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peggyao3 · 2 months ago

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Relic - Pt. 16 "Destroyer of Worlds"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: We're really getting there now 🥹🥹🥹 I'm so excited. And I'm very pleased with this chapter 🤭 I can't wait to hear what you think!

Reposted from my Ao3💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Day 100

No guards frame the door that is tall and glinting back, just like Feyd had assured her. When she had approached it and passed through it several weeks prior, she thought it may as well lead to hell, but today she is certain of it. Except it won't be Feyd's hell or hers, it will be his.

And he will have no time for tricks.

With her gun of clear, shiny plastic raised in front of her chest, the relic enters Baron Vladimir Harkonnen's bath chambers.

The scented, herbal fog hasn't grown as dense and thick yet and the white, fleshy heap at the center of the tub fills out her sight at once. And unexpectedly, there is movement to the right, not a guard or a servant but Glugo who quivers in a damp basket near the wall.

While the woman's eyes are briefly averted, the Baron's shield flares up around his misshapen form at a flick against the massive, silver band at his middle finger. The smallest and priciest model on the market, Ixian technology.

"I expected my nephew," he drones, voice amplified by the vaulted ceiling but distorted by the shield.

"Hands on the pool edge," the woman demands, voice as cold as cryogenic vapor. Vladimir acquiesces, unable to reach for the transponder behind his ear. An invisible muscle ticks at his fleshy jaw.

"I hold audiences every Freitak," he attempts to jest, arms spread out in mockery as he adjusts them on the slippery edge. "No need to assault me in my own bath chambers."

A blunder, he realizes quickly as her face hardens with rancor. Not a molecule would fit between her clenched teeth.

"You're troubled because of what you saw," he concludes. "It was a mistake." Vladimir concedes all too quickly. His finesse seems to have evaporated along with the curling steam and he realizes he knows nothing substantial about the woman.

"Quite," she confirms curtly, closing in with slow, deliberate steps. The crosshair projected by her interface, only for her eyes to see, dances over the Baron's face, but she won't take any risks. At the center of the vaulted chamber, a generous distance separates them still, but she feels more confident in her aim.

Pulling a trigger is as easy as dropping a bomb. She should have it in her. Her kin have dropped bombs like rainfall back in the slaughterhouse warfare for oil and soil and rare earths.

The Baron gawks at the muzzle, an unassuming hole among glossy, alien plastic. His old eyes might be deceiving him, but he thinks he can see the inner cogs and channels shimmering through the surface, and a metallic component that doesn't belong.

A lasgun! She's either a maniac or an idiot! Or truly a relic of long-forgotten ages, like the sisterhood had said.

He could either deactivate his shield and die certainly, saving the palace and the capital from nuclear fallout, or he could take them down with him, his nephew included.

"You don't want to fire a lasgun at me, kid."

His voice booms and the Tleilaxu creature leaps out of its basket, hand-feet splatting across the damp tiles. Thank God, it flees out the door, the relic thinks. That tiny moment of inattentiveness is enough for Vladimir to flick the switch at the ring on his pointer, a special gift that was given to him just a few days ago, and just in time. Already, he feels safer.

"That's not a normal lasgun." Her attention is back on the Baron and she smiles knowingly. Vladimir despises the self-assured look of it.

"We can find a civilized solution for this," he declares with renewed confidence. Pretending to think, he sways his fatty neck from side to side. "I know my nephew has plenty to offer, so I don't see why we shouldn't be able to share."

She laughs out brightly, a sound like a whiplash across the Baron's heaving chest. "Where I'm from, there's the death penalty for abusers like you. I couldn't build an electric chair, so I brought something else."

"And what have you got there?" Get her talking, he thinks, beady eyes greedily darting for the door.

"Feyd's wedding gift."

"Feyd's wedding—?"

Thumb slipping over the back of the gun, she cocks the hammer.

