway them.

Engri’s talk of the King did not soothe your nerves however. But in spite of that, you do not stop yourself from the words that spill out your mouth just as the soldier was about to escort the soul out.

“Uhm,” you scramble to your feet, something more dignified if it weren’t for the dust and beanie falling out of place, “wait right there! I’m coming along!”

The soldier snorts, actually snorts before he can cover his mouth with a hand. That near permanent grin of a half rotted skull seems to widen as he attempts to collect himself. You scarcely notice curious blue eyes drift your way as you pull your beanie back over your scalp, suddenly bashful.

“You ‘ave no business with the King,” he declares, tone trembling with barely held back chuckles, “it’s ‘im that the King wants, ‘uman. You’ve no idea of what magnitude the offense this one has committed.” The Red Rider shoots him a poisonous glare from behind.

“Well, I don’t happen to believe that!” You lamely retort, chest clenching at your weak protest that makes both men take pause. The soldier eyes you with suspicion while Red remains otherwise impassable, other than the slightest widening of his eyes behind his hood. You absently wonder if he is even affected by your protest. Something within your dead chest screams that it does, that he is in fact, thinking about what you’re doing, but your head seems to think otherwise, filled with doubt.

Your brain weighs the outcomes of both possibilities at blink-fast speed, considering both extremes that could come to haunt you. Either one, this man is indeed what the guard claims, to have committed the worst of crimes, hiding behind a red hood and devastatingly convincing face to trick the bleeding hearts into his scheming and letting him roam free. Though the worst possible crimes he can commit in this godforsaken realm such as murder was null and void, that didn’t make him less of a threat. You could let him walk free, unpunished and unforgiving into this world, here forever if you can even convince the Court.

Or…

This man is indeed innocent. A victim of circumstance, or even a setup if his protests have any hint of what had happened. You could save him from taking the fall and being wrongly punished for someone else’s crimes. You couldn’t imagine living, or rather, continuing on this dead life with that on your conscience for eternity. Not even after a million years could you imagine that the guilt would even erode in the slightest.

Then, you think about when you first laid eyes on him, how frightened he was, that scream, and those wild eyes that you almost drowned in. There was a deep powerlessness that you recognized that you couldn’t forget.

You’ve seen that look in the eyes of your fellow humans as they were slaughtered on the streets, hopelessly overpowered in the eyes of Angels and Demons. Pure, unadulterated terror soaking into the very bone, leaving no atom unmarred. Then, a ringing in your ear turns into his scream and it blends in with hundreds more you hear a familiar voice come through.

“‘M off tae take ‘em to tae city,” It’s Engri’s voice from hours ago, “I doubt there won’ be any other souls while ‘m gone,” you had decided to stay behind, using the excuse of wanting to help farry souls as a reason not to go back to that wailing city. You did want to help, but you never expected, well, this.

“Well, what should I do if someone comes and they won’t go with me?” You asked, unsure of what to expect, to which she had answered simply.

“Then follow ‘em wherever they go. With time, they’ll go with ye.”

Sucking in a breath, you hope this won’t be the biggest mistake of your undead life. Squaring your shoulders and straightening your spine, you boldly stare the guard in the back as you unsteadily declare,

“Take me with him to the King’s Court, I am acting as his voucher of character.”

Sometimes, the heart is bigger than the head.

#darksiders #war #reader #darksiders x reader #Darksiders war #gn reader #can you believe its been two years since I posted the first chapt #found this chapter saved in my google doc saved and found it accidentally when I looked for my criminal justice notes #it was COMPLETE TOO WTF LMAO

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theanimekid · 1 year

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War's Kindle Winters

Synopsis: War spends his first winter with you in your grandfather's cottage

Warnings: fluff, sleeping, laziness, heavy snowfall, cuddles, Soft! War

A/n: I did it for the sake of curiosity. And I'm a little proud tbh

*Flashback*

The snow had fallen to the earth, the trees were covered in a blanket of white, and little snowflakes danced in the cold air like ballerinas. You stood in the middle of the forest, A faint winter coat, gloves, snow boots, a case of arrows on your back, and your bow in hand. A deer wandered into your vision sniffing at the frozen ground, you let out a tiny sigh as smoke left your mouth, You grabbed the arrow, raised your bow at the deer, and pulled the string along with the arrow. You let go of the arrow as it flew in the air and shot at the deer's neck. The deer stumbled to the ground. You raced over to see that the deer is dead.

A dark shadow stood behind you in a menacing way, you turned around to see a demon in a dark cloak with red horns in the show. You smiled calmly knowing that it was just your grandfather, who you called since he didn’t tell you his real name. He looked around the area the sound of howling and growling filled the snowy grounds. He held out his hand, “Come now, we must head home before it gets dark.” “ Yes, Grandpa.” You answered sweetly as you dragged the dead deer with one hand and the other holding his. The two of you walked together back into your cottage in the mountain of winter.

***

It's been 25 years since then... 25 long years.

The sound of crunching snow and hooves echoed the first You and War rode side by side as you both trotted in the snow, you came to a stop at a familiar tree with a gash mark on it. You're close. " Come on, we're almost there," You said as you rode your horse past the marked tree, War soon followed you. The winds sang lowly as the flakes of snow danced in the earth. War has been by your side since he first met in The Crossroads, alone, your instincts heightened, and weapons ready at your side. He was utterly shocked to see a human wandering the dead earth for a century. Now, he's riding with you in a forest, following your lead. " It's here... after all these years it's still standing." You spoke to yourself as you stood before you the cottage in the mountain, it's like nothing changed nor touched since you left.

