#War X Reader

[imagine-darksiders]

Wait. The Eden's Heir gang's actual dynamic.

[moodymisty]

Hello! Do you have any hc's of the horsemen reacting to you getting tattooed? Like you get one resembling to the marks on them? As an espression of your love?

Author's note: Sure fam, here's a few <3

Relationships: Strife, Fury, Death, War/GN!Reader

War:

War is so confused.

Like why would you tie yourself to him on that level? To him, he brings basically nothing but trouble, so to see someone actually mark themselves like that is a bit, overwhelming.

Once he gets over it thought he finds it quite endearing. He won't say anything, or even smile about it, but he really does get this sort of swell of pride whenever he catches a glimpse of it.

Strife:

Strife is externally fucking pumped.

Like who wouldn't want their loved one getting a tattoo like that? He thinks it's the best thing anyone has even given him.

Internally, he still loves it, but the feeling is a bit more complex. He has issues with feeling as if he doesn't deserve this sort of thing. That you pulled a dumb stunt and eventually you'll realize what a stupid mistake you made.

He'll slowly get over the feeling with time, but you may not even realize to begin with, as Strife is super good at hiding his feelings behind the whole 'snarky cowboy' shtick.

Death

He's pretty much War's reaction, but so much worse.

Death is completely apathetic to his own existence, so anyone actually going through the effort to not only acknowledge him but actually 'brand' themselves in a way that signifies that they know and/or love him? Absolutely inconceivable.

He deals with it by just calling you stupid and moving on, ignoring the fact that his heart feels like it's going to explode.

He hasn't felt that amount of actual, genuine love in, well, forever.

Fury

Of course you would do this, why wouldn't you?

Fury likes to ham up the whole 'she's the best' thing, but beyond the comments she really is flattered that you would do that sort of thing.

She loves to say that the two of you match now, and she's always eager to bring that up whenever she gets the chance to. Dare you say it almost becomes a bit annoying.

[darkdemeter]

Dom War x Sub Fem reader NSFW! Set in Eld AU, War’s heavily injured and lone survivor of a tough battle, but meets S/O, who’s a healer and treats his wounds. Time spent together, S/O heals his wounds and War protects her from danger. S/O is a traveling healer and has nowhere to go, so War offers to take her back to his Nephilim tribe as his mate and new healer of the tribe, which she agrees. S/O eases his pain, physically and emotionally, and if he’s frustrated, she can always “help” him.

A HEALER TO CHAOS

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE Pre-Horsemen!War x Eld'hyunen!Female Reader

NOTES ↳ It’s so fun and cool to be exploring and sharing the Eld universe with you guys through requests, I feel like it allows readers to become immersed in the lore I’m building for the AU! Thank you anon for this request! WARNINGS❕ ↳ Mature rating, 18+ — mention of mass murder — depiction of violence and killing — lore building — SMUT mdni — unprotected sex — pregnancy — neck biting/marking — mate claiming, virginity loss (hymen breakage) — I think that’s it?

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It’s the scent of blood and the ominous purr of silence that draws you out of hiding. From the crop of rocks sheltering you, you move to inspect your surroundings with a peeking gaze, searching over the battle terrain to see your hunters and your enemies lay motionless on the ground. All but one. 

His ashen hair cascades in fluttering waves in the light breeze, hands clenched tight around the hilt of a massive blade bloodily sheathed in the muscled belly of his foe. Those that he came alongside with don’t get back up. He is the lone survivor of this gory battle.

Seeing so many corpses litter the ground reminds you of the awful slaughter of your tribe that were migrating towards the hillside pastures for Spring. Then, without warning, these beings of soured and unnatural origin, began an invasion upon your realm and in turn, attacked the travelling caravans of your people. You had run at the command of your mother and father and paid the price in watching all who you held dear and loved die. And now this one saved your life. Saved you from the carnivorous beasts that have stalked you for many moons. 

He rises to his feet, standing at a height that far exceeds that of your own kind. Pulling the blade free with a wetted splatter of blood that drools in thick sloshes, he stumbles back with a low and pained grunt, his body marked with grieving wounds. 

