When The Fic Hits The Fan (fanfic one-shot/story collection)

[Strigoi Grey]

Mostly a collection of one-shots exploring "What if...?" scenarios for series I like, though arcs are also possible.

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Introduction: So what's this all about, anyway?

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Disclaimer: the acronym for the title might or might not be your reaction while reading this. I don't make any guarantees for your sanity; I can barely guarantee mine. Also, I don't own any of the stories involved here. Do you think I'd be here if I did?

Ahem...so, I was originally planning to post this, and the crossover collection, after I finished at least the main plotline for my original fantasy story, The Scholar's Tale. But, due to how long that is taking, in terms of both writing ST and my other projects and irl stuff, I decided, why not go ahead? It's not like I have a planned storyline to advance (yet). On that note, I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update, but I'll try to do so at least as often as I get an idea.

Chapter suggestions are welcome, but I can't guarantee I'll turn them into chapters. I probably won't know every series people will bring up and, to be blunt, if someone brings up a series I don't like for me to write about, I probably won't force myself to do it.

Note:, despite the jokey title and introduction, this isn't meant to be (entirely) a comedy story collection.

Currently planned chapters:

-Pocket Monsters: Trazyn the Infinite entering a phase of capturing dangerous beings in Tesseract Labyrinths in order to throw them at people use them in battle (and because they're neat); (Warhammer 40,000); (Pokemon references, not a Pokemon crossover. There are no crossovers in Ba Sing Se this thread);

-Trifecta: What if John Taylor and Eddie Drood met Owen Deathstalker at the Adventurers' Club in the Nightside? (undecided on the time period, but post-Daemons Are Forever, so that Eddie has already met Giles Deathstalker); (Greenverse: Deathstalker, Nightside and Secret Histories);

-Chipped Cog; Whatever is Yuji doing post-EOS? (Jujutsu Kaisen);

[Strigoi Grey]

The Books (Warhammer 40,000; parody/crack)

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AN: Did you know that (to my knowledge, at least) Leman Russ has written the most books out of the Primarchs? He apparently has a series with at least twenty-one volumes, another with at least fourteen, and at least one unrelated book. For some related quotes, see his Lexicanum page.

Magnus, the guy you'd expect to be known for that, has the Book named after him as his claim to fame. It's...funny.

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Ahzek Ahriman, once heir of the Achaemenid Empire, First Captain of his Legion, almost jumped as he heard his father's eye snap open.

Abrupt as it had been, no mortal would've caught it; but Ahzek was Astartes, and one of the most skilled users of Warpcraft among his brothers besides. In fact, only his father surpassed him when it came to the Art.

Said father was staring into space at the moment, looking poleaxed (and that was something Ahriman was familiar with, though last time Magnus had taken a power halberd to the face, during a gruelling Compliance, he'd looked more composed). He had been sitting on the floor of the Sanctum that bore his name, the metaphorical heart of the Photep, a golden sun under him. His arms, crossed under his chest in meditation, were now slack, the Primarch's hands on his knees.

He clenched them. Turned to look at Ahriman.

The Captain, despite the aura of disbelieving exasperation radiating from his Primarch, kept his footing, and met his father's gaze as Magnus' features settled into a flat expression.

'That mangy barbarian played us all,' the Crimson King declared, biting out each word.

Ahriman was not one to let surprise show, when he could help it. 'Sire?'

Magnus shook his head, his mane of red hair twisting as he rose and began pacing the length of the Sanctum. 'Don't you understand, Ahzek? It's all been a smokescreen, since the start of the Crusade. All that...Feral World cretin behaviour. A deception.'

Ah. He was talking about the Wolf King. Not a brother the Cyclops loved much. 'How has Lord Russ deceived you, my Lord?'

'Deceived us all,' Magnus corrected, not looking at his son. 'Besides, perhaps, our father.' Ahzek saw his eye widen, go from copper to gold. 'This might all have been a test. To see if I could see beyond appearances and my misgivings, and...' He shook his head again, muttered.

