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mcytcares · 2 years

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MODERN & HUMAN HEADCANONS ━ FAMILIAL SBI (+ RANBOO) & Y/N

Type - Headcanons

Familial

Foster AU, Human & Modern AU

Note - These involve the DSMP characters only. Also this is written with a gender neutral reader in mind :]

Warnings - Mentions of Smoking (Wilbur)

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GENERAL HCS

• You were fostered by Phil at 13, being the youngest in the family. You were officially adopted a year later, with Tommy being a few months older than you, Wilbur being 16, and Techno being 17.

• Tommy is elated to know that he isn't the youngest anymore.

PHILZA

• Crowfather!!

• Quite literally father of crows, as there's a flock of them that gather on the backyard each day

• Phil explains that he feeds them, and in return they bring back nifty trinkets or dead animals, but that's neither here nor there.

• The best cook there is

• Every meal tastes like it's been sent down from heaven

• He teaches you some of his tricks, and even encourages you to cook on your own

• Admittedly, your first meals aren't great, but with a lot of helpful tips and a bit of constructive criticism, you eventually become a cooking pro!

• Always helps out with homework when you're struggling

• If he can't help, he gets Techno

• He never yells, and rarely raises his voice, but him being angry is still quite scary

• Has that quiet, more-disappointed-than-angry look

• Uses the Stern Voice when you've (or the other siblings) done something really stupid

• If you panic, he feels really bad

• He makes it up to you by taking you get get your comfort food/favorite food the next day

• Bad with technology, mostly smartphones, since he can work a computer pretty well

• "How do you turn it on?"

• "The button right there, Phil."

• "Oh."

WILBUR

• Protective big brother!!!

• Very touchy- totally the type to always have a firm hand on your shoulder or back, and gives lots of hugs when you need them

• Or, if you're not the touchy type, he's just near you- enough to give breathing room, but constantly talking or just doing something.

• He is very much alive and animated, and his ramblings and unrelated digressions include lots of hand movements.

• Dude just talks with his hands- with his whole body.

• If you're musically inclined, you'll spend nights in his room, helping him brainstorm lyrics or chord progressions

• You do duets together, whether it be just instrumental or vocal

• If you're not musically inclined, you'll still hang out in his room. He'll sing to you or just play a couple tunes on his guitar.

• He loves it when you hang out with him, regardless of what you're doing.

• Total theatre kid, and drags you into it.

• Makes you listen to the entire Hamilton soundtrack, and belts out every song in his car.

• He knows the lyrics by heart- unfortunately.

• Quotes Shakespeare at you at random.

• You're eating breakfast one morning, all is normal

• Wilbur comes downstairs, pours himself a bowl of cereal, then stands parallel from you across the counter, and says:

• "We know what we are, but know not what we may be."

• ??? Literally what.

• "Wil, it's too early for this. What even was that?"

• He seems offended. "Shakespeare, of course."

• "... You're such a nerd."

• He squawks and grows flustered. (He'll then protest wholeheartedly and say Well, Techno is the nerd of the house, not me! Jokes on him, all of SBI are nerds.)

• If you're stressed out or panicking, he'll sit by you, giving you the space you need, but ready to help out.

• Though he's not the best at comforting others, and might devolve into panic himself.

• Let's be real, dude probably listens to The Smiths on repeat.

• Very occasionally calls you his Champion

• Smokes a lot, but don't tell Phil

• He probably smells really nice though

• Collects perfumes and candles

• Type of guy to have like 3 different candles lit at the same time- makes for a weird but pleasant smell

TECHNO

• Nerd Supreme, in the flesh

• Dude's huge yet wears lil' grandma glasses with the chain.

• Makes you help him dye his hair monthly.

• Somehow ropes you into learning how to knit, despite Tommy teasing that you were both like grandmas

• Techno says that Tommy just can't see real art

• He's surprisingly good at knitting, and even knits you a sweater!

• Dude gives the best hugs, which are a luxury that is not often offered

• Literal human furnace

• Reads you history books or Sun Tzu

• Regales Greek epics and myths to you

• Randomly gives you pop quizzes on Greek mythos just to keep you on your toes

• You're not forced to answer, of course, but like, brownie points for getting the right answer

• Definitely knows his history, and gives you a nickname after a Greek deity

• Plays Minecraft with you, Tommy, and Ranboo. Beats you every time you PVP

• Scarily good at Mario Kart

• Sometimes you steal his coats, just because they're so large and fluffy

• Man loves his coats

• Also loves to garden!

• Plants gardenias with you, to symbolize that he considers you part of the family :]

• When his hallucinations get bad, or the voices get too loud, he'll let you sit with him and soothe him

• You make him some warm tea and help distract him, making sure not to get too loud or touch him

• Once it passes he just leans on you for a while

• Then afterward you eat ice cream, because he is a secret ice cream fiend.

• Long silences while sitting together that aren't awkward or uncomfortable

• Occasionally, he takes you to the library, so you guys can read together and just hang out some place quiet

• Crafts you a paper crown, identical to his own!

• Totally a big dog person

• Absolutely willing to beat the shit out of someone for you, alongside Wilbur

TOMMY

• You two are either entirely similar, making for a loud and chaotic duo, or opposites.

• Whichever it is, Tommy somehow finds a way into roping you into his mischief

• You dare each other to do stupid stuff all the time

• You nearly broke your leg after sliding down the stairs

• Fell flat on your face during a sled race in the winter

• Totally didn't get sick at the state fair after daring each other to eat as many sweets as possible

• Still, you two have a lot of fun

• He swears up and down that he will one day beat you (and everyone else) in Mario Kart

• Comes in last every time

• Has a lot of nicknames for you

• "Y/N! Big Y/N, Lil' Y/N, my buddy, my sibling, my frieeend!"

