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mllemaenad · 8 months

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Listening to Wyll's backstory in context of all the details we're acquiring on devil's contracts and soul selling is fascinating.

See - I listened to Lann Tarv's three tales to get my soul coins. I felt bad for making Karlach listen to that, obviously, but to be honest I didn't even want the coins that much. I actually wanted the stories. I wanted a better understanding of how this works.

And what I'm learning is - for the gods (and godlike beings) of this world, cruelty seems to be the point. I mean - it's possible there's a god in this world I wouldn't want to stab to death with a rusty fork, but if so I have not met them yet.

These beings have the power to save people and places, to change lives, to do anything. And when someone asks them to - they demand a terrible price. But they don't just demand a price. They subvert the original request in such a way that they utterly fail to deliver on the original promise.

An abused woman wishes to be loved - and her true love appears, but dies instantly. A man wishes to save his children from starvation, and ends up personally growing masses of meat on his own body - not only painful for him, but forcing his children into survival cannibalism, which they were trying to avoid.

Auntie Ethel works the same way. Every one of her customers is left in a tortured state, while Ethel still takes her payment.

The idea is that the person must come to regret their wish long before the payment comes due. Every cry for help must be met with a boot to the face. Or else the mortals will get uppity? Or something.

What is interesting is how consciously Wyll defies that. And how much Mizora is dancing around, trying to force him into that state of miserable regret.

Wyll was manipulated into selling his soul. He was a kid, and he was summoned into a terrible situation - and in that moment, he could see no other way to save the city. Mizora did need to save Baldur's Gate to serve her boss's purposes, so she couldn't take that victory from him - but she did everything she could to take the joy of it.

He didn't get respect, or admiration, or his father's pride for saving the city. He lost his home and his family. He was assumed to have done something monstrous because he was denied an opportunity to defend himself.

That was supposed to fill him with bitterness and regret - but he got to work building his own life instead. By the time you run into him, the Blade of Frontiers is a hero of some renown. He's remade himself, and found a way to enjoy what his powers can do, however he came by them.

So that didn't work.

Then Mizora sent him after Karlach, and that was a mission tailored to break him. Karlach is kind and heroic herself, and that the start she has been sold into slavery, mutilated and forced to fight in a war against her will. If Wyll killed her, and then found out who she really was, then he betrayed everything the Blade of Frontiers is supposed to stand for - and he would lose the life he made for himself.

But he didn't, and that didn't work either. He's got a friend, now, who at least knows part of what he's dealing with.

So Mizora gave him demonic features. That would destroy the life he's made for himself, because no one would trust him to help them.

Except now Wyll basically goes nowhere on his own, and a small army of people can attest that he got those horns and eyes as punishment for being a good man. Mizora might be able to shut his mouth, but she can't silence his friends - and the group absolutely have shouting sessions about everything. Wyll's horns become a battle scar, like his missing eye, and nothing more.

And beyond that, if you are playing as a heroic character, a significant throughline in the game's story is the journey of the tiefling refugees. The story makes it clear that these people experience a constant barrage of racism, due to their appearance and "demonic" heritage. It also makes it abundantly clear that this prejudice is entirely undeserved - they're just people, with virtues and flaws like everyone else, and what is happening to them is terrible. So Wyll turns up to assist a bunch of people whom he now at least somewhat resembles - and with Karlach along, you have two people in the group who technically count as "infernal", but haven't got an evil bone in either of their bodies.

Mizora created solidarity. Oops.

Wyll is deeply suspicious of gods and higher powers. He doesn't want to make more deals with devils. When Elminster arrives to tell Gale what Mystra demands of him, he explicitly says he does not do religion. When you get Mizora to agree to let his contract expire in six months, he starts by casually invoking the gods - but switches to thanking the player character instead, because he knows who helped, and who did not.

But he utterly refuses to regret the pact he made. That can be a struggle. He clearly misses his dad, and would like that relationship repaired. The fact that he was transformed very much against his will is clearly a source of distress from him.

But if he regrets, then Mizora wins. That's it. Game over. She gets what she wanted all along. So he doesn't.

The main companion characters all have this kind of problem, and naturally have different ways of dealing with it. You have characters like Shadowheart and Lae'zel, who were indoctrinated as children, or Gale, who was literally seduced by one of these nightmare deities - and with them you have to start out by convincing them they they were the wronged party in the first place.