Then stopped. 'My son. I have recently heard of a book series meant to educate Imperial Commanders, appropriately,' he looked sickened as he said the word, 'Meditations on Imperial Command. I have not read them myself, yet, since I have had other volumes to occupy my time, but I have just heard of the author.' He had, the Primarch meant, heard it across the ship, with his bodily or subtler senses. 'Now, when I heard about the series' title, I thought that maybe Roboute had written them. Or Rogal. Malcador, maybe. Or even the Emperor, beloved by all. Men known for such things.'

Ahzek nodded carefully. 'Primarch Russ does not come to mind when one thinks of prolific authors,' he remarked.

'Exactly. That's his point!' Magnus exclaimed, then began explaining. 'He knows many within the Imperium see him as an unwashed savage, an image he does little to counter and much to encourage. For,' Magnus rolled his eye, 'the military value.'

The Sixth Legion did appear to be bullheaded primitives to those who did not know them, but Ahriman remembered his recent encounter with the Space Wolf Primarch. He had talked like a genius imitating a savage. 'Ah,' the Space Marine said. 'And to...keep attention off his writings until they are released?'

Magnus looked at him like he'd called Curze sane. 'What? No. It's not like anyone would expect that - why should they? And that's the rub.' Magnus put the fingers of one hand together. 'Ahzek, that savage is trying to show me up using my passions.'

What? 'My Lord, I don't think-'

'No, no, don't you see, Ahriman? It's camouflage - that buffoonish manner he affects, those ridiculous wolf pelts he and his sons wear, like some hunters out of Old Earth's prehistory. It's all meant to deflect attention, from these taunts of his he thinks subtle, I mean. Taunts directed at me.'

The Primarch was looming over him now. He had a way of doing that, could grow to dwarf Titans, but even if he'd been the size of a baseline man, Ahzek would've felt tempted to look up. 'Leman Russ,' the Fifteenth Primarch said stiffly, 'has written tens of widely-perused volumes, all under my nose. And I never noticed, because I was too busy sneering at how stupid he acts!'

'Sire, I-' Ahriman stumbled as Magnus' glare dared him to contradict his words. 'That is, I don't think that was his intention. Taunting you - I do not think your brother is trying to surpass you as an author.' The Lord of Winter and War usually disparaged his brother's scholarly and sorcerous ways, but he hadn't brought up the Book of Magnus as a stepping stone, something to beat. 'I think he simply...enjoys writing, my Primarch. And is perhaps trying to educate the Imperial elites. Maybe even redeem his reputation as a brutish warlord.'

Magnus stared down at him, eye shifting through a rainbow of colours. Where the other would have been was sometimes smooth flesh, other times a puckered scar, as the Primarch's moods took him, was now a ragged socket, as if something taloned has just torn out the eye, though no blood flowed. 'You might be right, at that,' Magnus murmured. 'You might be right. He's going to leave me behind, at this rate. He already has!'

That was the beginning of Magnus the Red's period of isolation, during which he penned several thousand volumes pertaining to all pursuits of Imperial society, from civilian and military command at all levels to sewing, gardening, animal husbandry, engineering and more besides. He, Magnus had vowed, would not be surpassed by an author whose contributions to society were done out of spite, rather than a love of knowledge.

Ahriman was the one who had to explain it to his brothers, a task he wouldn't have envied had it fallen to anyone else. They took it as gracefully as could be expected, though Ahriman did not appreciate the greater responsibilities as acting Legion Master, nor the sidelong glances his brothers sent him. As a close confidante of the Primarch and a powerful future seer, they'd expected him to see it coming.

While Primarchs did not require much rest or sustenance, if any, for they were of the Great Ocean as much as the Materium, there were still people who wanted or needed to see Magnus, though they got used to dealing with Ahriman, out of necessity.

Once, Lorgar Aurelian, standing in the doorway to the Cyclops' writing room, joked that maybe he should take a break from crusading and put something to paper as well.

Magnus looked up enough to scowl at him, and say, 'He's going to leave you in the dust too, Lorgar.'

The Urizen, who had apparently come to share something "eye-opening" with his brother, had to be escorted away, with all due politeness - and haste. Given Magnus' current mood, he wouldn't welcome distractions.

