#tma/cod crossover

[notknickers]

RAAHHHHH IM DEF SUPPOSED TO BE MAKING A FRESH BATCH OF DOUGH BUT ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS HUNT!KONIG LEAVING PRESENTS AT HIS S/O’s DOOR LIKE A CAT!! Like its literal gifts at first- flowers he picked,

Then a rat

Then someones ear.

Kinda like van gogh 🤭

Wanting to treat his significant other right.

You have given me a PROBLEMM AUGHH

glad to be of disservice *salutes you

but also, that's so sweet. he loves you so much that he brings you trophies like a serial killer little gifts like a cat.

you are part of his pack/colony/family. hope he brings you many more!

why don't you try dangling one of those tickly feathery cat toys and see if he likes that?

careful how you do it, though. he and his hundreds of kilos of muscles might pounce you and crush you, the little, eager panther that he is! always aim the toy away from yourself.

snarl purr roar goes the werepanther hunt!könig ♥

make him a nice, comfortable crate with a little nest made of soft pillows and blankets: you probably don't want him sleeping in bed with you when he comes back from a hunt, all covered in mud, blood, leaves and patches of fur of unknown origin.

don't be afraid of being assertive, if he tries to hop on the bed all the same or makes those kitty eyes trying to wear down your defences.

sometimes love comes in the form of discipline and rules: he should understand that.

[wispscribbles]

the buried

[cosmictap]

Ummm something something TMA x CoD: Ghosts

[saum0-0]

oh my god. oh my GOD mechs esmp crossover. this is for SUCH a niche audience the esmp fandom is dead i dont care mechs esmp crossover

LISTEN TO ME okay ill have to add a sci-fi element to my established esmp world i am OKAY with this, grimlands are already victorian steampunk its not that big a stretch to add space travel, especially in the place of dimension travel.

okay so in my esmp lore the emperors are blessed by the gods with conditional immortality and flight, they know a new ruler has been born by if they're born with wings. i bet though i could twist that into the king cole/olympians idea of trading their citizen's lives for immortality. although it is kinda reversed? (mechs immortals tend to stop aging but can be killed, emperors still age and can die of old age, but cant be killed). hmm i mean theres definite differences between king cole and the olympians so maybe its just another variation, or something closer to the mechs themselves? though that ones less likely

honestly there literally is an esmp1 musical so i reckon its interesting enough to attract the mechs

but lets be honest with ourselves here, the only reason im doing this is so i have an excuse to draw grimlands!marius lmao

i think raph would be interested in it too though, with how they're so much more reliant on technical advancement than magical.

ivy would love the rivendell library, and crystal cliffs

hmmm jonny might have fun between mythland and the cod empire,,,

hmmmm brian would maybe like to hang out with shrub in the undergrove? he does like his garden,, maybe the overgrown with katherine too,, or gilded helianthia!

hrm,, i keep wanting to put people in the grimlands but i know thats only because its my favourite so therefore the most developed and also the most similar in vibe to the mechs

with that said though, tim really would have fun there,, like hes the gunpowder guy!! fwhip is the gunpowder guy!! they both r in charge of weapons!! guns, crossbows, same difference really

oough back to raph i think she and fwhip would bond over making their own wings,, fwhip made his to prove that he is fit to rule after gem fucked off to wizard school and raph,, uh actually i never found out raphs backstory beyond the fact im like 78% sure she made her and marius' mechanisms,, although that could be widely accepted fanon who knows not me

i think marius would also enjoy mezelea

but OH MY GOD TOY SOLDIER IN MEZELEA,,, i cant believe i almost forgot it,, i think it would immediately blend in with the clones and pretend to be one right up until they leave the planet, and have the time of its life the whole time,,

i dont know where ashes would go either.. i cant just say grimlands again because theres like four of them there already but,, the explosions!!