Your ears perk up slightly and the shortened coil of your tail sweeps across the back of your heels. He needs your help. He won’t survive if his wounds go untreated. And you have been alone for many, many turnings of the sun and moon. Perhaps he…

Still crouched low to the forest floor, your feet slide across the shredded bark and softness of grass as you pull yourself more into view. Slowly, you stand only to flinch when he turns sharply to face you, the glow of blue eyes beam at you with narrowed suspicion. 

Your breath becomes light in your chest until a hollow shape dwells there. His hand that holds his blade idle between sheath and arming clenches hard and you swallow the thickened bile of fear in your throat. You hold your hands up to bear your offering of peace. When he sees you mean to approach him, he remains largely skeptical, but otherwise lets you wander closer with cautious steps. 

“You are hurt.” Your voice is small, almost a mousy whisper. Head bowing and tilting this way and that, you observe the damage that’s been done to him, your nose inhales the sharpened incense of blood in the air, already you begin to recollect what balms and natural ointments that will benefit him. Against him, your hands are smaller and feel so soft moving across his skin that lay exposed. 

“They will heal,” he interjects with a low and booming voice. It astounds you, almost sends you rushing back to hide if only to be left in your fluster. 

You shake your head adamantly. “They will fester with sickness. I must tend to them.”

He pulls his arm from your gentle grasp, your lips parted with a gasp as your eyes find his. “Please? You saved my life. Allow me to do the same.”

The hardened front of his browline deeply creases, a twisted sneer smeared across his lips. Body shifting, he is once again pained by the carved gashes that line his torso and shoulder “How?” 

With a tilted bob of your head, you indicate for him to follow you. Your hands weave themselves to embrace the larger of his, fingers entwined to grasp the callousness of his palms and fingers. “Come.”

By nightfall you reach the forest hot springs that reside higher up on the rockier perches. The warrior whose name you come to know to be War, follows you. You situate yourself before the water’s edge where a heated mist of condensation rises. 

You can see the question in the quirk of his brow and the daggered contact of his gaze that forces your head to turn away, a flustered warmth covers your cheeks. “These waters are used by healers to cleanse wounds of infection.”

War only moves after a moment’s hesitation defeated by the insistent nod of your head, your voice humming. He strips from his armour, the giant sword on his back leans on the cave wall at its pommel. Bulky chunks of metal, slings of leather and folds of fabric reveal the defined shape of his body. 

Your breath escapes you as a quiet gasp, eyes wide and face plagued by a hot rush. Though you mean to tear your eyes away they keep moving back to stare at him. You dare not meet his eyes as he then steps down into the heated waters. You can hear the way it sears and stirs against the eruptive barrier of his skin while he wads through it.

The pouring streamline of the upper basin flows steadily, a constantly stirred motion bouncing and rippling the surface that fades outwards. You admit, he looks so tranquil standing beneath the shower of the hot springs, blood seeping into washed out, lesser rivers. His hands douse handfuls of the curing springs over his head and you hear him sigh heavily, the burly muscle of his shoulders falling lax. With the blood cleared, you can see just how deep the beasts had dug their claws and sank their fangs. 

Eyes marvelling in silent awe of each scar that marks him, you then cower beneath the glow of his stare when you discover you have been caught, hunching in on yourself as you sit at the rocky ledge. Your tail, nervous, slides with idle and slow absent thought. You must shake yourself of these thoughts, sensual and primal in nature. You mustn’t let yourself be so engulfed by the consuming ache that dwells between your thighs. 

But the idea… why, the pointed tips of your ears flick back quickly with an excited tick. His stance indicates a stern and rigid expectancy.

Ahold of your senses and awakened from that stupor, you disrobe the woven strap of your belt that holds your small satchels and your cowled shawl. Setting them aside, you comb your hand through clusters of moss that thrive in the dampened poolsides, the spongy tissue of the natural balm familiar. 