With Magnus deep into his work, when the Flesh Change returned, he asked his father to place the Thousand Sons in stasis or any other method of quarantine he felt was best, until a solution could be found. During this period, the Primarch wrote a book about Warp afflictions, psychic and physical.

Eventually, with the Emperor's plan entering its next phase, it was time for Magnus to sit the Golden Throne, his spirit flying unbound above the tides of the Othersea while new-generation ships plied the recently-opened Imperial Webway.

The Primarch had to be all but dragged from his writings, and who better than one of his brothers to do that?

'You did this!' Magnus accused halfheartedly as he and Leman Russ walked up the steps leading to the Throne. 'You planned for me to become ensconced within my chambers, so you could write who knows what else, before I could finish everything I had planned and publish them. And now I won't be able to write anything anymore-'

Russ grunted. 'Magnus, what the Hel are you talking about?' And pushed his brother into the Throne.

The Crimson King, it had to be said, took to his new role with aplomb: it was, after all, as close to a perfect life as a psyker could get. And the Emperor was always close, in body and mind, to speak with him. Efforts were being made to give the Thousand Sons new, better bodies, and the possiblity of raising a new Legion if nothing worked was mentioned. Magnus grimly told his father to do everything he had to, and returned to his tasks: the Imperial Webway was a marvellous accomplishment, but the Golden Throne required a powerful psyker to operate and thus allow access to the otherworldly labyrinth, at least until improvements could be made.

All in all, Magnus was quite content with his lot. And if some carefully laid plans had been unravelled on the way, well, such was life.

That is not to say that, on the day Leman Russ happened by, to leave his brother a copy of his newest volume, which explored how people's self-styled, jealous rivals cut themselves off from the world in order to win competitions only they perceived, the Crimson King took it well.

But all claims that he screamed are baseless slander. The function of the Golden Throne required all his attention, after all.

(The book quickly spread across the galaxy. The Primarch Perturabo, while irritated by the concept in ways he did not deign to explain, took the message to heart and devoted himself to civilian architecture after the Great Crusade was over, becoming renowned for his ability to mix form and function. The Lord of Iron often claimed such praises were empty flattery meant to gain his favour, but he did not ask people to stop.)

[Strigoi Grey]

Eons To Go (Should Death E'er Come) (Invincible)

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AN: A while ago, I began thinking about Viltrumites in settings like Star Wars, WH40K and others with large time scales (just examples to illustrate this, any crossovers will be in another story), and thinking "Man, these timelines go way back. Like, a Viltrumite born before the Republic would probably be dead by the time it collapses, right?"

Then I thought more about it and realised that, no, that's impossible. Viltrumites don't age slower until x age, they age slower the older they get. This means that old enough Viltrumites will be effectively frozen in time, with years passing like seconds as far as their bodies are concerned after some point. And since we never see Viltrumites die of natural causes, only violence and the Scourge Virus, they'd basically become ageless in their old age. I don't think they need sustenance either (the cannibalistic alternate Mark mentions getting hungry but not weaker in isolation, and I'm guessing thirst would be the same, as in mostly psychological effects), though I'm not sure about sleep. Viltrumites can only hold their breath for two weeks and fighting wears them down, so I suppose you could kill one by working them to death (though given their endurance, that's basically still violence).

We do see Nolan talking about Viltrumites living for millennia, but if he's never seen any die except in the aforementioned ways, what else could he say? That statement of his about Mark living to see Earth crumble into dust and blow away might not be as hyperbolic as I initially thought, though Mark would probably look and feel (the Viltrumite equivalent of) 70-80 at that point.

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Derix was pleased to see one more target's bullseye turn into a small crater as the hyperdense projectile rebounded off it and back to his palm. His skin, already dark by default, was becoming jet-black due to the speed and friction of the impacts, but he was not concerned: between his endurance and the Empire's technology, he'd recover quickly, and anyway, this was useful practice in case he ever had to turn space debris into an RKKV aimed at a small target.

His friend, Khiven, was also training his precision and dexterity, albeit for melee: the shapeshifting substance he was trying to pin down was meant to be formed into a cat's cradle and kept that way, but it was fast as it was slippery, an kept sliding between and over his fingers.

'Man,' Khiven groaned, not for the first time. 'I'm never gonna get the knack of this damn thing.'

