#platonic darksiders war x reader

[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.”

[darksiders-scenarios]

Masterlist

I don’t always write but when I do, most of them shall be found here. 

When are my followers’ birthdays?

Dear Darksiders Fandom

~SCENARIOS~

Horsemen/ Angels post coitus (calm after the do)

Reader slapping War's ass

Upfront (Strife x Reader)

Horsemen supporting their S/O to clean their appartment

Horsemen not caring for their S/O (distressing) 

Death dealing with his S/O's first kill

Horsemen's S/O singing for them 

Bathing with the Horsemen

My take on the fight between the Archon and Death

Death's son and Azrael's daughter courting?? (pfft)

Death and War lost in the White City 

Death dealing with Dust liking Strife more than him.

Strife is accused of stealing your hot chocolate. He sets out to clear his name.

Humans referring to Death as Thanatos. 

Horsemen relaxing with their S/O

Horsemen's S/O taking a hit for them

Horsemen and characters dealing with hiccups (hehe)

Death dealing with an S/O agitated by trivial things.

War with a sweet-toothed S/O

Strife and Death (Angsty Wangtsy) 

Angsty Strife

Horsemen dealing with the death of their s/o mother.

Horsemen bonding with pregnant mum s/o

Horsemen taking care of a pregnant, grieving mother 

Horsemen with a Badass pregnant mother (V2)

Death and Strife dealing with reader in labour

Proud big brother Death gushing over baby brother War

I have a Theory. (Death x Reader)

One More Ride (War x Reader)

Death and the Stalker

Dinner with Strife 

Death is an Asshole (Strife & Death)

War receiving Chaoseater for the first time

Cuddling War for the first time

Death's Dental Service for an S/O with a tooth problem.

Horsemen, Azrael & Ezgati encountering the cuddlefish

Horsemen with a *sighs* shot S/O

Death encountering a 4 years old human child (Part 1)  

Death with a female child- Part 2

Office AU short 

He is Innocent (Death and Karn)

Horsemen & Azrael caring for a sick S/O

S/O requesting Horsemen to finish them

Death with a sick S/O

Horsemen and their S/O reunion after three years

Death/ War witnessing their S/O getting abused by their family member

Cuddling with Death

Strife with a tired S/O

Horsemen, Azrael and Karn coming across a severely injured human 

Horsemen, Azrael & Damsel asking their S/O about trying to have kids 

Strife/ Fury with an S/O with selective mutism 

War and S/O with selective mutism

Death and S/O with selective mutism

Death comfort scenario for S/O who’s feeling down

Horsemen comfort scenarios for s/o with drug addict brothers.

Horsemen, Uriel and Azrael’s child informing them they want to transition

S/O comforting Horsemen

Horsemen, Draven, Azrael & Samael proposing to their S/O

Horsemen, Azrael and Samael dealing with a suicidal S/O

Secret Genius Strife??

Horsemen catching their depressive S/O humming 

Horsemen accidentally hurting their S/O in a fit of anger

Horsemen dealing with a hyper kitten

Horsemen, Azrael and Samael finding out their S/O is self-harming

Death supporting his S/O suffering from exam stress

S/O assuming Death + War are cheating on them. 

Death’s S/O coming across their old home post-apocalypse.

War’s thoughts on Death’s S/O getting the upper hand in a sparring match.

War’s Reaction to Uriel and her S/O

How will Uriel get along with War’s SO?

Horsemen encountering a doll-sized S/O (part 1 + part 2) 

War, Death and Azrael dealing with S/O unexplained insomnia

Horsemen dealing with S/O with low confidence and self-esteem

Horsemen protecting S/O after the restoration of humanity  (part 1 + part 2)

Horsemen dealing with tongue twisters and riddles (part one + part two)

Horsemen and Azrael dealing with newborn rabbits (part one).

Comforting S/O following one of their deaths (part 2)

S/O introducing Lilith to their parents (part one) 

Horsemen+ Samael reactions (part two)

Horsemen and Samael with an S/O who was exactly like them personality wise

War’s reaction to S/O almost dying in battle 

Death comforting S/O after an argument with their parents (my first debut yayz!)

-

~REACTIONS~

Horsemen reacting to their shy s/o dressing up nicely for them

War's first time doing the do, siblings instruct (I’m serious)

Azrael reading Harry Potter

Horsemaster reaction from a cheek kiss

Horsemen reacting to their vampire S/O

Horsemen, Alya, Azrael and Muria with a dragonborn S/O

Death reacting to a mini reaper on Halloween.

Angels' reactions to an S/O who preens their feathers

Everyone's reactions to a polyamorous S/O

Horsemen's reactions to an S/O mothering them

Death's reaction to a fan's man-crush  

Horsemen's reactions to posing for a painting (French)

Horsemen, Lilith and Alya towards an S/O with a teleporter

Horsemen reacting to Greek Mythology

Horsemen, Azrael, Vulgrim's reactions to s/o with tetrachromacy

Angels learning that their S/O is a White Witch

Angels with newborn angels Part 1 + Part 2

Angels’ reactions to S/O caring for wounded birds

Horsemen/ Angels' reactions to s/o revealing they've done some immoral things 

Horsemen/ human reactions to being flirted at

Angels and Vulgrim reacting to their painted portrait

Horsemen's reactions to being painted on a canvas

Horsemen's S/O dabbling in the dark arts

Horsemen hearing their non-verbal S/O speaking for the first time

Introducing Horsemen to Pancakes

Horsemen, Karn, Ulthane, Uriel, Samael & Azrael with a werewolf S/O

Horsemen's reactions to a sincere compliment

Horsemen's reactions to their steeds vanishing

Horsemen, Angels and Samael meeting S/O’s baby sibling 

Strife attempts to cheer s/o with bad puns

Horsemen, Samael and Azrael reactions to bands/ songs about them 

Horsemen's reactions to their human companion vlogging them

Horsemen’s reactions to a sarcastic S/O

Death and Draven’s reaction to an S/O with a tendency towards collecting any animals 

Horsemen’s reaction S/O with a large number of siblings

Horsemen, Azrael and Samael’s reactions to War and Uriel’s relationship

Horsemen, Azrael and Samael reaction to a usually unafraid S/O with a fear of simple things

Horsemen experiencing kissing for the first time

-

~HEADCANONS~

Personalities that attract Horsemen

Horsemen as the four humours/ temperaments

Hairstyles that attract Horsemen 

Horsemen/ Pride month

Angels as Pigeons/ Doves

Horsemen/ Angels surfing...

Jealous Horsemen

Lilith HC 

Horsemen's curse

Death reacting to his s/o being injured

War and Reader acknowledging their mutual attraction 

Real reason why Abaddon hates mankind

Crowfather but without the crow

[Tag yourself] How do you like your coffee?

Metal song styles for the Horsemen

Death's journal

Gifs for Horsemen as parents

DAVE

Movie genres for Horsemen, Azrael and Beamboi

The Five

Draven headcanons 

Saying that you like traveling with Death

Sports for Horsemen, Vulgrim and Azrael

Jamearah Platonic/ romantic Headcanons

Death's Face  

Ecanos' painted portrait!! <3

Ecanos and Ezgati's professions

Azraowl by @speaker-of-the-black-hand <3

Horsemen with their S/O after a heartbreak

Protective and Possessive Horsemen

Death and his S/O with twins

How Horsemen confess their feelings

Some Strife Gunslinging HC?

Valus has Selective Mutism

Ecanos [part 2]

Ecanos Headcanons 

Ezgati Headcanons

Horsemen dealing with a sick S/O

Headcanons for Archon Lucien and War 

Drunk headcanons for 3 dead lords; Phariseer, Judicator, Basileus 

Drunk Headcanons for Uriel, Vulgrim, Azrael and Draven 

Human procreating with non-human species

Physical affection in Nephilim Culture - (kissing) + (handholding) 

If angels, demons or nephilims sought a different lifestyle; faith, religion or migration. 

Horsemen’s S/O character type, class, battle/weapon, magic style, role and other features 

If horsemen played musical instruments 

‘Opposite attracts’ partners for the horsemen

Horsemen finding out their S/O is a duchess by birthright 

Horsemen as stress responders 

Horsemen, Azrael and Samael marriage visual markers 

Little details about S/O that horsemen like (personality, behaviour, appearance)

-

~FLUFFS~

Archon Fluff (meh)

Crowfather fluff

War

Strife

Sum Death fluffs ;)

Cuddling Death while sleeping

Horsemen, Azrael and Karn cuddling with S/O

Muria

Alya

Nathaniel

-

~BEING A PARENT WILL INVOLVE...~

War

Death

Fury

Strife

Nathaniel

Abaddon

Muria

Azrael 

Samael and Lilith

-

~HAVING A CRUSH ON YOU WILL INVOLVE...~

Alya 

Nathaniel 

Horsemaster

-

~WAYS TO MAKE __ HAPPY~

Uriel

Azrael

Fury

Strife

Death

-

~WAYS TO ANNOY ___~

Uriel

Azrael 

Death

War

-

~KIDDIES~

Nathaniel

Uriel

Azrael

Ezgati [Bonus Unca’ Ecanos]

-

~HOLIDAY SPECIALS~

Fury's wearing a- 

Nathaniel Mystery Surprise [part 1]  

How characters react to being kissed on New Year.

Christmas blues

Christmas with the Horsemen

-

~ADVICE/ SUGGESTIONS/ OTHERS (be warned, they suck) ~

Writing an autistic character

Writing Fury 

Which Horseman will I date/ be best friends with

-

~WHAT MY FOLLOWERS WROTE <3

@woodland-princen - Vulgrim reaction's to an S/O with questionable culinary skills

@infernallightofdarkness wrote: Epic insults for @askthedarksidersfam ’Gordon Ramsay and Death having a roasting battle.' 

@ohmygillygoshoppler wrote: Azrael’s Midnight Snack

@apocalypticentaurs wrote: Azrael and War’s reaction to S/O not wanting to leave Eden 

@cogsandcherryblossoms wrote: War’s S/O coming across their old home post-apocalypse. (scroll down) 

@never-enough-darksiders wrote: scenarios of HM’s reactions to a sarcastic S/O (part two) 

-

~REDIRECT THE BEEMZ~

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/170847725556/fades-into-the-cringe-abyss

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/172004767321

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/170774198851

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/170277297696/a-s-d-f-a-s-d-a-s-d-f

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/170202191096/i-dare

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/168957566291/i-should-stop

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/168852464546/christmas-gift-from-the-twit

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/168571603196/worrying

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/168432167091

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/168009171756/did-they-send-me-beamboi-when-i-asked-for-cakes

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/167587592781/im-a-twit

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/167487786536/ohmygillygoshoppler-darksiders-scenarios

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/167734095826/askthedarksidersfam-darksiders-scenarios

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/166354324171/immolation-intensifies

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/166780035201/hehehe

https://darksiders-scenarios.tumblr.com/post/164370356511/when-you-have-free-time-at-work

[darkdemeter]

Fem Child reader x Strife/War platonic fluff! Strife and War knew humanity valued angels as their “saviors” and thought leaving S/O with some angels might be good. At least until they witnessed S/O innocently going up to them and the angels, envious and disgusted with humanity, swung one of their wings harshly at her like a hammer, leaving a nasty bruise and bleeding for the poor little girl. After “dealing” with the angels, both comfort her, who was confused/scared, wondering what did she do?

GUIDE HER WAY HOME II

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

NOTES ↳ I was itching to write a part 2 for your initial request anon and then you delivered multiple snippets to work with. Bless! WARNINGS❕ ↳ Strife and War go a little crazy-protective mode — mention of blood and some bruising — some depiction of violence and death — bit of fluff? — mostly hurt/comfort — I think that's it?

✎ 2k ────────────────────────

Through the sundering Autumn of this angelic realm, the Horsemen follow along the old cobblestone path, its bleached appearance saturated against the accompanying pond to its side, a thin veil of watery shrubs and a glassy mist reside over the undisturbed surface.

Brought here in search of answers, the Horsemen ride with thoughtful and wary silence, aware that their presence here will likely be met with hostility. Even still, they’re willing to put themselves in the line of risk if it means getting you home safely. 

Your eyes are wide, lashes beating in quickened flashes so as to not miss a single sight around you as you marvel at the beautiful oasis. Rivers of water pour from the higher cliffs and disappear over the mysterious lip of the land that leaves you wondering what's down there.

“We should keep this brief, Strife,” War says, his voice tinged with discomforted nerves. His fists ring tight against Ruin’s chains. He is no stranger to battle, not with the likes of angels, but he’d rather keep from getting caught in a heated exchange of bloodshed simply because of their trespassing. 

“Agreed.” Strife’s own voice is a tad laced darker, gruffer and coiled tightly in his throat as if even uttering a reply renders his throat scratched raw. 

He has to remember as he holds you securely that this is for the best. If anyone had an inkling of an idea what to do with a wayward human child, it would be the angels. Strife wishes he could be more convinced that they would do right by you. 

The pearly white and golden-accented spire is highlighted by a fading stream of sunlight that slowly falls on the horizon. Armoured vanguards that protect this small sanctuary cast the blare of their eyes towards the Horsemen as if the two pose to invade this plateau on Heaven’s outskirts, the blinking twinkle of their helmed eyes turn smaller and thinned into threatened glares. 

Some of them mutter to their company of officers, hands firmly curled around their polearms. 

“Murderers…”

“Butchers…”

“Unholy abominations…” 

You do not heed the warnings the Horsemen do, both parties alert and tense of the other, but the only thing that seems to keep the angels at bay is you. 

“Horsemen,” the commander sneers, the amber flecks in his eyes spark with curt annoyance. “You should not be here.”

Dismounting, War answers with a rumble. “We seek assistance.”

Strife sets you down slowly, second guessing his decision just as your feet grace the intricately carved stone before he complies. Your small hands reach out and grab hold of the flowing garment of Strife’s scarf, following along like an eager pup at his heel as both Nephilim walk towards the commander and his protective hosts. 

“A child?” The commander sharply sputters, brows raised high to his forehead of cascading blonde locks pushed back past his ears. 

“How did you—”

Strife interjects suddenly, “We assume she must have come through a portal of some kind when we found her.”

A twisted version of the truth to keep their dealings with Vulgrim and Samael secret. They had no doubts that mentioning either would only turn the angels on them. 

Still visibly discontented by the Horsemen, the commander tilts his head back, eyes astute in his glaring study of them and paying little mind to your form that happily bounces and skips around their legs. Your attention is taken with a glittery butterfly that flutters about you, teasing your tiny nose, your grip slides away from Strife’s scarf and give chase to the familiar insect with a gleeful coo. 

Distantly, the conversation continues. “What is it you seek from us, Nephilim?”

Strife and War both bear an almost sickened snarl on their faces, bitter to the fact they must admit. The commander snickers, knowing what it is they very well mean to imply. 