You pad your way down into the water, one leg followed by the other. The water level just touches at your breasts that are barely concealed by the thin linens and corded leathers of your chest wrap. 

You make your way over, cautious once again under the scrutiny of his studying eyes that follow your every move like the fearsome and revered Obsidian Hawks. You don’t dare forget how tall he towers over you, fighting to keep your eyes from wandering down the deepened lines of his waist that disappear under the water. 

Before you stands one of the many who ravage the land you call home. His brothers and sisters cleave and sever blood from blood, soul from soul in claim of their undying bloodlust. 

It would have been wise to let him die. You should have, after all that you have seen, been subjected to, living out your days alone and wandering without the security or familiarity of your tribe. 

But you begin to smear the spongy texture of the healing moss to his wounds, applying with gentle care to the ones you could reach easily. Your attention focuses into the tap of the inner leylines, the spiritual veins of your soul that extend unto him. A hover of ethereal matter emits from your palms and touches along your fingers with a warm, softened glow. 

War’s lips tug into a wince, eyes scrunching at the beginnings of his wounds healing, the moss you applied to his marred skin tinged with a pulsing turquoise hue, acting as a medium for the magic that blooms from your hands. Your eyes flutter closed to influence your concentration further, though there lies a troubled bevel between your brows. Your hands follow the link of the leylines within him that guide your healing touch, but the infernal heat of his soul has a bite that feels as if it burns your skin with the warning intensity of fire. 

As uncomfortable as it is, you continue to push your skills beyond what exceeds your limit. Your shoulders rise and fall heavily with each laboured breath that passes you. War’s eyes track between the movement of your hands and your face, gaze intently set on you that then delves lower to the plushness of your breasts pushed together by your chest wrap, the linen fabric wetted to reveal a translucent viewing. Feelings arise, stirring, sensations he has never felt to entertain before until now. Through the thin and clinging fabric he sees the perky stiffness of your nipples, poised and glistening. Below the water he feels himself become erect, an ache reaching from his tip and down the long girth of his length. 

He’s suddenly pulled from his silent observation, his besotted hunger, when he sees you struggle. Whatever inner force that grants you your ability wanes as you strain yourself to reach the higher peak of his injured chest and shoulder. 

Without warning, his arms curl around you and he lifts you up, ignoring the protesting gasp you make or the way your glossy eyes widen in your own infatuated terror. 

The last of the moss dissipates with a flaring sizzle under your magic, though the wounds still require attentive care of stitchwork. You mean to turn away despite still being held in his arms and he suddenly stops you. He pins you to the pool’s rocky rim, your arms moving to support yourself, palms scratching against the roughened, wet stone with each yearning thrust that has your core arching out of the water from his hips. You let out a squeal of a whimper that pleads for him. 

Ever since you laid eyes on him you were mystified. The enchanting waves of his white hair that accented the angelic hue of his eyes, his larger and handsome physique leaping into the fray without fear. He hadn’t anticipated saving you, undoubtedly caught in the cycle of predator hunting predator, tearing down the original hierarchy to make room for himself amongst its chain. 

Those of your tribe always respected the strength and prowess of the ones who hunted and defended your wandering caravan. And such a display won your heart despite your better judgment that he was an invader of your realm. 

He moves to roll his hips attentively, slowly that causes an aching crawl to travel up your spine, sending your nerves into an aroused frenzy. His weight pushes against you as if to test you, to see if you’re more submissive than your Eld’hyunen counterparts. When he sees you pose no issue in challenging him and instead your body leans into that want, his head bows down and you feel the scrape of his teeth. The sharp incisors pleasantly run along the flesh of your shoulder, lingering close to the curve of your neck. 

Your size is impossible to compare fairly when held flush to the confines of his body. His hands are overly large enough to swallow you under his reach. The burning heat emits from his skin like a fiery blanket that consumes you. He bends the lower curve of your spine, your thighs burn with that strain that pulls your muscles from being spread wider to the gate of his hips that continue to rut into your clothed sex. 