But Wyll knows exactly what game he's playing, and he's been screaming defiance the whole time. It's just that, in his case, the "defiance" is grinning and carrying on every time Mizora inflicts some more bullshit on him.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers

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kneelingshadowsalome · 4 months

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Oh no... Sad cyborg!König from your first drabble did something to me HELP!

Looks up at reader with devotion and so much longing while she goes bananas riding his hightech cock. Does she love him too? Will she ever see more in him than just his vibrating super dick that's currently deep down her pussy? The man behind all the wiring and carbon fiber skin? He'll wipe out all of humanity if that's what it takes for her to be only his... While she loses herself in ecstasy, a small cooling liquid tear escapes his eye as he watches her.

Detaches his cock when he has to go on a mission and gently hands it to her like a present. Keep it safe for him, while he goes out there and fights for you. Let him come back to you and he will fuck you with it until you see stars... And afterwards... Maby you can just hold him in your arms a bit?

I think there's a difference between robot!König and a cyborg!König and this one would def be the latter one, a Robocop type of guy who continues to live on in a body-turned-war machine 💔❤️

Lonely, touch starved and sensory deprived, he desperately wants to be loved for more than just his hightech cock. The König who always dreamed of satisfying women until they cry can do exactly that these days, but the price is high. Too high, it seems.

He dreads to come back after detaching his cock; what if his girlfriend hasn't even noticed he was gone? She had his dick with her for pleasure, after all. Why did he do it, what demon of love possessed him to give it to her? He could've just selfishly left it on so that she would have at least something to look forward to when he comes back... She's so addicted to it that he could easily deprive her of it, make her beg for it with tears in her eyes.

Half expecting to hear the familiar buzz and whirr of the vibration mode of his dick, he enters home with a heavy heart. Almost crumbles on the floor when she runs to him, screaming from joy. She jumps into his lap and dangles from his neck, covers him in kisses, even wraps her legs around him as if he was her husband. As if he was a real man. And there's no sounds or scents of sex here: she hasn't had a human when he was away. She hasn't even touched his cock. She has kept it clean, and picks it up like a treasure, holds it close to her heart but says it's not the same without the rest of him.

And then she comes close, so close, and says she's missed him.

He's not going to cry in front of her: emotions are not what he was built for. But he will carry her to bed. Let her attach the treasure back to him, she looks deep into his eyes while she does it. She says she has missed him, again, laughs shyly and asks if she told him that already... After adoring her soft gasps, the needy moans induced by his shell, after worshipping her from a distance that always seems too wide, he tries to hold her close. Excited to see his attempts at snuggling, she practically forces him to lay his head on her breasts. Plays with his hair, conveniently cut short, and tells him about her week while he's trying to keep his shell from shaking.

It's he who gets cuddled, then, after all these years, and while he can't feel all of her, while he's just a ghost of himself, he feels like a man that night. A human man, who drifts off to sleep, resting on his lover's breasts after a hard day of work. A human man, who just came home to his lovely wife, feeling all kinds of good and weary after making love to her, pleased with having made his chosen one smile and giggle and relax.

He feels like a human man, in love with a woman...

#könig angst #könig fluff #angst & fluff is the best combo ever

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imagining-in-the-margins · 1 year

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Multifaceted (S.R.)

Summary: Reader interrogates a witness. Spencer can’t believe what he sees.

Request: reader where she is super quiet, shy but really really sweet and soft spoken but she has these crazy interrogation skills and tactics that shock the team and Spencer Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Fluff Content Warning: Police interrogation mentions Word Count: 650

MASTERLIST

Spencer likes to think he knows you pretty well. You’d only started working with the BAU a couple weeks ago, but in those few weeks, he’d taken a particular interest in you.

Of course, that had nothing to do with the fact you were attractive (although you were). That would be shallow.

Instead, Spencer liked you because you were kind. There was an undeniable softness about you that extended far beyond your features. There had never been a moment between the two of you where he felt anything less than appreciated.

For that same reason, Spencer was worried about your first solo interrogation.

He just couldn’t stop thinking of his own. Thankfully, those many moons ago, Hotch had been nearby to put an end to his misery when he’d realized just how far out of his depths he was.

So, Spencer tries to return the favor. He doesn’t tell you that he’s watching because he doesn’t want you to think he is expecting failure.