• Boasts about being older than you 24/7

• Loves making things

• Arts and crafts are his shit, even if the color palette isn't great on the eye

• Gifts you some of his creations just to see your face light up

• He soaks up all the praise he gets, and bounces back with a fuckton of energy in return

• All nighters spent with Tommy, Ranboo, and Tubbo playing video games or binging shows- mostly video games

• Has two moths, named Clementine and Clara, respectively. He likes letting them fly around his room, and sometimes they'll land on you.

• Or if you don't like moths, he gets two ferrets!

• Absolutely chaotic, and says that he will be a raccoon in his next life, a luxurious fate of digging through trash cans and not giving a shit about arbitrary rules

• So much bickering, most of it lighthearted

• You guys have competitions with each other all. The. Time

• "Bet you can't eat all your cereal in a minute!"

• "You're on, asshole!"

• He wins, and you blame it on his tall, scrawny ass

• "I'm a growing boy, Y/N! Can you blame me?"

• "Oh, so no more Big Man?"

• "That's not what I said-"

+ BONUS RANBOO!

• Ranboo is adopted when you're about 16.

• He's super quiet and awkward at first, like Techno when you came to the house for the first time

• You offer to play Minecraft with him one day, and he accepts wholeheartedly, seeming super excited

• You grow closer from there

• He indulges in his love for baking

• You help him bake all sorts of sweets

• You have fun decorating cakes and cookies, though most of them are jokes

• They're tasty, though!

• He infodumps all about his love for horror and ARGs, and eagerly tells you about the history of VHS and cassette tapes

• He has a walkman of his own, and makes you a mixtape on a cassette

• You treasure it, of course

• He wants to make his own little horror series one day

• He also has a fascination with space, particularly stars and constellations

• Stargazing is a constant activity

• He points out all the different constellations

• He has a star chart pinned up on his wall, alongside posters for old horror movies and indie rock bands

• When his birthday rolls around, you surprise him with a record player he's long sought after, a constellation chart tapestry, and a whole slew of stim toys

• He nearly cries, and gives you a big hug, telling you he loves it.

• You help him dye his hair, since his natural hair color is black- the white half is dyed.

• Also, dude lives off of soda. He hates water, so it's soda or coffee or juice, really any drink other than water

• You try to get him to drink some water but it usually hardly works

• Also!! You help him set up a little aquarium in his room

• A tank where he keeps a pet axolotl

#why is this nearly 2000 words lmaoo #- 📼#mod polybius #headcanon #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #ranboo x reader #familial #familial x reader #dream smp x familial reader #dsmp x familial reader #modern human au #foster au #christmas hcs coming soon!!!

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chatpork · 3 years

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thinking abt my superpowers au again and about the Chosens (Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, Jack, Fundy) meeting the Syndicate (Techno, Ranboo, Phil, Niki) via their mutual member and teaming up to save the world from alien invasion or whatever it’s hilarious to imagine because the Chosens are like a gaggle of powered people from various different factions uniting to be the Avengers of this universe but they’re just so extremely unprofessional about it lmao meanwhile the Syndicate is VERY professional they have proper secret identities and aliases and a top secret headquarters and wear masks so their faces aren’t identified and they have their Eyes (Ranboo) back at hq to hack all the security cameras around them on a mission and contact backup if necessary and all that jazz

so like (snippfic time bois);

Tommy blinked and glanced around the roof the Chosens were assembled on, raccoon ears flicking and pricked for noises. Jack’s hand was to his earpiece, trying to hack into any signals that went their way, Fundy was tapping his foot nervously, and Tubbo was sliding his stingers in and out, waiting.

“Ranboo, are they coming? You said they were very punctual or whatever.”

The tall man tried an apologetic smile and tapped his comms, tugging on the edge of his jacket and running his hand through his black-and-white hair anxiously.

“Uh- h-hey, you guys on your way yet? You said you’d be here by now...” He murmured.

There was a crackle of a response through the communicator and Ranboo stiffened, green eyes going wide. Jack flinched hard, rubbing his temple and cursing something about static screech.

“Well, what is it-?”

Ranboo opened his mouth to reply, but cut himself off, jaw going slack.

Out of nowhere, a man in king’s dress fell from the sky, landing flawlessly with one fist to the ground, cracking the concrete roof, one arm stretched out with a 4 foot longsword shimmering and glinting in the light in his clawed grip.

To the man’s left and right, a woman completely made of fire and a man with massive black wings and a dark, forest green supersuit landed in similar pose.

The first person slowly rose to his full height of 7-foot-4, scarlet cloak billowing around him in the wind, pink hair pulled into a low ponytail. His face was covered in bristly pale pink fur, curved tusks protruding from his mouth. His eyes glowed blood red.

On his left, the woman of fire rose as well, the flames dying down to reveal an ash-white supersuit with vents all over it that randomly spewed fire, a soot-gray cowl around her shoulders. The cowl had a mask pulled up to her mouth, and her eyes and hair were made of pure fire, and her clenched fists flamed.

On his right, the winged man rose too. He was wearing a black tailcoat over a dark green supersuit with a red heart on the chest, and he was barefoot except for bandages around his feet. He too wore a mask that covered his mouth and nose, a green visor covering his eyes and a green-and-white-striped bucket hat was on his head, his golden blonde hair in a bob cut. His hands each held a black katana.

The Chosens’ eyes all went wide and round as moons, and Tommy drew a sharp breath, Tubbo mouthing “oh”.

The pig cleared his throat and stepped forward, golden and bejeweled crown glittering.