War went beside you as you looked at the wooden home with a little perplexity and a bit of sadness like you were here with someone before. Got off your horse, and you led her to the small stable house. War and Ruin watched you curiously as you locked up the gate in front of her horse. She walked into the buried snow towards her cottage.

War soon followed, his giant footsteps echoed through the dark room, with one swift of flame magic you first lit the empty fireplace. The fireplace blazed but soon calmed down, dancing like one small but giant light, you sighed as took off your armor and fur and lay on the small long desk. You turned to see War carefully observing since you walked in You offered your hand to him, " Come now get comfortable, we'll be here for a while. " He stared at you curiously and a little shockingly, no one in all his years of existence has ever shown this type of... feeling of genuine kindness and acceptance. He took off his armor piece by piece, except for his sword, he keeps it at all times. He followed you inside your home, and you stopped in the middle of the living room. " Wait here, I'll be right back,""You requested, as you hurriedly rushed upstairs to get him some clothes that can fit his muscular build. You came back down, with a checkered sleeve shirt and decant pants, you gave him the clothes and shoes him the way to the bathroom.

It was War's first winter with you in your grandfather's cozy cottage. As the snow fell heavily outside, the two of you huddled together inside, enjoying each other's company. War had never experienced anything like this before, and he was fascinated by the warmth of the fire and the softness of the blankets. As the days went by, War found himself becoming more and more relaxed around you. He had always been a warrior, always on the move, always ready for battle. But with you, he didn't feel the need to be constantly vigilant. He could let his guard down and just be himself.

One lazy afternoon, as the snow continued to fall outside, War found himself dozing off on the couch. You were curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest. He could feel your breaths against his skin, and he felt a sense of peace that he had never known before. As he drifted off to sleep, he found himself wondering how he had ever lived without you. You were his rock, his shelter from the storm. And he was grateful to have you in his life.

The rest of the winter passed in a blur of lazy days and cozy nights. War and you spent hours talking, laughing, and cuddling together. And as the snow melted away and spring began to bloom, War knew that he would always treasure his memories of that first winter with you in your grandfather's cottage. For War, it was a time of growth, of learning to let go of his fears and embrace the warmth of love. And he knew that he had you to thank for that. You had shown him a side of himself that he had never known before, and he was forever grateful.

#darksiders #darksiders 3 #darksiders 2 #darksiders war #war x reader #darksiders war x reader #darksiders fanfiction #darksiders imagine #darksiders ruin #darksiders x reader #war darksiders #darksiders horsemen #war #darksiders fluff

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sweet-art-o-mine · 1 year

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Tropes [Death x Reader - Darksiders]

[[A/N: Author Allie here. Still just writing more Darksiders (specifically Death) stuff because I love this brooding old man so much, and I love the idea of an Apocalypse-surviving human slowly worming their way into Death’s heart because they’re just so earnest and nice lol. We still don’t have any requests at the moment, so please feel free to drop something in the ask box! We write for a variety of fandoms if you check our FAQ!]]

Summary: Death and Reader (human survivor) settle down in a cave to wait out a storm. You bring up an innocent topic that ends up reminding Death of some bad memories. Word Count: 1,788 Warnings: None. Just a deep convo about movie tropes and vaguely mentioning Death’s past regrets.

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"Antihero."

The sudden soft sound of your voice nearly startled the Nephelim on the other side of the enclave the two of you were camping out in.

Days ago, Death had come to visit you on the smoldering wreckage of your planet, as always, and told you of his plans to head out soon. You hadn't really expected him to say yes when you asked if you could join him, but you certainly weren't disappointed. He sometimes let you go exploring with him, but there were many more times when he deemed it too dangerous for a human to go and simply left you to continue picking up the shattered remnants of your home world alone. You’d take any excuse to get away from the corpses and clean-up for a while.

Whatever planet you were on now was pockmarked with deep craters and caves, one of which you two had temporarily made your campsite while the skies opened up to a torrent of green-grey rain that seemed to wither away any living thing it came into contact with.

"What?" He asked after a moment of silence when it seemed clear you weren't going to continue. You looked just as startled as he felt, then - perhaps you hadn’t even realized you’d spoken at all.

"Oh, sorry, I was just thinking out loud."

He poked at the fire burning comfortably between the two of you. You laid flat on your back atop your jacket that you'd rolled out onto the cave floor, one arm used as a pillow to make yourself just a bit more comfortable. Dust laid on your stomach, snoozing peacefully. Despair was nowhere to be found, but Death had assured you when you’d made shelter than he was perfectly fine wherever he’d run off to.

"Thoughts are typically meant to be kept in your head," he spoke dryly in his deep, sonorous voice. It may have been captivating to listen to, if not for the fact that he was poking fun at you. You narrowed your eyes at him in a playful pout, but otherwise didn't react much to his words. You'd known Death for far too long to let any of his dry wit bother you - besides, you knew it was all fun and games for the most part. He meant no real harm in the things he said.

"Remember our conversation earlier, before it started raining? About popular tropes in movies?" He glanced back up at you, one brow raised in a curious expression hidden beneath his carved bone mask. There were many, many parts of human culture that he knew nothing about, and sometimes when the two of you traveled and the silence stretched on, you'd start explaining something new to him. Sometimes he would bluntly tell you to stay quiet, but those moments were rare and only reserved for when he was in a foul mood or needed to listen for something. Most days, he just let you ramble on and listened in on every other word or so. He wasn't that interested in how your cultures were shaped on varying beliefs through history or the many dialect differences in otherwise similar languages, but he did often think, with a hidden underlying sense of respect, that humanity had proven time and time again to be quite a formidable people. There was no magic on your world, yet your technology could almost rival that of Heaven's.