Your hands smooth over his watered body, palms caressing the flex of muscle and taut flesh while your lips move across his skin with a ghostly sigh. As he aims to tear away the material of your lower garments, you unravel the translucent fabric of your chest wrap, peeling it off to reveal your breasts spilling free. Naked before him, he pulls you into his arms and you gasp sharply, tail swatting across the water’s glistening surface when you’re seated on the crown of his swollen — and very large — cock. 

It’s… enormous. Far beyond what you’re possibly capable of taking. His eyes study the blatant visage of your furrowed brow, the way your ears twitch nervously and the way you adjust yourself hesitantly almost as if to squirm away from him. 

“Be still,” he rumbles lowly, handling you and pushing you down on his tip. You hiss, the intrusion more shocking to your system than painful, merely knotting his leaking head between your slickened folds. 

You comply with his demand and allow him to do as he pleased. You were not denying him on this front, that wondering curiosity of what it would have been like had you completed your courting taking over. That need to finally have what you prematurely lost. There had been a few males you were potentially interested in, some had given you small yet thoughtful offerings as gifts in seeking your approval. 

But with War before you now, dare you even admit that none of those males could compare? 

You sink, further and further down and your walls stretch until you’re completely full but it doesn’t stop. He punctures through your hymen and you yelp, body trembling against him and he holds you tighter. It continues on as you take in another inch, followed by another. You whine and mewl with small, weakened pants that beat against his chest and your fingers curl to bite deeply into his skin as your walls struggle to take him. 

The last inch is unable to fit when he meets the final resistance. He groans deeply at the way your walls hold around him like a vice. Immediately he begins to rut his hips, a hard but slow pace set that physically bounces you up and down, you’re weightless in his grasp. Withdrawing from your cunt has a pained hiss escaping you, baring your teeth before it finally subsides with the pleasure. 

His lips take to devouring your skin, suckling and kneading the tender spot of your neck between his teeth. You moan louder and he grunts in response, uttering words in a tongue not of your own, though its canter is beautifully intoxicating that you want to hear more. He arches you back to watch how your breasts bounce with every move you make before he takes one of your stiffened peaks into his mouth, groaning lowly as his tongue envelops it.

A painful strain forms in the length of your hips but you care little for it now that that dull, needy ache is being satiated between your thighs. Your body practically curls into him, readily possessed by his strength and desire, anything and everything he would want for, you would give; and you would live out your remaining existence happily if he chose you. 

Of course, you don’t expect him to know or even acknowledge the more intimate factors of your culture or your ways of courting, but perhaps he could learn from you as you can from him. Even now you learn with each other, finding what the other craves, what pleases each other the most. He moves onto the other neglected mound of your breast, lapping at it with aggressive care as he picks up the speed of his thrusts. 

“Please… pl—please…” you beg softly, voice barely above a whisper to be heard over the watery slosh and rapid clapping of skin. 

he pants the utterance of your name you feel your entire body grow hot, fast approaching your release. It overtakes you as a flash, white and pulsating that has you arching to have his entire length sheathed inside you, never wanting to be apart. You moan into the recess of the hot springs, the cave walls capturing the sound as an echoing choir. 

His teeth bite down hard upon your neck and you cry out, nails drawing red lines that stake your claim over him as much as he does to you now. Blood sweeps up your neck, gathering as a pool that seeps through the broken skin. 

Your chest heaves until the swell of your ribcage is sore from the need to survive by breathing. Your head dizzied and eyes foggy, lidded with a heaviness, you pull yourself back to him, chest to chest. 

“War,” you moan, low and sweet and the sound of his name on your lips sends him over the edge. A few harder pumps that reach that one spot has you mewling for more and he releases his seed into the precious silk of your womb. You hear the way your combined juices mix together and feel the slow crawl of it drooling down the steep angle of your walls. 

Through the haze of your bliss you see the punctuated hue of his blue eyes staring at you, marvelling at you. Your fingers, so delicate and soft that he cannot help but try and gently kiss them, smoothly trace the lines and structure of his jaw, taking the time to study every single part of him that’s scarred and not. 