maybe mythland, or rivendell, those both seem like they'd appreciate a good mob boss taking over the place tbh

i think brian would get along with pix also

okay this isnt mechs but the fandom is a circle so if theres actually any fans of both out there reading this post, has anyone else noticed just how similar pix and jon's (tma) voices are?? genuinely when i started listening to the podcast i had to double check the va wasnt pix (and imagine my confusion when they share the same name too..)

anyways if anyone wants to scream about this with me please do, or if you want to know more about my esmp expanded universe feel free to do that too! in asks replies or reblogs idm

[notknickers]

@eyerotyourbrain i think i forgot to make this clear. extinction!könig, by the way, is a genetically engineered supersoldier with tubes going in and out of his body, supplying secret substances to keep him going and efficient, and cybernetically enhanced body parts. such as some limbs replaced by super advanced weapons. precision scopes integrated in his eyes. i'm thinking... maybe his rib cage opens and it's either storage or something terrible and deathly is kept in there, for when it is required.

a lot of stuff is embedded in his flesh. organic and synthetic complementing one another. at this point, he is so modified to be the personification of the entity he serves, that i don't know how his brain would react to various stimuli. i'm not even sure he can still speak...

this goes without saying, but i'll say it anyway.

i would still fuck him...

in fact, maybe even more...

but i'm not sure that it would still be possible. i just have this feeling that, in the name of efficiency, a lot of him would be modified and sacrificed...

eh, as long as he can be thigh-fucked, it's all going to work out just fine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[notknickers]

i think i might have unlocked my first crackship... könig x nikola orsinov

hear me out, before judging...

synopsis: breekon and hope were tasked with capturing the archivist and bring him to the great yarmouth house of wax for skin harvesting. somehow, they show up with a masked mountain of muscles, instead of johnathan sims.

tags/warnings: crackfic, crackship, tma/mwii crossover, nikola orsinov/könig, top!nikola/bottom!könig, agalmatophilia, kidnapping, clothed!nikola/naked!könig, noncon, handjob, fondling, forced orgasm, forced exhibitionism/voyeurism, anal fingering/fisting, crying

audiences: strictly adult

word count: 2278

a/n: baby’s first crackfic. contains cringe. embrace it or leave.

(in case it wasn’t clear, könig is sexually assaulted in this one. i had something more light-hearted in mind, but this is perfectly within the wheelhouse of what nikola would do. how do I know it? they already did it in canon to the archivist, or such is the consensus amongst listeners. also, putting my favourite blorbos in… situations… is my favourite pastime. go read my fic with my d&d ocs in it, if ye doubt me words: I have mercy for no one.)

tagging: @eyerotyourbrain @kathy-ifnt

even with that unsettling grin painted on their face, it is not difficult to tell how furious nikola orsinov is. not for their minions, at least, who can easily tell that the breezy tone with which they address the two deliverymen should not distract from the actual words.

an honest case of mistaken identity, one of the heads of the entity had the gall to say in that overwrought, unbearably fake accent! there might as well be smoke pouring out of the mannequin’s head barely-hinted ears.

«ֆǟɮօȶǟɢɛ!», they fume, unconvinced of their own accusation, yet too much in the throes of their whimsical farce to let it go.

several threats fly out of their mouth, out of sync with the movements of their mechanical chin, like a poorly animated cartoon. it is unclear how many will be carried through and not because nikola doesn’t have it in them to deliver exemplary punishments. it is simply that their hollow head is so full of ideas their non-existent brain keeps firing at the poor wood-and-plastic construct and breakneck speed, that keeping up with all of them and managing to make them a reality is a challenge of its own.

and now that the unknowing looms so close… it’s even harder to collect all of their thoughts and keep them coherent.

nevertheless, everyone is sure nikola has given the inseparable duo a lot to think about, and in the only way the sadistic clown knows how. for now, they are exiled for a while from the worst wax museum great britain has to offer, leaving them to their deliveries until they are invited back.

which, of course, is to say, until the day they show up again and are once more reprimanded by a very forgetful – yet no less incensed and shouty – nikola, who will no doubt bemoan their absence at such a crucial moment for their kind.