He stands by. Just in case.

Spencer quickly realizes, however, that you are not the one who might need saving.

Behind the two way mirror, he sees an entirely different side of you. A side that is brusque and intimidating and notably not like the rest of you. Still, your charm somehow bleeds through the rough edges.

Spencer finds himself falling in an entirely different way. That stomach-sinking sensation breaks and makes way for butterflies that feel almost inappropriate.

He watches you with a morbid curiosity as his idyllic image of you dies on the metal table.

There is nothing resembling fear in you as you face evil. You are composed yet terrifying in quick, loud movements.

As you lean closer to something vile, he notices your lip and nose twitch in disgust.

He catches the way the man in the room practically cowers at the sound of your raised voice. He is reminded of the saying:

Demons run when a good man goes to war.

That is how he feels about you.

When you storm towards the exit, Spencer runs to greet you. In that brief time, he stubbornly clings to his vision of you as something soft. He is convinced, however silly it might seem, that something else has happened to explain your behavior.

Yet when he turns the corner and hears the door click shut, he is met with a familiar smile.

“Oh! Hey Spencer,” you chirp happily.

“Hey…” he mumbles suspiciously. He searches your expression for any sign of distress.

He finds none. He isn’t ready to give up just yet, though.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You look confused, too. That is, until you realize what he meant.

“Oh, were you watching?”

“Yeah…” he confirms.

“So…” you urge him on with a wave of your hand.

He has no idea what you’re waiting for. You giggle as you notice his eyes following your hand like it would help the gears turn faster.

You snap your fingers. He snaps back to reality.

“Was it convincing?” you ask.

After a minute, he almost starts to question it, but he eventually concedes defeat.

“Wh—I-I mean, yeah!” he squeaks, “You were… very, very convincing.”

You recognize the flustered state of him. You take in pink cheeks and wide eyes that are looking anywhere but at you.

Slowly, you realize that Spencer had underestimated just how much of you he had yet to see. You capture that reaction in a treasured memory and tuck it away for a future date.

For now, you just giggle and return to the version of yourself that he was more familiar with.

“You think that’s bad?” you whisper through the side of your mouth, “You should see me when I’m hungry.”

Spencer laughs along with you, even though, if he were honest, he knew he’d like you just as much.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Reid Taglist (Everything Reid): @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic , @mslowlife

Complete Taglist (All Works): @cynbx , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @fightingdragonswithwho , @andiebeaword , @jayyeahthatsme

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds blurb

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ecchima · 6 months

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"Demons run when a good man goes to war Night will fall and drown the sun When a good man goes to war Friendship dies and true love lies Night will fall and the dark will rise When a good man goes to war"

This was my entry for the @do-it-with-style-events mini reverse bang! The lovely Hapax wrote a story based on this piece of art and this description (which ended up being fairly different so don't let the quote deter you from reading!)

You can read it here

#Aziraphale #A.Z. Fell #Good Omens #fanart #drawings #I wanted Aziraphale to look scary and BAMF #He deserves to remind people that he's strong #just a little ass whooping #as a treat

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 4 months

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Joe Hills isn't the easiest man to anger. We all know this. But demons run when a good man goes to war, after all. If you're faced with a Joe with blank, glowing eyes? RUN. There was a reason he got the reputation he did back when he was known as Herobrine.

#hermitcraft #joehills #mod mleem

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seven-stars-in-his-palm · 5 months

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okay so a couple of days ago i saw this ask on @fellshish's blog about a need for a full 1941 discorporated aziraphale angst fic, realized i had an entire outline already in the hull, and... this happened:

a "what if crowley didn't miss in 1941" fic, including but not exclusive to the moment itself, the hours leading up to it, and the aftermath; a fanfiction (chapter 3/4)

summary:

It's Fell the Marvelous' awaited debut performance on the West End. He has his marksman, his turnips, and things appear to be going as planned—that is, until said marksman does the one thing he was supposed to avoid. Not missing. (or: the bullet catch goes wrong, and due to a tiny technicality, crowley's afraid aziraphale is gone for good. and crowley himself—for the first time in quite a while—is well and truly alone.)

warnings: full of blood, sweat, kissing while crying, blown up heads, prayers, nostalgic churches, polaroids, alcohol, and aziraphale being a discorporated bastard and bitching his way back to earth while a plot we should probably be focusing occurs as we ignore it entirely. and written extremely slowly. oxymoron but i couldnt get this out of my head fast enough and now you must endure it (should you choose to accept). i think i'm gonna be pretty proud of this though. excited!