He brings you back over to the edge of the pool, the faded mist and water parting before his destined strut. He sets you down and you begin to weave and stitch what remained unhealed while his hands and mouth continued to discover you until he reached the lower folds of your cunt, tongue dancing over the still sensitive bud of your clit and you sharply gasp, an elicited sound he finds great pleasure in wanting to hear. 

Under the dawn’s abode, you begin to stir when streams of sunlight bathe you with a glowing, tempered greeting. Not too far from the hot springs had you and War made camp where the two of you continued to explore newer pleasures. From behind you, War cages you with a security you have not felt in so long, held against his sturdy chest, your back warmed by him long since the fire went out. 

His nose presses against the indented mark on your neck and you purr, enjoying the way his breath caresses you, his lips kiss and his teeth nip at you. He’d discovered you enjoyed the form of his fingers or tongue curling deep inside you, mesmerised by how your legs would shudder and your toes clench into tightened curls. He adored the way you admired and praised his body, submitting to his far larger size and able to cover you beneath him as he took you over and over again. 

By the time the both of you were properly dressed, he encouraged you to follow. Not that you had much of any thought against it, relieved that he intended for you to stay with him. 

“You are without a tribe now,” he had said.

“I am.”

“Then join my tribe, as a healer and my mate.”

With a smile, you had agreed. The days that follow were spent travelling together. He kept the creatures that stalked you at bay, often pulling you behind him to protect you and after such battles, you would nurture and tend to his wounds, intimately caring for his soul that has seen much bloodshed and been tainted by many horrors that plague his sleep. 

He would watch you comb your fingers through your hair, gathering a thickened lock of it on your left side and begin to plait it into an elaborate braid. War could see the way you smiled the entire time, cheeks seemingly warmed and not by the fire but from the significance your new braid bore. 

You would decorate it, using scarlet dyed threads and small, painted beads to intertwine with the braid, their stunning hues beautifully complimenting the colour of your hair. 

Oh, how you wanted to ask him if you could do the same, to signify that he was lovingly spoken for, but… from the way his brethren of the tribe interacted with one another, a brutish culture, you’d thought better against it. At least for the meantime. 

Though it has taken quite some time to grow accustomed to the way the Nephilim go about their bidding within the tribe, their violent nature often demonstrated right before your eyes just as much in the field of battle, it’s better knowing that you were no longer alone. Of course, you could have fled to any number of the fellow Eld’hyunen tribes, they would have taken you in without discrimination, but what then? They too would have met their bloody end for sure, and perhaps your soul claimed amongst them. 

And you would not have met your beloved War. A formidable fighter and very capable of defending your honour whenever one of his Nephilim brothers attempted to claim you for themselves. 

But there were times where you would have to remain in the camp and wait for the war party’s return. A tiny shred of fear always accompanied these long tides of waiting, gnawing in the back of your mind that War would be counted among the numbers that didn’t get back up. That they would carry his near-dying body to you and you would be left alone again. 

But he always came back. However much you scolded and fussed over his wounds, you were thankful he was alive. 

Nights were spent together in the privacy of your personal tent, skin pressed to skin, body to body and enveloped by the flood of your sated arousal that audibly guaranteed that War had claimed a mate for himself, that you were all his. Other times you simply would lay together atop the gathered furs, listening to the hungry smolder of the fire and the lingering mingle of your breath matching.

Many days and nights after his return from battle would see him approach you, agitated by something but you knew just what would help to ease the pent up rage, your body used for his explicit aggression. 

Eventually, you were given permission to braid the left portion of his ashen hair. Of course, you made it less obvious than your own but being able to gently comb and filter the locks of white between your nimble fingers, fashioning a beautiful courting braid and securing it with a red lacing that matched yours gladdened you. 

Your lips hover over the naked scar of a recent wound on his shoulder, humming a soft lullaby for his ears to hear. The fire in the small tent crackles, its smoke filtering out through the opened gap in its top. 

War buries his nose deep into the crook of your neck, right over the healed scar of his mark and you smile, turning in his lap to sit in the comfort of your silence. His large hands rest over the top of yours, the two of your carefully nursing the small, beginning bump of your unborn young. 

