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But yeah, I am convinced that in that crossover the Horus Heresy kicked off because Horus, being a teenage edgelord Primarch, was severely lacking in moral fibre. =]

Or possibly the Republic of New Eden won. One of those.

And the Tyranids ate the Ghasts.

We run on a level of insanity, corruption, and malfeasance that has killed lesser nations, and these prove it. These prove it:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/JohnR.Brinkley

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coca-Cola

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/JohnHarveyKellogg

https://www.reddit.com/r/FloridaMan/

Hello, foreigners. Would you like one of our flags?

And by 'would you like', I mean 'this planet is now part of the British Empire'. Your taxes will be graciously accepted.

hS

(I think we may now be in a Space Captain Smith/40K crossover, in the grim darkness of the far future where there is no more tea.)

King Canute was king not only of England (obviously his best realm), but also Denmark and Norway. Obviously, if we'd retained control over those lands, we would shortly have conquered Finland too. Therefore we have a moral claim to Nokia, and will be adding their logo to our coat of arms forthwith.

Obstructionism? Pfft, who cares about that? We have a woman whose primary job is to be told she's not allowed into the House of Commons, then to enter anyway. Your argument is invalid in the face of Black Rod's very existence.

hS

Not every piece of good fiction is about absolute rulers. I stand with the Tau, and the council of Ethereals! Children of Terra, cast off your chains and join the side of good! We have food!

Also, curse all laptops black-screening in the middle of one.

Spoiler warning if you didn't read the mission already. Spoiler warning if you didn't read the mission already. Spoiler warning if you didn't read the mission already. Spoiler warning if you didn't read the mission already.


“It’s incredible,” Mrs. Dives said again, sighing. She and her daughter were sitting in the door of the TARDIS, legs dangling over the void. “I can’t imagine why you’d ever want to come down.”

“Well, sometimes, the cultures on the different planets are even more interesting than the views,” the Aviator said, smiling. “The cuisine’s not half bad, either.”

Eh, what's the view to an empty stomach? Oh right, space and time traveling spaceship. Also, Dawwww.

“Barcelona!” Mr. Dives called, looking up from the TARDIS console, which he and Zeb had been poring over. “The planet, Barcelona, not the city. They’ve got—”

Wise decision, between the independantists and salty World Cup los–

“Dogs with no noses,” he and his daughter finished in unison.

Abort! Abort! It has to be worst place in the multiverse! Except trollfics.

The Aviator waved a hand. “I’m in mostly good standing with Upstairs again; I can’t let it stay that way for long, can I?”

Besides you can fix this by giving them buckets of aphids. These critters love flowers to the death, so the reverse must be true, right?

“Nobody!” the Aviator said quickly, just as Zeb piped up, “That’s what Ellie calls the Detective!”

Technically Ave's not wrong. The fex drops of that time certainly don't qualify as somebody.

“Have you been seeing someone?” Mr. Dives said.


"How do I give the shotgun talk to someone able to regenerate?"

"Dad! I'm 454 years old! I can date whoever I want! If I was ever dating someone, just deny– saying."

“Nothing to worry about, Dad, that just means we’ve got a mission,” she said, standing up and going back to the controls.

Stay here, Mr. Dives, you know you want it... Right until you see one mission up close.

“So what do you think it’ll be this time?” Zeb said. “Percy Jackson? Twilight? A Series of Unfortunate Events?”

Since you're so kindly asking... All of them (does that even exist?)

The Aviator took Elanor back from him and pushed the door of the TARDIS open, going to the console to read the report. “Harry Potter and Percy Jackson,” she called.

Come on IO, only one? You're getting meeker in your old age.

“So not even an attempt at an explanation for why she wants a kid,” Zeb said in disbelief. “Just—‘Hey, you know what? I want babies for no reason!’”

How can people write like this with straight faces?

“Or gotten splashed by a magic potion—”

Especially that one. Even mortals can do it. With magic (and maybe science someday. They're already trying for babies from parents of the same se anyways).

“I volunteer as tribute,” Zeb whispered in Zeus’ voice, and the Aviator gagged.


...Accurate Zeus is accurate, Zeb.

“Godmother?” the Aviator muttered. “So, what, she’s going to attend the Sue’s baptism and teach her about Jesus?”

Nah, I saw this in Shin Megami Tensei. By being obedient servile mooks to the Law God (a major jackass), they hope getting some perks while the rest of the ‘pagan’ gods become scorned demons.

“Could you try breathing away from me?” she said. “Your breath stinks.”

You should try grilled salmon with a cream sauce. Much better.