best use that time to mind what packages they have left in their van, to make sure everything proceeds smoothly… or they might as well not come back at all.

their leaving gives nikola time to finally study their unexpected catch.

the... creature – a human… man… nikola is fairly sure, but will probably consult the anatomy students about it – was difficult to contain when breekon and hope carried him in and he broke free of them… he cost nikola a few of their puppets until they personally intervened.

a thought crosses nikola's mind. could this stranger be a kin soul? with his mask, concealing his identity and the covering clothing leading to think his skin must be immaculate from sun damage and other blemishes...

perhaps this was a blessing in disguise, after all. the unknowing is nigh, and this one has skin for days.

if they make meticulous use of it, niokla might even get a pretty dress out of what is left of him, something nice to wear while dancing the world anew. alas, parsimony is not one of the virtues nikola is known for. (in fact, it is accurate to say they aren’t known for any virtues at all.)

the cruel ringmaster unnaturally bends at the waist, like they had no spine – a fact that is starting to dawn on könig himself – their grotesque face mere centimetres away from the colonel’s.

they regard each other, the murder in könig's eyes reflecting nikola's amused painted dots of pupils, as he strains against the disembodied hands that restrain him, their texture like poorly moulded plastic that kept all its scratchy imperfections.

he growls at the mannequin, when nikola tries to take a gander under his hood.

«ԋσɯ ԋҽ Ⴆαɾƙʂ, ƚԋҽ ʂυႦԃυҽԃ ʂƙιɳ ɾҽƈҽρƚαƈʅҽ!», nikola lets out a high-pitched, discordant sound that would have had könig’s ears bleed, had it not been mercifully short. the mockery of laughter, he concludes wordlessly.

«ɦօաɛʋɛʀ! ɦօա ɨʍքօʟɨȶɛ օʄ ʍɛ, ȶօ ֆɦօա ռօ ʀɛֆքɛƈȶ ʄօʀ ǟ ʍǟռ’ֆ ֆɛƈʀɛȶֆ! ʟɨӄɛ ȶɦǟȶ ǟաʄʊʟ e͓̽y͓̽e͓̽ ǟʟաǟʏֆ ȶʀʏɨռɢ ȶօ k͓̽n͓̽o͓̽w͓̽ ʊֆ!», the pout, whilst invisible on their face, surely audible in their voice.

they do not try again, wondering if the ruined flesh of his lower face they managed to glimpse suggests a run in with the desolation. they will have to don megan's clothes and ask jude, as soon as they have a chance to do so…

but with this new conquest in their lacquered acrylic nails, they are in hardly any hurry to find out. if this one belonged to the desolation, dear jude and her ilk should have done a better job not letting him escape their fiery grasp.

at the moment, they focus their attention on the human's clothing: a soldier?

nikola’s varnish eyebrows move for the first time, at least, as far as könig can tell. they take on the perfectly symmetric shape of a very sharp arc. a frown. a very emphatic one.

nikola was not yet created when the slaughter meddled in von kempelen’s attempt at channelling the stranger into this world, yet they know all about it and in a fit of pique, they use their claws to tear through könig’s uniform, as if effacing the symbol of his potential allegiance could erase the past, until he sits bound, in revealing tatters and vulnerable, his chest, thighs and arms marked by shallow scratches.

more scars and burnt tissue surround the consequences of nikola’s ire, littering the rest of him.

the lotion will have to come out all the same to see if he can be moisturised and smoothened to nikola's likings and a sinister, blank grin thickens on the mannequin’s expressionless countenance.

a little doll hand does their bidding unprompted, rolling at the wrist joint on the floor tiles as the cupped fingers cage the bottle of moisturiser.

könig thrashes about, but the disembodied hands that fetter him only dig in his body more, unmovable in their intent.