“Humans regard Angels with… respect. They view you as insightful and protective entities.”

“Go on…” chides the commander, now grinning with pride. 

Strife barely holds back a growl before he continues. “Can we entrust her to you and that you will deliver her back home, unharmed?”

The commander rubs at his stubbled chin, eyes now lulled to relax, glimmering. “Well, it won’t be easy taking her back. Earth is sealed and bound in secrecy. A powerful ward protects the realm.”

“Explain yourself, Commander. How exactly can she return if Earth is sealed?” War says with a clenched grind of his teeth. 

Huffing, the commander shakes his head. “And your wanting to know is all the more reason not to tell you.”

Strife cannot help the fidgeting twitch of his fingers that sit upon the holsters of his pistols, something doesn’t sit well and it makes itself known with the unsettled churning in his gut. “You believe we have bad intentions?”

The commander rolls his shoulders back with a slitted stare. “I wouldn’t believe you would intend anything good if you knew of Earth’s location.”

Lead astray from the Horsemen’s protection, your eyes are captured by the majestic beauty of two female angels that stand idle by the flourishing gardens. Sensing something small, their eyes flick down at you, faces turned and coiled that you don’t perceive as disgusted as you offer a kind smile, gasping aloud in your awe. With a small hand stretched out, you try to gently touch the soft flowing feathers that gracefully sweep low to the ground. “Hello. You have pwe—p-retty wings.”

“Tsk! Begone human!” The feminine voice of the angel sounds more of a snake’s hiss. She bats her wing down hard against you. A yelp pulled from your throat, you're flung back under the windy current, causing your palms and knees to scrape across the stone. You push yourself up slightly, chin bobbling with a low whimper, you bring your hands out in front of you to see the swelling bruises and thin oozes of blood. It stings. It hurts…

Your eyes once filled with only adorable curiosity and wonder are taken over by fat tears that brew and spill down your rosy cheeks, eyebrows scrunched tight together. 

Strife’s voice chokes on a silently rung gasp that physically constricts in his throat, his golden eyes flare as heat scorches and writhes within his entire being. War, much like his counterpart, is unleashed from his honourable collar laying shattered ten yards behind him. Something cold and dark inevitably snaps inside each of the two brothers upon witnessing a terrible crime committed against a pure and innocent soul. 

They were wrong to trust in these corrupted halos that humanity lays so much trust and adoration in. It’s all a veil that they use to blind the poorer and unknowing mortals with — a facade.

Your cries grow louder into pained wails and it’s reason enough for Strife. All he can say at that moment is one thing. “Close your eyes.”

He attacks the moment your hands cup over your eyes, darting forward with a thrusting sprint Anarchy takes hold, its form shreds his skin through a voided circlet of flame, spurred on by his rage he bellows a rattling roar that twangs in the air as fracturing echoes. When the commander means to unsheathe his weapon, War plants himself in front of him. The length of the commander’s blade poised to strike the form of Anarchy now confronts the hulking mass of Chaos.

No longer are his eyes aglow with pedestal pride, instead replaced with a widened, remorseful glaze under the beast’s enormous shadow.

With a downward strike of his fiery sword, the commander succumbs to a blowing strike that dents and tears into his armor, a cleaving of blood splatters the ground around him in a messy pool.

Enraged and at the targeted head of a rear attack, Chaos pivots and swipes his blade at an oncoming fleet of angels that hover and dive at him. His tall stature leaps, standing protectively over you just like Anarchy who stands to his brother’s back, a spawn of packed fire unleashes from his gun arm. When the angel that dared to so much as ruffle her feathers at you wrongly means to strike the fronting blade of her polearm to Anarchy’s exposed flank, Chaos lashes an arm out and captures her in his clawed grasp. 

She writhes, wings beating profusely to break free but her attempts are futile. Brought near to stare her demise in the eye, Anarchy arches over, head bowed and horns almost caging her. As if the two contemplate her fate, Anarchy rolls his head to the side with a snorted huff, an act that calls her execution. 

The angel’s face pales, features faltering as if she can hear Chaos rumble, “With pleasure.” below a feral laced growl.

Her scream is barely heard before she is crushed by the callosal force of Chaos’ hand. 

Just as swiftly as it had begun, it was over. With the ensuing silence, you slowly lower your hands, nose scrunching a little. Eyes opened and vision slightly blurred by tears you manage to focus on War and Strife who approach you with a clatter and rattling of chinking armor in their haste to reach you. Your arms shoot out to them, voice whining with another small cry.

“Hey, hey,” Strife coos, trying in vain to keep his tone calm. His hands take hold of yours, cupping them entirely in his gentle grasp and carefully, his thumbs prod. “Let me see.”

“Ooch…!” You pout, more tears flow down your cheeks while Strife assesses the damage. Thankfully, mere scratches but in the end, his intuition had been right.

The angels couldn’t be trusted to take care of you. 

“They dare flaunt themselves as bearers of justice and honour… where is honour in hurting a child?” War spits venomously, the widened gate of Chaoseater’s blade embeds itself into the ground, splintering the stone into rubble beneath its furious wake. He growls, the vowel of Chaos on his tongue as a haunting presence. “They disgrace the bannered title as Humanity’s guardians.”

“W-why were they mean?” Your question is stunted by a series of hiccups, the ache and swelling on your hands and knees sore and uncomfortable. Both the brothers can sense your unease.

Your browline only furrows more, you ask, “Did I do someting?”

“No, little one,” assures War before his eyes meet Strife’s. “We were wrong to think they could take care of you. We thought…”

Strife sighs to himself. There still resides that surge of unwavering carnage, the bleed-through of who he formally was bound to take over but he holds fast. No, he will not succumb to it. They are gone, the threat is dealt with. Nobody will ever hurt you again. He swears it and he sees it in War’s eyes too. The enlarged form of War’s gauntlet folds out, inviting you to take hold of it. Your hand, so small and wounded, accepts it and he guides you onto your feet where you stand before him. 

“Cease those tears now, child.” War’s voice has grown warm and low, speaking with an ounce more of care. 

“Come on.” Strife’s arms hoist you up, carrying you back to Mayham where he mounts the saddle, War not far behind him. “Let’s get those scratches mended.”

Sniffling you nod and cling to Strife, guarded by the lifeline of their resolve to protect you. 

Your eyes blink, still glassy when they meet War’s hardened and hooded stare, he gives a nod of his chin. “We will keep you safe.”

Back along the winding stretch whence they came, Strife and War carry you through this realm’s faded season, the auburn leaves fall with slowed recession, coming untethered from the treetops. 

The glassy mirror reflects their passing on the pond’s surface, the boundless mists clearing with now final and eternal rest, relinquished from its hovering prison. You watch, eyes shiny and entranced by the leaves’ fall and cascade of waterfalls. 

You clench your fingers into your palms, wincing at the dullened sting and Strife tenses. His hand curls to the reins and with a stern, commanding kick he sends Mayham into a fearsome gallop followed by War. Both riders head elsewhere, now untrusting of anyone else to care for you, to ensure that you are returned home. 

It is up to them to guide your way home.

[darkdemeter]

Fem child reader x Strife/War fluff! War was heavily injured from a nasty fight and they had to make camp to rest. Both brothers didn’t even notice the girl was gone until later, making them panic. Before they could find her, she returned, carrying a high-quality healing potion with a nasty gash on her arm. She wanted to find something for War and even got injured just to get it for him. Instead of herself, she gave the potion to War, showing an act of kindness and selflessness to him.

GUIDE HER WAY HOME IV

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

NOTES ↳ GIF POV: You pissed War off. HAHAAAA! I loved writing this one for the setting, just little reader plotting around in the snow is just *chef kiss* so many cute possibilities. WARNINGS❕ ↳ War gets injured — reader gets hurt — Strife says a swear word — reader just being a good-hearted soul — Strife calls reader "baby" because he is secretly becoming a dad — Vulgrim "almost" dies by proxy cube — I think that's it?

✎ 2.7k ────────────────────────

“You and having to use your big head as a battering ram, huh?!” 

Strife vaults high to avoid a fallen tree in his path, spurts of snow kicking up under his heels. He flicks the reloaded barrel of Mercy into lock before firing several rounds that assault their chaser but does little in keeping the large beast at bay. A beast of the snow no less, covered in long, wiry hair. It’s head adorned by two, large spiral horns that twist round and round until they almost knock against one another. A horribly deformed and smooshed face that only a mother could love. A broody male. 

The creature’s heart was worth quite the fortune to Vulgrim. A simple token of gratitude for bestowing upon you a wardrobe of garments suited for the colder climates of the realms. 

“I did insist on being the one to cut its heart out, didn’t I?” War spits venomously in return. 

“Hey! I could have done it if someone—”

“Look out!” You shout suddenly, voice squeaking and eyes wide. An avalanche of snow rushes towards you as a giant and consuming wave, the Horsemen and yourself are blasted in a taken sweep. War clutches hold of you tighter to his chest, your face buries against his cowl with a helpless yelp as you clutch onto him tightly. The wave keeps barrelling through the gorge. 

“Strife!” War calls out. His head twists this way and that only to catch sight of his brother tumbling and being tossed around, visor going under every few seconds. 

“Strife, take her!”

You’re launched through the air and you squeal out, mesmerised by the flutter in your stomach before you drift downward, Strife’s arms stretched out wide to catch you.

“I—pfft— I got her! I got her!”

Strife pulls you close the moment he has you. You tumble together before he manages to get above the surface and you have a clear view of War. He lets himself get carried with the avalanche’s momentum before he breaches through with a fiery trail behind him, Chaoseater unsheathed from his back, he pivots himself to face the giant beast with a cleaving swipe of his sword. 

The two behemoth’s clash against each other. War grunts heavily at a sharp pain shooting across his sternum, knocking him back. The beast howls with a stunned toss of its head, a portion of its horn snapped off and flung to the gorge’s wall.

It falls forward and sends another wave towards you. Strife yells for you to hang on and you do, the fur hood of your cloak knocked back in the process. War’s form finally meets with you and Strife, the two keeping close to one another as you come up for a hollow ice tunnel and a suspicious looking cut off—

The golden glow of Strife’s eyes widens, beaming brighter and his hold on you increases. “Ooh shit, hang on!” 

It all moves quickly. For a moment, you’re falling before Strife curls a hand around you, snatching you out of gravity’s clutches before you can fall down into the frozen lake below. You hang there, suspended and wide eyed. It’s a very long way down… 

You turn your head with a whimpered call. “D-don’t let go…”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Strife assures through a ragged, worn out exhale. War serves as the anchor point against the ice wall, Chaoseater’s blade embedded deeply into it. Rivers of the avalanche pour down over the glacial wall, a deep rumble following it as the snow beast prowls forward. Its large form descends, twisted and gnarly nails scrape the wall with hatcheting marks and its face bears a sneering maw and a shrieking roar. 

It’s instinct for your hands to cover your ears, wincing with a tightly furrowed grimace. 

Because of its overbearing weight, the ice begins to grumble, slivers crack in fractured paths and both brothers freeze, their eyes growing wide. 

“I think it’s about time we jumped,” Strife pants out, steadying his breath and adjusting you in his grasp before they disconnect. With a nod, War breaks Chaoseater from its place with a rattling thrum and you begin to fall. 

Wind sweeps past your ears in loud gushes during the fall and you cling to Strife. Flakes of white whip into your vision almost blinding but then it all slows, you’re floating; hovering. You look to see the misted mantle of wings without feathers, they shimmer slightly as if struck by the cold before they level out until Strife reaches the ground. 

They disperse with a shrinking hiss, fading in towards his back and only a faint cloud remains to be carried away in the breeze. You see that War also possessed the very same wings and your eyes blink, fluttering in your growing amazement. 

Picking up on it, you hear Strife chuckle through a sigh. “Didn’t think we had wings too, huh?”

You shake your head slowly. “Uh-uh.”

Strife turns to War, noticing the heavy limp in his step and his giant gauntlet that holds firm to his ribs while he sheathed his sword, almost faltering in the act to do so. 

“Hey, come on now, you got hurt pretty bad back there—” Strife’s concern is immediately dismissed with a sharpened tsk of War’s tongue. 

“I’m… fine… it’s just a scratch,” he hisses.

Strife clicks his tongue. “Yeah. Just a scratch…”

War leans himself against an outcrop of rocks, teeth clenched hard to conceal a pained snarl as he rests a hand over his wound. 

You watch, gaze torn between the two. Strife pats himself down before he sighs. His head falls forward, chin hidden beneath his scarf. “And we’re out of healing potions.”

“I said I’ll be fi— argh!”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine if we had a healing potion. If we don’t get you patched up, we’re going to be known as the three Horsemen.” Strife snickers to himself. “And that doesn’t sound menacing enough.”

Your cheeks puff out when you take a moment to consider the situation War finds himself to be in. He’s hurting, you can see it on his face, and you don’t very much like it. You don’t want to see him in pain. So silently, you slip away from the bickering brothers. Body maneuvering over a fallen tree trunk tucked between some boulders, you move away in search of something to aid War. Maybe there were some herbs to help him, or something Strife could use to craft an ointment to serve as a healing potion. 

Your small boots thunder against the thinner blankets of chilly white, padding small prints in your wake. You’ve travelled some distance before a structure that appears old, abandoned, comes into view on the lower horizon and you approach it hurriedly. 

“Whoa…”

Rubbled pillars of an ancient ruin lay in the barren waste of the ice, bitten by the frost. The wind passes through the crooked and fallen architecture as howling whistles. Only drawn in to investigate further, you soon happen upon a hole in one of the thick, stone walls of the ruin.

You shuffle a little closer to the steep ledge, looking down into the chamber below, pupils large and wide. Something crumbles, the lip of the edge gives way and you stumble forward with a cry as your arm slams against a protruding rock face. The drop pulls you down fast and you roll numerous times before your fall is broken by a softened pile of snow with a muffled plumph!

“Brrr!” You shake your head and dust off any remnants of snow that clings to you, climbing out from the little hole you found yourself in. Attention brought to the painful sting on your arm, your mitten pats against the bleaching stain of crimson on your sleeve, dabbing it with a grimacing hiss. 

“Ooch…” you sigh, doing your best to blink away the tears lining your vision. You wander onward into the ruin chamber, head raised and lowered to take in your surroundings. 

In the gloomy and dark atmosphere of the ruins, you squint your eyes to peer at a mysterious, intriguing glint. Shiny, a trickle of the light grazes the gold with an ombre highlight. You gasp, wandering over until you're almost fumbling forward over your boot laces. 

Your hands grasp the coiled frame around the elixir bottle, the liquid contents inside a dull and almost forested green. Grumbling to yourself, lips curled into a thin line, you shake the large bottle and swirl the contents inside. The glassy reflection of your eyes is illuminated by the now vibrant glow of green. 