“Lilith. Juno. Olympia. Black,” the Aviator repeated flatly, pen poised over her notebook.

… At least the oh so subtle third one remotely looks like a Potterverse pureblood name, with all these constellations (not that Sirius would probably want to use one)?

The Aviator ducked back behind the curtain. “Rassilon’s saggy left—”


As another ‘question sane people never ask’... What happens to that curse if Rassilon regenerates a body of the different sex?

the plants

How are these plants… managing to do that? Where are the necessary organs?

The Aviator just groaned and added the charge. “What I wouldn’t give for a ...ing drink right now.” Zeb frowned at her, and she held up her hands. “Hypothetically, I swear.”

Okay, a fan of alcohol, I’m most definitely not, but Zeb, one glass at that?

“Skipping over the gods fighting over babysitting privileges,”

Another clear sign of badfic... A good parody would have made you want to read that again and again… What? What is passing above my head exactly?


“I’m going to projectile vomit all over this sofa,” the Aviator muttered.


Aim it at the enemy!

“Suddenly Elanor doesn’t seem so creepy by comparison,” Zeb said.

The Aviator slowly turned to look at him. “‘Scuse me?”

Emergency, need save!


“Yes,” the Aviator said, pursing her lips. “She is, thanks.”

Save found. Now fire the guy at Impulse Control.

“Projectile vomiting on Voldemort?” Zeb suggested.


See? That’s a viable tactic.

The Aviator grunted. “Then we’d get to charge for excessive angst instead of… hell, how do you even charge for this? Spoiled rotten prisoner?”

Duck it, the second one needs to be a charge in the list.

“Hitting her for everything she’s got, huh?” Zeb asked, opening a portal to their next destination.


Zeb, is there anything about this critter worth inspiring any shred of mercy?

Zeb looked over to see the Aviator’s eye beginning to twitch. “You know,” he said, “as far as songs go, it could be worse—”

Joe Dassin ?

“You know, too much of the same color leaves an outfit visually uninteresting,” Zeb said, shaking his head in disappointment. “Especially with her hair like it is—analogous colors are fine and all, but since her hair is blue and purple, she’d probably want to go for a split-complementary color scheme. Throw some red in there, make it pop!”

Where did a Pokemon pick up tips about human fashion? And how much does he charge? What? At least next time the characters will have nice outfits.

“You know, this still doesn’t make sense no matter how much I think about it,” Zeb said, rearranging his dress robes before sitting cross-legged on his chair. “Dumbledore wants her to be kept a secret so bad he never lets her leave her room, but then he invites her to sing in front of the school, but then he tells her as soon as she’s done she has to go right back to her room and… what, they’ll just hope everyone forgets about her?”

Remember, nobody cares about dumb facts and logic, Zeb. Only one-upping Harry.


The Aviator stood up, taking Zeb’s earmuffs from him when he offered them to her. “Let’s get that guitar,” she said as the Hall burst into applause. “Dee—er.” She cleared her throat when Zeb looked at her with a slow grin. “The Detective’s got an amp in his TARDIS—I mean, this is an acoustic, but he might still find a use for it.”

… Any chances of Elanor getting a sibling in the more or less close future y chance?

“Ave and the Detective, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S—”

PG level of discyourwebapps forbids me of pointing out the other four letters word fitting there… What? Do you have any idea how muh of a can of worms ‘love’ can be?

“Rock, Paper, Scissors?” Zeb suggested.


Lizard and Spock clearly missing there.

Zeb squinted at the notebook. “Ave, I can’t read Gallifreyan!” he called to her. “You gotta stop switching midway!”

Shamelessly stealingRespectfully borrowing the idea for Richard someday.

The Sue burst into a shower of glitter, coating the Aviator’s hands in sparkles. She recoiled in disgust and began shaking her hands as the tracker on her ankle began beeping alarmingly. “Shut up, it’s the Sue, you piece of *bleep*—” She delivered a vicious kick to the tracker with her other foot and it fell silent after one last, mournful beep.

That ducking piece of crap is still there, seriously?Just go to the Great Workshop in the Sky, dang it!

“Man, why can’t all our missions be this easy?”

*Looking at iximaz's mission count* It's all your fault Zeb. You'll know about what when you see it.

“Don’t go giving Ellie any siblings, now!” Zeb called after her.

IO is having some doubts there, Zeb. Should it go for a daughter or a son?


Again, Dawww for the start. And the mission presented the badfic well, with a nice and clean dispatch. Always linking reading this spin-off.

... you want a Nokia.

And neither of us owns Nokia, so even YOU can't hold that over us!

