#she tops more like that hence her excitedly whipping her dick out

[coyotepussy]

throws this on here bc im in love w this ig

a reminder to bimbofy ur ocs and occasionally give them cocks if they normally don’t

[imagine-darksiders]

Strife trying to find his s/o a birthday present? Oh and could you do Fury with the same request too? Pretty please? With cherries on top?

I totally didn’t use your ask to practice scene building :) x

Strife: 

To say that Strife was at all unthoughtful, callous, rude and feckless is…..Well actually, now that you think about it, that would be quite an accurate definition of the sharp-shooting, silver-tongued horseman. 

But today, he’s reminded you of a side rarely seen. Not even Death, the eldest of their clutch could recall his middle brother ever having been so considerate. But something about you had caught Strife off guard. (You still couldn’t say, with any confidence what it is he likes about you so much) Hence why he found himself in a strange, faraway new world. A land of giant trees. ‘Ha, more like tree,’ the horseman grumbles to himself as he rides across a sparse landscape, completely devoid of life save for one, single tree. The poor, lonely thing stretches high, impossibly high into the dark sky. Strife would wager the top branches would easily brush the outer edges of Earth’s atmosphere, had it grown on the little, blue planet. It’s roots extend for miles, twisting and curling in every direction and tower hundreds of feet over the horseman’s head. Strife urges his mount on, further towards the centre of the tree, where he could just make out the mouth of a wooden cave, of sorts, set deep into its trunk. 

Strife had exhausted every option he had, at least in his eyes, of finding you the perfect present. He’d talked to Vulgrim, who sent him to Ostegoth, who’d lent the horseman an old scroll pertaining to this uncharted land which was rumoured to hold a most valuable treasure at its heart. 

Ahead of him, he could see that treasure. 

The horseman grunts as he shoves himself through the small opening in the tree’s trunk and gets a good look at your potential present. Tangled up in dying, grey roots, sits a tiny, glowing orb of incandescent blue. Reaching through the wooden vines, Strife eyes his prize hungrily before gently grasping, then pulling it from it’s home. 

The moment he has the round stone nestled safely in his palm, the giant tree above him starts to shudder. Pieces of rotting wood crumble to ash, the beast seems to sigh with relief as thousands upon thousands of metres of ash begin to cascade down on top of Strife. 

Clutching your present to his chest, the horseman whistles and in a burst of sickly, white flame, his mount erupts from the ground beneath him, thundering out of the tree trunk, narrowly avoiding being buried. As he gallops from the falling tree, Strife opens his palm and stares triumphantly down at the little ball clutched carefully in his enormous hand. The horseman grins, now more excited than ever to be experiencing an honest to goodness human birthday…

—

“Y/n…” 

Something nudges your shoulder, dragging you from your delicious slumber. You groan and raise a hand to lazily swat at whoever had so rudely interrupted your lie-in. This was supposed to be your birthday. Didn’t you deserve some extra sleep? 

The hand returns and a gruff voice accompanies it’s incessant prodding, “C’mon Brat-features, get up. I got somethin’ to show you…” 

Ah. There was that lovely nickname, given to you by one Strife- Wait…. 

“Nnnng, Strife?” you blearily blink sleep dust from your eyes and squint up at the vaguely horseman shaped shadow that stands over your bed. The shape shifts, folding its arms and letting out a breathy chuckle. At last, your eyes adjust to the daylight pouring through a gap in the curtains and there before you stands the bane of your life. Your Raison d’être. 

“Strife,” you smile up at him sleepily. The horseman’s dazzling eyes flash excitedly when he blinks.

“Hey kiddo, congratulations on being born!”

You laugh lazily and sit up a little straighter, stretching your back out and wincing when your bones pop. “Y’know,” you grin, “most people tend to just say ‘happy birthday’ and leave it at that.” The horseman scoffs and levels an offended glare down at you. 

“I look like ‘most people’ to you?” he huffs, “Getch’yer ass out of that bed, you’re gonna want to see this.” 

You grimace and flop back against the pillow, “Oh God, Strife… If you say ‘does this look like a rash to you?’ and whip your dick out again, I’m chopping it off.” He barks out a laugh so loud, you jump. 

“Shit kid,” he peters off into an amused chuckle, “You’ve got low expectations of your birthday present. Who the Hell do you think I am?” The flat look you throw him is enough to make Strife twiddle his thumbs awkwardly. 

“That was only one time,” he mumbles before shaking his head and digging around for something in a pocket at his hip. “Anyway, this is what I wanted to give you….” 