“Oh…” you sigh wistfully, enthralled. 

You twist the lid loose with a grinding squeak and you tilt the bottle’s rim to you slightly, nose leaning in to smell and you sputter with a startled cough. Whatever it is, it smells strongly of a scent you cannot place, its closest being that of a terrible medicine you had to swallow with honey to cover the bitterness. You tighten the lid and affirm with one final checkover that this bottle may help War. 

With an effort of huffed breath, you tug the bottle loose from its embedded status among the snowy mound, pulling a little harder when it doesn’t give easily. You begin to shift between carrying it a few steps before setting it down, the bottle almost your entire size, and dragging it carefully over the worn and cracked stone floor. You endure and exert what strength you can with striking determination to get back to War and Strife, ignoring the throbbing ache in your arm. Each tousled motion of the bottle stirs the green liquid to emit a glow that fades after a moment. 

Through the haze of snow, you wind up a sloping pathway, careful to hurdle over the obstacles in your path no matter how big or small; the bottle nursed to survive the otherwise perilous journey. 

“Where did she go?” War growls, ignoring the gnarly gashes and internal bruising that brings a powerful sting over his ribs. 

“I don’t know, she was right here,” gasps Strife. He darts around, able to move quicker than War. He checks every corner, under every log and in every gap between the sharp rocks. 

“Baby? Baby! Where are you?” The masked Horseman calls, his voice growing fuller of panic with each passing moment you don’t respond. 

“Little one, are you– argh… under here?” 

“I already checked there!” 

War’s nose curls up slightly with an offended sneer, blue eyes glowering with a thinned glare. “You’re panicked. You could have missed her.”

It didn’t mean that War held any lesser sentiment. His heart was hammering in his chest and though he would stumble slightly in his search, he went above and beyond in hopes that he would find you safely tucked away somewhere unhurt. 

“I’m here!”

Both turn on their heels in an instant at the sound of your voice. They watch you fumble and crawl up over the rise of a mound of snow, something anchored close in your grasp. You shift forward and let yourself use the slope as a slide, cooing with glee as you cling onto the bottle, hugging it to you. 

War and Strife meet you there swiftly and immediately begin to assess you. War tsks venomously, almost choking on his next shuddered breath. 

“Little  one, you’re hurt.” His smaller hand comes forward to your injured arm and his brows fall. 

You look at the small gash on your arm, the blood having stained through the sleeve a bit more. You had ignored the bite of its pain to get the bottle back to them.

“Ah…” you mumble, nose touched by the cold wriggling. “I found this.”

Strife was also closely examining the wound, far too engrossed to pay attention at first to the elixir you had found until you brought attention to it.

He picks it up, its size more natural in his hand. “War, this is— how– where did you find this?” 

Strife’s twisted words make you giggle and you then point your gloved hand off in the direction you went. “In a rwuin.”

War can see the noticeable astonishment on Strife’s face through the way his eyes flare alone. He almost laughs at how absurd it all seems that you found a high quality healing potion all the way out here, and just the thing that War would need no less.

“You’re something special, kid,” Strife chuckles but it’s quick to dissipate as he then looks at your arm.

He despises the scene of crimson smeared on you, the iron taste of blood lingering on the air so profound he can smell it. It makes his fanged teeth grind and clench.

“Did you not drink some already, little one?” War questions, grunting as he lowers himself down to kneel at your side. When you shake your head, War frowns deeply and he takes the bottle from Strife, removing the lid and holding it out for you. 

“You must drink some. It will heal your wound.”

“No,” you say adamantly, tilting your head away and your hands push the bottle away from you. “You are hurt, you must need it.”

Though War means to immediately protest, you tilt the bottle further towards him instead and regard him with a kind smile. 

“I will be okay. You dwrink it.”

“Let’s get that gash tended to, yeah?” Strife says, finalising that War was to drink the potion. 

War is torn, his code being confronted by a child. You care very much for him and his brother, War finds. You went out of your way and risked leaving the protective sanctity of their presence to find something to help him. But what if you hadn’t found the potion? What if something worse transpired? 

He’d be crushed. Honour disgraced because he wasn’t there to save you. But you pulled through. You defied all possible dangers in order to help him. And to that, he is grateful while he sips slowly from the elixir, noting your grin every time you see him do so and watch as that mystical aura whirl around him; healing him. 

Still… he leaves just a little left. 

Now camped in the ruins you had guided them to, the fire burns with a warm crackle. You rest against War, his red cowl once again wrapped around you and the hood pulled far over your head. 

Strife had cleaned your wound and dressed it, but to him — to them — it wasn’t enough. Your kindness, your bravery wasn’t repaid in full. So, moving quietly and carefully, War keeps you steady as Strife uses the potion’s unfinished swig to pour onto a new bandage and change it over. 

“It should heal throughout the night,” War says and he hears Strife’s sigh. “I can’t begin to imagine Fury being in your place.”

War chuckles, the noise small and almost not there. But it is. Light-hearted and amused, Strife finds the tiniest of smiles hiding behind his mask. 

“Fury would have no choice in the matter.”

“And we thought Death was stubborn.”

Strife sits across from War, crouched before the flames as he ponders in silence. The flare of his eyes blurring into that of the dancing fire.

“Why do you think that Humanity is so important to the Balance?” Strife asks. “I mean, the Creator makes a race whose strength is unmatched against the likes of Angels, Demons… us.”

A moment of silence falls over them. War’s eyes watch you stir and hum, adjusting yourself to curl into him. 

“Perhaps… it is because like her, they offer what no other race can? It could also be that they are not as weak as we’ve been made to believe…”

Strife’s head tilts to the side, scarf moving with a muffled fold, the flutter of its purple fabric idly swaying in the wind’s hollow breath. A question for the ages. One that would not be answered any time soon it seems. 

Returning to Vulgrim without the snow beast’s heart was surely to be met with a grouchy soul trader. But not with what was offered in its stead.

With a triumphant puff of his chest, Strife kicks forward the large, metallic cube with the heel of his boot. War saunters after his brother, his hand securely held to keep you seated on his bronze pauldron. Vulgrim lets out a throaty yelp and dashes out of the way. His scornful criticism turns around when he examines the cube, humming and chuckling with a clattery chink of his nails against the object. The sphere within its center buzzes to life with currents of zapping electricity.

“Yes… yes, this will certainly suffice as payment. Now Horsemen, I have peered through the scrying eye and it has given me a location…”

[darkdemeter]

More Fem child reader fluff! S/O has to travel with Strife and War since they cant find a way to Earth, deciding to help her after their mission is complete. As they travel, they figured S/O has a pure innocent soul full of light due to being kind and young. One night during camping, S/O is asleep, possibly in Strife’s arms, War’s cloak, or besides the horses who care for her like she’s a baby horse, and brothers discuss how frail and small and innocent the child is and wanting to protect her.

GUIDE HER WAY HOME III

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

NOTES ↳ And so our story continues! *dreamy sigh* I adore how this story is playing out, it's turning into a bit of a series but I'm honestly here for it (and writing it). I love being able to let my creativity come through with these wonderful ideas submitted to me and explore the more in depth character study of Strife and War in this story arc. WARNINGS❕ ↳ Fluffy, wholesome content — mention of prior injury — a bit of light angst? — intended hunting/killing of an animal — Ruin and Mayhem eat apples (headcanon) — I think that's it?

✎ 2.2k ────────────────────────

With Earth’s location being guarded by a ward that protects it, what are the Horsemen to do? 

The angels they sought guidance from proved to be a poor choice of candidates to look after you. Thus, they must take on the role as your guardians until the appropriate time comes and their mission is complete. They cannot simply set aside their prior responsibilities. 

Only after their task is done can they finally take you home — will deliver your home, where you belong.

But the way things are turning out to be, it cannot be said it’s dull or damning; in fact both Strife and War find their situation… enlightened. As if being in your presence that awes with glimmering light somehow brings a calm over them, comforting like a sure and weighted blanket. 

Nor can it be said that there’s no small amount of adventure with you around, running about their legs in a hurry whenever you take breaks or make camp for the night. Though the Horsemen continue on their destined path, they thought it was best for you to stretch your legs, to burn through some of that pent up energy that kept you stirring and fidgeting while in the saddle. 

War and Strife lead their valiant, loyal steeds at the firm guidance of their reins, their eyes watch closely as you run ahead of them, playing on the outskirts of the reef of bright yellow, a meadow of flowers that rolls with churning unison in the breeze that calmly sweeps at their backs and tousles your hair messily. 

Eager and bustling with a feeling wholly consuming, you dart into it with a rustled intrusion. Strife and War falter and their pace slows down considerably as they turn their attention to the dusting of petal powder that follows you, head barely visible over the flower horizon. You laugh aloud, palms wound with bandages stretch to embrace the fluttering stalks that tickle against your skin, the adornment of yellow pollen falls to nestle in your hair like a fluffy crown. 

Despite your circumstances, especially the recently transpired events with the angels, you beam with adoration and life, finding the pleasantries of splendor around you. In your eyes you see something that the Horsemen sorely find themselves failing to, though perhaps they try to perceive what it is; how exactly you see the world around you. 

Lands of mystery that allow your mind to expand with broad imagination and hope. Even as they stop, noting the sudden and eerie silence from the meadow, Strife and War charge forward to where you were only to find you seated and enjoying the peaceful atmosphere around you. Your eyes are brightly illuminated under the golden sun that flitters through the valley, occasionally obscured by white and puffy clouds, and the reflective tour of the dusty pollen in your eyes shows your quiet appreciation. 

In your hands with a fond, nurturing care, you absently hold onto a fuzzy stem. Your thumb brushes over the soft petals of the flower, your mind lost in the twirling, brightly colourful abyss above. 

Strife and War follow the invisible thread of your focus, wondering to themselves where exactly you’ve taken yourself into the scape of your thoughts. What is it that you dream and yearn for? Is it the comfort of your homeworld, your family? Do you gaze upwards with aspirations that the weather will hold up and be constantly sunny?

The wind picks up again, whirling as a sprinting breeze that disturbs the meadow into a frenzy and rustles the fabrics of clothing. Realising you are presently under their shadows, your head tilts back and your eyes stare upward. When they meet your curious gaze, a small noise bubbles in your throat, gurgling like a gleeful coo as you nuzzle the flower closer to yourself. 

Something about you radiates, not entirely seeable to them like Vulgrim’s ability to glance through a separate veil within his eyes, but there is most definitely a pulling gravity that both calms and warps the environment around you in a spiritual sense. 

To them, it’s like you’re glowing. The imprint of such divine innocence sitting right before them, a soul that burns brightly with pure and overwhelming light as you bask in the rowing field’s embrace; your soul following the river flow with its circling energy.

Time moves on and so do you and your new guardians. The sunlight begins to wane into a stronger hue of orange that borders on the pinkish smear against the sky’s canvas, warning of the crawling midnight that blacks out and flickers with a million stars. 

“It’ll be getting dark soon,” Strife says, hands resting idly on his hips as he stares out from the shrouded overlook. 

War huffs in response, his eyes moving higher along the skyline with an agreeing nod. “We will need to find her food. She must be hungry…”

“Hm.” Strife’s steel-clawed fingers scratch at the base of his skull, considering what type of food would sustain you. Humans were an interesting sort, the Creator’s youngest and most fledgling of designs. Hunger plays deep into their balance and it’s very likely that with you being so young, going hungry is not healthy for your growth. And so, whilst you played with Mayhem and Ruin, Strife and War scan the grassy plains for any sort of food they could find. 

Strife’s head swivels fast at the fleeting catch of movement. It’s fast whatever it is, but with the right approach, he’s on the hunt with a dagger primed and at the ready. War hears the gentle pitter patter of your boots clubbing the dirt but he doesn’t react, instead watching Strife. Your head moves between the two brothers with a wide grin plastered on your face, eyes blinking rapidly with the sun peeking through the canopy. 

“What he doing?” you ask War as you point at the rider who becomes still for a moment, paused with a hunter’s final poise. 

“He’s hunting,” War answers. You remember very well that your father was a hunter, often returning in the day’s afternoon with a bounty claimed and slung over his shoulder. 

“Ha! Got it!” Strife’s laugh echoes over the rolling hills, carried far on the wind as he wrestles with the startled creature. White like the snow, pink nose twitching as it struggles in vain to escape. 

“Wabbit!” you squeal and begin to run towards Strife, War not too far behind you with each stride matching your speed. Strife meets you halfway, crossing over the slivered, shallow river. He kneels down to your level, grinning behind his mask at the thought that he has done right by you so far in catching you food, for providing for you. 

“How about it? Dinner?” 

In a young one’s age, you must encounter the concept of death, the idea that one life must be taken to sustain another. It was a teaching passed down by the elders of your village. But still, in seeing how the rabbit has gone still in its resigned fear, you shake your head adamantly. 

“M’no.” Your arms reach out and Strife lets you take the rabbit from him, head tilted sideward with a hum of confusion. 

You hold the rabbit in your embrace, cooing and feeling the pristine texture of its fur against your hands that are careful to pat it. Strife’s eyes glow with a rhythmic pulse that follows each breath he takes and leaves. His eyes sink to find the unkindness done to you by the bandages around your bruised and hurt hands; and still your resort to be kind and compassionate overcomes the tears once present in your eyes. 

“But it’s food,” War remarks, tone almost reprimanding though intending to be gentle. “If you let it go, what will you eat?” 

You shake your head again, voice lowered into a near whisper. “Not the wabbit. Not her time.”

You waddle slightly as you walk towards one of the nearby burrows. Strife stands slowly, both are entranced by your moral compass, far too sweet to butcher an animal for your survival; a life for a life. 

“There you go.” You set the rabbit down and let out a small breath through your nose, hands guiding to push the rabbit to move along and within an instant it hops down the swallowing hole of its home. 

“It seems we will need to find another solution.” War doesn’t say much else after that, however, a small quirk of his lips lifts up. He admires the capability of your moral compass, a raw and intune nature of your compassion that shines through you. One day you will most certainly come to understand that a rabbit filling your stomach may go a long way, but he refrains from squandering that aspect of selflessness.

As the last of a species known for violence and carnage, the Horsemen begin to wonder if they can learn a quality brand new from something so small and pure. 

When night finally settles over the realm, Strife and War set to work on securing the camp’s location and lighting a fire. A mere and indulgent comfort for them, but for you it was everything. A source of warmth, a notion of safety and a respite for you to observe and ponder with childish wonderment. 

Having passed through a forgotten orchid that grew with freshly ripe apples, it certainly resolved the matter of filling your belly and you happily fed Ruin and Mayhem their own fill of the treetop delights. The way that Ruin and Mayhem would briefly bump their noses together in order to eat the next apple you presented to them, thanked by their noses and huffing breath pressed against your head, you were soon encouraged to rest by War and Strife. 