«σԋ! αɳ ҽαɠҽɾ σɳҽ!», nikola exclaims in genuine elation, increasingly convinced that this man’s presence might really be a propitious omen for the upcoming ritual.

the ringmaster snatches the bottle up from the floor, the little doll hand clinging to it for dear life until it drops, scuffling on the tiles and spidering away on shaky fingers, while nikola barely notices, intent as they are in savouring what’s to come.

the unscrewed stopper tumbles down, bouncing for a few tiles like a rock skipping on a pond’s surface, then drawing a tightly curving trajectory, the sound of it careening from its side to its back still echoing as the first coat of cream moistens könig’s left shoulder.

nikola does not outwardly react to the colonel wincing at their touch, but they can sense this meal is about to turn into a feast.

hands like sandpaper stroke könig’s skin, finding every nook and cranny on his body and paying particular attention to the debris of past scars and burns and any other relief the puppet mistakenly takes for another blemish.

the insistence on some spots more than others is not lost on könig, and when another wooden finger brushes one of his nipples for one time too many in a row, he is left to wonder whether the grotesque, impossible figure holding him captive might know more of what they are doing than they pretend.

an excited squeal vibrates out of the ringmaster as the red, fleshy nub pebbles under their pads.

«ҽʋҽɾყσɳҽ! ʂσɱҽƚԋιɳɠ ιʂ ԋαρρҽɳιɳɠ!»

a hideous sound clacks through the high-ceiling halls as countless necks and joints snap towards könig at their master’s command. eyeless slits, googly eyes and faces covered in misshapen, melted wax, even things that are not faces at all, stare vacuously at him in unsettling unison.

könig never felt more exposed in his life than he does now, under the severe gazes of objects and constructs that should have no business being capable to see him, let alone move and obey orders.

nikola’s fingertips walking down the rounded steps of könig’s abdominal stair have the soldier tense up, barely relaxing when they deviate towards the powerful quadricep of his right thigh, slathering the remains of his torn uniform in more lotion as they spread it on his muscles, leaving few tatters to pathetically stick to könig’s body without protecting it in the least.

not from sight. not from contact.

his jaws grind so tightly at each unpredictable touch, that könig is sure he is chipping away at the enamel of his teeth. yet, every attempts at breaking free and fighting back is countered before he has time to enact it fully, leaving him to endure the mannequin’s whims.

he flinches when more unknown hands caress him from behind, not knowing who they belong to, yet feeling deep inside that if he could turn around and see them, he would find no owner to them.

the process drags on, far longer than necessary, as more empty lotion bottles pile at his slippery feet and calves, but the ringmaster seems nowhere near being done. könig dreads what will happen next, as the constant stroking and kneading of his whole body is bringing with itself predictable effects he was hoping wouldn’t manifest.

his hope is vain, however, as often is the case for such a fleeting feeling before it is crushed by reality. his body betrays könig when it last should, as he senses his cock begin to throb to hardness. unfortunately for him, the mannequin notices and they are swift to let all know, in turn.

«օɦ?! աɦǟȶ… աɨʟʟ ʏօʊ ʟօօӄ ǟȶ ȶɦǟȶ! ֆօ ʄʊʟʟ օʄ ֆʊʀքʀɨֆɛֆ!!!», nikola huffs out excitedly as they stare könig between his thighs.

a moment later, their firm, unnatural hands are taking hold of könig’s length as it swells in their palm under an eyeless brow raised high in wonder. a set of their fingers snap and some of the many hands tasked with immobilising könig roughly grab his mighty thighs and spread them wide, lifting them enough under the knees to give every wax statue, skin-thief and automaton a view of his sex and the blond fuzz contouring his sack, leading below, down to the ring of fluff around his puckered entrance.

helpless. spread wide. defenceless.

nikola’s hands wrap around his girth in appraisal, with conviction and curiosity manifesting in their firm, confident grip. könig’s eyes shut in denial as further words of bewilderment concerning the changes of his body spill out unendingly from the mannequin’s screwed-on mouth.