You sit up in the bed and squint at the sudden intrusion of soft, blue light that oozes through the gaps in Strife’s fingers when he withdraws his hand. “Here,” he whispers reverently and takes your hand in his other one, turning it palm up and depositing the glowing orb in your grasp. The moment the bizarre object leaves Strife, it begins to pulse, almost happily and if you concentrate, you can feel the tiniest of vibrations emanating from the little ball. 

You tear your gaze from the object and look up at the horseman in awe. “Strife?” you murmur, curious. 

“Well would you look at that,” he breathes, regarding you fondly, “I think it likes you…” 

“What likes me?” you ask. In response, Strife settles on the edge of the bed by your feet and gestures to his gift, “Happy…birthday? Was it? That, young human-” he pauses for dramatic effect, smirking lightly at your raised eyebrow, “-is a tree soul…” 

“…….I’m sorry, a what?” 

The horseman visibly deflates at your blank look. “It’s a- It’s a tree soul. You know, the soul of a tree? Well, I mean technically, it’s the last soul of the last tree on a dying world about 5 dimensions adjacent to this one-” 

“Waiawaiwait wait wait.” you interrupt, waving your free hand around in the air, “I’m holding a soul?” He nods. “A Tree soul.” Once again, the horseman nods his head enthusiastically. 

You stare slowly down at the vivid little orb in your hand with wonder and amazement. “Why? And more to the point; How?” Strife shrugs his massive shoulders, letting his shoulder armour jangle noisily. “Cause Ostegoth told me that I should be ‘spontaneous and romantic’ and that you deserve something that isn’t superfluous-”

“Ooo, big word for you.”

“-Thanks. Then he told me about this realm, and I got to thinkin’, If anybody would want to save a dying world, it’d be Y/n,” he looks at you pointedly, recalling the amount of times you almost got yourself killed trying to save Earth, “You’re a sad sap who cares about stuff, right? And this is the last thing left of it’s kind and you were the last one left of your kind and it….” he sighs, scratching at the spikes of hair protruding from his helm, “It just felt like it was the right thing to give you… “ He looks up and finds you staring down at the soul in your hand. “Y-you don’t need to feed it or anything!” he suddenly exclaims, “S’not sentient, at least, not in the conventional sense. Seriously, minimal effort required. I just thought it was pretty and you’re pretty, so it’s a perfect match.” 

Strife pauses, uncharacteristically unsure of himself, for once. You haven’t spoken yet. “D’you like it?” he asks hesitantly. It takes a moment for the gravity of his gift to properly sink in. But after a while, your face softens considerably from shocked awe to total gratitude. 

“Strife….This is more than I deserve,” you touch a forefinger to the ball and grin when the old seems to hum under your touch. Strife scowls a little at your words. 

“Well, that’s a stupid thing to say,” he scoffs in typical Strife fashion. Brusque. “I got this for you because it’s important, and you’re important. I wanted to give you something that might make you actually start to see that….” He trails off and rubs the back of his neck with a sigh. “Shit, couldn’t have made that sound any cheesier,” he mutters. Watching the horseman’s gaze shoot off to the side makes you grin sympathetically. 

Strife’s shoulders tense up at once when he feels someone small and soft snakes their way around his torso, trying their damnedest to wrap around it in its entirety. He huffs out a short laugh and strains his head to look over his shoulder at you. “Well, s’long as you’re happy….” he smiles. “Happy birthday, Bright eyes…” 

Fury: 

“Alya, I’m afraid I am in need of some assistance….”

The auburn haired maker pulls an extravagant broadsword from the grindstone she’s sat behind and swivels her head in the direction of the newcomer’s voice. Her suspicious glare quickly morphs into a friendly from when she spots the far more congenial of the horsemen, Fury, sauntering up the stone steps towards the central where Alya and her brother, Valus are busy crafting. 

“Horseman!-” the maker raises her hand in greeting as she pushes herself up from the grindstone and dusts her hands together, ridding them of some built up grime, “-How goes it? Haven’t seen you around for a while.” She turns to her brother and elbows him roughly in the side, “Oy, Valus, don’t be rude. Say hello.” The busy maker turns his head in Fury’s general direction and grunts.  Politely, the horseman smiles and nods in return. 

“So,” Alya claps her hands together and turns back to the horseman, “What can we help you with, horseman?” Fury reaches into a pouch at her side and pulls out a crinkled, yellowing sheet of paper. 

“I wonder,” she starts, handing it up to the awaiting Maker’s hand, “if you could make this?” 

Now interested in the conversation, Valus trundles up behind his sister and glances down over her shoulder to the paper. Fury stands there patiently as the two makers study what she’d brought them. 

