#happyfics

[darkdemeter]

Hey hey, could i please have a request?

So imagine that the reader is traveling with death to restore the humanity and they get along so well and are kind of flirty and the reader is falling for him. One day they meet Vulgrim and she out of curiosity falls into his serpent hole and is transported to the past to meet the young and unruly death, who we know was a menace when younger. And then they have their interactions the reader goes back to the current version of death. How do you think that would go?

Have a lovely day and thank you for your work!

EVEN DEATH WAS ONCE YOUNG

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | Death x Female Reader

NOTES: ↳ OH. MY. GOSH. ANON! Writing this was the bomb!! Interesting concept, a wonderful opportunity to explore pre-horseman "younger" Death. I tried to keep a balance between his more mature personality while also having some fun with giving him a bit of spunk -- I couldn't stop giggling! WARNINGS! ↳ Just death being a bit of a young menace, but he kinda cute doing it sooo.... but like there's also fluff/hurt stuff?

✎5.4k ────────────────

When people used to say: “I wish I could meet the younger version of you.” They don’t actually know what they’re asking for. Because who in their right mind would want to meet Death in the prime of his bloodlust? 

The thought struck a fancy with you after your encounter with the demoness, Lilith. Her presence exotic and threatening without explicitly doing anything remotely violent. It was the sensual octave that carried her words like a lullaby you had found forbidding to hear, yet you fall prey to the temptation to hear just one more word.

That didn’t stop you from hiding behind Death, his back rigid to the point the knocks of his spine straightened slightly when her hand lingered a little too close to brush a stray framing of hair out from your face. 

But it was what she recounted that piqued your curiosity. Her children. Enriching lore of a species most loathed from long ago, a bloody crusade where they met their end by Death’s hands. From her retelling and the mystical pulse of life that beats in the embedded shards in his chest, even speaking of them appeared to pain him both physically and mentally. A burden you could never carry for him nor tell him to abandon. 

For a human, whose patience often wanes at the smallest of inconvenience, you show a lot of compassion and understanding for the weight on his shoulders. And never would you know exactly how thankful Death has become for your company. At times almost yearning for it whenever you are but a few feet away, or the thought crosses his mind to take you back to the Tri-Forge and leave you in the Maker’s care. Your fragility means more to him now than it has before, sometimes just looking at you eases just a fraction of that guilt he pushes deeper down. 

You’d both formed far too much of a bond so unnatural to the opinion of others, yet it fell into some assortment of right for you. 

You can’t possibly imagine being left behind, not now. Not after how far you have come all this way together. 

But yes, that saying. Did people ever realise what it was they were saying? 

“Meeting the mother-in-law already, baby albums and all.” Your voice crackles on the hot, muggy wind that travels through this slice of inferno, sky a spiral of darkness and hellfire smog. “Dare I say it, I wish I could meet the younger—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” he warns with a low and thorough rasp that rattled in his chest. 

You cannot help but spare him a teasing wrinkle of your nose and puckering your tongue out between your teeth, body twisting from side to side innocently.

You can’t help but chuckle with a slight bounce in your step. “Sounds like you were quite the bad boy.”

You merely roll your eyes as he gruffly replies with a huff, “Your perception cannot possibly begin to fathom the prime of my youth… or handle it.”

Despite his attempt of coming off cool and collected, you could hear the bitter coil of something else underline his words. 

Oh, how mystical and dark and brooding he always was and portrayed himself to be. You’re sure that there is something a little less grim beneath that rough exterior. Hell — and that saying excludes your current locale — you have witnessed it before in the engagements of fun conversation that go back and forth to the point that a victor who gets the last say is indeterminable sometimes. So he’s not completely a lost cause of being impenetrable, he’s entertained you before with quite a few situations that you classified as flirting. Who knew that Death himself could make you blush bright and red?

He was close to claiming that title of victory this time, until you pad along to stop right in the middle of his tracks, his chest barely able to stop from bumping into you and causing your balance off kilter for a moment. 

“Come on, Death, at this point of travelling together, I can handle anything.”

He looks past your nonchalant grin and over your shoulder, seeming to cock a brow beneath the greying bone of his mask.

“Really now?” he hums, “Duck.”

“Wh—” you dare not finish to question him as you immediately take to assuming position, ducking low to the ground in preparation of an oncoming ambush unseen by you.

But it never comes. You hear a gravelly rumble of a chuckle emit from the reaper before you, his shoulders jostling a little with the motion. Your lips purse together and you scowl at him with everything you can muster to no avail of affecting him.

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny,” you snark back, walking alongside him as he continues to set your traversing pace. 

Noticing that he was heading back the way you came, you jutt a thumb to point behind you “Aren’t we meant to be going that way?” 

“Your sense of direction has improved astonishingly, girl,” Death snickers dryly, the slur of flirty endearment almost lost in his words. He continues, “We’re paying a visit to Vulgrim.” 

Ugh, even saying that name brings a ghoulish, slimy chill to climb your spine uncomfortably. 

“Horseman,” The greenish bulbs of his eyes shrink behind a wrinkling brow of pale, craggily skin. Then his eyes see you and the form in which they almost bulge from their sockets sickens you. “And your little human companion! Your scent is just as… lovely as ever, my dear.” 