(also thank @tforthetea for the inspiration because a conversation with them helped spark this the first time. all hail)

ao3 link for those who didn't check the title, and fic under the cut! :)

chapter 1: number thirteen

One of the things Crowley liked gloating about on occasion was that he was older than Death Itself.

He wasn’t technically wrong, per se. The humans think him mad, and the demons think him stupid, but he was still right. Human concepts, despite their hold on the population and overall importance, were non-existent before or even during the Beginning. The Four Horsemen and other ideas evolved right alongside the humans, so technically, Crowley was older than all of them. He rather liked having something to lord over War (in his head), during the few unfortunate meetings he would have with her. Famine was a non-issue, and Death could not touch him regardless of how much he didn’t like him. There were failsafes.

Now, however, actually being in the room that Aziraphale could potentially walk into and never come out of, Crowley would gladly take all of it back and pretend he never even thought about it at all.

The damned magician. Crowley never caught his name, but if he had, he would wrought him with the most annoyingly small curses that no one would ever believe to be true after today. Tonight wasn’t just about impressing the audience or even repaying that wine-filled debt, it was about them. Tonight, Crowley was to play the trusted stooge, and…shoot the angel. Point blank. In the face. And make it look real. And not discorporate him. And not get them fired. And—

There were a lot of things to consider, alright? To contrary belief, Crowley did, in fact, not think Death was silly or stupid. He’d also been there when It was born, you know. Crowley liked Abel. Watching It happen was, plainly, fucking terrifying. It brought up something new, and change was just as scary as Death. Ask anyone, and they’d tell you.

Crowley has been running that unfortunate meeting involuntarily through his head for the first ten or so minutes of waiting for the actual show to begin, while also listing out the terrible things he would do to the magician man had he ever held the opportunity again. He’d been sort of gunning (no pun intended) to stay backstage and avoid the riffraff, but been ushered out the dressing room the second he’d given his (admittingly harsh) two cents on the situation. Aziraphale said he wanted privacy before the big show, but Crowley knew he was just ticked. Aziraphale was an angel who thrived with a supportive devil over his shoulder.

So, Crowley is just milling around in the crowd as the Allied soldiers and their companions filter in. They come and go—a Lady even comes to check on him at point, mentioning odd vacant gazes and looking over shoulders paranoid-like, but he waves them off before they can pry. He really shouldn’t be so worried—even if Aziraphale…‘didn’t make it through the night’, he’d eventually be fine. As long as he discorporated a certain way, nothing too lethal—some deaths were harder to come back from others.

They’ve been discorporated before, of course. That was how Crowley knew this. Six millennia offered many opportunities for the event. But never, and it was never, at each other's hand. On paper, yeah, they killed each other on occasion, but truly…

Crowley shifts nervously, sending a glare at anyone who got a bit too close, but the brief discomforts aren’t enough to lift his spirits. There was one entity faffing about who refused to bugger off even with direct acknowledgements, though that might be because Crowley was imagining It. Or It really was here, and interested in the affairs of potential angel discorporation. Or a bomb was going to fall here and It was just beating the rush. The theories were far from endless.

Death appeared back there as soon as Crowley had been kicked out. He’s simply been dealing with it since then, and It probably wasn’t helping to lift his spirits. He shouldn’t be so antsy—both logic and mechanics deemed it so.

They’d be fine, Crowley repeats to himself near constantly, finding a proper seat in direct line of sight where Aziraphale will be standing. He readjusts his tie as the humans sit around him, creating a perfectly isolated bubble of red velvet seats. What did it matter that twelve humans died doing this before? They weren’t human. Death had no claim on them. It couldn’t take them even if It so desired.

Crowley scowls at the hooded figure standing near the entrance of the theater, cold scythe gleaming under the warm bulbs of the West End. Its just…standing there. Making no move to come closer, either. Odd.

Crowley sinks lower into his plush seat, as if trying to avoid Death’s gaze. But being one of two immovable objects on this Earth, It’s always on him. If Death had a goal, there would be no point in warding It away.