On the paper, Alya notices a series of very meticulously done sketches, mechanical drawings complete with measurements, weight distributions, magical augmentations and detailed instructions written in beautiful cursive handwriting. At the same time, both Valus and Alya glance from the paper to the horseman and raise both eyebrows in surprise, although Fury could only make out the latter’s.

“A gauntlet?” Alya muses, “A human-sized gauntlet….What’s uh…” She taps the paper with an enormous finger and Fury cringes at the amount of blackened ash she leaves behind on it. “What’s it for? S’too small for you to wear,” the maker notes. Behind her, Valus grunts in agreement. 

Fury hums at their questioning tones, smiling slightly in anticipation. “It’s a present for Y/n’s birthday, Alya,” she explains, “I’ve never met any creature so desperate to be able to harness magic before. Honestly, ever since I met Y/n, it’s been nothing but ‘I wish I could do magic like you,’ or ‘What I wouldn’t give to be able to cast spells!” Fury’s voice lilts in an obvious mockery of your own which Valus seems to find highly amusing. 

“So, you designed our little friend a magical gauntlet?” Alya states bemusedly, “I haft’a say Fury, s’not a bad design. A little less sturdy than what we’re used to workin’ with, eh Valus?” she jerks her head back over her shoulder to include her brother in the conversation, but his mind is already far too preoccupied with his new project. “Bah… We’ll make it work horseman,” she winks, “Don’t you worry.” 

Fury beams brightly up at Alya and bows her head a little as she thanks them. “Truly, you’ve done me a tremendous service. I just know that Y/n is going to love this.” 

The maker nods before handing the blueprints over to her brother who promptly begins fishing around in a large, wooden chest for some old scraps of leather. “Though, if I might,” Alya turns back to the horseman and places her hands on her hips, “Are ya sure ya want to be giving the little human magical abilities? Sprite’s always getting into trouble without the use of the arcane..” She laughs playfully, recalling some of your shenanigans that Fury had had to rescue you from. You tended to pick fights with things a whole Hell of a lot more dangerous than you….

The horseman shrugs, “I trust my friend implicitly. Besides, the gauntlet will only enhance Y/n’s otherwise untapped magical ability. It won’t cause too much trouble…. Or at least, I’m hoping it won’t….” she rubs at her chin and hums in thought. Then, she blinks and looks up to the maker hopefully, “By the by, how long will this take, only I need to be on Earth by tomorrow evening-” 

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Alya waves her hand dismissively, “S’simple enough to craft, won’t take as long as a day for us.” Fury sighs, relieved. 

“Wonderful, this needs to be perfect. I’ve never given Y/n a present before, it must be completely without fault.” Fury begins to pace, the possibilities of this backfiring suddenly flashing through her mind. What if you ended up hurting yourself? What if her measurements were off? What if you hated the colour? What if-

Her rambling thoughts are cut off when a gentle, but powerful voice rumbles through the forge. “Kid’ll love it,” someone says. 

Fury’s gaze snaps over to Valus, still with his back turned to them and even Alya’s eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline with how fast she raised them. After a second or two without her brother saying more, Alya clears her throat and nods. “Aye, specially if it’s comin’ from you,” she says. Fury turns her head down to study her claws. 

“I hope you’re right….” 

—

Surprise, surprise; The makers were right. 

When Fury handed you the intricate, beautiful, magically imbued glove, you nearly lost your mind. 

Then you found out you might be able to cast spells with it. 

“Y/n, I’ll say it again; Calm. Down.” The horseman stands with her hands on her hips and a stern look on her face as you flap around, a series of expletives and excited screes escaping your mouth as you admire the gauntlet and try out various hand motions, attempting to trigger something magical. 

Despite her strict stance, Fury is internally elated at your reaction. She fights a losing battle with her mouth as it twitches at the corners before drawing up into a contented smile. She watches you dance around the bedroom until at last, you seem to recall that she’s actually with you. Then, her smile turns into a grunt of shock when you’re suddenly launching yourself at her and throwing both arms around her slender neck, squeezing tightly. 

You sigh against her cheek, stretching up on your toes to properly reach. “Thank you, Fury,” you gasp, relishing the amount of thought and love she’d poured into the gift. 

“You’re quite welcome,” she coos. The horseman allows you to cling to her for a long time as she basks in the warmth your body’s providing. With her eyes closed, Fury raises her hand to stroke through your hair, then whispers against your hair, “Of course, you’ll need to go through rigorous training before you can cast even the simplest of spells.” 

You groan loudly at the words and she laughs loudly. “Happy birthday, Y/n!”