Almost. You still didn’t have sword-guns like they did.

(You haven’t told him of bayonets yet.)

But earlier, riding double on Despair as you trotted through this withering planet, you'd begun explaining what you referred to as 'common character tropes in films'. You'd first had to explain what movies were to him, and though he didn't understand how your technology worked, he understood that a 'movie' was something akin to a play on a stage where the people acted out their parts for amusement. You'd mentioned themes and patterns that were often followed, and even told him that there was one he fit perfectly.

"I remind you of a character in a play?" He'd snorted.

"Movie," you corrected him, "But no. Your goals, your morals, they're just like this one trope..."

But for the life of you, you couldn't remember what it was you'd wanted to say. He'd jokingly said it was for the best, that he didn't care to know your 'tropes' anyway, but apparently not remembering a simple word is something that bothers you immensely. You'd been silently thinking on it for the rest of the day, and even well into the night. And, now, you'd finally found it.

You smiled. "That's what I was thinking of! You're the antihero."

He didn't respond for a moment or two, then poked at the fire again, urging the dwindling flames back to life. He didn't need it himself, his body was cool to the touch and needed no heat to function - but he knew it was something you required.

"Antihero," He repeated quietly, staring into the flames. "The villain, then?"

You shook your head vehemently, dislodging Dust from where he had been nestled onto your stomach. The damn crow had a clear favoritism for you, something he liked to make known at every possible moment. Perhaps because you often fed him from your personal stores of dried foods. He cawed in dismay, and you rested a soothing hand on his feathers as an apology even as you continued speaking with Death.

"No, no! Not a villain, per se, it's more like... An antihero is someone who does bad things for a good cause. Or at least, for a cause they believe is good. Sort of like a... the-ends-justify-the-means kind of person. That's what you are! Or, er, what you reminded me of," you smiled meekly, unable to tell if his silence was simply him processing your words or if you'd insulted him in some way. The elder Nephelim had never shied away from his misdeeds, and he'd always been blunt when he told you how he didn't regret his actions as long as he believed in the cause he committed them for.

He had nothing to say to that. Perhaps he was surprised that there was a human term for something that summed him up quite perfectly. It seemed to him that he'd been an... antihero his entire life.

As soon as that thought appeared in his mind, all the other terrible things followed suit, rising unbidden like a poison in the back of his memories. It soured his mood, and he tossed the stick he'd been holding into the flames to watch it crackle and burn. His eyes narrowed.

"You don't know all I've done, human."

You took in a deep breath. That was true - he was a secretive man, protecting his past from you as if it were his very own life he was guarding. You were sure you didn't know even the smallest fraction of the things he'd done for the Balance of Creation. But you hadn't meant to bring up all those memories that seemed, clearly, to bother him immensely. You felt the swift and immediate desire to play it off as a joke or apologize, something to lighten the mood again as it had been before... but you hesitated.

"...Well, it's true I don't know the extent of all you've done. And with your secretive personality, I imagine you'd like to keep it that way," you spoke softly, staring into his eyes with an unreadable expression.

"I would," came his curt, simple reply. The stick he'd thrown into the fire splintered from the heat with an echoing snap.

You nod once, laying back down and staring at the ceiling of the cave. You'd always respected his boundaries and his secrets, never prying or poking into his old wounds - it was a simple act of respect and kindness that instilled in him so much compassion and gratitude for you that he could not quite put into words. And even now, he knew you felt as though you were walking on eggshells around him with his broody personality, but you still gave your all to respect his desires for privacy and extend a friendly hand to him whenever he might want it.

It made him feel a twinge of guilt for his sudden coldness to you, watching you distance yourself from him in order to avoid upsetting him further. It made him wonder why you continued to seek out his companionship, even after all this time.

But he kept his deeper thoughts and emotions, as always, hidden from you.

Long moments of silence stretched on between you two after that. Perhaps an hour passed, or longer - your mind racing as you listen to the steady downpour of rain outside the cave, and the soft crackling of the flames beside you. You'd closed your eyes at some point and now no longer knew how far back that conversation had been. When you opened them again, blearily, you saw that the fire had died down to glowing red embers. Death sat still in the same pose as before, legs crossed and arms limp in his lap as he stared at the last of the light fading away silently.

You must have fallen asleep. The rain had stopped at some point, the ground still wet, yet all the bigger puddles had been soaked up into the dehydrated ground already. Death could have woken you to continue the journey as soon as it'd ended, but he was kind enough to let you get your rest. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the complicated man before you. Brooding, sarcastic, cold on the outside and often difficult to approach or have a straight conversation with - yet kinder than he would let on, and ever patient with your grief and insecurities as you trudged through this unknown world without your people beside you.

Your patience for his grief and insecurities was the very least you felt you could do to repay him for his friendship.

You packed up your few traveling items in silence, Death watching all the while.

"Antiheros have always been my favorite characters," you threw over your shoulder with a small smile, heading for the cave entrance. Despair dug at the ground impatiently just outside the lip, already eager and waiting to get a move on. Death glanced at you from the corner of his bright eyes, warmer than the embers still dissipating in the fire behind you.