“My name is the Blood God. These are my associates,” He gestured to the fire user, “Nemesis, and,” He gestured to the winged man, “The Crowfather.”

Tommy shakily took a breath.

“I- I’m, uh, I’m the Raccoon, and, um, this is the Bumblebee an-”

The Blood God snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes. Everyone knows who you are. Very nice code names, so intimidating. Anyways-”

The pig glanced over to Nemesis and made a circling gesture with his finger, then over to the Crowfather and made a slight chopping movement with his hand.

Both Syndicate members nodded wordlessly.

“-why did you ask for us?”

Tommy swallowed hard and looked over to Ranboo.

“Um- Ranboo said you could help us.”

The vigilante raised an eyebrow and turned to Ranboo. He held out his hand for a handshake, which Ranboo accepted.

“Sic Semper Tyrannis.” He hissed, which the suited man repeated softly.

Tubbo and Tommy shared a look, as did Jack and Fundy, who were watching nervously and silently.

The Blood God turned and looked Tommy up and down.

“Maybe we can. I trust who Ranboo trusts- usually, at least.”

The Crowfather nodded, crossing his arms.

Fundy piped up.

“Uh-um. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to ask this, but, uh, are we on a first-name basis? Or are we just going by superhero names?”

Nemesis chuckled, and Crowfather rolled his eyes under his visor. The Blood God arched an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Aight... Crow, mind making sure no one’s keeping this recorded for me?”

Crow nodded, then tapped a button on his temple and went silent for a moment, before giving his leader a thumbs-up.

The Blood God crossed his arms.

“You can call me Techno. Crow over there is Phil, and Nemesis is Niki. Try to spit one word of that to the press and I’m afraid that this city’s government is gonna get taken down by a certain group of dedicated anarchists.”

Phil and Niki both pulled their masks down, the former turning his visor off and the latter letting her hair turn back to its normal dirty blonde, eyes becoming dark brown.

Techno tapped his crown and winced.

“I’d suit down too, but I just put this gods forsaken thing on, and it’s not gonna come off till we start killing things.”

Ranboo, Niki, and Phil laughed, smiling. Phil patted his friend on the back with a wing.

“Aw, it’s okay mate. we’ll find some Eggheads for you to beat up later- as long as you don’t get yourself beheaded again.”

“ONE. TIME!” Techno grumbled, scowling.

“Two times, and an almost-time.” Phil corrected smugly.

Niki had to cover her mouth with her hand, shaking with giggles.