The gaping maw of his lipless mouth twists into a creeping grin so unnerving it causes knots of fear to tie in your gut. 

“Uh, no,” you say with an adamant shake of your head. No way in this life or the next would you trade your soul to Vulgrim of all fiends. Death had warned you to just keep your soul to yourself in general if offered to sell it for a little something in return. 

“Your dealings are with me, Vulgrim.” Death is clear and quick to establish your presence before the serpent hole. The demon trader, sighing grimly with a black, slimy tongue ringing over his cracked and deformed fangs, addresses Death. 

“Very well. Let us see what I have to offer… and what you can afford.”

Vulgrim usually dances about his serpent hole but never ventured too far if he can help it, usually to usher you away from it with a warning, “If you know what is best for your longevity, stay away from there.” 

And most of the time, Death kept a watchful eye on you to keep you from falling face first into the next trap of trouble. However, this time around, the pool of green mist is left surprisingly unguarded. With a curious tilt of your head and scrunch of your nose, your boots pad on over as you walk towards it. 

You can’t make out a bottom through the wafting cloud of mist that rises from the hole. Still you arch your body to peer over the edge and down into it as though you’d find something soon enough if you just inch that little bit—

“Human!” Death bellows as he rushes to you, only just seeing your form stumble and fall forward. A yelp of surprise turns into a blood-curdling scream as you sink into the smoggy abyss. The green haze around you fades into a darker shade until all around you is black nothingness. Your voice throws over into a thousand echoes that follow you. You’re still falling. At least it feels that way and for a moment you think you’ve closed your eyes; it’s hard to tell with the inky black around you.

A bright tone paints onto the surface of your closed eyes and you fall onto ground, dusty and hard, small rocks jab and scrape as you land. The brunt of the fall knocks the wind from you and you take a moment to recover your bearings, soon to rise to your feet and brush off the smears of dirt on your clothes.

“Okay. Duly noted: do not go anywhere near serpent holes,” you affirm strongly with newfound belief, only to be met by silence.

No scolding words that apprehend your actions. Not the familiar grasp of a cold, large hand that strangely warms you and causes your heart rate to pick up a little faster. No, you turn and shift on your heel to scan all directions about you. 

“Uhm… Death? Vulgrim?” You’ve spun yourself into a circle a million times over by now. “Anyone? Hello?”

For certain this is not the same slice of hell you had accompanied Death to and no serpent hole was in sight. Instead, you're in some cavernous valley of dust land and patches of grass and foliage, in the distance stands the mounds of high reaching cliff sides. 

Where exactly are you? 

As a human evidently from earth, you had never once had the ability to traverse any realm unfamiliar. In fact, you never knew of the possible existence of them. And after meeting Death, you were strictly told to stay close. Realms harboured dangers of their own, a breed of some civilisation that undoubtedly hurt you if you ran off by yourself. 

And now you’re beginning to feel that seeping dread of despair dawn within you. That sulking hopelessness that you have cast yourself to some unknown corner of the cosmos, and Death has no idea where you dropped off to. 

“Death?” You ask aloud again. Were you lost forever? 

You begin to head off in a direction, putting the sun to your left as you look around for ideally any serpent holes that can hopefully drop you back where you belong. With Death. Without him here, you feel like a newborn fawn stumbling on its legs. He always made you feel safe, always ensured he was between you and whatever threat that tried to get you, even if he got hurt because of it. 

You continue to call out to the wind that sweeps over you, the sun beating down hard. You brush aside a flurry of hair from your face, your pace slowing exponentially as you practically stumble through this unknown territory.

That’s when that sixth sense kicks in. You’re not sure if you had been ignoring the signs before or if the feeling just came, but all the same you feel that you’re being watched.

You’ve barely dived out of the way before something large crashes behind you, the scraping of claws digging into the crusty soil and the shifting balance of weight kicks up a cloud of dust behind the force of the leaping attack. Turning to face whatever it was, you grimace at the sight of a mangy looking hound that dwarfs you. Its skin is a burnt hue of reddish pink like it suffered constant exposure to the sun, what matted fur that lined its spine and cuffed around its ribs was a dark, sandy brown with dark, faded stripes. Its ears twitch as a high pitched wheeze passes through its open jaw that pries open like a snake. Rows of black teeth are coated in an oily surface of dripping saliva. 

You see another grapple down the cliff face to join the first, this one notably smaller, but not by much. Then another of the same size joins the second, each one stalking closer to corner you in. 

A piercing sharpness fills your chest and your hand grasps at the handle of your dagger. A simple form of defence, highly unlikely to fend off the predators easily, but better than nothing. 

Right about now, that favourable reaper of yours would be excellent company. There were so many things you wished you had said, times you procrastinated moving that bit closer to his side by the evening campfire meant for your safety and sanity. You fear that this is your end. For your quest in restoring humanity, one more human will be lost today, and Death will have to bear that burden. It saddens you in a way. That the guilt would eat away at him. 

One of the smaller hounds takes no more than a few steps forward, just about ready to pounce at you before a humming force sings through the air and with a meaty crunch of bone and mushed brain, an all familiar scythe fatally sheathed in its skull. 

You fall back on your arse, a relieved grin digs deep into your cheeks as you think Death has somehow found you. 