[darksiders-junkie]

Hello! Welcome back 😊

Could I request a female reader getting stuck under the mistletoe with War at Christmas dinner and having to explain the tradition of kissing under it to the big guy?

Thank you and Merry Christmas!

Of course! I hope you enjoy this dearie! And happy holidays!

Everything about the Christmas season was great! The scenery blanketed in a fresh, crisp white. The joyous music. The beautiful blinding lights and decorations. Family and friends coming together to enjoy one another's company with eachother. The delicious foods. Watching someone open the gift you picked out from them, receiving gifts no matter how small and just knowing someone thought of you. Everything was amazing.

And it was something you truly wanted to share with the horsemen, War especially. Even if they hadn't ever celebrated or even just understood the meaning behind it! If anything, it made you want to celebrate with them more!

But the one thing you despised about Christmas currently, the one thing you had wished you never put up was the dreaded mistletoe. Why should you have put it up? It wasn't like you were dating any of the horsemen, even if you had thought of a specific younger brother in that light..

Currently being caught under it with none other the the youngest sibling, War, himself was agonizing.

His cute puppy head tilt at your odd reaction of running into you. God it was awful, you could just see yourself now. Red as Rudolph's nose, trying desperately to look at anything but the man standing before you. A fidgeting mess, and you could just hope he couldn't see you were sweating.

You just knew he needed a clue, looking up to the mistletoe praying you had mentioned it to him before. But you obviously hadn't when you could visibly see his confusion worsen. Looking to you as if you were crazy, as if saying "That is just a plant, why would you react this way over something so small and insignificant?" But he thankfully doesn't comment on that.

"Are you alright (Y/n)?" It comes out as a little grunt, but the concern is still evident.

"Y-yes, yes. Just, uh, the mistletoe and all.." As if that would explain anything to the man. Obviously he couldn't get the first hint because he didn't know anything about the tradition.

"What of it? If you're allergic to it, I can toss it away for you." He's already reaching up to get rid of the petty little thing bothering you.

You're tempted to tell him that yes, you are very allergic and want him to whip the evil little plant into the sun, but it doesn't seem fair to lie to him. You sure he'd be pretty unimpressed even from a little lie like that, and it took you so long to get him to have a normal conversation past just grunts and nods.

"No, I'm not allergic, it's apart of the holiday so please leave it up." You need to get a grip. It's just a silly little tradition, it's not like you HAVE to participate in it with him. Even if you'd really like to.

"Then what is the problem?" He's beyond confused, but he does drop his hand from the plant to leave it up.

"Just um.. just a Christmas tradition. It's nothing." You knew very well that wouldn't be the end of the conversation. War was far too curious for his own good.

"Tradition? Of what kind?" And there it is. That curiosity that most certainly killed the cat. Or more accurately you, his curiosity embarrasses you more often then it really should.

"Its just, for us humans, if you get caught under the mistletoe you have to.. Well you have to kiss the other person." Could you get more red? You probably did become more red despite the impossibility of it.

"Would that mean we have to kiss? Why? What is the meaning for it?"

You know it's just because he's curious.. but it almost feels like a rejection. You think you'll hate mistletoe forever after this.

"Well the ancient story I know was to increase the chances of.. marriage.. for a woman. And that if she wasn't kissed, she could still be single next Christmas. With each kiss a berry is removed until there are no more berries.. But uh for more modern day, it's just seen as bad luck not to kiss whomever you ran into under the mistletoe.."

War gives a little hum of acknowledgment, which just furthers your embarrassment. God is it time to go to bed and cry yet?

You keep your head hung from the embarrassment running through you, more then surprised when War lifts your head up by the chin and ducks down to give you a kiss.

It was just a little peck, so fast you barely had time to realize what was happening. Glad to the gods above that you were quick to kiss back despite not being all there before he pulled away.

He gave you a little smile, and man did you wish he always smiled. He looked pretty somehow.

"There. Now you won't have bad luck."