The Chosens were all very clearly in shock.

~~~

heehee

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imagine-darksiders · 6 years

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 2 - Shock.

Words - 4608

Summary: You learn the identity of the mystery man and react perfectly appropriately, given the situation.

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There's something about ripping apart the fabric of reality and stepping from one world straight into another that the human body doesn't especially agree with. Drastic drop in temperature notwithstanding.

Your brain, organs, even your blood cells know that they aren't supposed to be squeezed through what's essentially a miniature black hole and spat out on top of a mountain, so they protest, as is their right.

Your head spins violently as the man carrying you walks out of a dark, grey cliff-face and lands with a dull crunch onto glistening snow. The lurching of your stomach encourages you to still your frantic thrashing for a moment whilst you wait for your body to settle down and stop trying to turn itself inside out.

“Guh!” you groan miserably, laying pathetically limp over a shoulder that's almost as thick as you are. There's a low, warbling rumble emanating from somewhere far, far away, as though you're submerged in deep water, listening to a train pass overhead on the nearby railway tracks.

With another moan, you blink open your eyes only to immediately slam them shut again at the sudden intrusion of blinding light, the ringing in your ears gradually building to a painful crescendo. It takes a few moments of laying perfectly still before the screeching tone blessedly begins to peter out, allowing other sounds to permeate your eardrums and register in your brain.

The first thing you notice is the howling of wind. It wails like a ghost and whips your hair about sporadically. Gradually, over the din, you become aware of someone speaking, a deep, monstrous growl that punches you in the chest when you recognise it, and suddenly, the events of the last several hours come rushing back, bringing with them the ability to move and speak.

The man holding you has been talking to you, trying to ask if you're still alive and grumbling to himself at your lack of response when, all of a sudden, you flail into action, screaming incoherently and kicking out with your legs.

“Ah, good. You didn't die of fright,” he chuckles, then winces as you yelp shrilly right next to his ear. “...Well....Not yet, at least.”

Still putting up a fight, panic pushing bile up your throat, you bend your arm back and push frantically against his head, fingers twisting into thick, greasy hair. “LET. ME. GO!” you try to bellow fiercely. The fact that your voice comes out as more of a squeak shatters the pitiful illusion you're trying to create, of being far braver than you actually are.

Grunting when you tug sharply on his locks, the man warns, “If you don't stop squirming, I'm going to drop you.”

But your heart is too busy hammering its way out of your chest for you to pay attention, so you continue to thrash around in his unshakable grip, the only direction springing to mind being, ‘get away,' as though you're sensing, deep in your soul, that this impregnable man is....wrong. On a natural and metaphysical level.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he rolls his eyes up to the clear sky. “Suit yourself.” And with that, he releases your thighs and drops his shoulder, sending you toppling several feet into a pile of powdery snow.

“Oof!”

“I did warn you.”

Quick as a flash, you flip yourself onto your back and kick frantically at the snow, scrabbling away from him in a mad dash. Your eyes are still squinted painfully against the sudden intrusion of light, but the fear of not being able to see the stranger has you fighting to open them. One of your hands flies up to shield you from the brightness. Under that small blip of shadow, you blink rapidly and try to focus on the blurry shape in front of you. Slowly, the man comes into focus, and when he does, you don't scream, you don't even utter a peep. You can't. Terror has coated your tongue with lead.

The stranger is looming over you, his eyes of smouldering embers staring down, half bored, half amused. He's like nothing you've ever seen. In the dark alley, his skin had looked pale but out here....

You'd seen a corpse, once. A young man you worked with, who had no immediate family, so the police called you in to identify the body. They hadn't even put him on ice yet, but he was disturbingly cold to the touch, regardless. His skin, a waxy grey with just the barest tint of purple, was stretched taut over his bones and clung in an ugly manner to every muscle and joint.

You're reminded instantly of that man when you look at the one standing over you. His own skin is that same, pale grey – a stark contrast to his eyes which burn so brightly, they could even be made of fire - and you can see every single bulging muscle, every bone and tendon and every sinew as it hugs the broad expanse of his exposed chest and arms. On his face, he wears a white, mouthless death-mask which, in spite of his intimidating height, is really his most menacing feature.

When he speaks, his voice rolls over you like brontide, different from when he spoke in the alley. Back then, it was sharp and strained because he had to raise it to be heard above a dying city. Now though...

“It’s alri-”

He only manages to get out half a sentence as he approaches before you release a terror-stricken scream and hurl a fistful of snow at him. It thwacks against his chest with a wet squelch and then slides down to his belly, dripping into the lining of the thick, leather belt that hangs around his scrawny waist.

Your eyes follow the trail, teeth chattering violently despite how hard you’ve clenched your jaw shut.

“...Charming,” he grumbles, though he doesn’t take another step towards you.

In a snap, your tongue comes unglued to the roof of your mouth and you splutter, “Wha! Where- What is this!? Where am I? Who...who are you? Let me go, I-I won’t tell anyone!” Too many thoughts run through your head and tumble out of your mouth in a desperate rush.

You barely even know what you’ve asked until he blinks slowly at you and replies, “This is the Crowfather’s realm and that should also answer your second question. Now, as for who I am...” He pauses to extend a hand, meaning for you to grab it so he can pull you up, but instead, you jolt and flail about in the snow for a moment, hurriedly pushing yourself back a few more feet.

Huffing, the man curls his fingers into a fist and it drops to his side again. With a roll of his eyes, he clears his throat and says, as casually as though he’s remarking on the weather, “I am Death.”

You blink at him for several, long, cold moments before raising your shivering fingers to your head and taking fistfuls of your hair between them. “No, no, no, no- haha!- No that’s not - Maybe I’m...Am I?”

Death quirks his head, narrows an eye and regards you curiously, It becomes relatively clear that you’ve lapsed into shock. Now you’re talking to yourself. Wonderful.

Suddenly, you exclaim sharply and snap your head up, the faintest glimmer of hope igniting in your chest and warming you in the frigid cold of the mountain snow. “Wait!” you laugh breathlessly, “Wait I know what this is! Oh my God. Oooh! Oh thank god!” Elated, you flop back into the snow and place a hand on your chest which heaves up and down, relieved.

