#guide her way home

[darkdemeter]

Child Reader Fluff Crossover Darksiders/FF16 AU! What if S/O is the new Eikon of Leviathan, most known as Leviathan the Lost? And yes, I actually have seen the Rising Tide DLC, but this is just a What If AU. Anyway, S/O still originally came from the Earth version of Darksiders, but her Leviathan Eikon ancestor must have traveled from the FF16 Dimension and lived peacefully in the Darksiders Dimension, their descendants never once awakening the power...until now. What if she had awakened the power for the first time against Moloch? Like War and Strife were down and gravelly injured and S/O tried to save them with Potions and everything she can and Moloch spots her and is about to tear her apart while Strife and War watch in fear and rage, ready to force Anarchy and Chaos to come. Before Samael could step in, S/O, out of fear and wanting to protect War and Strife, transforms and is completely out of control with her water powers, damaging Moloch but obliterating the rest of his army and turning a lot of Hell into a steam bath. Despite being out of control, one thing she never let go was her desire to protect War and Strife, curling around near them to not let harm. In the end, after Samuel finishes off Moloch, S/O returns to normal after gentle coaxing from War and Strife, but is exhausted and deeply asleep and doesn't remember anything. Vulgrim and Samael examine her soul more closely and discovers a terrifying power hidden. Strife and War knew they can't return her back home just yet now.

・What If issue: Secrets Of The Deep・ GUIDE HER WAY HOME

⚤ (Platonic!) Strife and War x Female Child!Reader Depictions of violence and blood, angst ✎ 2.5k

✎ So this was originally going to be a comic, but then I changed my mind cause… *looks at script* my art isn’t there just yet. So yeah!

↳ MASTERLIST ・ ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

Deep in the dynasty of your family tree, there is a secret. A well kept and preserved one. It was to remain as such because of its potential to be used in the sway of Heaven and Hell.

Elrikka, the long since past matriarch on your mother's side, fled from her world when they came after her. The Empire. More so they were after what she was. The Eikon of Leviathan. Through the ripple of the void between worlds, she came to this one. Only then, was she and her babe safe. 

Each first born child carried the mantle to inherit the Eikon when their time is right and their predecessor returned to essence. But by generation, the secret was lost to the depths of the dynasty. Leviathan once again became The Lost in the bloodline you carry on…

“It’s a pity, Horsemen. I was expecting so much more.” 

“K—geugh!” A grunt muffled but the spittle of blood is forced from Strife as his chest is kicked into, pinned beneath Moloch’s foot. 

Strife’s unarmed hand clutches hold of his ankle to no avail. Any attempt he made to dislodge the master’s weight atop him was met by a sharpened talon embedding itself into his shoulder and ripping into his chest. 

“For a privileged pack of wolves meant to be feared… you’re just mutts chained in a yard.” Moloch’s words breath hard that the stench of his rotten breath causes Strife’s nose to recoil into a wrinkled sneer. 

Moloch only pushed his taloned feet deeper, earning a sharper, higher pitched whine from Strife as his body contorts, straining under the duress. Redemption right at his fingertips. 

Moloch’s grizzled mouth twists and spirals into a mangled, off centered grin capable of making any stomach churn. “What’s wrong, Horseman? No witty comeback?” 

“I–I’m gonna— Keugh!” Strife’s cut off by the vulgar slam of Moloch’s hand wrenching hold of his head, clasped hold of him as if he were already a skull to be admired in the palm of the master’s hand. 

“Save your breath,” Moloch tuts, “don’t bother making threats you can’t keep. You’re already dead… I’m just enjoying making it last.”

War’s body staggers in his attempt to even rise to his knees, elbows shuddering under the weight he intends to holster in his shoulders. His blood spills from his torso like sore splutters of a volcano ready to erupt, oozing and spaying out into a pooling heap around him until his armor is stained. 

Through the gaze of his blurred vision, terrible bruising and cuts sustained from the battle make it hard to see Strife’s predicament. It makes it harder to reach his brother. His hand reaches out only for his body to stagger and falter forward with a heaved grunt far too much of a burden for his lungs to carry. 

His sword… right there, Chaoseater lays before him in the dirt and mingle of its wielder’s blood, tasting it. He can taste the bile of it in the back of his throat, coughing until it coats over his tongue and tickles down his chin. 