Well now you want to give him more kisses, as many as you could. But from the sound of it, he's doing it so you won't have bad luck, which sucks but at least kissing you wasn't so repulsive he refused to.

"Thank you.."

He just keeps surprising you when he leans down to give you one more before reaching up to tug a berry off and set it in your hand. You're so glad you bought a real mistletoe.

"And now you won't be single next Christmas, and your chances of marriage have increased."

Was he.. hinting he wanted to be with you? Or are you delusional?

"War-"

"Unless you'd prefer to be single. I.. there is no pressure." He was quick to interrupt, he smile deeming just a little.

"I.. I don't want to be single." You give him a smile. Moving to grab onto a piece of his armor, and leaning up. Glad he took the hint and leaned down to give you another kiss. Heaven, this is what it feels like.

He seemed happy when you pulled back, pushing your hair out of your face. "Its dinner time now yes? Would you like to sit? I'll make you a plate since you made dinner."

"Thank you War."

Oh you couldn't be happier, letting him wonder off to make you a plate, and moving to sit down in your spot with a big smile that more than confused the other horsemen. Whom had just shrugged it off, deaming it to just be due to the holidays.

When in reality it was all due to a silly little plant and a big hunk of muscle. Mistletoes just might be your most favorite thing of the Christmas holiday, despite hating them just moments prior.

Although you couldn't help but to feel War felt differently about them, with how heavily he avoided them with you the rest of the night. Or perhaps, he just didn't want you to get stuck under one with anyone else.

[proxis-shattered-expectations]

We got pt 4 of the Kissartfebruary challenge by @violettenouvel finished! Featuring Darksiders once more with War and Siva (Also little Atreyu). Gotta lot of days to catch up on but here's what I have so far!

Day 10 on the first pic, no romance this time. Just an older Siva with her son Atreyu being adorable! Since Mother and son are having a tickle fight, "Laughter" is inevitable.

Second is Day 12, and I quote. "I fill my lungs with the sweetness of your air.....And yet you still have the power to leave me breathless....." Consider this a part two to the pic I did for Day 7 Ravenous with Siva and War. Though a kiss feels like forever, one needs to breathe every once in a while, but even after the fact looking at one another with such longing, it can still leave one "Breathless".

Last is Day 14, and while it doesn't look finished, I am pretty happy with how it looks. The theme was "Anything", so I made one up called Protective. War thought he'd seen it all, but a human being defensive and telling the Watcher off when he tries his daily insults is new....even brings an unknown feeling to his chest as he can only watch with shock. Thinks it's admiration despite the Watcher being more powerful and Siva equally stubborn, could be something more perhaps. I'd imagine the Watcher is equally shocked, but with a quiet fury at the audacity of being called a "Phantasmic pain in the Ass."

Hope ya like and stay tuned

Art, Atreyu and Siva are mine

Kissartfebruary challenge by @violettenouvel

War and Watcher belong to Darksiders franchise

[beastsovrevelation]

Anyone want Crowley x Readers? Or War x Readers? I don't know how long I'll take to start uploading my WIPs, and I don't like to not upload. Female Reder. Both male and female Crowley (not at the same time). War'd be... Herself.

What are you saying? I'm procastrinating? Why, ✨yes✨, how did you know? On my WIPs, original works, and papers for uni.

[theanimekid]

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.

[askthedarksidersfam]

In the Pines

Chapter 2: Morbid Curiosity

Summary: A first meeting with the new soul, but there is more to this strangely dressed man than you expect. Especially when the Dead Court demands his presence to the King.

A/n: This series is slowly becoming a favorite of mine, but why is plot so hard to make. And apologies for the longest wait ever 😭. The band Ghost do be pulling me out of my writers block bless Life Eternal. Please excuse any typos or format weirdness. It's a much shorter chapter this time y'all.

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 shebang of death, but he wouldn’t shy away from exclaiming he doesn’t fear it.

This time however he 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 them 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 it slowly spreads across his body.

The great injustice of it all enraged War greatly, but he can’t 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 a frightened 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.