“What’s wrong with you?” Death asks warily.

In response, you throw him a weak smile and gasp, “It’s just a dream!”

His expression immediately falls flat.

With a deep sigh, Death pinches his nose-ridge and shakes his head disdainfully when he’s abruptly interrupted by something large and feathery landing on his shoulder and digging it’s talons into his pale flesh for balance. “And where’ve you been?” he asks the crow, throwing the enormous, black bird a disapproving look. By way of a reply, ‘Dust’ simply caws evasively and tilts his head, staring down at you with a dark, beady eye.

Paying no attention to the newcomer nor the man, you sit up quickly and rub at your eyes, still shivering fit to burst. “Alright, I’m dreaming,” you clarify, raising your hand and holding it parallel to your face, “None of this can be real. So, I just need to wake myself up. No big deal!”

Unsure exactly of what’s happening, Death glances at the crow and then at you before he ambles towards you hesitantly.

He jerks back not a moment later because there’s a sudden, resounding smack that makes even the reaper wince. With your eyes closed tight and brimming with fresh tears, you give yourself one more, hard slap for good measure and look up. Immediately, your face falls from hopeful anticipation to confused apprehension upon seeing him instead of the walls of your bedroom, as you’d expected.

“Wha-?” You pause, eyes flicking over his mask before you scrunch your face up and squeeze your eyes shut again. “Come on!” you plead shakily, “Wake. UP!” Repeating yourself over and over, you punctuate each word with a fresh smack.

Death and Dust exchange another look, the former apparently reading something in the crow’s expression because he says, “I don’t know. This is the strangest thing... Yes, humans have been known to faint when they see me.” Here, they both peer down at you again, Death crouching to study you closer. “But I’ve never seen one try to make themselves pass out.”

Rumpling his feathers, Dust squawks and flits from his master’s shoulder onto the snowy ground. He hops over to you until he’s right beside your left knee and chatters to get your attention.

“Huh?” you gasp, pulling your hand away from your reddening face and blinking down into the jet black eyes of the biggest crow you’ve ever seen. “W-woah...Is that a crow? I heard, dreaming about crows is a - OW!” You snatch away the hand that had just been resting innocently in the snow and clutch it to your chest protectively. “Hey!”

Dust, having decided to take the initiative, had seen fit to turn his sharp beak towards your forefinger and - completely unprovoked - given your soft flesh a razor-sharp peck.

Stunned, you give the crow a dirty look, crying out indignantly, “That really-” You hesitate, glancing down at your wounded finger. Hot, red blood oozes steadily down the length of it and drips into the snow at your feet. “-really...hurt?” Even though the temperature has to be well below zero, you can still feel the chill that dances up your spine. A heavy weight drops into your chest and all the sound from the outside seems so quiet next to the blood rushing in your ears. Falteringly, you drag your head up to fix a pair of petrified eyes upon the man crouched in front of you.

He seems to be preoccupied with scowling at the crow. “Haven't you even the common courtesy of waiting until its dead before you start eating something?” Dust merely resumes pecking at the fresh spots of blood that stain the snow.

“No...” you breathe, drawing the attention of the pale, masked man again. His glare, though steady, carries the promise of a snapped temper that lays just a hairsbreadth under the surface. “No. Why didn’t that wake me up? You - you can’t be real! You are not real!”

Sneering beneath the mask, Death braces his hands against his knees and pushes himself to stand, all the while keeping your wild eyes locked with his. “You’d best hope,” he rumbles, “that I am real. Because as of now, I am the only thing standing between you and certain-.... Where do you think you’re going?”

Incredulous, Death’s jaw drops and he stares after you as you get to your feet, whirl around and begin to meander away from him on wobbly legs. “No! No, no, no. This is too much, this is too. Much!” The cold is finally starting to get to you, slowing your movements and tiring you out faster than normal. Snow, ankle deep, impedes your progress but still you march numbly away from the man calling himself ‘Death.’ There isn’t a bone in your body that is ready to accept that what’s happening to you is real.

Watching you stumble and trip your way down the mountain, Death’s mouth remains agape, at least until his brows snap together and he hardens his expression into something suitably steely. “Fine,” he shrugs, nonchalant, “I tried. If she dies, that’s her fault.” And with that, he turns on his heel, fully intending to pursue the actual reason he came to this realm; To find the Crowfather.

He makes it all of a few strides before Dust, who has since reclaimed the perch on Death’s pale shoulder, hisses at him vehemently. To his credit, Death ignores the crow for another several seconds. Then, his footsteps drag to a reluctant halt. “Don’t look back,” he murmurs, voice commanding. Though it’s unclear whether he’s talking to himself or the bird.

A few more strides forwards, and then..

“Damnit.”

---

You’ve made embarrassingly little progress down the snow covered mountain. Cold, lost and still half-convinced that this is all a mere figment of your imagination, you don’t even notice that you’ve stopped.

Your mind is blank, a desolate wasteland, void of intelligible thought. You feel like you’re caught fluctuating between shock and denial, which hardly seems fair. You’re supposed to be able to move past the shock, after which comes the denial. Not one, then the other and then back again. The pamphlets made it sound so clear-cut.

The icy wind slices painfully at your skin and whips strands of hair into your face, it’s biting presence sad proof that everything happening to you is happen for real. In an uncomfortable sense, the freshness of it on your skin helps you come around and think clearly again. “I’ve got to get out of here...” you whisper, watching your breath come out in a puff of white fog.

At that moment, something grabs a hold of your jumper’s thick scruff and lifts you clear off your feet. “Gack!” you exclaim, choking as you’re spun about in an iron grip to face the thing that has a hold on you.

For a second, you’re convinced that Death has caught up to you and is staring furiously into your eyes, looking for all the world like he wants nothing more than to swallow you whole. But through the panic, you manage to discern that the narrowed eyes looming just inches from your face do not, in fact, look familiar. These ones are a frosty blue and they burn with considerably less intensity. And this bleached-white skull actually has a mouth. A mouth that stretches open wide in a hideous, guttural roar, flecks of saliva spraying over your exposed face and drenching you in the stinking liquid.

Suddenly, it all begins to feel a tad too real.

Reverting to the natural reaction one has when finding oneself in immediate danger, you open your own mouth and shout to the heavens as loud as you can, briefly startling the massive skeletal creature, “HELP!”