“St–Strife…” War wheezes out just as he falls forward. His chest expands with a violent fit of coughing and then… he sees you. The last potion and you’re caught between who to give it to. It would be wise to give it to War. But it was in your best interest to get out of there. War sees that through your fear of what you see, your heroes brought to their knees, you’ve the look of determination to reach him. To give him the healing potion he needs to recover and save Strife. 

His very brother’s life weighs in the balance. His life does. 

But so does yours if Moloch sees you. 

War’s cowled head droops, shaking adamantly the moment you make to run to him. His eyes plead for you to run. 

You have to run. 

“L-little one…” War whispers, the verse of his plea dying into the wind. “Go…” 

Your bottom lip screws tightly inward into that pout and War knows far too well what it means. Your eyes glazed with a fat streamline of tears, you push through it with a huff and you run to him, the bottle you carry slowing you down considerably given that it’s practically the same size as you. But you heed not to the danger of Moloch. You cannot bear to see your heroes falter.

To see your older brothers defeated.

“B-baby! No!” Strife yelled out, his hand that was still tugging at Moloch’s leg to pry him off reached out for you to the point his fingers clawed the air in their strain to get to you. 

Moloch’s gaze was drawn to you. “Ah, a lamb to the slaughter. How fitting.”

The grotesque nature of his face marked by that ominousness that only a demon of his class was capable of. It makes both War and Strife’s stomachs churn. 

And as his newly acquired prey, with no Horsemen to protect you, he pounced. 

Anarchy and Chaos are at the end of their tethers, willing to be unleashed as Moloch’s shadow overtakes you. The force of his landing sends the dust against you, whipping you viciously and knocking you back. You clutch tightly to the healing potion and you land with a contorted jolt. Your arm stings and the fabric of your sleeve is torn, ripped into by the sharpened narrow of Moloch’s claws. Your mitten hand dabs at the wound and hiss.

That momentarily fleet of pain spurs within you the courage you need. For so long your Horsemen have been the ones to protect you. When you were the one to get knocked down, they lifted you back up. When a thousand swords rose against you, they were the first and only ones to shield you. No matter the blood and bruises, there was always a calm campfire, a warm supper to fill your belly and a bandage to assure you that you would never go without aid. 

It was your turn now to save them. Now more than ever, they needed you to shield them from the swords, to provide the bandages and assurance of safety. 

“Don’t you dare touch her!” War growls as he pushes himself up onto one knee, hand just curling around his blade’s hilt when Moloch beats him do it. 

No other being or creature could lift that blade other than the red rider. So Moloch got creative. He used whatever strength War had to his advantage and pivoted his own blade against him. Through his back, Chaoseater divided through flesh and bone until it breached the other side covered in a slickened layer of blood and embedded itself into the ground; pinning War to his knees.

Moloch moved in a dance of carnage with the symphony of pain he wrought. The agony reflected in your eyes and highlighted by the fire, that illumination of fear… of despair… It's empowering. 

Strife’s hand raised Redemption’s barrel with a wincing eye squeezed shut to take aim at Moloch’s head. Just one shot. That’s all he needed but the tension in his arm made his aim quiver, unfocused. 

“I won’t have you spoiling the fun now.” Moloch swung his body around and with ceremonious exalt, his tapering garb flowing around him, he spears his sword at Strife and its blade shatters the Horseman’s last resolve by striking him in the shoulder. 

Redemption is knocked from his hand with a curse yelled to the heavens. “I’ll fucking kill you, Moloch!”

How endearing it was to make petty, empty threats from his position. “Don’t be so hasty, Horseman. I want to revel in the pure, raw anguish in your failure to protect your little ward as I tear her apart.”

Moloch’s head turns slowly to look at you, followed by the pursuit of his shoulders and his body. He stalks towards you now and your eyes meet the blare of devilish depravity. Of cunning evil. 

“Sometimes… The heroes die in the end. And I like stories that have a tragic ending.”

“Baby!”

“Little one, run!”

So many voices from around you call out to you. Deep within a voice beckons you. Summons you to heed a call. That voice deep within calls your name but it is one you have never heard before. It sounds… familiar and yet, its cadence is not of your mother or grandmother. But she sounds… familial. 

“Leviathan… awaken.”

The current of that phantom winds manifests into something visible and very much powerful. Like a storm that envelops around you, Moloch is sent flying back before Samael could intervene to come to your aid. 