Derix snorted, placing the projectile in an antigravity pocket on his belt. 'Not with talk like that you won't.' The once-grassy field had been riven and flattened by shockwaves, and unlike his alread-healing hands and forearms, wouldn't recover by itself, not for a long time.

'I can talk however I like,' Khiv retorted grouchily, 'I'm still gonna be dead and rotting by the time I manage to stop this pain in the ass.'

Derix rolled his eyes, sitting down next to his friends with his arms across his knees. 'Sure, if you bite off more than you can chew in the meantime.'

'...What's that supposed to mean?'

Derix looked up to see Khiven puzzled. 'I'm talking about fights, man. Unless you piss off all your neighbours again or get into a fight with Battle Beast's nth-great-grandkids or something, you'll never have to worry about kicking it.'

Khiven scratched at his short, reddish facial hair (Derix had never felt generous enough to call it a beard). 'You're sure? I mean yeah, we live a lot, but we've never...'

'Can't exactly measure living forever, right?' Derix asked drily. 'Maybe if one of our ancestors survived from when their powers appeared to now and died after Empero Mark took the throne, sure, we'd be sure of our lifespans. But short of that or precognition, I think we're here to stay, nawmean?'

His friend seemed unconvinced, so he went on. 'Think about it. It took us nearly a century to reach our prime once we hit our teens and started flying, yeah? So our aging slowed down several times since we got our powers. By the time we're a couple thousand years old, it'll be more like a hundred times slower than when we were kids.'

Derix ran a hand over his shaved head at that, smirked at the other Viltrumite. 'Well. Guess I'll have to track your greying to know where I'm at, huh?'

Khiven flipped him off the planet. Watched him return, blueshifted - and mildly irate following the explosion upon landing and getting out of the crater that left; the Viltrumite equivalent of jogging back into a room after being shoved into the hallway. The two flew away to the other side of the world, where there was enough air to talk. It was more for the change of scenery: Viltrumites could communicate mind to mind through implants, like most civilised species. 'You really needed to do that?'

Khiven looked aside, frowned. 'Maybe.'

Derix sniffed. 'You're lucky this place is uninhabited-'

'You're sure that's not the side effect of you showing up?'

'-but anyway, you don't get to lash out at me just cuz you've got sausage fingers. I ought to kick your ass later.' Derix crossed his arms. 'Douchebag. Right, so as I was saying, years will feel like a couple days by then, you know?' He blinked, licked his lips. 'That concerns me.'

'Huh?' Khiven grunted. 'Why that? I'm a lot more bummed out by the fact I'll look like a geezer until heat death, according to you.'

'According to facts. And I just realised the universe is gonna have to deal with millennia of your middle-aged crisis once you realise how freaking lame you are-'

Khiven's attempt to put him in a headlock left the planet covered in craters, each bigger than most countries from pre-Imperial Earth, and their shoving match tilted a tectonic plate until it was jutting out of the world like a monstrous mountain. It would soon begin to collapse, and had partly crumbled during the shifting anyway.

Derix gave his friend a flat look. [Happy?] he thought. [Now I have to hold my breath on top of having to see you look like you accomplished something.]

Looking far too pleased with himself, Khiven replied, [It's just a matter of time, cue ball. Maybe it'll turn out someone wanted to settle that rock and we'll get to help with terraforming. We haven't had anything worthwhile to do in forever.] He flexed an arm. [Besides, don't act like you don't already have to hold your breath around me.]

[Nah, you don't reek that badly.] Derix mimicked waving something away from his nose. [You're not wrong, though. About getting to see the universe cool down in your old age. It's probably not gonna be heat death exactly, I don't think that could happen if there were enough of us around-]

[Neeerd.] Khiven pretended to cover a yawn. Before he lowered his hand, he was pushed through an asteroid. Many million tons of mostly iron flew apart so fast they became vapour and the two Viltrumites focused on hovering in place to ride out the explosion. They were both chuckling by the time it ended.