he can hear them question him about it. the least he can do to save his deeply wounded pride is ignore them, even when the vile anthropomorphic puppet takes his refusal as a chance to double their inquiries, instead of resigning to silence.

neither does their interest in könig’s heavy and very receptive organ wane, as their haphazard kneading turns to focussed stroking with both of their hands. soon, more ofthose creatures join at their request, vying with each other for a spot on his cock and, failing that, settling for every inch of skin around it.

slick yet harsh disembodied hands cup and pinch his balls, stroke and slap his guiche and fingers probe in between his cheeks, finding warm, furrowed flesh to part agape and mindlessly invade, without even really knowing what they are doing, in all likelihood.

the position he is forced into cuts the breath in his chest and könig endures the torment which, under different circumstances, he would have relished tenfold. dizzy and overwhelmed, it takes the colonel a while to realise that the ragged breaths turning to shameful little gasps are coming from him, traitorous body striking once again.

when he does, his eyes flood wet and tears hotter than the boiling core of the earth melt down his flushed cheeks, scorching a trail on his skin as much as shame burns in his chest. they bring no relief, shimmering dully under k↕nig’s hood and drenching the mask underneath in hard-to-ignore, wet reminder.

his choked sobs escape the feeble cage of his trembling lips as a despised heat wrenches his gut. the friction on his cock, rhythmic and relentless, the pressure to his inner walls from fingers insinuated down to the wrist joint, stabbing and scissoring his insides through his opening worked to a gape and kneading the strip of flesh below his sack are nothing short of torture.

part of him wishes the slick lotion weren’t working so well against him. perhaps pain and discomfort would have been preferable to this last, unbearable betrayal, as his hips unchain from his iron control and jolt repeatedly into and around the floating hands that carry out the tremendous violation, one könig loathed even when he tried to accept its inevitability.

nikola’s ecstatic expression is all he sees through eyelids kept ajar, as white showers the cobalt and golden cuffs of their jacket’s sleeves in copious, unstoppable waves, eliciting a triumphant yet incredulous peal from sealed, drawn-on lips.

they take a moment to examine the unexpected but welcome discharge. musing over the fact they did not know humans made their own lotion, as they pensively stare at the emptied bottles they threw on the floor.

«ēຖ໐นງh f໐r t໐໓คฯ, ๖นt ຖ໐t f໐r t໐๓໐rr໐ຟ!», nikola announces cheerfully, eager to discover what else human bodies can do.

they begin to retreat, the misshapen acolytes following suit at another snap of their clacking fingers. könig is left alone, save for his animated restraints.

damp with sweat, sticky with moisturising balm and drained of sense, energy and dignity, könig slacks on the chair in the dark, chest still pumping air in and out of him quickly and cock twitching to softness as his aching hole leaks cream on his seat.

this will be a tough one to get out of.

the tma/mwii crossover nobody asked for.

thanks for reading. hope you enjoyed: let me know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[notknickers]

first, i love summoning people to my posts. it makes me feel like a king, sitting on his throne in his court, snapping his hands to get his servants and his advisors scrambling.

second, don't you dare be normal about this! normal is boring. normal doesn't come up with interesting headcanons for a thing that only exists in their heads at one in the morning. normal has never contributed to shit when it comes to artistry and creativity.

third, you are not high. you are inspired. (and, probably, a little bit high.) have you ever heard of a famous poet, writer or artist not having one or more addictions and mental illnesses? no, you haven't. and if you have, you haven't all the same.

with that out of the way...

you can do whatever you want with him, because he's in your head! that's brilliant, innit?

but i must warn. careful when you stroke his head: his lips are partially fused together with barbed wire, and some of the spikes stick out. also, see if you manage to get him to remove his gas mask, which is also partially fused to his flesh.

otherwise, pat away!!!

and, yes. perhaps he'll let you stick a hand inside his chest* and feel around a little bit. who knows what you'll find... be careful he doesn't shut his ribcage and trap you inside.

i know he's babygirl, but he's also an avatar of the extinction. he's devious and dangerous as fuck. you are basically sticking a hand inside a steel trap. except it's made of sharp bones and it's alive and full of hatred and need to destroy and annihilate.