Seeing Death is a famous bad omen, and would send a chill down his spine had it been anywhere else. At this moment, however, Crowley is simply irritated. If It was looking for another soul in this theater, that was fine by him, let It take them, but It would not be ruining whatever this was. Humans were ever plentiful—there was only one angel deserving of Earth.

Before Crowley can decide whether or not he should be stupid and confront the omen in the room, the lights go dim. The crowd’s murmurs die down, and Crowley has no choice but to stay seated and watch the show. Aziraphale wouldn’t be coming on until the Ladies of Camelot had their first number, but Crowley could easily endure it. The gaze aimed straight at his head could be ignored.

World be damned if It took the angel’s enthusiasm. They’d be fine. Crowley just has to remember that.

-----

Things are, indeed, not going fine.

Crowley is meant to go up on stage any second now. Aziraphale has no inkwell in his gloved hand. No amount of snapping is removing said turnip from line of sight. He reads the pamphlet—then again, then again, then again, but there is no second option for apparently miracleless individuals.

Fucking. Hell.

Whatever false bravado Aziraphale is spewing is null and void compared to the should-be-non-existent nerves running through frantic hands and finding absolutely nothing useful. Crowley flips through the same two pages—give the stooge the bullet, poise, and shoot. The miracle would’ve ensure that the bullet would never leave the barrel. But now—now, well, he really regrets not considering a Plan B. Did they ever consider a Plan B? Apparently not.

Getting there is a blur. Aziraphale is essentially shoving the rifle into Crowley’s care, which is honestly becoming a worse idea by the second. He’s switching between the demon and the audience so quickly that Crowley can’t tell who he’s addressing. They’re deathly quiet, and Crowley would feel embarrassed if his heart that shouldn’t be there wasn’t pounding with too much blood in too little time. His mind is a soup. Muddled, feverish, and incredibly foul tasting. You wouldn’t want to drink it even if you were starving.

“I would ask you,” Aziraphale says loudly, cutting through the fog of utter mental mush, “to take this bullet, and load it into the rifle. Very carefully.”

Crowley nods belatedly, squeezing and turning parts of the gun to get the non-existent warmth running back through his fingers. He takes the bullet, and turns it round a few times while Aziraphale stares at him with excruciating anxiety. Is he stalling? Honestly, even Crowley wouldn’t be able to tell you.

“It's perfectly simple,” Aziraphale mutters softly, pushing the gun a bit closer. “Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear.”

Crowley can’t find himself to agree here. He’s staring at him, and that would usually get him to listen regardless of shades, but Death is boring into them like the harshest of theater critics. His skin is slick, almost clammy, threatening to let the gun slip and fire a stray bullet anywhere but its intended target. His back is sore, oddly enough. Irritating.

Crowley has questions, like he always does, but the time has long passed. What he wants to ask is ‘do I just squeeze that little bit there?’ pointing at (what looks like) to be the trigger—but then that would just make Crowley look incompetent, so he swallows it back and nodly lightly. He’s never fired a gun like Aziraphale seems to believe whole-heartedly, but he’s certainly watched it happen. He’s picked up enough of the motions to figure it out on his own.

That thought still doesn’t help when he’s being told to insert the bullet, though. Crowley fumbles through it, opening a mislaid hatch or two, but manages before Aziraphale could raise any alarms. He’s already stood back in position (when did that happen?) when Crowley raises the loaded rifle for all to see, proclaiming as such. He bites back the tremor threatening to appear—he wasn’t nervous. Excited, more like it. Excited to finally get an excuse to make a throw at the angel non-suspicious like.

That was all it was. Really.

Crowley turns the rifle one last time as Aziraphale spins more useless pageantry for the audience to woo at. They’re both grinning, but tightly and annoyingly false. It wasn’t the eyes that were the problem—what, do you think that demons ever got stage fright? Absurd!

It was just...well, there weren’t just humans in this audience. Crowley couldn’t forget the shadow looming at the end of the theater no matter how tight he grips the side of the weapon. But, just like Someone had laid out all that Time ago—Death could only perceive them.

It could not touch them.

It would not touch them.

It would not touch him, if he could help it.

The drums begin their incessant titter as Aziraphale finally turns to Crowley properly, blue cloak glimmering under the warm light of the stage before them. “A-are you ready, sir?”

Crowley would scoff at this if he could. Sir. Only humans ever addressed him that way; angels look down on him, demons sneer at him. Though he supposes this angel would be different—always throwing the curveballs, him.