After a heartbeat of silence, there was a quiet, breathy chuckle. He took in a steadying breath, rolled a shoulder to work out the stiffness, and stood to join you.

#Author Allie #darksiders #darksiders 2 #death #darksiders death #death x reader #darksiders x reader

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josnhoes · 1 year

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I promised I'd write something Darksiders related and this is the brain rot I have.

Content warning: violence, end of the world, 'monster'!reader, incorrect lycanthropy lore, poor emotional choices, reader has suffered so much loss, War just steals reader

Background: You are a human..mostly. For generations your family has had a curse that effects the firstborn of every generation. Lycanthropy was something you grew up with, but unlike the previous afflicted you'd learned to accept and work with your wolf; a fortuitous thing since now you had full control of yourself and when you shift. It has also allowed you to grow in strength in and out of wolf form.

---------

When the world had gone to shit you had never been more grateful for your 'curse'. It hardly even felt like a curse and more like you were an x-man; but your family insisted it was a curse even though you were the first to control it.

The additional strength and stamina had made survival somewhat easier, finding clean water and food had become an issue but at least you could defend yourself…mostly. Sure it was clumsy and all about killing the demon before it killed you but you made it work. You were alive and that's what mattered. Until things got better and you had a chance to mourn.

As much as you wanted to mourn you couldn't until you were truly secure even if it wore you down. Logically you knew it was only a matter of time before your mind couldn't take it anymore, but you couldn't take the risk to even try and let it out in bits and pieces.

It was another day of scavenging or it had been when you spotted what you believed to be another human. No wings or horns or even a hint of rot! The figure was hulking but you couldn't fight the traitorous Glimmer of hope that swelled in you.

The man was unaware of you as you began to approach but he seemed to be unaware of the demon coming up on him. "LOOK OUT!" The words left your mouth as you charged forward the metal bat in hand ready to crush the demon's skull.

Your words seemed to spur him into action before you had a chance to attack the demon. The giant sword swung down, slaughtering the demon easier than you'd ever seen done. "A-are you okay?"

The man was much much larger then you had first thought and as he turned to face you a scowl on his face you could have sworn he was ready to rend your flesh from your bones.

"What are you?" The man growled out. War was no fool the council had said that humanity had been wiped out. Yet this…person in front of him looked distinctly human.

"Yeesh… talk about an introduction. I'm human…mostly. It's complicated. Who and what are you? We humans don't come in your size. Like goddamn, what do you eat brick houses?" Was it wise to taunt someone who looked like they could punt you into the sun with their pinky finger? No but you'd never claimed to be wise.

War was utterly unamused and all he could picture when looking at you in this moment was his brother Strife. "I am War."

"War? Like horsemen of the apocalypse War? Oh man you are a huge topic of discussion of angels and demons alike. Hear lots of the rumors when you skulk around trying to survive."

"Yes of the horsemen." He answered you trying to ignore your prattle as he debated what to do to you. You were presumably the last of your kind, if you were human. Your life could help clear his name with the council. So leaving you to fend for yourself was out of the question. If you ended up not being human it would come to light soon enough.

"So this really *is* the end then… I shouldn't be surprised given the state of things but it still feels far more final now." You frowned at the revelation.

"It is not the end. This was not meant to happen yet and I will prove who it was and see to your safety. If you *are* human that is."

"I really don't know how to prove that. Still I'll take my chances elsewhere," you scratched the back of your neck "No offense but I'm pretty sure going with you will be more dangerous then going my own way."

"That was *not* a request." The gruff words from the handsome man only filled you with dread.

#darksiders #darksiders x reader

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randomdarksidersblog27 · 1 year

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Darksiders Blog Now

So yeah,I'm a Darksiders blog now. Ask me anything,request anything,I will do it when I can!:3

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #darksiders death x reader #darksiders death #darksiders strife #darksiders war #darksiders fury #Darksiders War x reader #Darksiders strife x reader #Darksiders fury x reader #darksiders x reader

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moodymisty · 8 months

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Was not a fan of the way the colors turned out on this one so I decided to just keep it black and white. Hope that's acceptable ^.^

Gotta smooch the angry Nephilim fast before he realizes what's happening

#darksiders #darksiders war #darksiders x reader #doodily woobilys #not writing

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darksiders-junkie · 10 months

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Horsemen are feeling a little down, so I guess it's your job to cheer them up with a little song :))

Part 1 with War and Death

War's song: Rises the Moon - Liana Flores

Death's song: No Matter What - Steven Universe

War

You've been traveling with War long enough to understand when he was becoming down. You could never tell from his facial expressions.

It was the silence. The separation that gave the horsemen away. Now, he was always quiet and distant. It was his nature.

Looking at him now, though, sat by the lake he chose for a resting spot, far from the fire he kindled for you. You couldn't help the way your heart clenched. This wasn't like him. He'd sit close by. He'd grunt or nod when you talked. If you were lucky, you'd even get a glance, and if you were really lucky, a response. Usually, it is a question to quell his curiosity.

You wished you could do something for him. Something to lighten his burden. But you can't fight demons and angels. You can't trek the distances he can, and you most certainly can't wiggle information out of demons. They'd just laugh in your face.

Although.. your mother, when she had been alive, always had a way of cheering you up. And just maybe, it might cheer War up too.

So you steal your resolve, and stand. Slowly making your way over to War and sitting besides him. He gives you a small glance, before staring out at the water again.