(but it's also so romantic that he wants to keep you oh-so-close 😍)

if you lick him, however, know that he's pumped so full of mysterious substances that it will be like licking one of those venomous toads. prepare to be high for hours. prepare for the worst come-down of your life.

* hoigfh🥵dogvbo🥵danfioa🥵eo! is there anything more intimate and erotic than someone letting you stick a fist inside their chest, part their flesh and stroke their organs from the inside? thre's so much trust, devotion and sensation that it shortcircuits my brain... 🤯

@eyerotyourbrain i think i forgot to make this clear. extinction!könig, by the way, is a genetically engineered supersoldier with tubes going in and out of his body, supplying secret substances to keep him going and efficient, and cybernetically enhanced body parts. such as some limbs replaced by super advanced weapons. precision scopes integrated in his eyes. i'm thinking... maybe his rib cage opens and it's either storage or something terrible and deathly is kept in there, for when it is required.

a lot of stuff is embedded in his flesh. organic and synthetic complementing one another. at this point, he is so modified to be the personification of the entity he serves, that i don't know how his brain would react to various stimuli. i'm not even sure he can still speak...

this goes without saying, but i'll say it anyway.

i would still fuck him...

in fact, maybe even more...

but i'm not sure that it would still be possible. i just have this feeling that, in the name of efficiency, a lot of him would be modified and sacrificed...

eh, as long as he can be thigh-fucked, it's all going to work out just fine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[notknickers]

oh, really? then why did i just do it? 😏

wait! who the fuck is freddy?

anyway!

the chemicals are trippy as fuck and then some, but i was thinking more in terms worst trip of your life. dreamy and haunting, mentally, but physically, the toxins are breaking you down.

like, your lips are necrotising, your tongue if rotting off its root and, eventually, falling off. the substances burn inside your veins.

(the drugs constantly burn inside extinction!könig's veins. that's his life now. his purpose. and he wouldn't have it any other way.)

(awwww... i love the idea of extinction!könig holding you and cuddling with your feverish self while you go through the best and worst of your life at once.)

(this is so sweet i'm leaving a puddle on the chair >.>)

(also, you're not just spent. you're near-death! but what else do they call la petite mort? ;) )

but!!!

if the price for nipping and kissing his thighs until he chokes the life out of you is your lower face... that's a fair price. maybe you'll receive a cybernetic prosthetic; (bonus: your speech is increased in speed by 7%, drowning your interlocutors with so many words that they end up agreeing with you or doing as you say in confusion; malus: you only spit pro-establishment propaganda, from now on, soon turning into nothing more than a tool with barely any personhood left.)

how generous and altruistic! like i don't know that the only reason why you want to tear the barbed wire from his flesh (which is part of him: it would be like me coming along and tearing off your fingers from their joint sockets) is so he can smooch you places!!! 🤨

(who do you think you're dealing with here, luv? we basically have one braincell when it comes to any könig.)

@eyerotyourbrain i think i forgot to make this clear. extinction!könig, by the way, is a genetically engineered supersoldier with tubes going in and out of his body, supplying secret substances to keep him going and efficient, and cybernetically enhanced body parts. such as some limbs replaced by super advanced weapons. precision scopes integrated in his eyes. i'm thinking... maybe his rib cage opens and it's either storage or something terrible and deathly is kept in there, for when it is required.

a lot of stuff is embedded in his flesh. organic and synthetic complementing one another. at this point, he is so modified to be the personification of the entity he serves, that i don't know how his brain would react to various stimuli. i'm not even sure he can still speak...

this goes without saying, but i'll say it anyway.

i would still fuck him...

in fact, maybe even more...

but i'm not sure that it would still be possible. i just have this feeling that, in the name of efficiency, a lot of him would be modified and sacrificed...

eh, as long as he can be thigh-fucked, it's all going to work out just fine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