"Did I understand that correctly? If you miscalculated, this test will cause an atomic explosion?" The memory of a few days prior fills out her mind, easing the terrible anxiety that now dampens her palms. "Yes, but I did not miscalculate." "Then why test it?" Feyd-Rautha had paced anxiously behind her and sized up the heap of towels stacked in the corner of her room, their outline blue and blurred by a softly humming Holtzman shield. "Better to be safe than sorry." "I'd feel sorry if you blew up my planet." "I wouldn't," she had responded with hardness and pulled the trigger. Doing so fires the bullet first, then a fine tuned laser beam from a smaller second muzzle, as light travels faster than matter and the bullet needs more time to reach its target. The double muzzle is calibrated to take the bullet's weight and distance from the target into consideration. Light may have no inherent mass, but photons do transmit impulse. And so the photons that comprise the laser beam collide with the Holtzman shield's nuclei and propel them into motion towards the body they are meant to protect. The beam's impact isn't hard enough to trigger a nuclear chain reaction, but just right to accelerate the nuclei. And by the time the bullet arrives at the crime scene too, its relative velocity to the shield is that of a slow blade. With a thump, the bullet had sunken into the stack of towels.

The door moves at her back and the only reason why she doesn't jump in fright is because she recognizes his footsteps.

"Wait, my darling."

The Baron could weep with joy at the sight of his dear nephew. Not who he had called, but an even more welcome sight. It was he who had given the boy everything; schooling for his cunning mind, planets to govern, blades to play with, toys to warm his heart and his cock with. Everything in exchange for a measly bit of affection!

Feyd-Rautha, dressed from neck to toe with not an inch of skin showing aside from his face and hands, loops his arms around his betrothed's waist, chin tilted and leaning against her temple.

"Let me do it."

Vladimir pales, shuffling in the sloshing bath water as his nephew gently takes the gun from the cursed woman's hand and closes in like a starved viper. His chest rises beneath the full coverage of his suit.

Desperately, the Baron looks at the door.

"My dear nephew, you're falling for a hoax! Do you want to blow up the city?"

Feyd-Rautha stops, still several meters away from the tub. Vladimir seethes.

Anxiously, the relic observes the jittering path of the digital crosshair, weapon out of her hands and out of her control. As Feyd halts, the red mark settles on the Baron's pasty forehead. His aim is perfect.

"You want me dead, then come closer, at least! Look me in the eyes when you do it, my boy." The Baron's tongue flicks out, grey-pinkish flesh, to wet his bottom lip. He wants him so close that he can see the whites in his nephew's eyes before the city blows up. Stripped naked and unarmed aside from the poison needle in the signet ring on his pinkie, he feels more than ever like a heap of flesh, defenseless and abandoned and to his own surprise, it is the latter that hurts most.

Feyd-Rautha doesn't speak.

"Say something, boy! You've had more than enough chances to do this, but you didn't, and I'll tell you why." The Baron raises himself slightly, bulging chest emerging from the inky water. "You don't want to kill your own un—"

The echo of a bang ricochets off the vaulted ceiling and the Baron finds his head knocked back, vision filled with fractured red, his shield dissolved.

With his head rolled on the tub's edge, he can only see the ceiling, and something wet slips over his brow, into his blurry eye. Vladimir had always thought, when Feyd finally manages to kill him, he would ravage his body with blades, take him apart to the last organ, gorge on his flesh while it is still warm. It had almost aroused him.

But his nephew's final touch — denied.

How cruel.

"You did it!" His betrothed's arms loop around his waist from behind, the embrace hard and stormy, her face against his spine. Feyd still stares in awe at the corpse of his uncle, massive, white flesh afloat obscenely in the tub.

"I did," he confirms, his voice hard, with tremors around the edges.

Feyd feels like he should perhaps burst into tears or yell, but none of the like wants to come out of his heart. The accomplishment might take a few days to feel real. What is entirely real, however, is the face of his darling as she slides to his front and cups his cheeks, overjoyed. The tears that his eyes are missing in his, shimmer distinctly in hers and before he knows it, she has tilted his face down to hers and pressed her lips on his, comforting and needy.