It's silent for a moment before you open your mouth

"Days seem sometimes as if they'll never end

Sun digs its heels to taunt you

But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same

Rises the moon"

The confusion on his face is ever present, but he does nothing to stop you, so you take it as your sign to continue.

"Days fade into a watercolour blur

Memories swim and haunt you

But look into the lake, shimmering like smoke

Rises the moon"

It seems he took your words literal and turned to look at the little lake where the moon reflected off in the most beautiful way.

You couldn't help but give a little snort, which in turn gets you a glare from War. You shake it off quickly to continue the song for him.

"Oh-oh, close your weary eyes

I promise you that soon the autumn comes

To darken fading summer skies

Breathe, breathe, breathe"

It seems now he's understanding not to take you words to heart, and instead just quietly listening as you sing. Staring out at the rippling waters as he let's the words sink in.

"Days pull you down just like a sinking ship

Floating is getting harder

But tread the water, child, and know that meanwhile

Rises the moon"

You can just hear the gears turning in his head. It seems he's catching onto the fact this is supposed to cheer him up.

"Days pull you up just like a daffodil

Uprooted from its garden

They'll tell you what you owe, but know even so

Rises the moon"

You take your chances and lean against him. A way of showing your support, of saying you're here. You might not be very useful towards his goal, but that doesn't mean you're useless. He seems hesitant but allows you to stay nonetheless.

"You'll be visited by sleep

I promise you that soon the autumn comes

To steal away each dream you keep

Breathe, breathe, breathe"

It's silent for a long while after you've finished. Not that you mind. You believe War got the message, and you're more than happy to stay here by his side and watch the quiet scenery before you.

"Why?" His voice is gruff, and he doesn't look at you.

"My mother used to sing me songs to cheer me up. I thought it might cheer you up too. Even just a little."

He let's out a little hum and it's quiet once more for a little while until he breaks it. "Do you know more songs?"

"Why? Want me to serenade you some more?~" You couldn't help but tease him lightly. Laughing loudly when he grunts and turns his head away from you.

"I'm kidding War, what would you like to hear?"

Death

You absolutely hated when he became grumpy. The sole reason? The quest you're on to help his brother.

Whether it be some being that annoyed him, or the fact it took him longer than he wanted to solve a puzzle, or anything small like that really.

He always became "salty", as much as he loathed when you called him that. It was true regardless, he became more sharp around the edges and in his tongue.

But today you were prepared! You were gonna sing him a song, and he was gonna sit there and enjoy it whether he wanted to or not! Because you weren't gonna travel with a salty Death until he decided to let whatever trivial problem that bugged him go!

The second he was finished setting up the camp area (which was really just the fire and some logs to sit on), you gently set Dust down with an apology when he squaked in complaint of losing you lap as a bed and headed for the horsemen.

He gave you a glare as you grinned up at him.

"What do you want girl?"

"In the light of the day

In the dark of the night

When you're raring to go

When you're tired from the fight

When you're losing your mind

Let me give you a thought

I'm gonna be right your side no matter what!"

You can see his eyes squint, likely our of confusion. "What are you-"

"In the dark of the night (in the dark of the night)

In the light of the day (in the light of the day)

When you're rising to shine (when you're rising to shine)

When you're hitting the hay (when you're hitting the hay)

I'll be hanging around (I'll be hanging around)

If you like it or not (if you like it or not)

I'm gonna be right by your side no matter what!"

You were really getting into it. Regardless of his continuous glare. Even starting to dance a little, even if you knew he'd never join you. This was to cheer him up. To take his mind off whatever got under his skin.

"No matter what (no matter what)

No matter what (no matter what)

No matter what (no what)

Oh, I'm gonna be (oh, I'm gonna be)

Right by your side (right by your side)

I'm gonna be right by your side no matter what"

He gives a little sigh, letting the tension out of his shoulders. It seems he's given up, and is just going to let you finish. Not that he'd be able to stop you without physically restraining you.

"In the dark of the night

In the light of the day

When you're rising to shine

When you're hitting the hay

Just remember this song

How's it go? I forgot

I'm gonna be right by your side no matter what"

You giggle as you see him roll his eyes. Moving to grab his hand and spin yourself, not taking it personal when he reels his hand back the second you've finished. It's honestly an achievement he even let you finish your spin. And that makes you happy anyway.

"Through whoever you've been

Through whoever you'll be

Through whatever you lose

You will always have me

At the end of your road

I'll be holding you taut

I'm gonna be right by your side no matter what

Be right by your side, Be right by your side

Be right by your side no matter what"

You leaned into his side at the end, give a little laugh when he sides steps for some space. Grinning up at him regardless.

"And that was for what exactly?"

"To cheer you up and get your mind off whatever made you salty! Can you even remember what you were so upset about?" You can't stop grinning, eager to hear his response.

He gives you a little glare at the salty comment, patiently waiting for you to finish before he opens his mouth to speak. "You have a poor idea of what 'cheers me up', and yes I still remember. One awful song and dance won't make me forget. Don't be a fool girl."

"Oh? So you need to hear it again then?"

He seems to shiver slightly for just a moment. "Consider it forgotten."

You can't help but to cackle at his response. Immediately stopping when he pats your head and turns to leave. Surprised at the kind gesture and his next words.

"Thank you.. for trying anyway."

You roll your eyes. "Can I ever get some nice words or compliments without an insult tacked onto it?"

Death gives a chuckle "Maybe one day when you earn it."

"How rude!"

Posted: July 9th, 2023

#darksiders #darksiders war #darksiders death #war x reader #death x reader #songfic #darksiders x reader

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imagine-darksiders · 2 months

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Samael absolutely delights in pushing the Bride's boundaries.