Also, is your Parliament less obstructionist than our Congress? I ask you!

If a female wants to send a message she has to carve it into sheets of metal.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rgiyq7rqWhg

And if anyone is in the NYC area, who's planning on going to see the greatest fireworks show in the nation?

*runs to the airport screaming "TAKE ME WITH YOU!"*

Really, though, I'm very much looking forward to returning to your Empire. People have been shooting off fireworks in my neighborhood all week long and it's getting annoying.

Also: PFFFFFFFTHAAHAHAHAHA. You'd get minor style points if you pronounced it 'auspice', but you don't, do you? No. I bet you say it 'you-ess-pee-ess', which sounds like you named your country and then remembered a bit you wanted to tack onto the end.

And anyway, what do your postboxes (oh, I'm sorry, 'male boxes', because that's not sexist at all...) look like? Blue dustbins on stilts. They are nothing - nothing, I say - besides the glory of the Royal Mail pillarbox, that marvel of cast iron and regal red-and-gold, which can stand up to bombs that devastate city centres.

hS, &c &c

(Also we have the USPS which sounds much cooler. So there.)

... I'm sending a fully-armed battalion to put you straight to bed without any civil liberties.

hS, &c &c

I mean, think about it. Yes, you could make up your own adorable little laws, with your fancy 'declaration' and your 'constitution' (shame you didn't put some of those points into charisma, what?), but why bother? All it'll get you is a 'president' and a 'congress' and a 'senate', which frankly makes you sound like a bunch of academics engaging in erotic cosplay as ancient Greeks.

Wouldn't you rather have a queen (or, if you're feeling politically correct, a king)? Doesn't that just sound better? A country is so much more majestic-seeming if it has its own royalty. Why would you give up the Royal Mail, the Royal Navy, and, er... Burger King I suppose, in favour of... I don't even know what, but I'm certain it sounds worse.

Think about all your favourite books and movies for a second. Lord of the Rings? Aragorn becomes king. Discworld? Lord Vetinari is an absolute ruler. Harry Potter? Set in Britain, under the Queen. Star Wars, Percy Jackson, Black Panther... all the best fiction starts with a monarch.

So come on. Give up this frankly ridiculous pretense that doing anything other than returning to the Empire on which the sun still never sets is somehow 'better'. We know it isn't, you know it isn't, everyone knows it isn't, you're just embarrassing yourselves.

We ask for so little. Just let us rule you, and you can have everything that you want. Just fear us, love us, do as we say and we will be your slave.

Isn't that generous?

hS, on behalf of Her Prospective Imperial Majesty Elizabeth II, Potentially of America

I like the use of the (I assume) flat pattern for the shirt - with the shading, it really works.

In fact, shading is something I want to particularly highlight - particularly on the first and last D&D images, you've managed to convey the lighting of the scene (the priest's eyes, the worgen lit from in front and below) very effectively. :)

hS

Though the Healers are expecting Rose to bounce back--she's asleep because of potions right now. So presumably she'll wake up once they wear off and she's rested long enough.

(Bah. Every bit. Thanks.)

Also, they could use many, many hugs. That's for sure.

For the rest--wait and see!

~Z

I want to hug them. .-.

Will any of the three wake up?

(Also: "Every big of visible skin"?)

I mean, it's not bad...but remember, this is a Hogwarts AU, not a straight crossover. So no TARDISes, no aliens, no giant leaps of time travel (only Time Turners available)...which means Weevils are pretty unlikely at this point.

No clue when the next part will come, but it will show up!

~Z

Now I'm theorizing what on earth could have possibly hurt them. Is it bad my first thought was Weevils? Because my first thought was Weevils.

Hope you write a new part soon!

The fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was for spell damage. First was creature injuries, fifth held a tearoom and shop that Ianto had no intention of visiting. Third--ground, second, and third didn't matter, but the information catalogued its way into Ianto's mind anyway: artifact incidents on the ground floor, magical bugs on the second, potion and plant poisoning on the third.

Jacques was paler than Ianto had ever seen him, almost paler than the crisp hospital bedding he was lying on. His eyes were closed. He was breathing, just unevenly enough to be noticeable; when he'd been brought in--when someone had left him in the lobby--he'd been unconscious and had bruises on his back. The rest of the damage had been invisible.

He hadn't woken up. Nearly a day, and he hadn't woken up.

Ianto had hardly ever seen Grey before, and he barely saw him now. Jacques' younger brother spent most of his time in the tearoom that Ianto was avoiding; when he did show up, after Ianto had sat helplessly for an hour, he stood looking at Jacques for ten minutes, looking nearly as pale, and then left again.