The master slides and skids to a halt as he drags his claws deep into the ground and his visage twisted into a scowl. You dare rebuke him with such… pathetic, mortal sorcery? 

But he is cruelly mistaken. For it is not sorcery you harness before his very eyes. Something ancient, mystical and unseen before. A power unknown takes possession of you, your body its vessel to be unleashed. Your eyes burn with a brightened luminescence of pale blue that spreads about your body in twirling, spiraling tendrils as you’re covered by a breach of water that materialises from nothingness. 

“Stop… don’t hurt… my bwrothers!”

The column of water becomes a tsunami around you, pouring and flooding as the creature before their very eyes is no longer a child… but the scaled body of a leviathan. But not one they are familiar with. The body is much too lithe and the head is shaped differently, the large, fanged maw revealing hundred upon hundred of teeth is billed with a sharply pointed horn akin to a spear. Closer to the head and neck is a crown of fins and whiskered appendages. 

It all happens far too quickly to recognise what it is you’re doing. You’re not… you’re not the one in control. You are merely a spectator in your own soul, a body trapped in the engine of the depths. The vessel given over to Leviathan the Lost. Awakened. 

Crashing waves are sent throughout the field, washing away any who are incapable to battle a tsunami and Moloch among his army. But unlike them, he manages to breach the surface and survive the storm of water, the oceanic scene that swallows his kingdom hole in the bowels of your own making. Out of the one and pure instinct to protect Strife and War, Leviathan huddles them in, forming a protective bubble to cover them as a dome. 

The spectacle around them. The mesmer of water crashing over the dome’s surface, unrelenting to wash away all doings of evil outside. Samael had sought higher ground and watches, eyes aflame with renewed fascination. You hid your secret well… if you even knew of its existence prior. But the way the leviathan acted of its own accord, lost to the temper of the oceanic storm within its heart, he doubted that very much. 

You were just a passenger in the creature’s form. 

By the time Strife and War manage to recover their strength, they find Moloch, lashed by the crushing waves. War swings high and just as Moloch had done to him, he drives the master’s own sword through his chest. Moloch heaves a wheezed grunt as his blood pools around him, washed away by the lapping puddles of water and each breath he tastes is laboured. War’s grip on the blade’s hilt grows intensely, easing the blade to rub and push against any internal organs or to further mince his flesh. 

But the sudden turn of smugness of Moloch’s death gives cause for concern. 

“You played right into his hands, Horsemen.”

Strife pushes Redemption’s barrel right to Moloch’s brow, eyes narrowed into a golden glare. “Don’t bother making threats you can’t keep, Moloch.”

“I tire of demons and their threats,” adds War with a growl. 

“There are no more threats to make…” For his demise was nothing more than the ultimate power play. And Moloch’s warning to the Horsemen about the company they keep was met by a brutal finish by Samael. His weight promptly crushing Moloch’s skull just as he tempered War and Strife with the prodding mystery of the Animus. 

“That demon would not shut up.”

“Yeah… who knows what he might have said next. I think you do, Samael.”

“What is the Animus? What are you hiding—”

“Horsemen!” Samael barks and his gaze drifts upward. Strife and War do the same to find Leviathan… draped and tired out, resting yet still in the prime of releasing more tyrannical waves should you be provoked. 

“Baby…” Strife slowly approaches and your head sharply turns to face him. “You remember us. Strife, War… we wanna take you back with us. You’re okay, Moloch’s gone now… he’s not going to hurt us.”

“Come back to us, little one.” War’s words are softly laced and that tiredness releases Leviathan’s hold on you. The body dissipates into a glittering nebula of turquoise and blues, your body slowly drifting downward until you land in Strife’s arms. 

“She’s exhausted,” he says to her brother who fixes some strands of your hair behind your ear. You cuddle into Strife’s chest, cheek pushed against him as your breaths come and go heavily and slowly. 

“Through the portal, Horsemen. It would be best to get her to Vulgrim and I suppose… you are owed the truth.” 

You lay swaddled in blankets and your head plushly laid against a pillow. Under the watchful eyes of Dis, Vulgrim assesses you with careful evaluation, sensing the now revealed and raw power you hold within. 

“Interesting… most interesting,” he would hum between pauses of silence and hum thoughtfully to himself. 

Strife paced back and forth as War sat himself against the formation of stone, waiting as patiently as he could for a behemoth about to implode into literal Chaos. 