#Darksiders #Eden's Heir #Reader #Demon x reader #f!reader #sketch #doodle #demon prince #monster x human #my art #g/t

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darkdemeter · 3 days

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𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯 𝑰𝑵 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬

— 𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝒙 (𝑭) 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓! 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 —

────────────────┘

A cantankerous behemoth that treads the path of destruction and chaos in his wake. A rider adorned in the banner of red, his trademark hood, and beneath the darkness of his cowl is the war-enamoured glare of whitened blue. A hue far too complicated for any mortal to comprehend. This bringer of all things conflict, and pursuer of vengeance to a fiery engine that can never be sated, his reluctance towards trusting you is to be expected.

For a Watcher bound to the plating of his gauntlet and deeper into his very soul, can only mean that the Charred Council questions his loyalty to them. Untrusted to go about his tasks, to serve the balance, he is now at the tether of a parasite that will feed and revel in the status of your power over him.

But he learns quickly that you do no such thing. Intend nothing of the sort. You just follow behind him as if it is you who is at his leash. He contemplates your motives in his mind, and you do nothing to invade him there, for that is not yours to pry into. There is much silence to be found between you both and he finds appreciation in the beginning of it all. But there comes a time that his appreciation begins to fester into worry.

Why do you not speak? Why is it that you just watch him?

It is a matter that you’re fascinated by him. A juggernaut of all things chaos, destruction and desolation, in contrast to the vow of his honour; his duty to serve balance and the level of dedication he strives for to make peace for the realms. For one of the four that is known to be fuelled by tempering vengeance and bloodlust, he has a strict code to which he conducts himself to uphold. Duty-bound to his role. You find him a very intriguing rider of the steed known as Ruin. A fitting comrade to his master.

He senses something about you that sets you apart from other watchers, unlike the more obvious telltale signs and oddities, but within the pulsing energy of your shaded body; he feels that there is a sense of commonality between you both.

Yes, much like himself, you are not as ancient as the others. No, you are young. And so, that commonality forges a bond between. You understand the struggles he goes through in being the youngest of his siblings. At times, not taken seriously, and other times he is teased and taunted relentlessly with only Death being the main mediator to rid his youngest from such torment. You too struggle with this ordeal within the spiralling, ethereal pool of the watchers. But by no means do any come to your valiant rescue.

So when you are chosen to be bound to the red cowled Horsemen, you do well to ignore his scornful glare and allow your eyes to crinkle with a mouthless smile. Finally, you are given reprieve from your own torment and what’s more, you get a chance to explore the many worlds.

At first, he’d been confronted by this… unique behaviour of exploration. The way you gravitate towards the smallest and most mundane articles in your path, you found there to be something entrancing about a single, white petalled flower that remains fighting against the rubble and corruption around it. Or from the wayward cast of your gaze that appeared to become lost in the intricate layout of the realms you travel to. No matter where you are, you always manage to find something that piques your peculiar interest.

And in meeting Vulgrim, the demon trader who bargains boons and goods in exchange for souls, who’s hunger knows no bounds, is allured by that younger scent of yours. The fiend is salivating in his thoughts and lipless grin, you force yourself to hide behind War, whether as an act of cowardice or self-preservation, but it spurns the Horseman into action. That of defense. To protect you, the baritone of his voice warns Vulgrim off. That by the Charred Council - and by him - you are protected.

War is silent about his intrigue of your gentle, silent nature. You are often out and about, lingering on the horizon of his watch and never straying too far from him.

"What is it, little Watcher?" he grumbles to you eagerly pounding on the plate of his pauldron to gain his attention, glancing to where you enthusiastically indicate towards a point of interest. In reply, he gives a stern nod of his head. The closest sentiment of thanks you can get from the near-silent rider. But adventurous voyages are cut short to retreat into the crypt of his body and soul when danger lurks near. Despite the inward haven, you find it hard to simply wait out the carnage and a strange sorrow fills the void where a heart should be when you see him falter, inflicted with wounds wrought from battle.

Because of this need to see him unharmed, you will yourself to be brave. Fighting against the demonic forces of Hell’s army, War finds himself becoming overpowered. In your determination to aid the youngest Horsemen, you put yourself in the league of danger, and drive a sharpened point of a broken blade into the beast’s side with a shrill battle-cry.

At the cost of being grappled and tossed into a wall of torn and reformed rock, War is given the opportunity he needs to gain the upper hand.

After that particular fight, War notices the slumped form you take and despite his limited expertise, he attends any injury you sustained in the attack.

“This should help, little Watcher,” he says, uncertainty evident in the way he scowls, his low-silken voice drawls with faded hope of helping you. But it matters little, you’re gladdened by the tenderness of his actions. The four are not exactly known to be courteous. And Watchers are despised by them, and any other spiritual being for that matter, so to be taken under his care despite any reservations of loathing he may hold for you; it creates the illusion of a smile in your glowing eyes.

War doesn’t smile in turn. Nor did you expect him to. But the bevel between his ashen brows ceases just a little and the glaring mask of his stoicism wavers that tiny bit more. Lowering the blackened limb of your bound arm, he stands to his full height before you after having bandaged your wound. The sound of your voice after all this time visibly shakes him, his fangs bared and eyes growing wide.