Anxiety melts under soft kisses and tears track down her cheeks, coloring their lips with salt.

"I see you've done us all a favor."

Feyd and his woman snap apart, staring in horror to the ajar door. A few steps into the chamber stands a figure swathed in black like a bad omen on the battlefield. The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam looks appreciatively at the corpse of Baron Harkonnen.

Even through the mesh of her veil, her sharp eyes perceive the wicked twitch of the na-Baron's hands around the gun.

"Hold still!" She commands and Feyd-Rautha's finger freezes at the trigger.

A pop-up blinks in the corner of the relic's interface, signaling the detection of the soundwave pattern she had picked apart a few weeks ago.

"What are you doing here?" The relic hisses, fingers screwed around Feyd's dangling wrist. She looks a tad haggard compared to when the Reverend Mother had last seen her, with a touch of madness in the eyes.

"My presence was requested by the late Baron and he was right to do so."

"Your presence?" Feyd's voice rings out in distaste, aiming for mockery but rage oozes from every strained muscle. The Reverend Mother sees in him a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

"I wasn't any less surprised than you are, Baron Feyd-Rautha." She tilts her head and with her moves the crass shadow thrown by her oblong headpiece. "That's how I knew the gravity of the situation. Your uncle was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. He had a feeling you were plotting something, so he requested my help, thinking I was the only one who could."

"But you are too late," Feyd barks, fingers clenching helplessly around the gun. "He's dead!"

"He is. And yet, I arrived perfectly on time." The Reverend Mother calmly crosses her hands in front of her body.

"You could have intervened and didn't?" Horror much bigger than when she had the Baron at gunpoint rises to the relic's chest.

"I must confess, I was… curious." Gaius Helen Mohiam waits but the younger woman remains silent. "How did you do it?"

The engineer laughs out, a sound that's shrill and unpleasant from her clamoring heartbeat. "Sure, I'll tell you and give away the single most valuable piece of information in the universe."

The Reverend Mother purses her lips. The truth is, she had made her decision the second the bullet had passed through the Baron's shield. That knowledge must die and not even reach the ears of her own sisters. Temptation brings out the worst in humans and careful plans are traded all too easily for short-lived power.

Perhaps Feyd-Rautha knows too, but he is a force they can control. The wildcard however has no place among them.

"This must not come out," the Reverend Mother declares, her tone a whiplash.

The glint in the wayward woman's eyes tells her everything she needs to know. The terrible relic is not horrified by the idea of throwing the world off balance. She embraces the potential of destruction like a tumor the flesh it feasts on. Thousands of years of selective breeding are at risk at the whims of one wicked catalyst.

"I think maybe it should," the relic snarks.

"You're an abomination!" Mother Mohiam snaps. "You should have stayed in the ice like the fossil you are."

"You shouldn't have thawed me then. This is your doing!"

And this is why the Reverend Mother must undo it. "There is no place for you here," she coldly proclaims.

"Then watch me make one! I'll carve, dig and shoot a mold for myself and if I end up destroying something on the way, I'm not sorry."

"That I can see, and that is precisely why there is no place for you in this world."

Feyd-Rautha stands at his betrothed's side, a shackled guard dog watching the heated exchange between witch and scientist, between the present and the past which might become the future once more.

"It is a pity," the Reverend Mother continues. "But there will be more opportunities to continue this bloodline." She tilts her head, sharp eyes locked onto the relic through the shroud of her veil. "Kill yourself."

Her interface flashes red, a warning at the center of her vision. For a brief moment, all joy fades from her eyes, all hope, and to end her own life seems to be the only logical consequence — until the code sequence she had programmed weeks prior is triggered into action, playing an opposing sound pattern directly into her skull.

Sound waves meet in destructive interference and only a dull, sad ache behind her sternum remains.

Mother Mohiam grows cold with terror when the abomination remains unmoving and smiles.