“When you hear my signal,” the angel says, voice growing quieter, “shoot.”

Aziraphale removes his tophat, revealing preciously white curls. This pings something, the remaining traces of damned sense he’s got buried inside. Crowley isn’t sure what has possessed him—but he shakes his head. It’s all he can do. Don’t make me do it, he nearly warns out loud. Not if you know what’s good for you.

Aziraphale stills, but not before mouthing words that would be akin to an ashamed mumble if he were close enough. Trust me.

Trust me.

Satan, he got him there. That’s why Crowley was here, after all. Stooge. 100% Reliable Marksman.

Right.

Aziraphale isn’t nearly as good as Crowley at hiding his anxious gaze. “Ready?”

Oh, Heavens no. He never would be, but no better time than the present. Or something like that. He can’t recall where it came from.

“Aim…”

Crowley can’t ignore it anymore—he’s shaking. Extremely so, at that. It’s knocking around the air in his lungs very unkindly. It’s quite difficult to aim. His head is bobbing around in the scope.

Just about…

There it is.

Crowley waits—just like he’s done for the last…however long. A long time. His arms are starting to hurt, frankly. He rests his finger over the trigger to ease the trembling a tad.

And the magician remains silent.

Crowley ignores the sweat crawling down his neck. (Wasn’t it supposed to be freezing?) He waits some more—it’s not like one can forget where you are. Benefit of the doubt and such.

Nothing still. Nary a nod.

He’s been staring at him for a minute. The crowd hasn’t uttered a peep. Is Crowley just supposed to…do it? Did they talk about this? They must have. They talked about this. They talked about it, right? Yeah. Yeah, they must have—

"Fire!"

He startled him.

The reason why he listens is easy to explain. Aziraphale made Crowley flinch. A bit of a spook, really, not that bad of a fright. A sudden jolt—a tap on the shoulder, one that said ‘oh, look, you’ve got perfect aim already! Shoot!’

And he did.

What’s the first rule of approaching someone with a weapon again?

Right. Don’t fucking scare them.

The handle is warm. Slick, heavy, shaky. The scope aims with guilty target missing at the helm. A puff of smoke is spewing from the barrel. A thump, a sickening thump, deafening in the cricket silence of a post-trick world.

And Aziraphale…is on the floor.

(Where else would he be, really?)

There, obviously. On the floor. With a blown-up head. Bleeding like blessed Heaven. Bleeding like bloody Heaven, while Crowley has to take in the sight and smell the blessed thing.

It fits. They fit. Like a perfect crown on a decapitated head.

God, his head’s just gone, isn’t it?

A noise cuts through the thick silence like a stubbornly determined knife. Far away, above it all, there it rings. It’s muffled, soft, and almost awkward in the way it cuts through the air. A camera click. A reluctant, malicious camera click.

And that was just the perfect way to say it, no? He blew his brains out. Crowley blew his angel’s fucking brains out with a fucking gun that he’s never fucking held before.

Trust me.

Well. That, no doubt, was Aziraphale’s fault—it’d be a funny old world if angels and demons went around trusting one another.

-----

hgh. hope that was decent. chapter two coming as soon as it can because im invested now :))

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens 1941 #cw blood #cw guns #cw death #maniac writing #in a west-end town

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marineduo · 8 months

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Cobymeppo / Kobymeppo Fic Recs!

Here's a list of Koby / Helmeppo fics that I personally recommend, for @klausbens and anyone else just getting into Kobymeppo from the Live Action! Putting them under a read more because this is going to be a long. Fics will be linked in the fic titles! They are ordered in oldest to newest.

General Recs

This Modest Paradise - Eloarei

Coby and Helmeppo run into Morgan while shopping.

This one is my all-time favorite Cobymeppo fic. It was one of the first I found and it's one I still think about and revisit often

Grow - Eloarei

Helmeppo is able to take care of himself, but when his father returns home with a promotion, he finds he suddenly doesn't have to anymore, and that's the weirdest part about moving to the Marine base in Shells town. Without any responsibilities, he becomes bored, and any of the positive attitude his mother might have left him with goes straight out the window.

This is a really sweet fic about Helmeppo's initial time in the Marines. Not as overtly Cobymeppo, but the last little bit always gets me right in the feels.