“Thank you, War…”

#darksiders #female reader #darksiders fanfiction #darksiders war #horsemen of the apocalypse #nephilim #fanfiction #darksiders x reader #darksiders war x reader #war x reader #x reader #War/Reader

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eoieopda · 8 months

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interlude: sundown (myg)

pairing: min yoongi x reader summary: as it turns out, your boyfriend can take as much as he gives. au: darksided (masterlist), established relationship type: drabble | smut + fluff word count: 1.9k rating: 18+ cw: pov switch, min yoongi gets pegged 🙌🏻, afab!reader, needy & subby yoongi, v soft dom!reader, praise kink unlocked!!, anal fingering, sex w/ strap on, k*ss*ng (eek!) a/n 1: you thought i’d get through a(u)gust without a yoongi fic? pleaaaaase. this is part of the darksided series, so i recommend checking out the other installments first, just so you have all the context. this can be read as a stand-alone drabble, though! this one takes place after blindsided, btw. a/n 2: i don’t spend much time talkin’ ‘bout prep due to the word limit, but it is both implied & v important. be safe! 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

You can’t say what came over you. It wasn’t a conscious decision, you know that much. The only explanation you can fall back on is that the feral part of your brain simply took over, and your inner construction worker popped out to say hello — but that’s not entirely accurate.

In reality, it was less of a greeting and more of a “Damn, baby! That ass.”

Mere meters away, your boyfriend is bent over the bookshelf he’s been working hard to assemble — a task you were politely banished from executing, not thirty minutes ago. When he finally registers what you just blurted out, he stands back up to his full height and glances over his shoulder at you. His expression lands somewhere between bewildered and tickled fucking pink.

“Did you just catcall me?”

“I — I think…” You’re more shocked than he is, it seems. Blinking slowly doesn’t help you process your actions any quicker, so you give up and grimace through your admission. “I might have?”

Of the two of you, it’s Yoongi that truly has all the audacity in the world. After setting his screwdriver down onto the coffee table, he crosses his arms loosely over his chest and bites back a smug grin.

“You think you know a person after seven entire years of dating,” he tuts. “Then, they turn around and harass you — in your own home, no less.” Sucking a breath in through his teeth, he shakes his head and sighs, “Life comes at you fast.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him with your incredulous mouth halfway open. It’s the most that anyone should expect from you at a time like this, when he’s looking at you like that — characteristically semi-flustered, and still so unshakably self-assured. With narrowed eyes, you opt to hone in on the former.

“You’re out here smuggling cake in broad daylight — looking downright bite-worthy —”

Peeling yourself off the couch, you cross over to him with your hands raised defensively. When you reach him, you plant those same hands on your hips and heave an exasperated sigh.

“What was I supposed to do? Pretend otherwise?”

Yoongi arches an eyebrow but says nothing, simply aiming his flat-lined smile your way. All it takes is your slow, expectant blinking for him to take the hint. Just like that, you fall into a well-practiced routine: him opening up to pull you into his chest, you lacing your arms around his waist, his chin resting gently against the top of your head.

And even though you haven’t left the house all day, this is the first moment that truly feels like home. It’s quiet, it’s calm, it’s —

“Bite-worthy, huh?”

You can’t see his smirk, but you can hear it.

“Surely, this is not the first time this is being brought to your attention.”

“It’s not,” Yoongi concedes. His low chuckle tickles every vertebrae on its way down your spine. The tingling only intensifies when he presses a kiss to the top of your head and murmurs, “I just haven’t heard it from you before. You’re behind the curve, so to speak.”

You pause for two reasons: the subtle genius of his phrasing and the new bit of trivia he seems to be alluding to. Is he — ?

“You’ve pegged?” You ask, glancing curiously up at him.

The answer wouldn’t surprise you one way or another. More than anything, you’re impressed that the two of you still find things to learn about each other. That you can spend the better part of a decade with someone, side-by-side, and never run out of new conversations to have.

When he tilts his chin to look down at you, his expression is a perfect mirror of yours.

“You haven’t?”

Yoongi’s head crashes back against the pillows before his sigh can slip fully from his mouth. The impact seems to knock it loose; it floats away, above your bowed head. The sound gets lost somewhere underneath that of your open-mouthed kisses trailing so fucking softly across the bare skin of his chest.

If his heart stops with every flick of your tongue over one of his nipples, you resuscitate him just as quickly with praise.

Apparently, being told he’s beautiful has the same physiological effect on him as a shot of epinephrine.

“Oh, fuck,” Yoongi groans from deep in his chest when your mouth ventures far enough to kiss the tip of his cock. That action is fairly chaste, all things considered, but the way his pre-cum shines like gloss on your lips is beyond obscene.

You smile with your eyes alone as you take him into your mouth — and you think he’s beautiful?

He can’t think of a single prettier sight than you and your fluttering lashes, looking up at him like he’s the one that hung the stars in the sky. Ridiculous. It’s him that frays a little further at the edges with every glance down at you.

Pulling away with a lewd pop, you murmur, “You can be more vocal than that, can’t you, baby?”

Oh, god.

The smile tugging at your mouth makes his heart leap and his cock twitch. Untouched, it jumps and re-settles against his abdomen.

“Yes.” He fires off his response like a bullet at point-blank range, and you chuckle quietly at his eagerness. Breathless already, he amends, “Fuck yes.”

One eyebrow arches just enough to indicate that you expect a more detailed response. He should know better by now, shouldn’t he? He’s teased you this way a thousand times before, and it’s about time that he tastes his own medicine. Acknowledging that fact, he stoops to begging.

“Please. I want you to fuck me open with your fingers.”