Now fast asleep with War’s red cloak wrapped around you, your head rests against the burly stomach of Ruin who lays at your side, providing a source of warmth and simply to remain close at your side. Mayhem occasionally bows his head, his long and armoured neck stretching over Ruin’s backside to flare his nostrils inquisitively at you as if to ensure you were asleep and undisturbed.

Strife and War mind themselves, their eyes always somehow finding their way back to you before they observe your surroundings. There was no possible way a threat could harm you, not with them around. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” Strife asks. He stands rigidly with his back pressed against one of the nearer oaks, arms crossed sternly over his chest and his golden eyes thinning into fine slits the more he dwells on it. 

Every sight of those bandages reminds him, haunts him with a nearly done mistake. Had the angels taken you in, would you even see your home and loved ones again? Strife will forever damn himself for thinking that the angels would do any good by you. He will forever scorn and internally ridicule himself for almost giving you up, for trying to believe that you were safer anywhere else that wasn’t with them. 

He wants to be better. He needs to be better. 

“What is there to say, Brother?” War asks with a shrug of his shoulders, ashen hair dancing over them with the motion. Strife seethes, sarcastically and dryly chuckling, “Oh, plenty! We almost gave her away to those— those…”

“Monsters.”

Strife’s shoulders tense at the word, its meaning carrying a far more personal remark than a broader term. His head falls forward and the golden hue shining through his visor’s pupils dims. 

“Yeah…”

“When she decided against killing that rabbit, she refused to take a life she considered equal to her own. She saw no honour in it.” War pauses while his eyes move from the crackling fire to you, watching as you stir and tug the ragged cloth of his cloak closer and bury your nose into its fabric. Something in his usually stoic case softens. “I saw her for what she is — of what she can become.”

“Better than any of us, that’s for sure.” 

War wishes he can agree wholeheartedly, but he is troubled given the deep furrow between his brows. Strife can see it, a translucent layer that forms over the glistening blue of his eyes.

War sighs low, quietly, “But she is also vulnerable.”

Strife can also understand that sentiment. Not just physically but your very presence incites chaos and other dark forces, drawing them to you without meaning to. It is the unsettling nature of this warfare, the darkness takes hold and snuffs out whatever light it happens upon; uncaring if that power be that of Heaven’s mightiest army or the tender purity of a soul such as yours. 

Powers like Lucifer seek it and its end. 

“She’ll become a marked target, if she isn’t already.” The words in Strife’s throat are dry and constricted. The instinct to curl and fiddle with the triggers of his guns is undeniably strong. 

“And it is up to us to protect her. Come what may, none shall snuff out her light, so long as I breathe and stand as a warrior for the Balance.” “With you all the way there, War. Heaven, Hell and back. I dare them to try.”

[darkdemeter]

Child Reader hcs! If S/O was playable, I could imagine her being like some low HP and ATK but speedy rogue-like person due to Strife training her with a knife and stealing items from enemies. She could also be used to crawl small places and be lifted up by War or Strife to reach high spots. And she could even have her own little bag of collecting souls that she uses not for herself but to gain some discounts on amount of Souls the Horsemen would need on upgrades. Such a sweet cinnamon roll! 🥰

CHARACTER CINNAMON GUIDE HER WAY HOME ─ THE GAME HEADCANONS

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

NOTES ↳ ANON ANON ANOOOOOON! YESSSSSS! OMG I LOVE THIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSS! This is a concept I'm absolutely obsessed with -- that being the reader is a playable character in the Darksiders franchise. I'm so glad I'm not the only one who thinks like this and I finally get to put these ideas into a post! I went a bit crazy with the hcs amount that I had to stop myself.... there is so many ideas I have with this concept alone...

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✘ Nicknamed Cinn/Cinnamon.

✘ Your size is used to your advantage. Being so small, you are able to sneak past enemies (unless their level is higher than yours or they're a boss).

✘ If you have enough skill points put into your stealth, you can also utilise your "Deft Mittens" ability - this ability will morph into "Deft Hands" and then "The Phantom Hand" the higher your level is and the more valuable loot you'll be able to pickpocket from higher level enemies.

✘ You're also quick and have a short but 2 charge evasion sprint ability much like Strife. A very rogue-like build that utilises stealth and the element of surprise. You're armed with a single dagger that can eventually be upgraded to dual wielding through Strife's training.

✘ When War and Strife near a small crawl space, they will beckon you over to have you travel through and reach whatever objective you must accomplish.

✘ If you find a spot you can fit through but it's higher up and out of reach, you can call over either War or Strife to lift you up, your character delivering the voice line, "Uppie!" and you'll be hoisted up.

✘ you have the cutest voice lines... hands down. FACTS.

✘ If your health gets down to 1 point, there is a chance that either War or Strife will use an ability called "Guardian Wings" that flies them to your immediate aid to either block an attack combo or to grant you a healing potion if they have any.

✘ If you lose all your health or are inflicted with a powerful debuff that compells you to be stunned or paralysed while very low on health, this can potentially trigger Chaos and Anarchy for several seconds. If the enemy is downed within a certain time frame, then you will be resurrected without needing to start from your last save point. If not, then you "pass out" and need to load from your last save.

✘ A cute little mid-combat cutscene will occur if you have a healing potion and give it to Strife or War. Yes, you will want to stack up on potions just to see it because it's so cute.

✘ Uhmmmm especially in the genesis type cutscenes -- you are the cutest ray of sunshine. Anything and everything you do is the fucking cutest thing.

✘ You have a very shallow health pool and a weaker attack rate compared to your Horsemen counterparts. This means you will need to be very careful about your strategy going into fights. The more you rest at camp and train your abilities, the stronger you will become.

✘ Eating food at camp grants you buffs.

✘ Tool tip! remember to always search for treasure. Relics found in these chests can be traded into Vulgrim for health upgrades.

✘ If you go to Dis, she can also upgrade your gear and potentially grant you buff if you complete little return quests for her.

✘ Being human has its advantages. You have a passive "tinker" ability that's very weak to begin with but can be upgraded further on with your levelling and your story. This ability allows you to craft useful tools and gadgets.

✘ Dialogue options with Strife and War when you're out and about on your adventures are worth the many playthroughs! You get choices (much like DS2) where you can ask them questions about your surroundings, battle advice and special banters can be triggered in certain places and areas and if you do the hidden misc questlines.

✘ SPOILER HC! You can use the snow sphere given to you by Samael to use as a light source in dark areas. Go to Samael to upgrade this sphere and it can grant you a clairvoyant ability that can either lead you to higher level loot or if you're stuck, show you onto your current objective's path.

✘ You have a little satchel/drawstring bag that has a default number of 5 inventory slots. These can be upgraded at higher levels by Dis OR you can partake in small misc quests by Strife who will teach you the passive ability to increase your inventory space.

✘ You can also collect souls into your little bag that can give discounts for Strife's and War's upgrades on their armor and their abilities.

✘ War can also teach you a few abilities the higher your level is and if you put skill points into your strength but by default, you're role is a close ranged rogue type.

✘ You can choose whichever Horsemen you want to ride with and this gives you control over the movement. There are chase sequences where you can only evade oncoming attacks, but you can learn horseback combat that will allow you to either throw your dagger or cast a spell/ranged gadget.

✘ You can pet and feed Ruin and Mayham. Cause if the developers didn't allow you to do that, then that's just cruel.

✘ When travelling through swampy areas or anywhere that is too dangerous for you to traverse by yourself, you can engage War or Strife and they will carry you across.

[darkdemeter]

Imagine what would happen if SAMAEL met Child Reader first? Like, she was transported to his Keep, the guards found her, took her to Samael and they left when Samael ordered them to. He talks with the curious and innocent little human girl who wasn’t afraid of him, learning a bit of the human world and thanks to her arrival, used the remnants of her transportation to make a path for Earth for future plans. Horsemen arrive, sees S/O, and quickly “rescues” her before demanding answers from Samael.

GUIDE HER WAY HOME: A PRETENTIOUS DOOR (What If...?)

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE (Platonic!) Samael x Female Child!Reader feat. Strife and War

NOTES ↳ The way he would treat little child!reader like a princess is beyond me. Of course he has his ulterior motives, but there might just be a genuine case of care. WARNINGS❕ ↳ just some overall cuteness — reader being a bit of a cute bean — usage of the term "imp" cause demons dunno what a human child is — Samael is the dad that spoils you — I think that's it?

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It had all happened so suddenly. The last thing you recall were distant hills, the yellowish tinge of the swaying fields you ran through ahead of your mother. Her voice beckoned you back but you kept on going. Winter had just passed and you were anxious to get out and about.

Your newborn brother swaddled close to her breast slowed her down considerably, hence why she desperately called for you to stay close.

Hiding from her, you then heard an ominous, intruding hum. Hidden out of plain sight, a mystical sight greeted you. A gaping hole that rose with mists, a hazy fog of green light emitted from somewhere deep down from the hole. Nearing it, shyly curious, you then…

It was hot. Not like the warm sun that just rose in the sky, flourishing with a comfortable heat. No, this was perhaps the worst strike of heat you have ever experienced. Humid and bothersome, you carry on in your voyage, unsure where exactly it is you intend to go.

But for sure, you’re interest is taken. What a strange world. Was this elsewhere on Earth? Is this what laid beneath the surface, in the depths of the darkened caves the elders refused to go?

You can’t wait to tell your mother about this adventure!

You continue to waddle on, humming a soft tune to yourself as you often do when exploring and you search under a few rocks in search of the usual critter or small reptile that attempts to crawl away skittishly. However, none of these appear to be of the familiar sort. They are a bit strange looking, perhaps a little frightening as you handle them in the palm of your hands.

“Ooch! That not nice!” You pout as the red and yellow spotted lizard blurped an offended sound at you, hissing before it scurries off and under a pile of rocks. What a mean little thing. Still, you coo and wander with bright and curious eyes.

You spy something great and big in the distance. Jaw agape with your amazed sigh, you push yourself onward in its direction. Maybe it was a village hall? If so, maybe they can bring you back to the surface where you will reunite with your family and friends.

“Lord Samael predicts that Moloch will strike against us soon enough. Pfft, as if our lord would conspire with such lowlife of hell’s levels.”

His companion posted by the gate with him yawns in reply, undoubtedly bored.

“La-la la, laaa laaa…”

“What is that racket?” Asks the demon to his fellow guard who shrugs in response, head craned forward to hear the sound over the rumble of hot, frothing magma spurts.

“I don’t hear nuffin’,” he snorts, yawning again. The squashed in form of his nose sucking inward.

“I do,” rasps the other guard. His glossy, black eyes peer viciously across their post.

“La la-la la—”

“Did you just hear it?!”

“Aye I did! Where is it coming from?”

The guards pivot on their heels, the clunk of their armour shifts with each jagged movement that assesses their surroundings. It’s too late when you happen upon them, approaching with a series of soft, thundering footsteps that kick up the dirt beneath your mini-stampeding boots.

“Hello,” you greet with an open palmed wave. “Do you live hwere?”

“…What in the Creator’s name is it? Is it an imp? I-I think it’s an imp.”

“What?” scoffs his partner, rolling a single unscarred eye, “are you blinder than me? It’s not in imp! The head’s all wrong… and it’s got hair.”

Your eyes are wide, astoundingly bright and visibly smiling through the shimmering orbs as your tiny mouth taps together silently as you wait patiently for a response.

"Should we... take it to Lord Samael?"

And then you were brought before a very pretentious door. Seated on his spindling throne of contorting, carven stone limbs, the demon lord of this domain, Samael is greeted by a sight even he and his omniscient powers could not have foreknown.

"My Lord," announced the guard who took to escorting you inside the keep to have an audience with his lordship. Eyes of a blaring orange flicker wayward as disturbed flames, a sneer evidently showing his irate of such an annoyance; that was until he saw you.

Eyes tracing over your surroundings and silently prodding with answers, a curious and fascinated nature to behold. But like the many times he has noticed, your eyes fall back to him as he sits on his throne.

"We found it at the gate. It... approached us and—"

With a firm command of his hand he silences the guard in his explanation. Surely he is more clever than that and requires no exact explanation. Even if he did, he's more intrigued to hear it from you.

"Leave us. Back to your post."

"My Lord." The guard steeps bow in his retreating bow before hurrying off back the way he came, the large door of the hall — if it can be considered that — booms with a loud, colliding thud. Samael adjusts his posture, the slope of his spine arches forward and the thickened length of his tail drags slowly, almost like an animal considering what it was he sees before him. With the same hand he holds it out to you, his fingers gesturing with an inviting flick. "Come closer, littleling."

Without any sign of hesitance — of fear — you walk up to him with a childish, rushed stumble to your footing. His lips twist into a confident smirk of his tugged musing, admiring the dedication behind every step that carries you and the determination to discover all in your path.

"What is your name?" he asks. Cheeky, you are and he sees it in the tricky way your eyes sparkle and the thin curve of your lips being pulled in.

"I'm Y/N."

"That's a pretty name. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Y/N. I am Samael, Lord of all you see before you." The manner of his theatrics of rolling his hand in greeting and bowing his head in an exaggerated form makes you giggle, the sound bouncing in the tensely heated atmosphere.

"Tell me, littleling, how did you come to be here?"

He invites you to make yourself suited comfortably to wherever you liked, though not before he seemingly brushes off the remnants of clinging, shiny dust from your face; the antics of his magic absorbing the mystical essence for his future plans.

The hints of your travel were better to be off of you lest any other masters intend to harness the power of retracing where the shimmering essence came from.

"I fell fwrough this big hole. It was big an-and stinky and then I was playing in the dirt. I got bit! by a mean lizard!" You hold up the finger which the little reptile had bitten, showing it to the lord of Blackstone who tilts his head with a heavy pout lining his mouth.

"Oh, that is very cruel."

"Mhm! Th-then I saw a very, veeery big hutt and went to it..."

You told him quite a bit about your short journey to his castle and about your homeworld, Earth. You were very trusting of him, not that he faults you or believes you to be too silly for your own good. He finds your innocent naivety almost endearing. The way you would engage him and ask him the most simple of questions whether that be what his favourite flowers were to make crowns out of or his favourite soup.

You were quite the chatter box.

And when he revealed to you that you were no longer on Earth, you gasp and press a hand over your mouth. "Oh noooo..."

"And I'm afraid that from here, is would prove to be very difficult to take you home," he says with a low, soothing tone to shush you when your breath hitches in your throat.

He delicately picks you up, swaddling you in his arms and pats your head tenderly. "There, there, littleling. You can stay with me while I find a way."

You liked the sound of that very much. Based on how Samael talked about the many dangerous of this realm, you were more than relieved that you had a place to take shelter.