Franklin was there, though, and Amélie; Amélie even hugged him, clinging for long moments before she smoothed his hair and let him go. It was Franklin who caught him up in short, pained sentences, who told him that the Healers seemed worried that Jacques wasn't waking up, who pointed him to Rose, lying pale and still and scratched just below her neck nearby. Who explained that the scratches were from some sort of animal, but the Healers had been far more concerned with the spell damage, and had given her sleeping potions so that she could heal faster.

Because Rose was expected to heal, and soon. She was young, and healthy, and looked worse off than she was. She would be fine.

Ianto sat with her anyway, when he felt he'd start screaming at Jacques to move if he looked at his friend any longer. Her breathing was smooth, even; pale and still as she was, he could believe she would bounce back.

Jacques was still motionless in an hour, and in another hour, and another. The sad little bag of Jacques' belongings that Ianto had brought sat nearby, out of the way. It seemed now incredibly, stupidly optimistic that he'd believed Jacques might be in any condition to appreciate the thought, much less actually use anything he'd packed. Stupid, idiotic--

Medical. What if Medical could heal him? What if Medical could heal him where St. Mungo's couldn't, and sitting here waiting was going to--

But if Jacques was supposed to die--well, Ianto wouldn't let him, and that was that. But if the author of their AU decided to kill him off--

No. No, they couldn't. That couldn't happen. No. Because--because they were an AU, and Jack Harkness was immortal. He'd found so many parallels when he made his way through the story: Jon, Johnny, and Rose, Martha's interest in healing, Johnny's traveling, hell, even the rivalry between Johnny and young Harold Saxon. The Doctors were all relatives, Owen Harper in Ravenclaw was dating someone named Katie, Jacques had even dated a girl called Lucia--surely, with details that small in place, the author wouldn't write in Jacques' death? It wouldn't make sense. The change would be too large.

Franklin shifted in the chair next to him, sending Ianto's thoughts back into turmoil. Franklin was alive; that was already a change. But Jacques was also French, not from a nonexistent colony planet, so--

Round and round. He had to--

Jacques was unchanged. Grey was back, sending desperately awkward glances at Ianto as his mother hugged him. Ianto decided it was time to go see Jon.

"First floor," Franklin had told him earlier. He'd added that it didn't look good, but Jacques...Ianto hadn't been able to shake the hope that he would wake up any minute, the fear that it would happen the second he stepped away.

Now he took the risk, walking out the door and taking the lift down. It took nearly ten guilty minutes to find Jon, which he finally managed after catching a Healer who was willing to spare a minute to talk.

He wished he hadn't. He really did. He'd never seen anyone injured like this, outside of that one awful badfic he refused to think about, and he'd never wanted to, either.

Jon wasn't the familiar shade of pale he'd seen on Jacques and Rose: he was chalk white. Every big of visible skin was broken, deep slashes that made Rose's scratches look like they hadn't broken the skin. There was--there was a bite mark at his neck. Ianto thought wildly of sparklepires when he realized it looked human--but no, this wasn't that kind of crossover. He knew it wasn't.

The bite at Jon's neck was uncovered, angry and red but not bleeding; the healer who gave him a very quick run-down of Jon's injuries mentioned a second one under the bandage on his arm, and slashes...slashes everywhere.

Ianto swallowed again and again after the Healer left. Finally, he went into the next room and threw up.

When he came back, Jon was unchanged. Ianto dragged over a chair and sat, forcing himself to look at the other wizard. He felt ill, still--but what was that compared to this?

What had even done this? The Healer seemed to have assumed he knew what had happened, if not the specific injuries, which left him to play detective at just about the last time he'd ever want to. Slashes, so deep--human bite marks, of all things--and the Healers couldn't just close it all up, said his chances were bad--

He froze as it came to him, staring down at Jon's limp hand against the blanket. No. No.

He got to his feet, feeling like he was floating. Tucked the blankets in around Jon, made for the door, went back up to the fourth floor. Jacques was unchanged; Rose was still asleep. He told the Bonnefoys that he had somewhere to be, but would be back, tomorrow if not tonight; they wished him well, thanked him for coming at all--and then he was back in the lift, out in the street, ducking into the alley, Apparating home. Closing the blinds, taking out the remote activator--

His hands didn't shake as they punched in coordinates. He hesitated a moment before stepping through the bright blue portal--what if--?

He had to know. He had to try...and he couldn't do that from home.

He stepped through. The portal closed behind him.

--

((More to come! ~Z))