You look around, eager to see him, barely catching something fast cut through the corner of your vision. The next thing you know, the head of the second smaller hound rolls over, its tongue hanging loosely between its jaws, the decapitated appendage just resting at the heel of your boots. The sight makes you grumble in dull disgust.

However, you are brought into the shadow of the larger creature that now towers above you, caught with a gulp in your throat. By your lucky stars, its attention diverts from you and to your rescuer and dives forward. 

You only just turn your head when a pained shriek howls through the air and a severed limb flies some distance away. Followed by another and then a third limb, leaving the defeated creature to begin crawling away with a distorted whine. 

His silhouette bathed in the scorching sun is a sight of relief, though his attire had changed. Not the draping tabard of violet tied about his waist or the deep purple scarf hung over his shoulders. Mostly an assortment of bandages wrapped and woven around his arms, clad in iron fittings. He steps after the beast, following along the weeping trail of blood smeared into the dirt, scythes coming together as the long staff of Harvester and placed to his back. 

Your face contorts in response to the sheer brutality before you, visage twitching in your frazzled comprehension. Yes, Death had a very violent tendency to be dangerously savage, but he was well versed in being precise, but never at this level. Seeing him utilise naught but his inhuman strength at his disposal and his hands, he rips the hound’s upper jaw clean off until sheets of sinew and muscle were reduced to hair-thin threads. 

He drops the unhinged part to his feet with a wet, clumpy thump. Even you have to internally argue that Death may have lost himself a little there. When his head turns over his shoulder, the flicker of an amber glow catching you in his sights, you cannot help the reaction to freeze as you roll onto your belly. 

Something unfamiliar resides in his gaze like he’s seeing you for the first time. But rather than the confusion of an older entity seeing one of the many souls still alive, there is a frenzy of anger – adrenaline running a high river through him, driving him bloodmad. 

His upper body then begins to turn only to halt when you utter his name, form rigid in his study of you. Again, you try, “Death? Hey, it’s me.”

Immediately you’re met by the unsheathed blade of Harvester aimed against you and you skitter back with a hiss as the massive blade knicks your cheek. 

“Hey! Careful with that— what’s gotten into you?”

“Who are you?” 

Your face scrunches, a morphed complaint of your confusion. He only attempts to raise his scythe to your neck with a threat to render you headless at his whim. 

“I-it’s me, hello!” you laugh with bitter nervousness, “you know me. Y/N, the human you’ve been travelling with.”

He gives no form of recollection. Not that he’s easy to read with that mask of his, hiding all but the expression in his eyes. Or the way he narrows them upon hearing one word: Human. Call it intuition, a gut feeling, a divine touch; you feel that that word held some powerful trigger to the Horseman before you. And none that you had seen in him before. Almost a zeal of intense excitement flourishes in the furnace heart of his eyes. 

“A human?” Harvester balances in his grasp to lean against his shoulder, a curious tilt of his head somehow influences you to mimic the action with an affirmative hum.

“Uh-huh. We were on our way to restore humanity. We went extinct, remember?” 

“Really now?” 

When he begins to stalk closer and inching the gap between you shorter, you find yourself taking a few steps back. Something was… off. Death isn’t like his usual self. The concept of humans didn’t really phase him in such a way before. He just thought of humanity and their restoration as a mere key to gaining his brother’s freedom. Somehow integral to the balance but never once serving importance to him. But now, before your very eyes, he appears with a dark excitement as he looks you over. Like your very existence piques him. 

Was he flirting with his leash ten yards behind him? 

Now that’s very unlike your old reaper—

There’s a thought: he is not… that old. Sure, old by some standard in the scheme of time, but compared to when you were travelling together, you come to realise how noticeably younger he is. And still, he advances towards you until his shadow overthrows you, drowning you in it. 

Even if you wanted to chalk up your thoughts to some conspiracy, you also notice that there is a sore lack of soul-cursed shards embedded into the taut muscle of his chest. 

Alright. Now you’re beginning to put the pieces of this puzzle together. You have somehow landed in the great, great past.

It’s like your wish became a manifested reality. 

Bathed in the sunless dark of his shadow, your feet intend to shuffle back, only for his arm that handles his massive scythe extends forth, the pole of it acting as some guard that keeps you from moving any further away. 

You mumble to yourself then, resigning in your compliance to remain where you stand. He may not be trying to directly hurt you now, but if given the motivation, you could yet stand corrected. 

He continues to stare at you, long and hard pressing, you feel like an ant under the heated blink of a glass scope that is threatened to burn. A matter of curiosity is all you can surmise it to the way his neck extends forward, bending down until the bone form of his masked nose hovers over you, near deathly silent but still largely inhaling your scent.

The act is enough for that heated flush to deep into your skin. 

“Hey—hey, easy there, big guy,” you warn, voice wavering from the way he merely tilts his head before leaning in again. “No, I said n-no! Stop that—no, that tickles!” 

Upon you practically beating him away with the ferocity of your mitten gloves, he then circles you like a predatory beast. 

“How is this possible? Humanity’s creation has not yet come,” he inquisitively says. 

You give a shrug, choosing to be a little more careful of your words. Would anything you do or say alter time itself and affect your supposed present? 

Just with you being here would be enough to do just that if Death’s claim that humans weren’t born yet is true. 