“Is she okay, Vulgrim? What’s going on with her?” Strife asks once again for perhaps the millionth time in the span of an hour. 

“Hush!” Vulgrim raises a hand and with a tilt of his head, he then turns to face the Horsemen. “She will recover, although that may take some time. A few hours at most. The power she contains is… most curious. It’s a power that does not exist in our universe.”

Strife asks as he crosses his arms, “So then… how could she have gotten it?”

Samael waves a hand over you and within a matter of seconds, his omniscience senses the mystery behind this power of yours. “Leviathan the Lost.”

“Who?” Dis drawls, voice low and audibly with her skepticism.  

“The Eikon of water. He has been lost for some time… it would appear that an ancestor of hers was also the bearer of his power before she must have fled here… to our world.”

“She? Wait, wait— what is this whole mambo-jumbo shit? I don’t get it— what is going on with our girl, Samael?!” Strife’ own patience was wearing thin at this point. No longer did he care for the pester of his wounds and healing bruises even if a certain jerk of his body meant he was almost keening over. 

“The ancestor was female. As have the others who carried the Eikon's legacy. But I sense that some time ago, it went dormant. Until now…”

“What does this mean for her?” 

Samael hums with a gravelly tone. “She can’t go home just yet.”

[thealdersgateoffice]

Jackson Lamb and Catherine Standish: glances and gazes

Slow Horses | Season 3 🐌🐎

[narutothoughts]

Naruto au where a woman giving birth to a dead man’s child is considered bad luck so the child is killed upon birth.

So when the newly widowed fem!Naru is confronted with the traditions of the Uchiha clan what is she to do except flee for the sake of her child?

When she finally gets out of fire she can’t help but collapse at the base of a tree to rest in the forest. What she doesn’t expect is to wake up to a circle of dogs and white haired kids staring at her with wide eyes.

[mc-critical]

1.06 / 2.09 (33)

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THE ORDER OF PALMS An order of holy folk that serve The Helm, working to create powerful Aasimar Paladins for the purpose of protecting any who hire their help. [BACKSTORY UNDER CUT]

One day, Gjör and her peers were lead by their mentor Opheria, to a mission far from their home. On the peak of that mountain village, they saw upon the horizon, the castle of their home go up in flames. Horrified and scared, the apprentices sought to follow their mentors guidance, and followed her lead into a small barn. It was there, that Opheria proceeded to slaughter each and everyone of the apprentices. It seemed she somehow had a hand in this sudden attack on the Order of Palms. Gjör D'annevual survived a sword through the 'heart', on account of a rare condition, that places her heart on the other side of her chest. When she finally managed to bring herself back home, the Order was insulted by her survival. She had so many better peers, why couldn't any of them have survived? This runt was seriously the only thing that survived Opherias wrath? It was better to just wash their hands clean of this. Thus the Order decided to banish Gjör from their ranks. She now travels the land in search of a purpose.

[sunmoontruth-stiles]

I need a completely rewritten teen wolf series with Derek Hale as the main character. I think it would heal me.

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[mer-se]

cousin it in her element 🏰

[maegalkarven]

I'm thinking about Isobel who came back from the dead a hundred years later, who came back to the lands cursed and her father fallen into madness.

Who eminates a barely indistinguishable whiff of rot and Myrkul's power. Who was touched by the forces so repulsing she wishes she has never come back.

And who still has Moonmaiden's favor and her blessing.

Like by all means Selûne had every right to punish Isobel for her father's sins, esp considering what Isobel is, undeniably, the cause of Ketheric turning into the villain he became. Or rather, her death is.

Instead Selûne grants her enough power to battle the curse and create a small safe harbor amidst darkness. More power than the most have, as priest of Selune!Tav might comment.

Instead Selûne favors her, loves her.

Isobel is the indirect reason Aylin is enslaved and the lands are dying under the curse, and Selûne never turns her back on her.

Idk it just makes me emotional

[rxttenfish]

i keep having recurrent ideas of drawing aaravi using her wife as a token pool floaty/surfboard/life vest/jet ski and i never have gotten around to drawing it but. eventually. one day.

its one of the great benefits to having giant marine predator wife of course. that aaravi and her can have beach days where miranda just chills and hangs out at the surface of the water and aaravi can sit her drinks on top of her and lay on top of her and cling to her side when miranda threatens to swim them out to deeper water. excellent.