‘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 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 trying to keep alive as if you still possessed a beating heart and blood in your viscera. Even more so 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 it’s 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.

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 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 whose 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 near 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’ honor 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. However 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 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 bugle 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 living 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 not my concern. I am here 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 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 it’s 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 the 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 ferry 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 you.”

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.

[heartiella]

[aphrcdites]

the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object

[vinamari]

How it feels going to bed after reading some words

It was angst

[imagine-darksiders]

War's comical negligence of personal boundaries.

[moodymisty]

Was trying to doodle something, but it didn't come out right. So here, have it in writing form instead. Forgib any spelling mistakes or whatnot, it's quick and dirty.

No warnings, just comforting fluff with War.

Strife paces around three or so meters from War, watching intently as the youngest horsemen sits firmly idle. He's been getting quite sick of Strife's incessant pacing, and looks at at him with a heavy set glare when he comes closer again. Strife is talking a bluestreak within moments.

"Come on man, I promise I won't even wake her up you just gotta m-"

After what has felt like hours to Strife, War finally speaks up in a hushed tone. His brow is even more furrowed than usual.

"Cease your incessant yaping," He hisses the rest of his sentence. "You will wake her."

Strife clenches his hands and resists the urge to groan dramatically. Meanwhile you adjust in War's lap, slotted comfortable against his chest as you sleep. They don't quite know if something had upset you, or hurt you in some way, but for now, you seemed to have calmed enough to fall asleep.

And much to Strife's dismay, you'd done so on his younger brother and not him; Despite War being the stuffy no nonsense, no emotion Horsemen. Why you'd want anything to do with Horsemen of no fun allowed is beyond him.

Though War has apparently taken his new duty as massive Nephilim heater and bed combination quite seriously, if his cape being wrapped firmly around your shoulders has any indicator. His right hand rests on your upper back, as your head lays against his chest. His chin just barely brushes against the top of your head. Your hands gently grip him, long strands of white hair weaving between your small fingers.

He has a small- at least compared to him- human on his lap snuggling him, and the Nephilim still has the same stern, grumpy face he always does.

"Find something else to entertain yourself." Strife glares at the red rider.

"Weren't you the one who was all 'why are you wasting your time with humans' not long ago?"

War slowly pulls one arm away from you, and begins reaching for Chaoseater, which is laid centimeters away against the wall. Strife backs up and raises his hands.

"Fine fine! I'll go."

Finally having managed to chase the gunslinger away, War looks down at you to confirm you are indeed still asleep.

Not a peep from you. Just the gentle whistling of your breaths.

His hand gently rests back on your shoulderblades, and you shift a little bit into him.

War's never been good at emotions. So when you wake up, he'll be hard pressed to say more than a few words about this. If someone hurt you? He can just threaten them, that's easy. Anything else, not so much. But if this helps you, he doesn't mind being weighed down for a bit.

[darkdemeter]

just a little sneak peek at what I'm working on right now, some camp hcs dialogue for anon's request!

[darksiders-junkie]

Death: Lately (Y/N)'s gotten into dad jokes, but what's worse is that War actually likes them.

Reader: I had a nice vacuum cleaner, but I had to sell it. It was just gathering dust!

War, chuckling and clearly crushing on Reader: Isn't that what it's supposed to do?

Death: Every time I think my hell can't get worse, life finds a way

[proxis-shattered-expectations]

Second part of Kissartfebruary challenge by @violettenouvel , a little mismatched but the theme is of my Darksiders OC Siva with War. Gonna have some more mismatched, but here are the days

First pic was Day 3: Chaste. Open affection is a foreign concept to the horsemen, and so a chaste kiss for the Nephilim to make him more comfortable

Second pic being Day 6. So close, not quite touching, but "Almost" there.

Third is Day 7: Ravenous. This topic being a lil spicy tho wanted to keep it more PG, so kept it with kissing with more fervor than usual.

Hope ya like and stay tuned

Art and Siva are mine

Kissartfebruary challenge by @violettenouvel

War belongs to Darksiders universe