“Uh, well… it’s not so simple to explain. You see, I er—”

Shit this was getting more and more difficult to explain with the growing anxiety dangerously lurking over you like a foreboding cloud. 

“I’m not from here.”

You can almost see his brow curve upward under the mask. “Evidently,” he drawls deeply in response. 

With a roll of your eyes you try again. 

“All I know is that I somehow fell through some serpent hole and got transported back in time. Now, I gotta find a way back.” 

“You mean to leave?” 

Already turning your back on him – unaware of such a grave mistake – you only nod in response, your eyes last to leave him. Who knows how much longer you will have to endure here before Death finds and rescues you from his younger self. 

But that just isn’t in your stack of cards. Again you’re almost blown to the four winds and land on the cushion of your arse, grumbling in pain as you stare up at him, standing right in the way of your path.

Your lips purse tightly together, you hiss, “Death!” 

He crouches in front of you, ignoring the way you attempt to pry him and push him away as he moves a hand forward. He holds your wrist at bay before you can land a firm push to his mask to shove him away, his amber eyes dance with a certain level of intrigue and his head tilting to the side leaves his raven hair to saddle alongside the motion. 

He peels the grubby article off your hand to reveal the bareness of your skin and you find yourself holding your own breath. 

His own hand measures yours, palm to palm and you feel the roughened contour of his skin. His body radiates with an off-centred heat, not entirely cold as he is in the present with you but the morph of warmth isn’t so smothering unlike some infernal realm you know. You almost see the softness that crosses his features beneath the boney helm of his mask, like the cracks of emotion are being revealed without your exact know-how. 

But you’ve known Death for some time now. You’ve been in his company. If this is some revelation of a breakthrough, then you see it before your very eyes. 

Each finger lines to one another. A curtain of silence falls over the both of you until your eyes meet. A smile creeps over your lips then. 

“Must you truly go?” he’s sudden to ask beneath the gravel baritone of his chords. With a sigh, you only nod your head. 

His eyes harden at this, something distraught lines his concealed face only to be betrayed by the levelled glow of his eyes, but nevertheless he stands, no longer keeping you from running off. As you make your way to stand on your own two feet, brushing off the particles of dirt off your clothes, you notice Death’s prolonged stare. 

“What is it?” 

He only shakes his head, a gruff response of, “Nothing.” 

Though his reply is suspiciously vague, you both venture off into the great unknown, however much you believe that Death is more accustomed to the land than you. 

Hours pass as the sun begins to ride your backs and no sight of any serpent holes, leaving you with a feeling of exhausted anguish. As the night creeps in as a shadowy blanket over the sky and turns the humid air colder, you pull your shawl over your body as a chill licks your spine. 

Death — no not your Death, the younger one — takes notice, eying you from the side of his vision. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You jerk your head in his direction with eyes wide in your perked alertness. “Hm? Oh, I’m just cold is all. Usually I’d have a fire set up by now to rest…”

Would it be wise to add that it was him — older him — beside you and ensuring you settle into your makeshift camp? Unsure, you keep that to yourself. 

When he places an overly large hand to your shoulder, you stumble on your heel and pause, watching Death’s head scan the horizon and the upper cliff faces until he stops. You turn your head and notice just in the crevice of shadow and fading sunlight the blackened mouth of a cave. 

Your eyes light up at the thought of rest despite your circumstances and you already begin your trek towards the rocky climb, though you now see the rather steep slope it resides to reach the haven. With a grumble, your determination steers you to climb anyways, your feet stumbling and causing small pebbles to scatter down the face. 

Hands then grab hold of you and before you’re able to fight or protest, Death scuttles up in a matter of seconds with you hanging on for dear life. After he sets you down, you huff out, “Thanks.” 

He gives a gruff sound in response with a curt nod, then turns to scour the new site of camp. It wasn’t so much as a cave as you thought, moreso of a sheltered crop in the rocks, providing enough area to protect you from the elements but also invites the cool winds to breeze on past. 

Making a fire was a challenge than it usually was, making due with what you had on hand, and Death sets Harvester to his side, leaning it against the wall. He doesn’t think you pose that much of a threat to warrant its persistent sheath. 

He however finds some interest in how you kindle the birth of flames, crafting it from almost nothing. 

Looking up at him from your position, you laugh softly to yourself. “Yeah, I know. Humans are so weak and strange. But it’s what we do. How we were made, I guess.”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Death says with a clearly risen brow. His answer does bring you surprise. After all, Death had many times sighed and chuffed about how humans did the most silly of things – things that were key to your survival, keeping that in mind. 

“Well… you will. Someday.”

“How is it that you know me?” he asks, crouching on the fire’s opposite side, facing you. As much as you think it unwise to share anymore knowledge, you cannot deny that you feel almost safe around him, no matter the fact that he’s younger. In the prime of his bloodlust. 

But he hasn’t killed me yet. Tried to, but hasn’t. 

“It’s going to sound strange but… I’m from the future. And in that future, we are travelling together.”

“Because you said something of Humanity’s demise.” 

He’s Death alright. A keen observant to detail. You nod in reply before continuing, “and as I said, I fell through some sort of timeline and landed here in the past. The way, way past. So far that humans aren’t even created yet, as you’ve said.”

To this, he nods in turn and it brings you to smile. You feel as though he silently applauds your own recollection for detail. 