The skeleton’s teeth clack together close to your nose and it throws its head back, shrieking out a grating laugh that sounds more as if it’s trying to gargle a couple of nails.

With a low growl, it drops it head again and exhales sharply through it’s nose, twin streams of cold air rushing out and hitting your face. Movement to your right catches your attention and you flick your gaze down to it, horrified to find that the skeleton’s right hand is balled into a fist and is raising up over it’s head.

Kicking out with your legs, you try to land a blow on its bony thigh. But its arms are too long and it holds you just out of reach. Suddenly, an idea springs to mind, one so simple, you kick yourself for not having thought of it sooner. Without hesitating a second further, you yank your arms through the holes in your jumper and duck your head, slipping free and falling to the ground. The skeleton grunts in surprise and throws the article aside to roar down at you as you struggle to your feet.

You shriek, throwing your arms up when it lunges, however, before it can get it’s sharp claws on you, a familiar, curved blade suddenly bursts out of its flesh, impaling the ice skeleton right below its sternum. It gives off one, wet grunt and then falls limp, dead....Deader

Your eyes are fixed on a pair of brown, leather boots, one of which lifts to kick the fallen creature out of the way. Tentatively, you trail your gaze up and up until you’re once again staring into the face of Death. Throwing his scythe back onto his belt, he glowers at you disdainfully and raises a finger to say something, although he soon catches sight of your jumper, laying on the snowy ground. Scowl deepening, Death stalks over to it and plucks it up. He returns to you and, without waiting for you to take it, balls it up and throws it down to you. “Here,” he grumbles, “every layer counts in this realm. Especially to a human.”

Unable to stand the abominable cold any longer, you give Death a wary once-over - unaware that he’s doing the same to you -before stuffing your hands back into the arm holes and pulling the jumper over your head, sighing at the brief respite it grants you from the air.

Momentarily forgetting yourself, you pop your head out of the top and quietly whisper a quivering, “Thank you.”

Death blinks, eyes going round in surprise. “You are...” he clears his throat awkwardly, “welcome.”

Patiently, he waits for you to finish adjusting your clothes. “So. Still convinced this a dream?” he asks, pulling something else from a pouch on his belt.

Now, excruciatingly cold and far too tired both physically and emotionally, you inhale deeply through your nose and exhale. You repeat the motion a few times, just to calm down. It helps, but only fractionally, enough to raise your head and stammer between violent shivers, “Mo-more like a n-nightm-mare.”

‘Progress, at last,’ he thinks.

This time, when Death reaches for you, you only flinch away. You don’t go into a full-blown panic like last time. “Relax,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes, “I’m only trying to give you this.”

Slowly, he opens his large hand and uncurls his fingers, revealing a familiar object you’d completely forgotten about until now. It sits easily in the palm of his hand, looking so tiny and ineffective.

“My..my gun!” you gasp, tentatively reaching for it. Hesitating before you grab it, you squint up at him, your brow slowly furrowing. You jump when he suddenly shakes it at you and barks, “Well? Take it. I don’t have all day.”

‘Not strictly true,’ he muses, but doesn’t think it relevant.

Nodding quickly, you snatch the gun out of his hand and clutch it in both hands, a wave of relief cascading over you when you feel it’s weight. Already, you feel safer. At last, curiosity begins to dribble into your mind so you look up dazedly and tilt your head to the side, regarding Death for a moment. “But. Why?” you ask.

He busies himself by fiddling with the bandages around his wrists, replying, “You dropped it, after you shot that phantom general. I thought you might want it, so I grabbed it when I grabbed you.”

You can’t help yourself. You have to ask, “But...a-aren’t you afrai-”

“Afraid that you’ll use it to shoot me?” he interrupts. With a snort, Death crosses his arms across his chest and peers at you down his nose ridge. “You can go ahead and shoot me, if you like. I guarantee you won’t like the results. You could press that thing against my skull and empty the chamber and it wouldn’t really hurt me. I cannot be harmed by one of your flimsy, mortal weapons.” His voice turns smug and you can practically see the smirk beneath his mask. “One of the perks of being Death, little human. You’ll find I’m very hard to kill.”

Interestingly enough, the pistol isn’t anywhere near as reassuring now. Swallowing thickly, you curl your legs away from him and tense your shoulders. Taking notice of this, he considers you for a while and hums pensively. Then, his demeanour changes. In the blink of an eye, he unfolds his arms and any trace of superiority disappears from his eyes. “If I wanted to kill you,” he explains more softly, “I would have left you to die when those demons attacked.”

“De-demons!” you squeak, pressing a hand to your chest. “Those things were..demons!?”

One of his eyes narrows. “You..have no idea what’s happening, do you?” he says slowly. When you shake your head, Death blows out his cheeks and rests a hand on his hip. “Well, I can shed some light on the subject, but not here. If I try to explain everything here, you’ll just freeze where you sit, and then where will we be? Now, come along.”

Bending down, he doesn’t give you the chance to escape before he curls his fingers into the shoulder of your jumper and hauls you up and onto your feet. You’re about to start fighting him off, but he lets go and watches you with an unreadable expression. “I-I don’t want to go with you!”

His only response is a languid blink.

“I...I want to go home.”

Overhead, the wind howls and huge chunks of nearby mountain peaks break off, tumbling down into the abyss below the clouds. All the while, you and Death are locked in a terse staring match, one that you both know he will win. To your surprise, Death breaks eye-contact first. With a shrug, he makes a show of inspecting the dirt beneath his nails. “Suit yourself,” he hums, “No skin off my back. After all, now that you’ve got your gun, nothing in this realm stands a chance.” He turns on his heel and begins trudging back the way he came, calling over his shoulder, “Good luck. I imagine you’ll need a lot.” With that, he gradually begins to be obscured by the falling flakes of snow.

“Hey, wait!” you shout, glancing around nervously, on the very cusp of panicking again, “At least...tell me which way home is!”

Thankfully, Death draws to a halt a fair distance from you, looking back. “I told you, you’ll find no way back to Earth from this realm, and even if you could, your home is gone. There’s nothing left to go back to!”

Unable to form a response, you gulp in air, feeling a heavy weight settle back over your heart. The sensation doubles when he begins to stroll further away again and you realise, with a hot thud of dismay, that the safest place you could be right now, is more than likely at his side.