The Way of Monsters - Eloarei

Coby was used to monsters. After years under Alvida he thought he understood them. But escaping out into the world shows him that there's a lot he doesn't know. What makes a monster? And what redeems one?

This one's very fun. It has werewolves, and is a bit of a Beauty and the Beast kind of tale. Highly Recommend.

Building Desks For Dummies - thecayenneknight

Koby and Helmeppo must face their greatest mission yet: assembling a single piece of furniture.

Short and sweet and super cute.

Dance With Me - RedPen1992

Soon after the conclusion of the Paramount War, the Marines have to face their next greatest challenge, The Marine Gala.

This one's more focused on Akainu/Kizaru, but the Coby/Helmeppo stuff in there is really good. Overall a great read.

Anniversary - altokiwi

Ready to go party, Hina demands they tell her all about last year's Halloween Night, first. Holding Helmeppo's hand tight, Coby tells the story about the scariest —but also the happiest— night of his life.

This is a really good one. I may be biased since it was an exchange gift for me, but it's a wonderful blend of silly and a little spooky <3

To Come Back - merricat

Coby and Helmeppo's close-knit circle of Marines is holding a celebration at none other than Shells Town, which forces Helmeppo to confront demons past and present.

I'm also biased towards this one (another exchange gift), but man it's so good. Lots of Helmeppo looking back on things, and them just being so sweet with each other.

Daydreams - hamstercheese7

Coby just cannot concentrate on paperwork. And who could blame him, with a view like that?

This one's so silly sweet I love it. Has both Coby/Drake and Coby/Helmeppo.

Coby/Helmeppo Oneshots - ShadowoftheLightningPack

Ok this one's a doozy at 109 chapters but there are a lot of good ones in there. If nothing else I think it's really worth at least browsing to see if anything catches your attention! (That being said, read chapter 93 it's fun)

Against Change (You Can Wander Through the Ruins) - owlboxes

“I don’t want to pry,” Coby murmurs, quiet so as not to startle Helmeppo, who already looks seconds away from crumbling. “But…I want you to know I also want to listen, if you want someone to talk to.” “I have to get my hair cut in the morning,” Helmeppo says, his voice trembling, as he tugs at the strands that have grown longer, almost to his chin now. “…but what if I don’t want to?”

I'm a sucker for Cobymeppo Fics that center around Helmeppo's hair and this checks all the boxes.

My Fic Recs

(These are all ones I wrote myself that I think are worth a read)

Over the Edge

When Helmeppo ends up letting go in a precarious situation, Coby is forced to consider life without his other half, if only for a little while.

Diaries of Coby-Meppo

I particularly recommend Scissors.

Bloodsoaked

When things go south on a solo mission, Helmeppo takes things to the extreme.

Masquerade

Coby and Helmeppo attend the year's big masquerade ball at Mariejois and the night goes far better than Coby had ever expected.

A Haunted Base

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Helmeppo looked down from his perch on a ceiling beam, watching as Tashigi came in with a huff and slammed a box down on the operating table he’d stolen from the base earlier. “Because Smoker had better things to do, and nobody gets out of Vice Admiral Dahlia’s plans?”

Day on the Edge

Coby enjoys a peaceful morning with his partner, but something leaves him feeling uneasy.

SPICY Fic Recs

Saved and Earned - Tonko

Integrity is a hard road, but Helmeppo is trying.

I don't even know what to say about this fic. You know that pic of the stick figure on all fours shaking something violently in its mouth? That's how crazy this fic makes me.

Guilty Pleasures - me

When Coby witnesses the carnage his friend and partner is capable of, in the moment he's not sure how he'll get past it. But the jokes on him, because he's into that shit.

I wrote this to be similar to Bloodsoaked, but more spicy.

Searching for the Words - 2Farky2Furious

“Helmeppo.” He shook himself from his thoughts. “Huh?” “It’s just me. You know you can tell me anything, right?” “I—” Helmeppo met the soft, familiar warmth of Coby’s gaze and blurted into the scant space between them. “I want to kiss you again.”

A little angsty at first, which makes the semi-public sex even better.