“Death, how old are you?” 

Yes, it is indeed perhaps a very stupid decision to ask his age, but the nature of curiosity humans are notoriously known for gets the better of you. His eyes flicker with momentary stutter, taken aback by such a question, but one he doesn’t ultimately deny in answering. 

“Today is my day of creation… I’m a thousand-and-one—”

Your eyes go wide and you shoot up to your feet with a cheer. “What? Happy Birthday!” 

Your voice is a loud noise to the shell of his hearing and it spurns him to the defence, beckoning Harvester to fly to his hand within an instant. You’re quickly covering your mouth, uttering your apologies at spooking him. 

Settling back down, this time to his side, you flash him a shy, toothy grin. “But that’s exciting!”

“What is a ‘birthday’?”

You gasp at the shocking revelation. “It’s a celebration. When humans are born on a certain day, it’s a tradition to celebrate it every year.”

Then it pops into your mind, again sending the nephilim beside you to flinch at your motion, you stir up a fuss of plucking a twig from the flames before it’s entirely devoured. Holding it, single flame slow to eat away the kindle, you beam as you stare at Death with large, doe-like eyes. 

“Make a wish!”

“A what?” He scoffs, only to see you dramatically roll your eyes until they’re nearly rolling out of their sockets. “A wish. You make a wish, something you really want, and then blow out the flame. Another tradition on your birthday.”

His eyes narrow to thin points, sceptical that perhaps you were using something to your advantage. When he sees that you don’t have any ill intent to deceive him, he shuffles in his spot slightly to face you, body arching ever so over yours; his height even at this level towers over you. 

You whisper softly, “Like this.” 

Making the motion of blowing out the makeshift candle with your mouth, the campfire casting an orange hue to your skin paints you in a fine detail that the nephilim cannot help but study closely until a there’s a skip in his chest.

His hand raises to his mask but stops and you see the hesitance to continue any further. Understanding that it very well could be because of your presence, you tilt your chin down and squeeze your eyes shut. 

A gust beats across your face, skirting the wisps of hair away and then just as promptly as he’d lifted his mask, he’d lowered it just in time for you to peel your eyes open. Again, you smile. 

He’s the first to crack through the veil of tension between you both, standing on his feet. 

“Get some rest, girl.”

The next day, you finally see in the distance the familiar halo of green and sick looking mists, but it is your ticket home nonetheless. You skip ahead and towards it, laughing at the thought of reuniting with Death and telling him of your adventure.

But then you stop. Not another skip in your step. You turn around to see Death, body rigid but his chin is aimed down and his eyes don’t exactly meet yours. Approaching him cautiously, you halt a few feet before him, hands pinned behind you. 

“I guess this is goodbye…”

You don’t very much like the eternal sound to your farewell. Like you’re losing him forever. 

He drawls out, low and lessened of any sort of emotion, but you swear you note a hint of sadness in his tone. “My wish didn’t come true.”

“What was your wish?”

His eyes rise to meet yours and you feel your heart splinter. Why did it feel so wrong to want to go back to Death in the future? Why did everything that wasn’t with him feel so, so wrong?

“I wish that you would stay here.”

“I can’t stay. I’m not from this time.” Your words do little to ease that which internally troubles him. Your hands coax his jaw to lift upwards until he stands, prouder and much taller over you that you have to balance on the toes of your feet. Then, you sweep your arms around him. His body is stiff to meet your hug but you care little in that regard. He’s always been one less evident of his affections, a tendency you’re completely fine with. 

“But I promise that we will meet again in the future. After all, that’s who I’m going back to through the serpent hole. To you.”

There it is, that flicker in his eyes that reveals in them a shiny glow of fire that you feel warms your heart in many ways. Pressing a chaste kiss to the toughened chin of his mask, you offer one last smile and bid your farewells with a wave, promising that you will see each other again before you jump into the serpent hole, disappearing into the green mists. 

You yelp as the void sends you crashing yet again and you fear that you have stumbled into yet another realm in another time. But for the first time, you find yourself relieved to hear Vulgrim’s slimy voice announce your arrival. 

“Ah! And there she is, the curious little mouse who doesn’t keep away from serpent holes,” he snides with a raspy coil like a snake getting ready to strike. 

“Vulgrim,” you poke your tongue out, brushing your hair from your face and you look to see Death charging his way to you. 

“There you are,” he says almost wistfully, hands pressed to your shoulders. A tender action even with the glare clear in his gaze. “What were you thinking? What happened to you?”

You know that beneath the roughness of his callous tone, he means well. He was worried and the look upon his younger self’s face as you left, you find yourself pulling yourself into him and embracing him. 

“I promised you that we’d meet again.”

His arms weave themselves around your waist, holding you to bear you closer in his embrace. “Yes, you did.”

[deathbyoctopi]

Any guesses as to WHOM he is smiling right now…?

[bunniworms]

IM GOING TO FUCJINF EXPLODE. THE STUFF FOR MY OMORI COSPLAY CAME

[bumblebyaf]

NOOO NO KISSES AMY

[prettyboykatsuki]

SHE CAME HOME IN 30 PULLS 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽 AND I GOT E1 LYNX 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

north american mutuals is fu xuans banner out yet

[blazinghotfoggynights]

Does anyone else have multiple fic ideas swirling around in their mind?

