Writing Idea: The Other Horsemen Learning Death Lost A Fiddling Contest To Some Random Human Kid

Writing Idea: The other Horsemen learning Death lost a fiddling contest to some random human kid

(Anyone who has watched my darksiders streams will instantly get this joke. If not...well hope you enjoy anyway. XD)

There are a good handful of words that Strife would use to describe Death. 'Sarcastic', 'Cold', 'Jackass,' to name a few. 'Hoarder', on the other hand, not in a million years... until now,

"God damn...just how much stuff do you need!? Half of these is just junk."

The gunslinger tossed aside what looked to have been an angelic relic of some sort. But the piece was cracked nearly in two, rendering it useless. Grumbling, he continued to sort through a large, self made, pile of various gear and weaponry, much like his other siblings in several spots of Death's bone built abode. The sound of steel unsteathing from leather, turned his attention up to Fury admiring a katanta shaped sword.

"Not everything here is junk, Strife." Fury spoke with a smile curling on her lips. Her eyes, as bright as the rest of the Four, seem to gleam in the light of the blade in her hands, just as the hand of her eldest brother promptly snatched it from her grasp,

"None of it is junk." Death retorted, "And if you looked as fast as you move your mouth, Strife, we would be well on our way by now."

"It would REALLY help if you remembered where you put the damn thing to begin with!" Strife glared, temper ever so slightly beginning to boil.

"How did this mess even come to be anyhow?" War questioned as he joined the rest of his kin in the 'master bedroom' of the house, "Your home, empty as it is, is at most organized. But last I was here, there wasn't much to begin with."

"Vulgrim." Death explained, sighing in annoyance. "Apparently, after I was...indisposed, he dumped all my gear in my house. While keeping some of it to himself, as I've come to learn."

"Like Harvester..." War sneered, "I still wonder how he got his filthy hands on your scythe . Or what else he might be hiding in his void holes, like your golden fiddle, for instance. I do not see it among this horde."

"Woah woah woah, his what now?" Strife froze as he was setting aside a pair of boots to turn fully towards his little brother, "His...golden fiddle? You're joking, right? Death? With any sort of instrument?"

"I would not lie about this, brother." War told him, "I distinctly remember seeing a golden instrument hanging up on his wall when I was here during the Battle of the Abomination Vault. I meant to ask about it, Death, but I had forgotten about it after the fight. And now, it appears to be missing."

Death said nothing. He appeared frozen in place, bent over a set of gear. He slowly stood up, turning to face his siblings, with the most neutral face he could pull behind his bone mask, "I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about, War."

"I could've sworn..." War mused, beginning to wonder if maybe he had mis-remembered. It had been over several centuries ago.

"Did you so happen to lose it to some kid with musical talents that far surpassed your own?" Everyone glanced towards Fury, who leaned over a rather large set of armor, smirking up at her eldest like a cherisare cat,

"There so happens to be a popular tune the humans like to sing, of a devil who went to some place called Georgia, looking for souls when he came across a young fiddle player. The devil bet his golden fiddle that he could play better and lost." Fury curled her hands under her chin, smiling oh so sweet and innocent like, "Could perhaps that devil be you?"

The silence that filled the room was nearly deafening. War and Strife looked to Death to see what he would say, only to see the Pale Rider slowly cross his arms and turn to look away from his siblings' stares.

"That brat swore he wouldn't tell a soul..."

War and Fury fought to keep rising snickers in check, but Strife did not even try. He roared into infectious laughter that broke the other two. Growling,Death tossed a leather worn boot at Strife’s head. The White Rider promptly ducked and scrambled to flee as Death gave chase.

PSA: bot comments are taking over ao3

The above examples have been provided with the authors' permission to demonstrate what these look like.

Basic rundown:

They are all 3 sentences long

Perfect grammar, capitalization, and punctuation

Like absolutely flawless English teacher-style writing with only a single exclamation mark, ever

No mentions whatsoever of character names, settings, situations, or anything that could be tied to the story

The usernames may be identical to people who exist on ao3, but the name is not clickable, and no profile is associated with it EXCEPT when you directly search for that name. What this means: the comments come from an unregistered (not logged in) reader, bots scrape the site for real usernames, attach that to the comment, and post

Please spread the word about this so authors can filter comments and report them accordingly

There has been some speculation about why this is happening at all, and the best guess is that this is a feature that AI-training story-scraping tools are implementing to try and make their browsing traffic look legitimate

Brème Crulé

We're on a new platform with a totally different audience...we have to prove ourselves all over again...convince a totally new group of people to think we're funny and worth your attention....so allow me to drop some of my "A" material....the funniest thing I got.......here goes....... jeef berky

I need to doodle the siblings together more. (Art W.I.P)

(support the original tiktok: @/gesterrr!)

Here's some notes on some of the upper body muscles so you, artist, don't need to look them up

They are not medically accurate, just enough for artists to know the necessary muscles and how they work together

I 100% recommend doing the last exercise I did to be able to actually place the muscles