In your temporary residence at Blackstone, Samael made you feel more and more at home. With a comfortable, squishy and soft bedding to sleep on when you grew tired and the abundance of what you would consider toys that any child could ever want for. Not that you had begged and demanded for any of it, you were raised well to be a good and clever girl, a respectful girl who said her thank you's and pleases.

Besides that, you often found your amusement through exploration and adventure. So to find you often shadowing him as he wandered down the halls of his fortress, giggling when you would play a game of hiding behind the scarlet banners from his sight.

He played along, of course, chuckling and pretending to not see the giddy wriggle of your boots beneath the pooled fabric.

"I wonder where the littleling could be," he'd hum loud enough for you to hear and so sneakily chase after him before leaping out from behind him with an announcing squeal or wrapping your arms around his leg with a shout, "Here I am!"

Many of his minions would stare in their silent bafflement, staring tightly spurned the moment their fearsome lord glared a blaring warning in their direction; a deadly command that they better not ask on intrude upon it.

Samael indulged you, to put it simply.

Then came the cawing bellow of war horns boasting of a threat's arrival. Molach's arrival. You whimpered when an array of guards and commanding demons charged for the front gates and hid behind the protective guard of Samael.

"Shh... hush now, littleling. It shall pass us soon. Moloch has no power to overthrow me. You are safe."

Sniffling, eyes glistening with a bubbled frame of tears, you step out to his side and hold out your tiny pinky. "P-pinky?"

With a softened snort, he nods and holds out his own pinky for you to link with. "I swear it, littleling."

So trusting in him that the familiar glowing essence of innocent soul radiates off of you. A tender flower growing in a field of decaying and suffocating ash, he intends to guard you; protect you.

Hold up in the chamber where his throne resides, he ponders with a troubled pucker and a quizzical shadow hovering on his brow. His eyes evaluate each of the gurgling bubbles that float and dissipate in his goblet, the red liquid swirling with an audible, bubbly slosh.

You sit right near him, engaged with playing with the crystal ball he gifted you not too long ago. You roll it over the rocky ground before tucking it back in your lap, small palms holding and massaging the ball with considerate thought.

The seige has been going on for quite some time now given the numerous reports his commanders and runners that have come to his attention. One of which, another of his champions comes rushing towards him, globs of spittle between his gums. "Perhaps... I was foolish not to accept his offer..."

"My Lord! The Council—!"

A powerful shred punctures clean through his torso, revealing a gaping hole.

"Guess you didn't hear us knocking."

A stranger's voice drawls over the chamber bridge and you clutch the crystal ball tightly between your hands.

Despite your haste, grunting softly as you get to your feet, you run to him and clutch at the robing of his armoured tunic.

"Ah, Horsemen. What brings the loyal servants of the Council to my door?" His tone is one infused with an air of light wonderment, bordering on ignorance as if their presence doesn't allure his curiosity nor impose some form of general hospitality.

Meanwhile, Samael's eyes avert between you and his newly arrived guests, he sees that look in your eyes and he quells any sort of doubt or worry from you. He raises you to sit atop his leg. "Littleling, they mean you no harm."

With a small bobble of your head, you nod understandably and cast your gaze to the Horsemen. Strife and War stiffen, their shoulders rigged in their stun and their eyes glowing widely.

On a mission that concerns the disorder of balance and the fate of humanity; and here was a human child in Samael's charge. This doesn't bode well, they sense that something's amiss...

Samael allows you to slip down from his lap and to wander up to the Horsemen. They'd be fools to dare brandish their weapons to an innocent soul, a life so untouched by the evils of the worlds. Curiosity gets the better hold of you as you walk in circles around Strife and War's legs, their weight shifting by an uncomfortable idea that with one wrong step, they would crush you beneath their heel. They felt this need to tread carefully around you.

With softly laced coos and gasps, your hands reach and tug at the longer tendrils of fabric and over the rustic plating of their armour, barely unfazed when War attempts to gently shoo you away.

"La-la laaa la la," you hum quietly to yourself, enthralled by the surprisingly soft texture of Strife's scarf that flows down the length of his back.

"A human child... what is the meaning of her presence here, Samael? Speak!" War barks venomously, his grip on his blade's hilt increasing harshly.

Samael tsks at the red rider's dared insinuation that he had any involvement in you being here. "I have done nothing to which you speculate, Horseman. She arrived here in this realm of her own accord, and I took it upon myself to grant her sanctuary."

Hand brazenly swatting at the barrel of one of Strife's pistols, its mysterious likeness one you have not seen before, he flinches and instead picks you up, earning a louder coo in turn that then turns into a tiny-toothed grin. As Strife and you exchange names and he decided internally right there and then that they will be taking you under their care, War continues to question the lord of Blackstone.

"The Council believes you scheme with Lucifer against humanity. Against the Balance. Do you deny it?" War's voice is edged sharply behind his clenched jaw. It's hard to focus solely on questioning Samael now with the ensuing mystery of you.

"Horsemen!" Samael almost gasps, "such base villainy is beneath me! I admit, I am intrigued by your accusation. Unfortunately, I find myself a bit under siege at the moment."

A low rumble falls over the fort, another blow of the attacking forces that work to breach Blackstone.

Strife cuts in, the penetrating pupils of his gaze questionable. "By Moloch?! How'd you manage to get a bottom feeder like that get the upper hand? No offence."

"An excellent question...," says Samael, "I could venture a guess." He speaks with a low, thrumming sound that reverberates in the back of his throat as his face winds to contort into a scowl, almost beckoning the Horsemen to fill in the oh-so obvious blanks in a mission, a story, they should see so clearly to have its hidden plot.

Something callosal finally breaches the final sanctum of the keep. A grotesquely horned beast with overly long limbs comes over the wall, a principle dweller atop the monstrosity at its reins.

"I told you this day would, come, Samael. I, Moloch, have come to claim your head... and your kingdom!"

Under the looming threat of such a shadow, your eyes widen and your fingers clutch hold of Strife's scarf that sits bundled around his neck. Samael, registering that this threat imposes upon not only his pillar of power but you, he stands abruptly from his throne with a hoarsely relayed, "Go! Find my 'associate' within the void. We will continue our discussion after I drive my sword through Moloch's skull!"

By his hand, a sword materialises within his grasp. Though you wish to plead for Samael to come with you, to not leave you, you see the pressing glare in which he gives both the Horsemen and Strife instinctively holds you tighter in his arms.

"Perhaps then, we will have an answer to your question."

"Sama!" you yell through a chokehold of tears, a hand reached out for him just as his fist shuts and pulls the blanketing portal over you like a shroud, teleporting you elsewhere. The last vision you see before the sweep of something cold runs down your spine and whips through your hair is the clashing of blades of Samael and Moloch, locked in combat.

[darkdemeter]

Fem Child reader fluff platonic! War and Strife (reluctantly) have to leave S/O behind in Vulgrim (and fortunately Dis) hands when they have to depart in dangerous areas like poisonous places, always threatening him to care for her. They didn’t expect SAMAEL of all people to order Vulgrim to allow him to speak with the child. Intrigued that a human child had managed to make it through as well as the purity of her soul, Samael listened to her talk about her adventures with the Horsemen.

GUIDE HER WAY HOME V

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

NOTES ↳ If you cannot tell, I'm enjoying myself way too much writing for Guide Her Way Home, I'm just delving further into this marvellous storyline + its little side stories and game!hcs. Thank you so much anon for all the requested snippets thus far. WARNINGS❕ ↳ War and Strife being big, protective brothers over reader — funny and fluffy shenanigans ensue, reader is up to curious mischief — Vulgrim and Dis being that bickering uncle and aunt duo — Samael being omniscient and an info sponge to suit his agendas — I think that's it?

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“Vulgrim, we’re trusting you with her. We are placing our trust in your… ahem, capable hands.” 

“Horseman, not so much as a hair will be plucked from her head,” assures the demonic soul merchant, voice rasping easily that it sounds like hollow bones being rattled in a leather sack. 

Strife’s chest rumbles with a deep, muffled growl emitting from him as he refrains from unholstering Mercy from his hip. Only stopped by the sound of your giggle, it is one that smooths the bristled nature of his protectiveness. You clammer over Strife’s shoulder until you find purchase on the bronze platform of War’s pauldron, hands clutching and smoothing the red fabric of his cowl in your grip before you slip down. War’s hands easily catch you before you can fall the considerable distance and he hands you off to Vulgrim.

“Vulgrim, we will hold you to those words. One hair, and your neck will meet my blade,” warns the stoic, hooded Horseman. Vulgrim tuts the dark, slimy tendril of his tongue. Quick to pass you off, he hands you into Dis’ care who sways about on the void’s ethereal buoyancy with a plump purse of her dark lips, lashes fluttering. 

“Don’t you worry, Horsemen. She’ll be right and in one piece when you boys get back.” 

“Riiight,” Strife huffs, unconvinced. He leans in closer to War to mutter, “I still think this is a bad idea.”

“We have no other choice, Strife. It’s far too dangerous to take her along.” 

Sulking with dreaded defeat, Strife lowers himself to his knee, hand gracing your head with a tender pat. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Okay,” you say, voice tiny and pitched. Your palm lays flat on Strife’s mask with a small pat of your own and his shoulders jostle a little with a low chuckle. 

Turning your head to War you then move to hug him, only for him to flinch. Immediately like the first drops of rain, a pout forms on the lines of your mouth and War internally reprimands himself. And so, to coax you to remain calm and happy, his own hand reaches out and you gladly accept it, hugging the massive chunk of metal fingers. 

War may be silent with his sentiments and words, but when your eyes meet his with that enlarged fixation and kind smile, his brows fall lax and he nods silently, assuring. 

“Be safe!” you call after them when they turn to leave you, waving your arm and bouncing on the small and worn padding of your boots. With that, you are left in the care of Vulgrim the Soul Eater and his “business associate”, Dis. 

Your feet wander, Your destination unknown yet anything and everything, you are a curious force set loose. Running along the roughened stone of the void made manifest, Vulgrim and Dis are led around in a chase to keep you from venturing into that cauldron of bubbling acids and howling souls, or from toddling off the edge and into the murky abyss… or to prevent another serpent hole incident. 

The threat of Chaoseater cleaving his head from his shoulders now becomes a daunting thought the more Vulgrim thinks on it. 

“No, no! Bad child!” Vulgrim seethes when he sees you duck and weave between the many nooks and crannies. Damn the void… 

“Dis, do something!” Like a snake poised with its fangs, Vulgrim’s patience runs thin and little, his clawed fingers always catching air instead of you as you continue to roam at will. 

“You’re the one who took your eyes off of her.”

“Because I trusted that you would keep an eye on her. Look at her, she’s unleashing chaos!”

Dis frowns, browline anchored low with a shake of her head. All you were doing was trying to grasp at a mysterious talisman dangling off an ornamental hanger, bones tied and threaded to clatter gently together in the realm’s faint inky mists. Only to then become amused with the loosened knot of one of your boots.

“She’s a child, Vulgrim. For a demon spying on humans, you don’t know a lot about them—”

“Studying!” Vulgrim hisses in his resolve. Dis scoffs sharply. “Mm. That’s one way to put it…”

When Vulgrim finally scoops you up, he raises you to his eye level, eyes thin with a spiteful growl that seeps through his deformed and mangled maw. “Listen here, childling, you will obey and cease these antics this instant.”

Blinking, your mouth stretches into a wide smile that pushes deep into your cheeks. “Okay!”

It cannot be that easy, Vulgrim snorts through his nose like a beast relinquishing its tense breath. He all but shrugs you off, passing you to Dis who cradles you with all four arms. 

A small noise catches in her throat, a humming chuckle. 

“Don’t you listen to that bag of bones, lil’ baby. He’s just old and raggedy. Now come along with Mama Dis and let’s see what we have around here for you.”

Attempting to float away and forget all the transpiring problems, Vulgrim is stopped short and his skinless lips waver with a guttural, feral warble, glaring a thousand threats into Dis’ back. 

Hours seem to pass by. You sit in the distant corner surrounded by stacks of old tomes, shelves stuffed with wilting, parchment scrolls. Propped up before you is a large grimoire that Dis had presented to you to keep you occupied. Of course, you didn’t comprehend the extremity of the words, mutely glossing over most of them and instead focusing on the illustrated inks of drawings when the words became too much. 

Dis had assured the book was a fairytale after she checked with Vulgrim who, with a simple and dismissive wave over his turned shoulder, said the grimoire was harmless. However, it was something more than that. It told of prophecies and ancient times that stretched across the cosmos. The stars, you gasped aloud with astonished wonder. 

And because your attention was taken with the large book that sat propped up, far too heavy to merely sit in your lap, Dis had left you to your own devices. Meanwhile, Vulgrim grouched about his realm, tending to whatever matters a demon of his trade did. 

The warming tint of glowing candlelight dances faintly behind you, your shadow hovering against the old parchment pages. Your hands curl along the page edge and with a small, heaved grunt, you turn it over to the next. 

Daggerish font blends with the grey tones and washed out allure of the illustration that covers the entirety of the pages, your eyes and fingers move along to pronounce each word. 

“Then… came the time of… the Nepp— Nepffilim…” 

Your gaze wanders away from the words only to widen, glistening with the dancing glee of starlight, a gurgling coo sings from your enlightened and pure heart, soul innocence shining within you like a bright ball of light; and all because you recognise two familiar guardians within the drawing. You don’t notice the way the void shivers and rumbles around you, seemingly disrupted. 

Nor do you realise, for how could you, the flaming orbs of eyes sparked with kindled intrigue. 

With a squeal you leap forward onto your knees, palms flush against the pages as you muse, laughing and babbling. “Strwife! Wawr!” 

You thought they returned in a way, that in seeing them here somehow meant they were back from whatever voyage they could not take you on this time. But then your brows curl down, furrowing in the bevelled middle when you realise that much like the stone walls and rocks of your home, they were just drawings.

Your head tilts with a confused, quiet hum and you begin to turn the next page only to not find them there. So you let the sheet of parchment fall back down with a softened flap.

That’s when you notice the lack of company around you. Right then, you decide to change that. You stand on your feet and with all your might, you grab hold of the grimoire and tug, the ominous and loud thud of it falling off its holder bounds off with a bold, resounding echo. 

Grunting and sighing with exerted efforts, your hands clutch hard as you begin to pull the grimoire with you from that corner, around the bends of books stacked on high and make your way through the fragmented platforms. To do so is no easy feat, often you have to stop to look around yourself before finally, you reach where Vulgrim and Dis bicker with one another by the bubbling cauldron. 

They hold their tongues at the sight of you shuffling towards them, face set hard in your concentration to drag the book with you as you then settle at their side, huffing as you let the side you clung to drop. 

“Dis…” Vulgrim rumbles low, tone teetering on the verge of his last sanity. When she makes a noise in return, he all but jabs a finger that sounds with chinking metal of rings in motion to the grimoire you’re reading. Dis’ eyes blow wide open.