I have been working on way too many fics for this fandom. It is amazing to me what can trigger an idea.

Even as someone who has loved writing almost all her life, I am still fascinated by the mind taking something small, such as one line of song lyrics and somehow building an entire world around it. Am I the only one who is just minding their business and suddenly, a fic begins forming simply because of something mundane?

I am not going to mention how many WIPs I am currently actively working on. I am totally grateful the universe has chosen to allow me to be creative and be the conduit it chooses to bring some art, or at least attempts at it, into the world. If even one person has a minute of enjoyment from something I wrote, I'm happy about it. But, there is that part of me that thinks people will look at me and consider an intervention.

My WIPS vary so much. They all contain Buddie. They range from short oneshots to long, multi-chapter fics. I am working on fluff, angst, unrequited love, breakups, makeups, happyfic, darkfic, one or two Dead Doves, and so much more.

For those who saw my poll about cheating!fic, you probaby know why I asked. Some of my WIPs involve cheating. I won't give away any of the plot right now, but I wanted to gauge fandom's reaction.

I assure everyone is when I post anything, I label it as clearly as I can and place warnings in the notes before the fic, not after. I use the end notes for further explanation, but warnings are always before the fic, so readers are informed and aware of what is to come. I am a fic reader, too, and I have some horror stories about opening fic that wasn't labeled. *shivers in terror* I learned to never say you can't be shocked or scared.

I ask anyone who logs into AO3 and sees any fic I ever post to please read the tags. If anything upsets you, triggers you, or squicks you, turn back.

[xxx-sir-pentious-xxx]

The Snake with All the Answers

Sadfic, half happyfic, heaven is not helpful, sir Pentious helps.

Sir Pentious assumed that heaven would cure blindness, cure disabilities and was accessible to all that entered.

It turns out if you arent born with suitable bodies or arent young, you'll struggle even in heaven. It offended him greatly. It really caught up to him every night he went to bed in his raised bed.

He made and begun to sell custom beds for people that needed floor beds.

He then began working on bodies. Doing surgeries or making prosthetics that actually helped rather than blending them in. They shouldn't have to hide afterall.

Today he had his work cut out for him. He looked at the paperwork, a grieving woman.

A grieving mother who lost her life in pregnancy, never getting to hold her baby. She never got to ever see her baby even in the most quick of glances. She probably wont for the next 90 years if her baby gets to grow old. A bit of her wished they both died.

Pentious was requested to fix her, as she just wasnt able to hold in her pain. Heaven just couldn't help her, I mean really, how could someone who knows nothing of loss help someone who fully encompasses the worst type of pain. She had begged to the angels,

"Please! Please make me better! I just want to be better.. I just want to be okay again..."

She sounded so tired, but worse yet, she sounded hopeless in her suffering. So Pentious did what he was best at when she started to cry.

He just broke down and sobbed with her, he clung to her and just coaxed her to start sobbing with him, just pouring all that pain out. Just sobbing until she finally could feel nothing because she was tired.

Pentious made a nice broth, prepared a nice drink to share that was boozed. It was a easy to eat meal just to help her feel the warmth and love of a friend. She didn't need meds, she just needed an ounce of sympathy and hope to at least have a friend. Someone to make new promises. Someone who understood what it was like to lose someone.

Afterall, one day her baby would die and she'll see them again, they got a full life ahead, she just needed to wait. Motherhood was not promised to her but the after life was a promise she knew. And it was going to be okay.

It's okay...

"You will be okay.", he stated softly while cradling her like a small child, "Your not alone in this. I see you. I see your pain and I understand. I see you."

It felt good. It felt good to be seen....

It felt nice to be okay again even for just a little while. But she was welcomed all the same.

Each day feeling more whole.

She'd join the children that flocked around Pentious at some point as well. So would many soon enough. But that's a story for another time.

[stqrgirl3]

HAPPY HAPPY DIWALI MERI JAAN

EEEK HAPPYF BELATED DIWALI BBG <33333

[cloudcountry]

BRO BRO BEO BRO BRO BRO BRO ALL I WANTED WAS THE JAMIL CARD BUT LOOK AT MY LUCKKKKKKKKKK

I got MALLEUS twice. Twice. My pathetic lil homeschooler is so down bad for me. What a simp. What a silly little lad. Damn.

(but seriously IM SO HAPPY I GOT MY JAMIL CARD AND SO FUCKING SHOCKED I GOT MALLEUS AS WELL LOL)

HOW THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT IM SO HAPPYF OR YOU

[leoisbabygirl]

HAPPYF BRITHDYA KIT!!!!

VBGNTBTVR THANK YOU KIRA 🫶

[darkdemeter]

War and Strife x Fem child reader Platonic! Takes place during Genesis! A sweet, curious, and kind child managed to find herself in Hell, probably bc of a random Serpent Hole back on Earth, and is now under Vulgrim’s care due to curiosity himself…until War and Strife spot her talking with him. It’s now part of the Horsemen’s mission to get her back home to Earth, after Strife “adopts” her and convinces War that she’s their priority now, for the Balance.