[darkdemeter]

I think that Death normally calls Child S/O as his little tiny sister, but in private, when it’s just him and S/O and of course Dust and maybe even Crowfather, Death wouldn’t hesitate to let his walls down and fondly call S/O his daughter.

Cradled in the lock of his arms, he holds you secured. Under a darkened haven of midnight littered with blinking stars, the wind is as calm as the slow, laboured breath that enters and leaves his lungs.

Each rung of his heartbeat swells with a pride so profound he believes it will summon Harvester to render his chest apart. The innocence of your presence draws the dance of his usually hardened, pulsating gaze to soften, a gentle flicker of amber emitting from the sunken hollows of his mask.

You've finally fallen asleep with the uttered promise that he will be here when you wake up, that no monsters will come for you. He's the only one with you, having gone on this mission alone; but not without your resolve to venture with him.

Your stir ever so slightly in his arms and he shifts you accordingly, ensuring that you are comfortable. He notes fondly the features of peaceful rest on your features. No nightmares, no fears. Contentment. Trust.

In the dwellings of privacy, he treasures these moments between you both. They are tender to a level extreme, this encouraged notion of fatherhood creeps into the back of his mind. The father he never was. Never could have been.

Only a leader and a brother.

But now you give him, in these quiet recesses away from anyone else, this purpose to be that father. The guidance you need, the patriarch and protector of your little clan. Death was and is many things and though silently, he grows gentle with you. A warrior born and bred to be the imposing force of an unstoppable fiend of combat, a honed and skillful predator of the battlefield, a cold-blooded executioner.

But between the fading day in the field surrounded by a rolling pasture of flowers, given a fickle little stem that blooms brightly of colour; something he seldom lacks in his own contrast, you give him colour internally by the way you hug at his leg and plead for him to pick you up.

The way your voice is pitched with this adorable coo, bubbly laughter spilling from your throat out of sheer glee. These are the times he holds onto, the days he will come to miss when you eventually grow taller and smarter. When that innocence will fade from your eyes, instead replaced with the realisation that the world can be so colourless - and at most, by his hand. He hopes it won't fade. He cannot lose this light, not now.

You've so much to aspire for, plenty more to explore and wonder. Like any father, is it in his right to keep you like this forever, frozen in this pocket of time as to never lose you?

He dreads the day that you, his precious daughter, will come to wither like the flowers you gift to him. The cycle of life is constantly moving and time can be unfair. So he does all he can to save these wonderful and precious times with you.

When your big eyes finally peel open, slow and weary as you awaken with a small, cupping yawn, he bounces you. "Awake at last?"

"Yes, Dadda..."

"Very good."

Just in time for the sun to rise over the horizon, bleeding over the silhouette of a black landscape. A new day to dawn and a step closer to that awful day of losing you.

The Crowfather can wait for his presence that bit longer. He ignores the way that Dust flocks to his shoulder, cawing sharply in question.

He sees the tiny, tangible sign of a cheeky smile on your face. His head lowers until the brow of his mask meets the softer, rounder curve of your forehead and your small hands lift up to hold at his cheeks. Your fingers ever so slightly strain to pluck at the mask that conceals his face, but he makes no hesitation known that he dislikes the action.

He's rather keen to someday show you his face.

You whisper, "Daddy, how much you wov me?"

A single noted chuckle scratches in the back of his throat, sounding gruff and hacked. "Like any father for his daughter, my little petal."

Don't look at me like that, it all just came out onto the post like vomit!

[aliki-is-an-hellenist]

Thank you Queen Hera and Lord Hermes for taking care of my mom and bringing her back home safely like I asked you.

[ranger-kellyn]

look, i love ALL the avatar's equally. i think they all have a unique and fascinating story, and are all well-suited for the issues of their times. i can't pick a true favorite.

anyways, time to go plan out my fifth avatar fic where one of the primary settings is kyoshi island, and one of the characters connects with her spirit--

[ragsy]

MOTW NPC Rach Lombardi, Mark's toxic ex who got ripped to shreds by dogman and then whose revenant ghost latched onto someone else who was on their own dogman revenge quest (player character Tatara)

she's fun.

[black-rose-writings]

Dear Saints, I forgot how much I hate trying to write Alina.

Shit's not good for my mental health.

[needlenxggin]

just gonna drop some tags for his shippies uwu