“Oh! Ahh, sweetie, let me take that uh, book for a moment.”

Though you mean to protest by the way your hands shoot out for the taken book, you simply nod in understanding. Obviously, they did not want you to read or observe its contents, and like the good child that you were brought up to be, you obeyed diligently. 

Vulgrim presses to his brow a shaken cluster of fingers that rap and tap at his clothed temple, scratching down the dirtied brown of his horn. “The Horsemen will kill me— why did you give her that grimoire?”

Head tracking back and forth between them, you watch silently. 

“Me?! Ugh, the nerve of you, you grotesque bag of Belial’s sh…” With a moment to calm her erratic and feral hissing that blew the pinkish flame of her head brighter, she sighs and calmly states her defense. “You told me that the grimoire was a safe fairytale.”

“Look at where we are! Nothing here is safe for a human child—”

“Enough!”

The misted blacks that writhe and interweave in flowing paths stutter, shocked under the consuming bellow of a roar that comes from someplace above. Your head moves about in order to locate where the booming voice came from. 

“Vulgrim, bring the child to me. I wish to speak with her.” 

Sputtering, choking on such a command, Vulgrim whines with a forced inflection. “But, Samael—”

“Now…” 

The merchant is all but forced to comply, unable to deny such an esteemed power his wish. Picking you up, Vulgrim brings you to the platform above. Once there and in the presence of Hell’s prince, Vulgrim turns with a slight tilt of his chin as if to bow his head. Samael twitches a finger in indication and the demon trader complies, setting you down on your feet again. 

This platform is one you have not seen before, your eyes are momentarily drawn to the edge and your lips form into a cautious ‘o’ before you turn back to Samael who sits upon a rubble mound of a make-shift throne. 

He leans forward with an elbow pressed to his knee, tail draped lazily by his side and with a tilt of his head, his mouth parts into a fanged grin.

“Come closer, my child.”

Curious, the small nub of your nose scrunches and you approach him, almost eager to meet another potential friend. Vulgrim sees that you harbour no direct fear, not until you get closer to the demon prince. 

You stop, a quiet breath leaving you as a gasp while your wide eyes blink up at Samael. “I have been made aware of your presence. I’ve never had the chance to meet such a kind soul. Tell me, what is your name?”

Announcing your name to him, he hums with a small nod, repeating it. “I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, little one. I am Samael.”

“Hello Sama-el!” You greet with a wave that moves from your elbow.

His eyes burn like wavering flames with a million questions. Just how exactly did you pass through a serpent hole? With Earth shrouded in secrecy, it’s a case that baffles the greatest of minds. The blinding light that surrounds and envelopes you from within shines brightly and Vulgrim’s eyes are forced to shrink from it. He slowly lowers a hand to you and you take it. He is careful to place you at his side, settled on a stone block and his body shifts so that he can see you better. 

“So you are the one the Horsemen found,” he says, voice a low drawl and thick with heat that bellows from the furnace of his gullet. “It must have been scary wandering out there on your own. You’re very fortunate to have met the Horsemen.” 

You nod with a small hum, eyes twinkling slightly at the mention of them. “Uh huh.”

With a wave of his hand, crafty unto a magician’s hand that slights trick from thin air, he procures a glassy object. Your attention is taken immediately, eyes trailing after the crystal ball as it merely glides and rolls over his hand and into his palm, balancing with intricate ease. 

“Do you like it? It’s yours.” He hands it to you and your small hands grasp hold of it. He watches, intrigued while you study the orb closely. You raise it to your eye and you sigh audibly, mesmerised by the white flecks that slowly drift within it. Your memories are faint, a slight blur but you remember watching the specks of snow fall from the sky, marvelling at the chilling beauty. Your time of playing in the cold blankets in your village is distantly fond. 

“Do you enjoy travelling with the Horsemen?”

“Uh huh! I do!” You beam a wide, innocent smile and that aura shimmers around you. Samael rubs his chin with leisure, thinking… scheming. 

“I’d love to hear about your tales with them.”

Giddiness bubbles in your belly, happy to regale him with the many stories you have to share about your adventures with Strife and War. He is quiet, attentively listening and piece by piece, the pure nature of your soul — your honesty — plays right into his hand, hinting at insightful weaknesses of the Horsemen.

[darkdemeter]

Child Reader Genesis fluff platonic! So, Strife and War are teaching S/O how to defend herself using one of Strife’s daggers. War tells her to attack him like he’s an enemy, but instead, S/O runs over and hugs his leg. When asked why, S/O innocently says she doesn’t think War is an enemy. A bit jealous of the hug, Strife asks for a hug. The horses want a hug too. Later, S/O gives Vulgrim a hug, then Dis, and tries to give one to Samael but the Horsemen carry her away quickly. Cute! Fluff! 🥰🥰🥰

GUIDE HER WAY HOME VI

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

NOTES ↳ When I first wrote this, this was the last request sent through for this series and I got upset about it. Cause there was no more and I'm not prepared to let this series go, I'm committed to its main story, its AUs, player!hcs and side plots/adventures! WARNINGS❕ ↳ fluffy content! (but it also gets a little sad like the kind where you're nearing the end of a book and you don't wanna say goodbye?) — I think that's it

✎ 3.2k ────────────────────────

Days and nights have passed since Strife and War took you under their charge. An abundance of moments you treasure. From the perilous travels to the wonderful landscapes where you were given permission to run through the meadows, Ruin and Mayhem not too far behind in galloping after you; chasing you in a playful game to staring up at the night sky much like tonight. Seated on a log, your hands absently play with the crystal ball in your hands. Your eyes scour the million blinking lights above, the sky a black and clear canvas for your thoughtful imagination to wander freely. 

Your head dips down and you look at the ball in your hands, shaking it to startle the tiny flakes of white that dance within it, humming with a fond smile to see the flurry burst twirl around and around. 

Samael had encouraged you to keep it as a gift, his token of friendship he had called it, much to the ire of the Horsemen who all but saw the twisted, sly grin on his face after they had returned. 

Both War and Strife were left unsettled by the knowledge that the demon prince had spoken with you, all too knowing that his intentions were not of the hearted kind sort; not like them. 

He wanted something from you. Information from you. They wouldn’t put it past Samael to use your kindness and good-hearted nature, the naivety of your innocent soul to his advantage over them. 

And how close they were to gutting Vulgrim right there and then… oh, how close they were. 

“Here you go,” Strife says from behind you and you quickly turn your head, eyes big and blinking, broken out of your trance to see him nurse a makeshift bowl in his hand. He gives it to you in trade of the ball when it almost slipped down from your lap. 

He sees that glimmer in your eyes that ask him that question. “It’s okay, we’ve already eaten.” 

A small lie to ease the worry you have. The last thing either of them want to see is you go without all because they themselves haven’t eaten. Nephilim can go weeks or even months before they feel a single pang of hunger. 

Both your hands hold the bowl and you sip at the stew inside, sighing with a smack of your lips. Your hand combs and plucks out the chopped variants of meat and collected plants to stuff them into your mouth, chewing with a satisfied hum. 

“Hungry, aren’t you?” he asked beneath a chuckle and you nod. “Probably not as good as your uh… mother’s, right?”

He sounds sheepish to say it, scratching the back of his head with his other hand. But you regard him with a kind and genuine smile after you lower the bowl into your lap. “It’s very good!” you quickly say, “It’s yummy. It reminds me of my mama and- and her swoup. She adds, erm… yummy plants so- so it tastes good.”

“Wow. That does sound delicious,” Strife muses, shoulders dropping down with an amused huff. “Maybe she can make some for all of us when we take you home.”

“Yes!” You gasp, almost dropping your bowl entirely with a bright grin. “You and Wawr can stay with us!”

Strife’s body stiffens the moment the notion is knocked into his brain. He can feel War also shift in his place by the fire, overhearing the suggestion. It was a kind idea, one made purely because of your growing attachment to the Horsemen. 

But the thought of having a home, having a place to belong, reminds them of a time where their bloody campaign began and ended. The desperate want for a home all their own and in the end destroyed what was meant to be yours. 

They are ridden by their guilt of it all. They could not stay, even if they could and wanted to. They were the cursed union of angels and demons; abominations. They had no right to rob Humanity of their home a second time. To rob you of a home you love so much.

Strife awakens from his stupor with a light breeze of laughter when he noticed you finished talking about how your mother could make you all soup every night, how they can help and aid the village, and that you could all sit in the fields together to watch the stars and pretty curtain of lights. 

“That sounds really nice. Thanks.”

It’s all he could say to conceal the way his throat tightens and his words strain in tandem with his racing thoughts. While you finish off your dinner, Strife’s eyes lower to the crystal ball in his hand. He rolls it between his fingers, his clawed grasp could easily shatter it… everything that it reflects, it’s trickery a means to deceive you. 

Strife wanted to. Deep down he wanted nothing more than to let that version of himself come out and break it. But he couldn’t. War had one night asked Strife if they should destroy the treacherous globe as you slept but he shook his head, saddened by the aftermath that would ensue. They were not those monsters anymore. Those senseless, mindless and bloodthirsty killers.

Not when he saw how much your eyes lit up, how seemingly you appeared to glow whenever you played with the ball, rolling it between your palms and the way it would calm you when you grew weary with fretful tears, missing home. Those moments became lesser the more time you spent with War and Strife and they were growing used to your company. Perhaps a bit too much… 

But the crystal orb resembles something you too yearn for. A vessel of childish innocence and wonderment gifted by intent meant secretly to betray you, but for now you hold it dear to you. 

And so War and Strife do not touch it. They dare not shatter it in the fear that it will in turn shatter you. Your hopes, your adoring smile and eyes that shine with something they have grown too fond of seeing. It’s selfish of them to want to keep it for themselves: the way you run to them when you wander a little too far and become lost in the thicket, only to be found again. To become confined to the tether of their vigilant watch. To be assured that they will protect you. The way they cradle you close as night comes and you fall into a peaceful slumber. 

All good things must come to an end, unfortunately. It is the way of things but for you, they will do all they can to keep that end at bay if only to have you smile that bit longer, have you searching the long grass just for a moment more as you tire your curiosity. 

For a little while longer, they will allow you to cling to that falsehood. 

When you finish with your stew, Strife takes the bowl from you but before you can reach for the ball, he suggests, “How would you like to learn some fighting skills?”

It was a topic War had brought to attention one night as you slept. Most of their conversations revolved around those times as of late. And it was one that Strife agreed with, aware that you likely had no means to protect yourself and so, it was a matter of getting you on board with the idea.

Your head tilts sideways with a curious hum, a small brow raised slightly higher than the other but then you nod, the action eagerly enthusiastic. 

“Come on, then.”

You grunt as you try again to lift up one of the daggers Strife had given you, the comparison of its weight far different for him from the way you struggle to hold it for a minute before letting the blade drop down. 

“It is a matter of building your strength, little one,” War assures when he sees a flicker of frustration cross your features, cheeks puffed and brows firmly scrunched together. “It takes time.”

“Let’s try it again,” Strife says and motions for you to continue. With a nod, you take a deep breath in and pull up, arching back a little and squaring your feet out that little bit more to support the weight of the blade with a small groan. 

Strife stands by your side, crouched down low and tense, ready to support you if you lose your balance with the dagger. There were a few close calls and though Strife would glance to War with silent reconsideration, War only nodded with confidence. You needed to learn. 

War offers praise with a tempered lull to his usually baritone voice. “Good, little one. Now, think of me as an enemy about to attack you. I want you to approach me and swing your blade at me.”

Like he’s an enemy? Your eyes grow a little wider, doing your best to hide your worry — your hesitation. You can’t bring yourself to hurt War. “Come, attack and defend yourself!” 

The weight of the dagger almost drags you forward into the dirt as you take your first steps to run at him, face set in your concentration but it falls midway. You drop the dagger and it thumps to the ground with a metallic shlink. Your feet carry you towards War who’s own face portrays his surprise, brows shot high and lips parted in his silent protest. 

Your arms open wide and you envelop his closest leg in a tight hug with a content smile. “Uh— little one,” War swallows. “Why did you not attack me?”

“I don’t think you an enemy.”

You don’t relent, you don’t pull away from War. He’s glued to the spot as his eyes flicker between you and Strife, then back to you. Far too kind-hearted for your own good. That need to protect you consumes him like fire, a power unrivalled to see armies fall to his blade if you were so much as scratched or bruised. Even when War shifts, hand lowering to gently encourage you to let go of him, you only squeeze your arms around his leg tighter. When you finally turn your gaze upward, the stars reflecting in the darkened pools of your pupils draws War to a calmed standstill. 

“I don’t want to hurt my frwiend. You are good.”

Is it enough for a child to redeem him of his sins? Do you actually possess a power so absolute to save a condemned soul like his own? War would like to hope so. He almost finds himself clinging to it. 

Strife whines from behind and he wanders on closer, kneeling down. “Hey, what about me? Do I get a hug too?” His arms already widen to welcome you, his voice light and hopeful. 

“Okay!” your mousey voice coos. You let go of War’s leg and the behemoth takes a small step back, already missing the way you embrace him without fear or shame, no regard for him as a monster. You see him as a friend. 

Strife chuckles when you throw yourself at him, dare he even admit that he feels gravity shift to push him on his back from the force you use to hug him. His arms encircle around you and he picks you up, a hand ruffling through your hair gently. 

“You are a good friend too, little one.” War is sincere in the way his voice nearly wavers, broken in by the kindness of your soul. It saddens him that when their quest is done, so too will come the end of your time together. They will have to take you home. 

The commotion of whickering and whinnies erupts from the camp’s edge. Both riders turn to see Mayhem and Ruin pawing the dirt mercilessly until it becomes loose soil and heads tossing back aggressively in demand of attention.

“The horsies want hugs too!” you gasp, pointing in their direction and the Horsemen oblige. The moment they trot forward with the beckoned permission of their riders, you run up to them and their heads bow down. Horse breath tousles your hair in large sweeps as you curl your arms around their snouts, laughing aloud when they give you kisses and carefully nudge you with their enormous heads. “Rwuin and Mayhyem are my frwiends too.”

“Vulgrim we have your– ugh, I don’t even want to know what this is exactly or what you plan on doing with it.” 

Strife feels a sickly bile churning in his stomach and nearly climbing up his throat. He hands off the so-called ‘artefact’ that Vulgrim held so much interest for. Strife places it right up on the scale of disgusting with the vomit gem Belial traded them for his pathetic life. 

While Vulgrim froths at the lipless skin of his mouth with coveting marvel for his acquired prize, you skip around the upper platform. Samael watches you with a keen observance. With a twist of his features, Samael offers you a smile. “Hello, my child. Are you enjoying my gift?”

you nod with a cute hum, nodding your head and his lips pull further into a fanged grin. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” He chuckles.