GUIDE HER WAY HOME

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | (Platonic!) Strife and War x Female Child!Reader

NOTES: ↳ Yes Genesis content! 👏Let's go! WARNINGS! ↳ Just sort of general fluffy content — Reader is a small bean — Vulgrim has to fix some serpent holes, be wary of falling through some of those when you're out and about — I think that's it

✎ 1.9k ────────────────

How fragile mortality is. So sweet and pure, innocence surreal. You wander through this unknown place with a target on your back, a beacon for the darkness to find you amidst its clawing grasp of shadows. But thankfully, one with astonished confusion finds you before any other hellish dweller. Your eyes peer up and up, meeting the greenish pupils of the ghoul that floats amidst the gravity of his ethereal form. His claws tap together in thought, face morphed into a puzzled sneer with a sound rattling in his throat like a grotesque snort. 

Ever mindful of your manners, being the good and well behaved girl your parents brought you up to be, you softly clear your throat. “Hello.”

Vulgrim’s eyes somehow manage to soften in the slightest of wrinkles. How did you get here?

He arcs his body to lower himself, nearing to your eye level but still raised some height above. His nose moves back into a revealing snarl when you attempt to reach a hand out to grab hold of one of his horns, eyes sparkling with a grand cosmos of curious wonderment. Vulgrim, amongst his own similar feeling, finds your reaction most interesting. Your perception of him unhindered by the reaction of fear or caution.

When an echoing shriek bellows from the spired graveyard over yonder, you gasp shortly, and Vulgrim is a witness to this fearful emotion. He watches, properly posed in his towered clutch as your head and eyes move across the surroundings before you shrink away with a small whine, feet pattering in hard succession until you hide behind the floating shades of his belted tunic. 

“Come, child,” he says, “stay right here with me.”

Humans are a species emphasised about their fragile yet cunning adaptability. And while Vulgrim has taken to studying them here and there, not once had it ever struck him that a child’s soul could harbour so much light. So much pure and raw energy that it almost blinds him whenever he looks at you. 

You nod up at him. Your hands clutch hold of the darkened purples of fabric, your fistful grip is harsh much like how you would to your mother’s tunic whenever the roar of thunder scared you. 

Vulgrim can only suspect that you somehow arrived here through the work of his serpent holes. There are a few scattered around earth, though not many, but you must have stumbled upon one. 

“Man, if Vulgrim sends us off on another fetch quest, I’m going to happily plug a bullet through his ugly ass—” Strife tapers off in his rant. 

Both him and War tug the reins of their steeds to bring them to halt. Horses voicing their huffed whinnies, the steadfast beasts comply. 

“Is that…?”

“A child,” War finishes his brother’s question. He could hardly believe his own eyes, having to share a glance with Strife to confirm what it is they see in the distance. With a harsh nudge of their heels, they hurry off towards Vulgrim who glides idly around a rocky cluster, almost pacing back and forth. 

Meanwhile, you are seated atop the rock with your head tracking the spirited demon’s movement. 

“My mama makes the best-est swoup in the village. Do you like swoup? It’s yummy. I always eat it when I feel a hurt in… my belly.”

“Vulgrim,” Strife barks out, “What the hell did you do?”

At the call of his name, the lanky merchant scowls with a hoarse, soured sigh. “Horsemen, it is not I who did this. She somehow found her way here, most likely through the use of a serpent hole.”

The Horsemen dismount, boots clubbing the dirt mercilessly. In your excitement, you leap off the rock. Vulgrim and the two nephilim brothers flinch forward at the sight of your stumble but you brush yourself off. 

Sturdy, they note in their examination. You move swiftly that it catches War and Strife unawares despite their eyes keeping a sharpened focus on you. 

“Horsies!” you chortle loudly, beaming brightly with a smile, arms outstretched. Both continue to stare at you like you’re a newborn faun stumbling on its legs for the first time.

It’s Strife who kneels down to your level. The shift of his armor clatters together and your eyes meet the flare of gold brimming from his eye sockets. 

“You like ‘em, huh?” He means of their loyal horses. He sees your smile turn higher into a grin, nodding eagerly. He smiles beneath the placid face of his visor and merely shuffles aside, his hand beckons Mayham to trot forward. 

The heavy push of Mayham’s nose nestles into his rider’s palm and he directs your own hand to rest there. You giggle as the horse sniffs and huffs large winds of breath that blow your hair back and cause your lashes to flutter wildly. Your hand smears a gentle caress against Mayham’s nose, his lips mouthing the soft surface of your palms, tickling you. 

War finally breaks himself away from it, instead turning his attention to Vulgrim, bearing upon the merchant a fearsome glare. “Just how exactly did she end up here, in Hell of all places?”

Vulgrim shrugs. “I cannot say for certain, Horseman. All I know is that she found her way to me. And perhaps by a play of fate, with the less than favorable fiends she could have encountered instead.”

Strife and War bristle at that. They find the implication that any of hell’s creatures could have found you disheartening. They can only assume that it is what Vulgrim suggests: fate. And greatly fortunate for you. 

Strife remains close at your side, not yet ready to return to the level of his feet, far too entranced at the abrupt pause in his breath whenever his eyes flicker away from you. This instinctive drive to protect you from all harm falls on him like a blanket weighing him down in water. 

“So you have been spying on the humans.” War’s skeptical tone is not appreciated by Vulgrim, followed by the bevelled snarl and recoiling of his lipless mouth that bears his jagged fangs. 