Helping Hands - leghair

What had started as a rare bartering chip back when they themselves were new recruits and every drill had left them quaking like newborn deer had shifted into a standard IOU or repaid-favour, and from there, eventually, had simply become… habit. After their midnight training sessions left them fatigued, they would crawl back to their barracks, where Helmeppo would scratch Coby’s back and Coby scratched his - quite literally. That’s just how they got through it. It had been a while, though, come to think of it. Their schedules had grown to be quite different since Coby’s promotion. He still got the occasional remedial massage from medical, but it just wasn’t quite the same as someone who knew his body as well as Meppo did.

Very good fic, but also I think of the tag 'formal apology to the one (1) cobymeppo shipper with an appetite for toes reading this with dismay' at least once a week.

Coby/Helmeppo Smut Oneshots - ShadowoftheLightingPack

If you don't read any of the others (though you should), at least read chapter 8. It's very good.

#helmeppo #coby #op koby #cobymeppo #kobymeppo #lmk if any of the links don't work #also some are locked so you might have to sign in to see them

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drarryspecificrecs · 11 months

Photo

2023.05 ~ Top 7 longest fics posted on AO3

1. Demons Run (When A Good Man Goes To War) by @shewhomustnotbenamed [E, 124k]

►I need your help. Ordinarily, I wouldn't inveigle anyone into deciphering life from my contorted perspective, but I desperately need you to understand the entirety of the situation that I've found myself in. It's vital that you comprehend and embrace the events that have led me here- to have the clarity of mind that I lack because I am more lost than I have ever been, and I need saving. I need you to see. I need perspicuity. Help me, because I don't know how I got here, and I need to repair the damage I've done.

2. Symptom of Your Touch by @ghostofnoir [E, 115k]

►St. Mungo's Healer Draco Malfoy is used to being pushed to his limits when providing aide to the ailing, but when an unexpected encounter with an out of character Harry Potter throws his life out of balance one night, he is forced to ask himself how far he's willing to push his own levels of discomfort to be of aid to a man in need of help that only he can provide. And once that need for aid is over, how will he find balance in his life again?

3. Love lies somewhere deeper by DarkWizard [M, 96k]

►Harry cheated on his wife with Draco sodding Malfoy. And then, he didn't remember it.

4. we should just kiss (like real people do) by whenstheweddingcake [T, 75k, series]

►Harry's summer is better than ever before, and he returns to Hogwarts for his fifth year with more power, changing relationships, an army at his back, and another DADA teacher that seems to have it out for him.

5. the world is a garden (and you're my flower) by Rosie321go [T, 52k]

►Draco’s mother always said there was a fine line between love and hate. Apparently, his flowers think so too. /// [...] in which Draco doesn’t know how to deal with feelings, Granger doesn’t know how to help him, and Potter’s just trying to figure out what’s going on.

6. Icarus by @soupy-george [M, 50k]

►[...] 2013 (The Unpleasant Present) - Sent undercover as a Professor at Hogwarts. Note: minding my own business, life ruined by dreadful turn of events. Note: Potter is DADA professor, a job he took out of the blue after I graduated from Auror training. His departure happened to coincide with a momentary lapse in judgement when we may have kissed, drunkenly … (and heatedly) against a wall. One time. Awkward? Yes. Reason to abandon whole career? Apparently.

7. Imperius by Jelliebabie [E, 46k]

►What if there was an eighth horcrux? What if Voldemort just wouldn't die? Draco Malfoy doesn't remember what came before his current existence, where he lives to serve the Death Eaters who control his every move, and through him, his magical inheritance. But when a memory from his past appears in his present, breaking the curse that imprisons him, he finds that he may be the one who holds the key to salvation. If only he isn't too broken to use it.

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 10k

※ Word count: 10k ~ 40k

the first in line by @oflights [E, 29k]

Harry and Draco's Hogwarts Reunion by DarkPhoenixAscending [E, 13k]

Harry Potter and the Yuletide Potion by Grace_28 [G, 13k]

Just A Couple Of Strays by flowerpotboy [M, 20k]

love-stained hate by a_blur_on_the_highway [T, 18k]

Shades of Passion by CosmicallyFamous [E, 12k]

A Strange Twist of Fate by @shinigami714 [E, 18k]

Turn Back the Clock by @steampunkserpent27 [T, 14k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

Basilisks & Staircases - A Game of Drarry Fest | @gameofdrarry

HD Mpreg 2023 | @harrydracompreg

Lights Camera Drarry 2023 | @lcdrarry

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #monthly review #2023

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