War’s eyes narrow pointedly towards Samael with a pressing threat to not intervene with you, his hand itching to unleash Chaoseater from its place on his back. Strife doesn’t make his own glare evident like War does, but the golden flare of his eyes thin like sizzling embers.

“Now, Horsemen I have another— tsk! What is she doing?!” Vulgrim seethes like a feral beast dunked in water, recoiling when you approach him. 

War and Strife don’t stop you. They both watch, smug as ever knowing that Vulgrim wouldn’t harm you in any way unless he wanted to forfeit his life and soul trading career early. 

A giggle bubbles in your throat and echoes through the void like a shuddering chord, the light emanating from you as Vulgrim sees is just as bright as ever. Whatever influences there are at play, it’s making you glow far more vibrantly; just as he had seen the first time he saw you. 

You climb up the skirted fabric of his tunic and fearing the Horsemen’s wrath, his arms ensure that you wouldn’t fall. “What are you— childling, stop this at once,” he sneers, “I said stop it.”

In line with his scowling vision you only grin in return and your arms reach out and hug him. His viper tone ceases with a short, hollow breath. “Why is she…”

“We don’t know,” War answers shortly with a burly shrug. “She’s just…”

“Glowing,” Vulgrim interjects. His scrawny rib cage rattles with a deafening quietness. The cogs in his head are turning and he coaxes you to release him, looking you over with an acute study. “She is glowing, Horsemen.”

“And what does that mean?” 

“The raw energy that surrounds her is the aether flow of her very living essence. When she emits that energy, it not only reflects the powerful aura of her soul… but it’s also imprinting upon us as we speak. On you, Horsemen.”

War and Strife sputter in unison, “Imprinting?” 

“Yes.” Vulgrim nods, nursing you in the crook of his arm. “It first happened when you assumed charge over her, and it continues to do so now. The process is slow but will reach full capacity soon the longer you take to deliver her back.”

Dis’ approach is expected and immediately she holds her arms out for Vulgrim to hand you over. “Oh, stop hogging her, Vulgrim. C’mon here, little honey, come to Mama Dis.” 

Rolling his eyes, Vulgrim lets you slip into Dis’ arms and envelop her in a tight and warm hug that she reciprocates with a haughty chuckle in her throat. 

“Tell us, Vulgrim, what does any of this mean?” War questions sharply, gaze pulled to Samael when he answers. 

“It means that the bond you’ve formed with her will become harder to detach from. Her memory of you both will persist long after.”

To exactly articulate what it was Samael spoke of, Dis motions with a hand. Their departure after they bring you home. 

The inevitable goodbye. 

Vulgrim’s maw pries open to speak, hands curled together in front of him only to be cut off by Dis. “And for her, let’s just say that the imprinting process can only expand so far with a soul so young. She’s only able to imprint on those who are constantly in her spiritual orbit. Meaning—”

Strife sighs, golden gaze falling to his boots, his hands curl tensely against his hips. “That she will become bonded to us. And she’ll… forget her real parents.”

Vulgrim gruffly affirms with a nod. “Correct.”

When Dis finally — albeit reluctantly — gives you back to Strife and War, the three of them exchanging glares with one another, War practically pulls you to his chest and they turn to leave. But they are stopped when a throaty rumble echoes throughout the void, seeming to shake the very stone foundation of the platform. 

They turn back to see Samael with a smirk pulled tightly across his face and with an expectancy of a master to his obedient dogs, he holds his hands out to take you. After all, you were in a very cuddly mood and he thought it best to unload some of that burden from Strife and War. Especially if they didn’t want this imprinting business to go wrong for them… 

You let out a small giggle and your arms move out towards Samael, fingers circling in and from your palms, happy to also give him a hug as well.

“May I?” he asks, though it sounds more of a demand. 

“Hell no.”

“We’re leaving.”

Vulgrim’s insistent sputtering is ignored by the riders in their retreat. They needed time to process all of this. 

Out in the rolling fields adorned by the caressing fade of a pink and purple sunset that dives below the distant hills, you happily play in the grassy meadow. The crystal ball rolls through the dirt before you pick it up and do it all over again. Up on the nearby and slightly risen hilltop, War and Strife stand, vigilant and watchful as you play without a worry in the world. 

You chase after small critters you come across, splash about in a shallow stream puddles and run through the cluster of flowers and tall grass with only laughter to pinpoint your location. 

“So what now?” Strife’s question hangs in the air for a moment, body leaning forward with a foot propped against a large boulder. The passing breeze bellows the curtained limbs of his scarf to flow behind him.

“I do not know, Brother,” answers War with a sigh. “All I do know is that we are running out of time. We need to take her home before it’s too late.”

“For her… or for us?” Strife’s helmed expression, void of anything readable besides his eyes, turns to War. The two look at one another. They don’t need to say it, they each know what the other is thinking. 

They know what must be done. But it doesn’t make it any easier to think that they will soon have to say goodbye. 

“We should speak with Vulgrim. He may have a new lead for us to follow.”

“Right.” Strife sighs. His shoulders fall heavy, burdened by this whirling feeling inside that internally cries. Another loss to mourn for. Another loss he is not ready to grieve for so soon. A fit of laughter flutters over the rolling field, it resounds off into the distance as a sound that they commit to memory. 

“But let’s enjoy this for a little while longer.”

[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.”

[darkdemeter]

Fem Child Reader Fluff! After Mammon’s fight, S/O sneaks to grab the golden toy horse for Strife. She wonders what to do for War and gets a small bag of gems and gold. She tries giving the items to the Horsemen. Strife is ecstatic and War refuses. S/O talks to Vulgrim what to give to War as a gift and he suggests giving the bag to him in exchange for a free upgrade to War’s powers. While sweet S/O is asleep, Strife and War go to upgrade their gear and War’s surprised by the free upgrade.

GUIDE HER WAY HOME SIDE ADVENTURE: GOLDEN TREASURES (platonic) War and Strife x Female Child Reader ・1.7k words ・

You have never seen so much sparkles in your life before. Mammon’s hoard of golds and treasures beyond any imagination encapsulated you with wonder. The coins your small hands would brush against slip and rattle with a gilded crinkle that rattled like those snakes with the shakies on their tail ends. 

A platter was so shiny and clear you could make out your reflection and whilst your noble guardians talk with one another regarding what to do with the hoard, you giggle at the bulbous form in which your reflection took. Your eyes were boggly and your head warped this way and that, poking your tongue out you blow a teasing raspberry. 

“Tch, leave it,” War says as he strolls past you, his steps formed strong and resistant against the treasures that try to draw his attention. He was above it. No price or weight of gold could betray his honour. Your gaze lingers on him for a moment. Strife kneels down not to far from you, his hands grasp at the gold, nursing the shiny baubles in his palms. 

“Samael knows about this place now,” he says, “there’s probably enough here to rebuild his army ten times over. We’re good with that?”

By the way War’s gaze sears a penetrative lock onto Strife and his incessant probing and questioning, he tsks under his breath again and Strife relents. You watch, padding along behind them to hurry after them. War did not want the gold? But… couldn’t they use the glittery coins to buy things from Vulgrim? Strife stands up with an almost airy weightlessness to his motion, yet powerful all the same. 

“Okay, fine. Let’s go. But I’m taking this souvenir.” 

The horse souvenir that Strife had eyed the moment he caught it when Mammon was flinging treasures at them, attempting to buy his life with the trinkets, is proudly displayed in his hand before War’s hand jerks up. He knocks it from Strife’s hand and your eyes grow wide, watching the way it flies into the air only to fall with a harsh clatter into a pile of coins. 

Now that was just mean! You pout and immediately rush towards the horse, your hands fiddling over it in your own study. It looked like a toy. Strife must really like it and so, as their shadows wander through the opened doorway, silhouette in a blackness orbited by an imposing red of the light, you take hold of the golden horse. 

You won’t let the Horsemen leave empty handed. And so you quickly locate a sack and begin to use your arms to sweep as many coins and gems into the bag until it is so full you heaved and grunted as you pushed it up, tying the strings tightly so not a single jewel or gold piece fell out. 

“Little one,” War’s voice booms loudly and you jump, flinching as though you were caught sneaking out of your cot past your bedtime. You spin to face the Horsemen who stare down at you, their forms a powerful presence and tall. “What are you doing? We don’t need the gold.” 

You begin to babble your reasoning as you point at the sack, patting your hand on it. “You don’t?”

War shake’s his head. “Or that.” War’s single, large finger points at the golden horse tucked under your arm only barely. You shift uneasily on your own two feet from trying to support it. “But uh… mmm…” An embarrassed heat floods your cheeks and you use both arms to hold up the toy, a noise hitched in your throat like an eager giggle. Bouncing on the toed boots of your feet, you hold up the toy for Strife. 

“Strwife wants it!”

Strife’s gaze softens visibly through his helm. “Aww!” Strife accepted the horse from you with a bow of his head in thanks much to the disdain of War’s pressing glare. Strife, now hyper fixated on his precious toy, War has to be the voice of reason. 

Your name falls from his lips with a sigh and you fear you’ve upset him terribly this time. War is now at your level, the bulk of his body compressed in around himself. He peeks at you through the shadow of his hood. Your tiny lips form into a pout and your eyes threaten to well with tears. “It is kind of you, but we have no need for this… any of this. It is… materialistic.”

“Huh?” Your head curiously tilts to its side axis. “Mat… matweelistwic?”

War’s ashen brow eases at the adorable tone of your attempt to say that word. Of course you didn’t know how to articulate such a word, nor understand its deeper meaning. He offered you a faint twitch of his mouth, a small and warm smile and he nodded. 

“It is… complicated to explain. But what I mean to say is that…” Hm, how could he put it so simply in the form a child could understand? 

As much as Strife adored to have his precious golden horse toy, his brother needed a little help. Strife kneels before you as well, coming to your level. 

His taloned thumb caressed the apple of your cheek and just below your eye, rubbing away a smudge of grime. “What he’s trying to say is that… have you ever wanted something, maybe a toy just like this one, but your mother and father said you couldn’t have it because you did not need it?”

You slowly nod your head, trying so hard to understand the lesson being taught. “And so, if you were given that toy regardless of not needing it, that is materialism. Needless items in your possession. Toys and objects without meaning… purpose.” 

“I… I think I understwand.” War gives a stern nod of his head with a huff. They got that matter cleared up. His armour shifted and clattered as he stood up, the leathers twisting with coiled winding from the press and release of weight around them. “Now, come along now.” 

“But… can we keep the toy and trweasures? Please?”

War and Strife both continue to stare down at you. You were adamant. War doesn’t answer your question exactly, merely sighing again and turning away to walk out of the hoard room. With a scoff and roll of his eyes, Strife turns to you and with a simple gesture, encourages you to leap into his arm. You clutch hold of him and crawl up, snuggled there and your hands grip hold of his scarf as he then slings your collected treasures. 

“Thank you for the horse toy. I really appreciate it,” Strife says as he walks out with you. That sentiment alone is enough to have you beaming and shyly twisting your head away from him, hiding your face in the bundle of his scarf, causing the rider to chuckle. 

The Horsemen return to Samael to report their work to him and in that window of time, you decide that a certain warrior needs upgrades. “Vulgim? Vulgim,” you call out to him. The familiar jingle of chains rattling together in dark symphonies and the fluttering rustle of fabric. 

The smoke beneath him puffed out with a majestic cloud. 

“Childling,” Vulgrim greets with a coiled, intrigued sneer. His voice tried to match that same pitch as yours and it makes you grin, giggling. “I want to buy something for Wawr but… he don’t want anything. What can I get him?”

Vulgrim had already laid his eyes on the mysterious sack which laid off the side, its shape plumply round and he couldn’t deny the chinking of gold and jewels he heard from it when Strife carried it in. But he feigned to contemplate what you could buy for the red rider, tapping his taloned claws to the horn of his chin for a moment before slyly alluding to, “Well… I could take that gold off your hands and in turn, I could grant War some special upgrades the next time he sees me.” 

“Okey!” You agree suddenly and quickly with a nod. Vulgrim is almost astounded by your eagerness to accept. You must really want War to have some upgrades.

Dis kept you safe and comfortable in a makeshift nest of sorts, a bundle of blankets and fabrics that swaddled you, formed into a cushioned spot for you to sleep. Meanwhile he added the odd mixture into her bubbling cauldron. Your softly laced coos an ambience that both riders are inclined to hear constantly, for losing that sound for even a second will set them off into a panic.

“And here we are, Horsemen. Your upgrades,” Vulgrim says, tossing down the metal, diamond framed plates that harbour the energies that increase their powers, minus all the extra baubles they purchased. 

But as War moved to pay the demon who practically salivated at the deliciousness of souls War was about to offer, hands trembling in his hunger, he instead rattled his hands to shake in refusal. 

“No, no, Horseman. You’re upgrade is free.”

“What?” War almost sputtered and Strife’s head spun on a swivel, ducking back and forth between his brother and Vulgrim. “W-wait, wait— he gets a free upgrade?”

“You have the child to thank for that. A hefty pouch of gold, and exquisite gems that will fetch a fine price to other buyers.”

War and Strife looked to each other before they gaze equally turned to see you, happily asleep and wrapped up in the confines of those blankets, sleeping soundly and safe as Dis took watch over you. Occasionally her hand ghosts over your face, brushing aside some hair that fell into your nose and tickled your nose, causing your face to scrunch and eyes try to peer open, stirring. 

Your heart was… pure in your intention. It was by no design that you coveted treasures and hoards of your own back in your own world. War saw it in your eyes when you nodded slowly when Strife explained that example. 

You knew nothing of greed. It was not materialism in your heart. You only thought about the wants and needs of others. Golden treasures that could easily sway the most noble of minds could not touch you, not affect you.

Your kindness in turn was the only treasure the Horsemen found true worth in.

[darkdemeter]

More HCs for Child Reader Player! During rest/camp events, I could see optional events like Training S/O, Hunting, or simple cute interactions like when War and Strife pet the hellhounds! Strife would absolutely smother S/O with love and helmet planted kisses and War would gently headpat her. S/O would show affection by like hugging their leg or offering random free items she found or even head patting them back! War would just give a smile back and Strife? He. Would. Die. Each. Time! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

CAMP GUIDE HER WAY HOME ─ THE GAME HEADCANONS II

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

NOTES ↳ THIS IS TOO FRIGGIN CUTE😭I was possibly looking at creating a GHWH GAME Masterlist that features all the Headcanon pieces and dialogues that are clickable and take you to that respective branch of conversation and goes into further detail from there

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✘ camp ambience: music track 1 , music track 2

✘ During these sequences, you are free to roam the general campsite perimeter. If you reach this invisible surrounding wall, your character will either say she cannot go any further without War and Strife. Or one of the Horsemen will call you back and your character will automatically turn and begin to head back towards center camp.