"You're full of surprises." The Reverend Mother's tone carries a hint of begrudging admiration. Underestimating her is a mistake she won't make again. The woman whose only ability of notable importance seemed to have been prescient dreams had somehow bested her command. But it doesn't matter. There is never only one way to the goal.

Feyd-Rautha realizes that too, but a second too late.

"Kill her."

The na-Baron slackens and turns, soulless eyes holding no recognition. She releases his wrist. Terror devours her when Feyd-Rautha points the gun at her forehead. And just like before, his aim is perfect. A red glow, visible only to her, bleeds into her vision from between her eyes and she remembers.

He aims with the gun that is linked to her brain. The trigger clicks only half a second after she jams it via remote control.

No bullet breaches her skull and the relic stumbles away from her love who stares at the handgun in confusion, pulling the trigger three more times before discarding the weapon with a dissonant clatter. A muscle tics at his jaw, cat like eyes narrowing into slits and he reaches for his belt. Glinting steel emerges from its sheath, a hissing purr. Her betrothed prowls.

"Feyd, don't—" She pleads, backing away with quickening steps. There is nowhere to go, only the tub where she could hide herself behind the Baron's floating corpse. "It's me, you don't want to kill me. You love me!"

"He doesn't know that," Mother Mohiam coldly reminds her and the relic glares hatefully.

"You're destroying his life!" She sobs, stumbling over the steps that lead up to the bathtub and falling on her bum. "How can you live like this? You're the abomination! He will kill you in revenge, he'll blow up your whole planet!"

Her beloved towers right over her, head crowned by a corona of glowglobe shine, his chiseled features entirely calm, innocent.

"Do it!"

"I'm sorry," she cries. "I love you."

Feyd grabs her by the front of her shirt as she tries to roll away. She squirms and sobs pathetically, helpless with no further tricks up her sleeve, no hidden blade or gun, no voice of her own to wield against him or her.

The Reverend Mother raises her chin in triumph, but all of a sudden, there is movement at the door, at the unsuspecting witch's back.

Mikhail Kyelug comes flying through the door, sword flung out in a wide arch. Right after him sprints Lilia, with Glugo clutching her hand.

The Reverend Mother spins in surprise, lips open, but her words are severed along with her head, terrible voice silenced forever as Mikhail's blade cleaves through her neck and spine with an awful crack. The world spins together with her head. The headpiece comes off, giving away thinning, grey hair. Voicelessly, she curses that her last ever sight is Baron Vladimir's Harkonnen's bloated face, dead eyes locked with dead eyes.

Feyd-Rautha whips around from the racket, blade quivering in his clenched fist. The relic's nails have dug inky crescents into his wrist. For a moment, no one moves and three humans and one humanoid wait with bated breath for Feyd to drop the blade.

But the voice is no link to be severed by the wielder's death, it is a temporary alteration of the brain, and so Feyd's face remains empty, shark eyes glaring at the intruders. Mikhail sees it too.

"Back! Back I say!" He roars and barges like a bull. Feyd-Rautha releases the woman's shirt, facing the threat that is bound to crash into him with hissing metal.

Blades collide.

Lilia jumps over the Reverend Mother's corpse and dashes past the fighting pair to collect her weeping Lady from the steps. Glugo's hand-feet splatter after her with haste and it picks up the discarded gun, cradling the devious, shiny thing protectively against its misshapen chest.

Glugo had known right away, when it scuttled past the tall, old witch in the hallway and she had commanded it in that terrible voice to leave, that she meant harm. So, it had ran as fast as it could and pulled at Lilia's hands and skirt, because Lilia would know what to do.

The three of them huddle down in the corner, the relic crying into Lilia's chest. Glugo slips a quivering hand-foot into her palm but its milky eyes are aimed at the center of the room where its friend and Mikhail are grappling and grunting.

By the Sun, the na-Baron fights like a demon! His pupils are shrunken into pinpricks and his mouth is pulled apart into a gashing grin. Mikhail's armor is torn at the shoulder and black blood weeps down his armpit. Every next parry burns as if his muscles were about to tear apart and with the rush of pain comes a rush of clarity.