[Geez, shut up and let me finish, alright? I swear you heard about that asskicking and are so scared you wanna speed it up, like that'll hurt less.] Dirrex put a hand on his hip. [Like I was saying, you're not wrong, actually. Remember those history holos about Conquest and Thaedus? It's been a while since I brushed up on stuff about Argall's Empire, but weren't those two there from the start? Like, I'm fairly sure Thaedus already looked like a prune back when Nolan was in diapers and didn't change by the time that guy was getting grey hairs.]

[Probably closer to ten thousand years than a thousand, naw?]

[Yeah, yeah.] Derix nodded. [At that age? I think our bodies basically freeze, man. Stasis, except we can still move.]

Khiven looked away, tapping a finger on his thigh. [Not gonna lie - wish there'll be more of us by then.] Many worlds already teemed with trillions, for Viltrumites could interbreed with almost any species, and the Empire as a whole had more citizens than any world could fit.

[Viltrumites? Why, so you can lie to kids about how badass you were back when you had hair?]

[You're already bald!] Khiven raised his hands as if to throttle Derix, but the other Viltrumite only smirked, wagging a finger.

[Nah, nah. I cut my hair so punks like you can't pull on it during fights. But you? You're gonna look like Conquest in no time, just wait.]

[Screw that, bro. I'm shaving my hair too before I go for that look.] Khiven met his eyes. [I was saying, I hope there are more of us by then because, how permanent is anything else? Anyone? How much stuff we build will remain anywhere besides our memories? And other species die out and fade even if not one's looking to kill them. Sure, we have kids with them and they'll eventually be just Viltrumites with this or that ancestry, but something is still kept, right?]

Derix'x expression became serious. [Hey, dude. You shouldn't worry about things that far into the future, ok? You don't know what'll happen, nobody can. Our engineering's already improving - remember that armour they did a demo for last week? Supposed to let a kid fight a Ragnar even if they've only had powers for a day. Heard they got some Geldarians to come take a look at it, and those guys know their stuff. Heard next generation's gonna be even better. Maybe they're putting a Tech Jacket spin on it. Shapeshifting for weapons, I don't know] He smiled. [But even if that doesn't take out, it's like you said: we're gonna remember. And like I said, we're not going away anytime soon. Not on our own.]

Khiven rubbed the side of his neck. [Suppose Viltrumites can go crazy 'cause they've seen too much stuff? I saw this documentary once about people flipping after a few centuries because they had too many memories or old ones got erased to make room and they forgot their past, can't, uh, remember exactly.]

[Appropriate. I think I know the one you're talking about, but wasn't that one about people who started mortal and got introduced to immortality procedures? They weren't really built for that...we've been practically ageless once grown since we started recording history.]

A brief silence - of thoughts, for there had never been sound in the void of space to begin with - followed that. It was Khiven who broke it, and he was smiling. [Speaking of changes - you know how the Empress resurrects herself every century, once she dies of old age?]

[No! She's going to let herself stay dead?]

[What the hell, man! No! I was gonna tell you about this agelessness serum they're working on. You know how we've been able to isolate Viltrumite traits for a while? Strength, flight and so on?]

[They're making those?] Derix was puzzled. [I thought all models predicted the consumers getting addicted and cranky unless they took regular doses, which they'd need to in order to keep the powers.]

[Well, that might not be so far off anymore. Maybe we'll even get an upgrade that turns the people injected into Viltrumites, huh? Permanent powers, no side effects.]

[I think that might happen anyway,] Derix replied. A lot of species wanted to get it on with Viltrumites, for their descendants' sake if not the act itself.

[Sure, but this could speed it up if we manage. It could even let kids adjust from the start instead of having to feel stifled until they hit puberty, ya know?] Khiven stroked his chin. [And I'm thinking, if they're rolling this out, they must've improved something, right? Maybe the effect is permanent, or at least it doesn't make people crave more if it fades. And if it works, why wouldn't Eve use it? Wouldn't have to go through that crap every hundred years. I know it can't be nice for Mark to watch, even if he knows it's all safe.]

[Maybe she'll manage to get rid of her mental blocks? That way she can fix herself and anyone else whenever, easy.]

Khiven laughed quietly. [Guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we, Derix?]

[Yeah.] Derix stared into the distance, at the stars. They had never seemed so...ephemeral. [Guess we'll see.]