Stranded on a strange mountain, alone, cold, afraid and exhausted, you drop your head onto your chest, clamp your eyes shut and stuff your bottom lip into your teeth in an attempt to kickstart a bout of courage.

Indecisively, you turn your head to peer down the mountain, away from Death. You could try to make it alone, but then again, you hadn’t made it a hundred yards before that skeleton monster appeared. You’d only survived because the strange, terrifying man calling himself ‘Death’ had saved you. Without answers, armed only with a small pistol carrying four bullets, you reluctantly drag your head back in the direction he’d disappeared, now completely invisible in the flurry of snowflakes.

You put the gun into your waistband again before jamming your fingers under your armpits and draw in a long breath. “Hey, wait!” you yell, hurrying after what’s possibly the most dangerous person you’ve ever met in your life.

Death tries not to let his smugness show in his eyes when he hears the rapid crunching of snow underfoot approaching from behind. out of the corner of his eye, he sees you sidle up beside him, maintaining a wide distance between you both but keeping pace, all the same. Softly, you ask, “Can I come with you?”

“What changed your mind?”

Giving a little shrug, you rub at your arms and shiver as a gust of wind picks up. “M scared.”

“Good,” he replies immediately, “A little fear can be a very sensible thing, but it can also be quite counter-productive.”

“What happened?”

Death shoots you a sideways glance, noticing that you’re keeping your eyes on the toes of your shoes, walking stiffly. He can smell your fear of him rolling off you in waves. Despite the broad question, he knows what you’re asking. “You’ve heard of the apocalypse?” he asks.

You nod, swallowing down a sob. Yes, you’ve heard of it, you just don’t want to believe it.

“Well, that’s what happened to your Earth,” he continues, pretending that he didn’t notice you smack a hand over your mouth to hide a wail of despair. “But it was never supposed to.”

That got your attention. “What?”

Death grumbles. “Someone triggered the apocalypse prematurely and framed my brother, War, for the crime. I intend to find out who did that, and why. Then, I’m going to kill them.” Lowering his voice, he sighs. “But first, I intend to prove my brother’s innocence-” He peers down at you, gauging your reaction when he adds, “-by resurrecting humanity.”

To his surprise, rather than surprised or elated, as he’d expected, you merely furrow your brow, clinging to the sleeves of your jumper. “So....they’re really gone...”

He doesn’t say anything, and you find your answer in that.

The two of you walk on through the snow in silence for a while before his ears perk up at you mumbling, “So...how’re you gonna get them back?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “That’s what I’m here to find out. I need to consult the Crowfather. If anyone can point me in the right direction, it’s that old twit.”

The reaper raises an eyebrow at an explosive sneeze that abruptly bursts out of you. Wiping your nose, you cast your gaze up to the sky, spotting a pitch black shape of Death’s crow soaring hundreds of feet over your heads. “The who?”

Grimacing, Death picks up his pace, which prompts you to trot after him in an effort to keep pace, apparently not picking up on his ploy to warm you up. “Stick close,” he orders, “And you’ll soon find out. I warn you though, he doesn’t take kindly to visitors, even those he’s expecting.”

“....Death, was it?” you ask out of the blue, at last raising your glistening eyes to his face, “Did....did you say your brother’s name is....War?”

“I did,” he bobs his head, eyeing the looming cliff face up ahead that blocks your path.

“That wouldn’t....make you the...the um...the...”

“The horsemen of the apocalypse?” he finishes for you impatiently, “Yes. It would.”

“Oh,” you rasp, pursing your lips and nodding, “Shit.”

-----------------------------

Chapter One: Revelations.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #what's a first draft?#what's proofreading!?#death #reader

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imagine-darksiders · 7 years

Note

Hi! First of all, thank you for creating all these awesome stories! I was completely elated when I stumbled across your page. The horsemen deserve lots of love and what better way to do that through fluffs and cutsey moments! I was wondering if you could write a scenario where Death and his S/O meet for the first time after thinking he was gone for good in the Well of Souls please? :-)

‘Saudade (n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that has been distant, or that has been loved and then lost…’

—

“This is just daft,” Death grumbles to himself, marching through a half-formed settlement. He passes tents filled with humans; confused, but very much alive. Each one spares him a wary glance, ushering children into cover or retreating into it themselves. Several humans who’d been in law enforcement before the apocalypse and were dispatched to the camp let their hands fall to their firearms as he passed by.

Death ignored them all.

It was roughly 2 months after the horseman fell into the Well of Souls. 2 months since the human race had been restored to life. Already the little species had pulled themselves back together, setting up these encampments until further accommodation would doubtless be sorted, finding food, water… finding each other.

But Death hadn’t found who he was looking for.

To begin with, he’d been completely flummoxed as to why he was seeking the human at all. Surely he had better things to do. It soon became apparent, however, that although he may well have had more pressing matters to attend to, he didn’t have anything he would rather be doing.

It had taken only a few days to return to the Crowfather and inquire where the Old one had sent you, and to reacquire his mask, of course. But the horseman hadn’t considered that you might have moved since then.

Indeed you had, to his irritation. When you returned to Earth, you’d thrown yourself into the relief effort. You helped several angels settle your fellow humans, you’d aided them in hunting down stray demons, anything to keep your mind busy. Anything to keep you from thinking about him.

It damn near killed you when he sacrificed himself for your people. You were utterly spent from the pain of losing your family, your world, your life. When you lost your friend as well, it was too much. The Crowfather had to carry you out of the Tree. All you could do was scream.

—

Dust dives down from the dark, grey sky to hover over the horseman’s head. The crow releases a frantic caw before darting over the heads of a group of humans, perching on the pole of a tent with a red cross. If Death had a heart at all, it would have almost soared. He squashed down the feeling of relief, grinding it into ashes in the pit of his stomach as he brushes through the crowd of people, who scatter regardless away from the creature the kind angel, Azrael, had told them about.

Pace quickening only fractionally, Death strides towards the tent with the cross, reaches out a hand to the lift the flap…..

…..and is beaten to it.

Out steps a shoddy, exhausted, miserable-looking human.

Death’s hand freezes in front of a shocked face, one that looks as though it’s seen a ghost.

—