Nodding appreciatively, you trace your finger along the underside of his shaft and leave him on the brink of losing his goddamn mind. He’d gladly let you drive him insane this way, but you take that hand away and gesture for him to turn over. As you do, you hum, “And I want to see you on your knees, love.”

Yoongi takes your instructions and runs with them, barely careful enough to avoid knocking you backwards off the bed in the process. He settles on his knees, then looks back over his shoulder just in time to watch you pop the cap off the bottle of lube.

You look nervous, though you try to hide it. He’s no stranger to that worried crease between your eyebrows; and he can’t help the downward curve of his mouth when he sees it.

There’s never been — and will never be — a person he trusts more than you. Careful, perfect, sweet. You couldn’t hurt him even if you tried, and he knows without question that you never would. You, however, seem less sure of that.

Yoongi has to twist back around to do it, but he cradles your jaw in his hands and kisses you deep, with everything he has.

“I love you,” he whispers before pressing his lips to yours a second time. It carries more meaning than that; he suspects you hear each one.

I trust you.

It’s okay.

Already reassured, you whisper back to him with darkening eyes, “Elbows on the mattress, then, Min Yoongi.”

To say that he collapses against the comforter would be an understatement. He’s certifiably boneless the second your fingertips trace down the length of his spine, though his hunger for your touch starts him shivering.

“Relax, sweet thing,” you tell him. To encourage him, you lean forward and press your lips to the small of his back; instantly, you soothe the tension his body holds as if you’ve flipped a switch. It’s automatic, just like the low groan he emits when you murmur, “Good boy.”

The quiet that follows is ultimately interrupted by the faint slosh of liquid. He has to beg himself not to clench at the mere thought of your slicked fingers, so he instead lets his mouth fall open when he feels them glide over his rim. Needier than he’s ever been in his whole fucking life, Yoongi whimpers.

It’s a pathetic little sound, but he doesn’t dare to try and swallow it down. He’ll give you everything; every pleading sigh and shuddered moan, all of it.

And — as a courtesy — he’ll refrain from calling you a liar because there is no fucking way that you haven’t done this before.

It’s simply unbelievable with how expertly you navigate the intricacies of his body, applying perfect pressure where he craves it. With the way you translate his incoherent whining to a plea for more, giving him exactly what he wants.

Two fingers deep, you tease, “So greedy, aren’t you baby?”

But there’s no harshness to your tone, so soft around the edges. In fact, your little snicker suggests that you’re impressed. It takes all he has not to cum at the sound alone.

“Just for you — ” He responds through gritted teeth, blissed-out eyes squeezing shut. “— F-fuck. I can’t get enough of you.”

When you slip away from him, he proves your point, whining petulantly. You soothe him with an affectionate squeeze to his ass cheek, chuckling all the while. “Should we fix that, then?”

Yoongi has no idea what words he slurs in an attempt to answer that question, but he hopes he tells you how badly he craves your cock. He must, he figures, because he hears the telltale glide of the nightstand’s top drawer when you pull it open.

His head lifts from the blankets below to catch a glimpse of you settling the harness over your hips. For a moment, he forgets when, where, and who he is. The only reality he can currently comprehend is the one in which you’re running your fist down black silicone as if it’s a part of you, spreading slick from a bottle.

But then you disappear from his line of sight, leaving him disoriented. He misses you already.

“I wish you could see how pretty you look on your knees.”

The mattress dips under your weight, signaling to him that you’ve settled behind him once again. You tap the length of the dildo against his skin, prompting him to groan. Still teasing, you ask, “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, angel?”

Shit, shit, shit.

Yoongi feels the tip hovering near his hole and he can’t keep his racing heart in check, so desperate that he’s practically vibrating. Your next words pull him further apart; they sound especially filthy in your light, almost reverent tone.

“Show me how well you can take me.”

He plans to do just that.

Slowly pushing back against you, Yoongi sinks down your length until that indescribable fullness leaves him starry-eyed and keening. After a few measured breaths, the ache subsides and gives way to pure pleasure.

Your praise is gentle, though the effect it has on him is earth-shattering. “Just like that, baby. You’re being so good for me.”

Withdrawing, he leans forward onto his elbows just to repeat the motion, losing himself more and more with every pass.

“Shit,” he hiccups, head drooping so that his forehead meets his forearms.

He only grows more eager when your hands claim his hips. You guide his body back to yours every time he leaves; whispering little wishes that he fuck himself the way you swear he deserves.

You must hear his ragged breaths over the clap of his skin against yours and sense that he’s close because you hum, “Sweet thing. Are you going to make yourself cum?”

Yoongi shakes his head fervently, although not for the reason you might think.

“Want you to,” he begs on an exhale. “Please, make me cum. N-need you deeper.”

Small hands flatten against his shoulder blades and press him further down against the bed. With fists full of the sheets, Yoongi gives you a desperate nod, signaling you to take over.

And you do — without the hesitation he saw in you earlier, proving for the millionth time that you know exactly how to make him fall apart.

And he does — with a cry, so delirious and fucked out that he goes boneless underneath you.

When his body eventually stops trembling, Yoongi feels you pull out of him. He hears the quiet click as you unfasten the harness. Shortly after, his senses are overwhelmed with the warmth of your body coming down gently to cover his, warding off the emptiness that started to settle in your absence.

“You’re perfect.” You mumble with lips pressed to his sweat-slicked neck. “So fucking perfect.”

Funnily enough, he was just thinking the same thing about you.

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