✘ There are many interactions you can engage with around camp.

✘ Approach the COOK POT by the fire. "Hmmm..." You stand before the pot and ponder with a thinking, tapping finger. Pick what known recipe is already there in the menu. A following cutscene plays: a montage with you sitting beside [War/Strife] as they make the food. A short fade to black then shows the three of you seated on a log, enjoying your supper together. Another fade to black will exit the cutscene and buff notifications will appear.

In doing this interactive event during camp, some of the passive dialogue below can be encountered:

*loud burp* Ough... 'scuse me.

Brother, you'll teach her bad manners...

What? I said excuse me. (mumbles) Jeez, give a guy a break...

hehe he!

✘ Approach MAYHEM and RUIN will allow you to pet and feed them. "Good horsies." In return, they will gently push your tummy with their snouts and snort at you, gently whining when you wave.

✘ Also approaching the fire, you can REFLECT. This option lets you revisit your favourite cutscenes.

✘ When you approach Strife/War, a quick fade to black will occur and the camera will shift into a back and forth POV. A dialogue hud will present itself for you to select whichever option you'd like to choose. Something like this…

◆ ➤ Can we train? Can we hunt? [Affectionate reach]

✘ TRAIN with Strife/War will take you into a practice area set up in a different locale space through a quick black fade, but you can see the campfire in the distance. There are lanterns lit around to provide a visible perimeter around the practice area. Strife will stand off to the side and wait for you to interact with him.

✘ TALK with Strife/War when you are ready to TRAIN, LEARN or LEAVE TRAINING.

✘ When you LEARN with Strife, he can only teach you rogue-like abilities and lesser powers or spells.

✘ When you LEARN from War, he can teach you warrior-like abilities and skills including some minor defence buffs that can help deflect damage.

✘ There is a training dummy that you can also ATTACK. This can be used to measure and calculate the amount of damage you're doing.

✘ Training with Strife/War will have you perform numerous sets of combos and training exercises. These will start off basic at an early level but the higher and stronger you become, the more difficult these training sequences will level with you.

✘ Finishing a training session with Strife/War will grant you XP and increase your level.

✘ Leaving the training area will take you back to main camp.

Can we train? ◆ ➤ Can we hunt? [Affectionate reach]

✘ HUNT with Strife/War will take you on a small expedition, giving you an objective to hunt. These are randomised depending on the realm’s area and what is available to hunt.

✘ There are plenty of passive dialogue lines you can encounter when hunting with Strife/War.

✘ You will learn how use the sneak mechanic that teaches you about the detection meter.

✘ The more you go out hunting, you can unlock perks that can increase your success of remaining undetected, of encountering more rare creatures and the amount of ingredients you can harvest for food recipe, upgrades and sellable items.

✘ When you have completed hunting your objective, a fade to black will bring you back to camp.

Can we train? Can we hunt? ◆ ➤ [Affectionate reach]

✘ These encounters are a cycle of randomised, affectionate scenes.

✘ With Strife, some of the scenes can be of him picking you up and planting helmet kisses all over your face and you giggle.

✘ Another is that he will hoist you up and toss you up in the air and catch you, chuckling with you squeal and giggle before he puts you down.

✘ A third scene that plays is that he will kneel down and you will rise a hand up to ruffle his hair and pat his head to which he visibly slumps and allows his shoulders to relax, enjoying your gentle affection.

✘ For War, the first out of many cycled scenes that will play out is that you will rush at him and hug his leg. In return his large gauntlet prosthetic will sort of wrap around you fondly.

✘ The second scene that can trigger for War is that he will pick you up, unsure what you intend, only for you to wrap your arms around him and hug him.

✘ A third scene that can play is that he will kneel down when you motion with a hand to him as though to tell him a quiet secret. You then offer an item to him and he gives you a thankful smile and nod.

✘ And finally at the end and when you have finished with camp, you can approach the BEDROLL. A short cutscene will occur where Strife/War will let you to curl up against their chest, bidding you a goodnight.

[darkdemeter]

If Child Reader actually stayed with Vulgrim and wasn’t discovered so soon, I think she would have some uncle/niece relationship with him along with Auntie Dis! Would it be child labor if she helped him with his shop in exchange for food, clothes, and sleep until he finds a way back to Earth? Though, the reactions of the Horsemen when they see S/O just when they want to shop at Vulgrim’s and she’s just like, Hi! 🤗Would be pretty hilarious.

Anon… no joke… but I have that exact dynamic in mind for child reader, Vulgrim and Dis! Legit an uncle/niece/auntie and all it’s beginning glory in Guide Her Way Home part 5!

(Though Dis is set on being called Mama Dis.. SPOILERS!)

Vulgrim would have taken her with him, considering her circumstances. Dis would be over the fucking moon having the lil bub around. ☺️ and yes that would be what she calls you: Lil’ Bub. And as for child labour… not according to Vulgrim and the laws of his domain it’s not. DUN DUN. Now he wouldn’t be like over exerting her or anything, he’d just kinda treat her like that pet he isn’t all lovely dovie fawning over/little assistant. As for Strife and War’s reaction to seeing reader is the VOID of all places…. Yeah, it would be pretty hilarious. 😂

GUIDE HER WAY HOME: A LITTLE HELPER (What If...?)

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE (Platonic!) Vulgrim + Dis x Female Child!Reader, feat. Strife and War

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Yes, when the demon trader found you wandering on your lonesome, it was something of an odd happening. How you managed to slip through a serpent hole is his guess. It was hard enough trying to set those pesky summoning rings with the Earth’s intense ward that protected it from any interfering entities. He’s thought that it would have healed right up like a wound.

However, you managed to prove his theory incorrect. When the Horsemen were nowhere to be found, he decided to return to the confines of the void, beckoning you to follow him.

And that his how you became the estranged yet adopted child of the Soul Eater. More, however, you were something of a niece to him than a daughter… or a pest.

Vulgrim often had you complete simple tasks for him or to follow him around. To observe what he was doing. In exchange for food, new clothes and a safe place to remain until he could somehow get you back home, you were to become his little helper. Many would consider this utterly cruel of the demon trader until they see you, a keen little thing that would skip behind him, humming loudly to yourself. The darkened, silken mists and liquefied atmosphere of the void would ripple from the sound.

Sometimes he would be traversing the platforms, hovering with his usual hunched frame and talon-like hands curled together in deep, pondering thought; meanwhile you would happily be latched hold of the tunic about his waist that almost grazed the floor and be dragged along.

It was a fun little game that proved to be unending amusement for Dis and very little to Vulgrim.

“What have you got there, Lil Bub?” Dis says with a low, interested hum as she narrows her focus on the book you’re carrying. “Vulgim wants this one,” you say, small palm smacking the leather-bound cover.

“Well you bring that right on to him, now.” Her arms reach down to gently coheres you into the direction that Vulgrim would be. “Go on, now.”

You sat atop a small ledge, overseeing Vulgrim’s work at the cauldron. He put many strange and mysterious objects in, some making you curiously dip your nose down to see it closer or made you all icky and squirmy.

The book rested against its leaning podium, opened to the book’s centre to reveal a list of ingredients, scribbled texts and drawn illustrations. There was much you didn’t understand, but Vulgrim would turn to the makeshift shelf you were upon, already training you to commit each jar and threaded bundle to memory.

“The jar of imp teeth, youngling and the stock of dried, blood leaves.” His finger angled sharply to the far end of the shelf, watching closely as you moved about. You would shuffle and move along to the jar and pushed it closer to him.

As your reward for helping him craft a powerful potion, he presented you with a loaf of bread which you happily ate with some water, and a small cloak to replace the ratted scarf you still wore from when he first found you. It was soft, comfortable and warm. He then picks you up to retrieve you from the shelf, hesitatingly and sneering.

“Thank you, Uncle Vulgim!” You grin widely and wrap your arms around him to envelop him in a hug. Your soul radiates with that pulsating shine that he winced from, growling to himself to the raw intensity of it. Half the time he had begun draping a veil of blindfold over his eyes just so he wouldn’t be blinded from it. The random moments where that glowing light penetrated through the void, almost burning it.

“Naw, ain’t that the sweetest thing?” Dis chuckles, having floated over to collect the potion that the horsemen would be coming to collect soon along with their usual supplies.

Vulgrim snarls, sharp and aggressive but you don’t flinch at the noise. Dis has to practically peel you from Vulgrim and he nestled to close to her front, her dark nails tender to poke your nose with an affectionate boop.

“Auntie Dis!” You beam, giggling and your small hands reach out to pat and grab at the beautiful curve of her horns. She chuckles again, her lips parted open to produce the sound louder this time. “Now, how’s about you come and help me? We have a few things to get in order for our most recent and important fellas.”

“Okay!”

Vulgrim watches as Dis takes you with her, his breath stifled in the lithe and rattling channel of his shrivelled ribcage as you wave over Dis’ shoulder at him, still grinning.

“I help you soon Uncle Vulgim!”

Dis had left you — just for a moment. She assured you that she would be quick. Vulgrim had sputtered out a strong usage of demonic cusses that Dis found fitting to cover your ears from despite you not being able to understand. She didn’t want you knowing any of those words anytime soon. Apparently during the creation of another potion, something went amiss and Dis needed to help the demon trader turn around his mistake.

“Now, if our customers get here…”

You point at the bottle. “I give ‘em thwis”

“That’s my girl.” Dis is careful whenever she’d pinch the cute apple of your cheeks and you giggle, waving after her until she’s gone.

Some time passes by until you hear the undeniable beat of feet. That’s how you knew that the customers had arrived.

“Where is Dis?” One of them says, his tone carrying an air of annoyance. Something heavy falls to the ground, the cobbles of the platform absorbing the sound with a greasy, muffled thump.

“I do not know,” the other responds, his voice far deeper than the other. They’ve walked past you at this point, wandering over to the pink steaming cauldron Dis occupies with keen knowledge. You’ve always been fascinated about it and it also smells much better than Vulgrim’s concoctions.

The large ledger that you look over has been standing up, hiding you from view. You let it fall against the counter with a thud.

Eyes moving to the two Horsemen, you greet them with a smile. “Hello.”

Both War and Strife flinch, the gunslinging nephilim’s boots rapping on the stone flooring fast. “Whoa, hey hey— what in the hell?”

“A… human child?” War asks, a white brow raised high to hide further beneath his hood.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you!” War and Strife continue to stare, both canvases of something of blank stun.

“Your potion here.” You take a moment to wander behind the counter and come back, carrying a rather large elixir that threatens to topple you back as you carry it towards them.

Strife steps forward to grasp at the bottle’s neck, stabilising you. With an appreciative nod, you let him take the bottle and you perk up, raising a finger as if to tell him to wait. You rush off towards the ledger, using the levelled forms of books that created a small stairway for you and you look over the page.

“What the actual fuck is going on?” Strife whispers to War who shrugs in response. Indeed it is a bewildering sight to behold. A human child of all possible beings to be what they could only imagine being enslaved.

You hum to yourself, thinking and then you beckon the riders over to which they comply. “What dwoes this say?” You ask and point to the number on the page listed next to the elixir bottle.

Ah but of course…

How easy it would have been to lie to you. To get a cheap discount off of this one. If there was ever a chance like that, Strife was always putting his chips in much to his brother’s precious honour getting bruised.

But he couldn’t lie. He couldn’t take advantage of this situation.

Clearing his throat, he correctly informs you of the amount. “That will be two hundred souls, pwease.”

They pass you an amulet containing the payment and you grab it, thanking them for their business.

“Child, may I ask why you’re here?” It’s War who asks. He just wants to ensure you’ve not been imprisoned…

“I’m here with my Uncle Vulgim and Auntie Dis! I am their lil’ helpwer.”

Strife leans down slightly, the colourful adornment of his scarf catching your notice and then you meet the flickering, golden light of his eyes behind his mask.

“Are you alright? Do you need rescuing? Blink twice if you are under any sort of soul contract, duty binding blood-rituals or sacrificial obligation?”

You giggle with a small wrinkle to your nose. Your voice is mousy still tinged with your amused laughter. “You funny.”

“Did you say Uncle and Aunt?”

You nod to War’s question. “Mhm! I did.”

Strife can’t help but lean in close for War’s hearing. “This is obviously some sort of abduction. I say we kill Vulgrim.”

[darkdemeter]

More Player Child Reader hcs! Let’s talk about Ultimate Weapons! Bc she’s not a Horsemen/Nephilim, S/O probably won’t have Abyssal Armor. She could have a choice between Ultimate Weapon or Defense. My thought is Strife gives her the dagger, the one in his nasty past, to her instead of burying it in Eden, which is powerful bc it’s a Nephilim weapon. But if she declines, due to sensing Strife in pain from seeing the weapon, she could instead obtain a special magic cloak that holds high defense.

NO SHARP WEAPONS UNTIL YOU'RE OLDER GUIDE HER WAY HOME ─ THE GAME HEADCANONS III

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

NOTES ↳ Abyssal onesie….? 😂 would be funny to see little cinnamon roll reader all decked out in armour and running around with a giant weapon

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✘ Just as the title suggests: no sharp weapons for you! Well... maybe you, Strife and War can keep that little secret between you three (if you choose to take the dagger, more on that later)

✘ You don’t have Abyssal Armour per-say, but you do have some articles of clothing that can be attributed to an abyssal set.

✘ Depending on what you favour more, though you can go for a more balanced build, there is a clear divide between weaponry and defense. (It is recommended that you try to build up your defense first since you'll be needing that because of your shallow health pool. Strife and War are your damage guys)

✘ There are a number of ultimate weapons/artefacts you can collect through the game.

✘ One such ultimate weapon is the dagger, Repentance, Strife took from Mammon's horde. Following the side quest-chain, "Bladed Legacies: Ultima" you will talk and interact with Strife who will eventually present you with a choice after Eden's conflict is resolved.

✘ Strife, though still tormented by the memories of his past attached to the dagger, will offer it to you. Repentance holds a base level of 50 attack damage with an additional 5% bleed damage, 3% additional magic damage against demonic classed enemies and 5% stealth attack damage.

✘ Repentance can be used as either a short blade that you wield with both hands or a single dagger that allows you to utilise magic in the other hand.

✘ If you decline the dagger, Strife will let it rest in Eden where it belongs... in his past.

✘ Soon after this and if you didn't choose the dagger, Strife will have a final "Bladed Legacies: Ultima" quest where you both explore a cave and find a special cloak that he gives to you in the stead of the dagger. The cloak, Cloakie, holds a base level of 50 armor defense with an additional 5% stealth, 3% magic resist and 5% defense parry.

✘ Though depending on the player's personal preferences, these two ultimates are indeed very powerful and useful when it comes to later game content or harder difficulty modes.