You gape up at the pale white mask you honestly thought you’d never see again. Your mouth opens and closes dumbly as you try to make sense of what exactly you’re seeing.

“Death?” you breathe.

“Y/n,” he replies, voice as steady as ever.

Behind his mask, Death’s mouth is drawn into a wide grin, thankful for the obstruction. He drops his hand to his side and rests it instead on his hip. The old horseman ducks his head and moves to speak.

He’s interrupted by a human-sized bullet launching itself full pelt into his chest. Death grunts as he’s forced to step backwards from the force of you barreling into him. You throw your arms around the startled horseman’s waist and press your cheek hard into the bottom of his sternum. Death’s eyes widen in shock, his hands hover slightly above your back and he looks down at you, surprised. The horseman blinks once, then twice.

A few of the surrounding humans watched the spectacle with intrigue and a little distaste.

You’re sure you’ll hear all about this tomorrow: ‘The human who embraced death’.

A weak smile pulls at your lips and your hands scrabble desperately for purchase on Death’s taut skin. Tears stream down your face and soak into the purple cowl that hangs from his neck. A choked sob erupts from your throat and the old horseman can only hesitate a moment longer before letting one hand fall onto your back and the other came to rest on the top of your head as you nuzzle him, sighing contentedly.

“I thought you were dead,” you whisper.

Death scoffs a little at that, but it quickly turns into a grim chuckle. “Technically, I am.”

“Not funny,” you grumble, muffled slightly thanks to still being squashed against his cold skin. Still, you can’t help your breathless laugh whilst you pull away from Death slightly, taking notice of how he braces his hands against your back, preventing you from retreat. With a jolt, he remembers himself and allows you to lean backwards until you meet his searing gaze.

Fixing the mighty horseman with a piercing glare of your own, you sniff and swipe at your watery eyes then jab a finger into his chest scoldingly. “Don’t you ever,” you sob, “ever do that to me again.” The horseman tilts his head a touch, baffled at how much his absence seems to have affected you. He remains silent and waits for you to finish. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you this past month?” Now Death is rendered completely bewildered.

“You missed me?” he laughs skeptically.

“Of course I did!” Huffing, you push yourself out of Death’s loose hold and fold your arms tightly over your chest, levelling a glare up at the horseman. “What did you think I was going to do? Forget about everything we went through together and just carry on? You were - are, my friend, Death. How could you think I wouldn’t miss you when you were gone?”

The horseman is deathly quiet, staring down at you with squinted eyes. He takes in a deep breath as though to speak, coughs, swallows and then tries again. “What a foreign thing for these old ears to be privy to…” he breathes, incredulous. You blink up at him, raising an eyebrow at the sudden gentleness in his usually cold tone. Chewing the inside of your lip, you heave a deep sigh and shake your head in amusement.

“You, know...I should be the one who’s surprised, really,” you admit.”

“Oh?”

Nodding, “Yeah. I mean, you honestly thought I wouldn’t care this much that you were gone, but you’re the one who came to find me. So how’s that work?” you ask with a teasing lilt to your voice. You’d caught him out.

The horseman casts his eyes to the side in thought before flicking them back to you. “Call it common courtesy?” he tries with a shrug.

“Common courtesy?” you echo, feeling your smile fall from your lips.

Death steels himself against the wounded look in your eyes. “I don’t like leaving loose ends untied,” he dismisses quickly. “I wanted to know if all my effort at keeping you alive had paid off, in the end.”

“Oh…” You try to keep the hurt from your voice. “Well then,” you force a smile, looking up from your feet, “Thanks for tying up this one. I’m glad you came to see me.” Your voice cracks on the last word so you cough and avoid Death’s gaze.

For his part, the horseman remains as steadfast as he can, refusing to give in to the nagging feeling of guilt that squirms deep in his gut. He loses the battle, however the longer he looks at your glum, tired face. Downcast and suddenly so timid. Roving his eyes up to the sky, Death silently curses himself for letting himself get so attached. At what point did he get so warm-hearted?

You continue to stare sullenly at a point just to the right of Death’s knee.

“I had to find you.”

You blink. He said it so quietly, you scarce were sure you’d heard him at all. Slowly, you lift your head up to meet his shining glower. Vaguely beneath the holes in his mask, you can barely make out that his brow is knitted together in a morose frown.

“What did you say?” you ask in growing amazement.

He draws himself up, but his gaze never leaves yours, unblinking.

“I had to find you,” he repeats, “I needed to - I wanted to know….that you were alive,” the horseman seems to struggle with the emotional openness.

“…Because you’d tried so hard to keep me alive?” you ask, raising a brow.

He’s quiet, his eyelid fall shut and he breathes out a defeated sigh. “….No….” Death murmurs. You feel your heart quicken as he opens his eyes and regards you fondly. He pauses in thought until he whispers to himself, “Saudade…”

“What?” you question, wiping at your eyes. Death smiles down at you and though you can’t see it, you can still feel it.

“Something I heard one of your species mention a long time ago, he told me what it meant in his language and it always stayed with me. Fitting then, that I should remember it now.” He places a large hand on your head and uses a thumb to brush a hair behind your ear. “At the time, I thought him a sentimental fool, that human. But now, I feel it. When I returned, my first thoughts were of you, and what had happened to you. I felt your absence and it nearly drove me mad that I couldn’t find you when I came to the place the Crowfather had sent you. I had to be near you again, I felt saudade,” he finishes. Tears fall afresh down your cheeks as you beam through them up at the horseman, who looks both aghast at his own confession, but also too tired to have held it in any longer.

Without another word, you throw yourself at him again, only this time, Death’s arms close around you the moment yours snake around his waist and you pull yourself tightly against him. He hums contentedly at the feeling of having you pressed into him, alive and well. Ignoring the stares and whispers of the surrounding humans, Death curls himself over you, his forearms cover your back and both of his hands clutch the back of your head.

Grinning like a love-sick fool for having your best friend back, you burrow into his stomach and breathe in the scent that reminds you so much of fallen, autumn leaves. Above you, Death lets his eyes slip closed, something Oran had said finding its way to the forefront of his mind in this brief moment of sentimentality. Death can’t find it in himself to deny the old construct’s astute observation.

‘Death-you are not so cold as you would have us all believe!…’

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #imagine darksiders #death #reader #friendship is the best ship #hope you like #<3

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