“Studying them. They are fascinating, and I only meant to observe them from afar. However, it would appear that not all my serpent holes on Earth are very… secure.”

“War…” Strife says, voice sunken low in his determined drawl. He finally stands but his head lags behind, momentarily watchful of you before he raises it to meet War’s gaze. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“Strife, we cannot forsake our mission. It is our duty to—”

Strife tries but he’s unable to bite down a growl, the golden dance of his eyes thinning angrily. “You keep going on about the Balance, fine! But right now, she is part of that balance. She is our priority to see her home safely.”

If there has ever been a reason to pull the trigger, Strife now sees it. To protect you. If any threat so much as taunted him with laying a finger on you, he would lose himself to the identity of that killer he tries so hard to escape from. 

“If anyone finds out that she’s here, they’ll come for her. And I’m not going to let any of these mongrel pieces of shit get that chance.”

War’s mind is taken under by the case his brother makes. The consequences to follow if such a scenario were to occur, then balance would only tip further into universal chaos. 

Still, what of their task? 

Both are torn from the heat of their argument when you coo, Mayham pushing his head a little further against you to muzzle into your front. Strife lays a hand firmly on the metal plating guarding the horse’s neck. “Easy there, pal. She isn’t as tough as me.” 

His voice has turned cool, less frantic than it had been before, fired into a flare of emotion just teetering on the edge of lost control. Mayham snorts and complies with his rider’s command, easing his weight and instead embraces the form of your body leaning into his large, armoured head. Your arms wrap around his elongated snout. His breath jostles your breath, his nasal pants match in time with each little heartbeat in your chest. 

Ruin’s nose bows down and with a sharp, deep snort he sniffs at you. The thick skull of his head then pushes into your ribs with a loud whicker, ears prickling about as if to beg for your attention as well. 

“Strife, it will be too dangerous to take her with us,” reasons War, though his brother can easily tell he isn’t so convinced by his own words. 

“It’s too dangerous not to take her with us.”

Vulgrim motions with a dismissive cast of his hand, spatting a puff of air, “Pah! If none of you will take her back, then I suppose she must be left under my charge until otherwise.”

War doesn’t give a second thought to his next threat. “Touch her and I shall cleave you into two, demon.”

“Seconded,” growls Strife with a slivered glare. 

“Very well.” Vulgrim’s claws scratch at his chin thoughtfully, defeated. “Then you will take her back to Earth and reunite her with the other humans.”

Strife and War glance down to find you happily coddling their steeds. “There’s lots of apples at my home. Would you like apples, horsies? Will you be my fwiends?”

“And Lucifer?” War asks the demon trader. Meanwhile, Strife bends down and his hands swoop around you and pull you into his arms. You let out a cheerful cry at the sudden pull of gravity that hoists you up. 

“Vulgrim can work on it while we’re taking her back home.” 

Turning you to face him, Strife gets a good look at you now, a bubbly and excitable soul despite your circumstances. Your head tilts curiously as you take your time observing him, small hands reaching out to run over the cover of his mask and your eyes filled with that distinct fascination and curiosity humans are known for. 

With a huff, War passes off the artefact to Vulgrim who clasps his greedy hands over it like a cage, gruffly chuckling a darkened note. “Yes, yes. Now go, get her out of here!”

You cannot see the small smile Strife has, but it's there. “We will take you back home, little one. You excited to go for a ride?” 

You gasp with a widening grin. “Yes pwease!”

With that, Strife and War turn back to mount their horses. Vulgrim’s face drops, going blank as you softly whine over Strife’s shoulder, waving your arm madly and your fingers curling into your palm as you wave. “Bye! Bye-bye!”

Strife is careful as can be, for the first time in a while exercising greater caution in handling you into the saddle of Mayham. You eagerly grab hold of the chained reins and the saddle horn, legs swinging back and forth before Strife sits behind you. 

“Where do we even begin?” War asks, looking at Strife who returns his stare. The question poses a bit of a challenge. Just which village are you from, who are your guardians and can they actually get you home as they promised?

“Little one,” War calls and you turn your big, blinking eyes to him. “Where is your village?”

“Uhh… erm…” Your voice has grown small, an uncomfortable sense of uncertainty laced within it. 

Strife takes a moment, thinking hard. It’s not until your head moves back and your eyes look up at him that he answers almost wistfully while he holds you securely. 

“I guess we’ll figure that out on the ride there.”

[zephyricacid]

well now this has me intrigued, how thrilling!

woops, I 'Accidently' broke all the computer screens that HappyF. can get through.

also I gift Pinhead and human arm to eat. he's so adorable^^

HappyF.: Pinhead!! Go to one of the other computers and download me, goddamit!

Pinhead: *chewing* hmph??

[your-local-uwu-artist]

LUGISI MANISONAREFERECENCE AYAYY FNSDKOH MY GOD I AM BERY HAPPYF ISD

[ventismacchiato]

HAPPYF 3,5 J!! Sorry fi thsi Fitness written well I’m a little woozy and ikr trusting my autocorrect 💗 i thought idv be a heavy weight tutns out my a leightweith 🫶

HELP ARE YOU DRUNK STAY SAFE 😭💓 tysm!!

[younamethegamebro45]

❤ 1.93 m tall giant Serbian and his wife Alateng with their baby #happyf...