Fists, not blades.

Mikhail drops his blood-slick sword and catches the na-Baron's wrist, stopping the tip of the blade centimeters away from his neck. Roaring, he shoves the na-Baron backwards until he collides into the wall and slams the taller man's wrist against the tiles, once, twice. Feyd's blade slips out of his twitching fingers and clatters to the ground as his lips skin back from glinting, black teeth in anger.

Mikhail doesn't hesitate. He drives his thick-knuckled fist into the na-Baron's guts like a battering ram. Wearing no armor, Feyd doubles up, spitting saliva across his own chest. Ringed hands grasp at Mikhail's chest plate, attempting to hurl the guard to the ground, but Mikhail's boot crashes into Feyd's pelvis and scarred knuckles find Feyd's soft cheek. Skin splits open and his molars sink into the soft flesh inside his mouth.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Feyd blurts out, choking on spit and blood, hands raised in the air as Mikhail's final blow cracks across his jaw. He lurches to the ground and rolls on his back in defeat, his eyes clear and wide in terror.

"My Lord," Mikhail pants, raising his bloodied fists in a shaky salute.

"I— I didn't—" Feyd's head turns to the corner where both women are huddled up, Glugo in front of them, clutching the handgun in one of its oily-black hands.

"My darling," Feyd rasps, spluttering blood. "I nearly killed you."

"It's not your fault," she sobs immediately and frees herself from Lilia's embrace. The pair meet in the middle and her arms whip around his neck, his around her waist and he squeezes her until he feels her very heartbeat against his own, convincing himself that she's still alive.

Their foreheads fall against each other and she gently cradles his aching jaw, thumb stroking under the bleeding cut on his cheek. Feyd-Rautha's long, lowered lashes cast shadows across his eyes and something dark and bitter flashes in them.

"No," she insists immediately and her tone forces his eyes back on hers. She won't allow him to hate himself for something he almost did. "We're alive and they're dead. This is our victory."

Next to Feyd-Rautha and his Lady, Lilia has rushed over to her husband, making an endearing fuss over the wound on his shoulder and his bruised hands. Deft fingers have unclipped the shoulder piece and tugged the cut fabric apart to inspect length and depth of the laceration.

"S'fine, my darlin'," Mikhail rasps with exhaustion and slings his good arm around her middle, pulling her into him to place mindless kisses atop of her head.

The relic peeks over Feyd's shoulder and unlatches one hand from her beloved, beckoning for the pair to come closer. "Thank you," she sighs with tear-thick voice.

Lilia confidently seizes the offered hand, thumb brushing comfortingly over her Lady's knuckles. Mikhail stands awkwardly behind her, one hand on Lilia's waist, not daring to touch the woman of higher standing so affectionately. "My Lady."

Feyd-Rautha releases his woman after all and turns to face his saviors. At once, the guard and the handmaid drop to one knee before him and lower their heads in devotion.

"Baron Harkonnen," they mumble in unison and a muscle twitches across Feyd-Rautha's cheek.

"No," he interrupts with grating tone. "Stand up!"

The pair obey, glancing up with confusion as they raise themselves. Feyd-Rautha regards them with a long glance and exhales deeply, then slowly kneels in front of them, pale head rolling forwards until his eyes are trained on the ground.

"Thank you," he says. "You saved her life, and mine."

"My Lord," Mikhail mutters, overwhelmed and looks to the Lady for help while squeezing Lilia's waist. "It was only our duty, eh?" He insists but that is hardly true. Not duty but friendship had hastened their steps and fueled his fists when they barged into the room.

Glugo can no longer contain itself and scuttles over on hasty hand-feet, mewling with worry as it flings four of its eight limbs at Feyd's chest, tugging on the thick fabric while pressing its misshapen pug face against his sternum.

Feyd winces when shiny plastic is waved about right next to his face and he tries to capture the gun out of Glugo's innocent, little hand-foot while cradling the creature's head with one big, pale hand.

"It's jammed," his betrothed reassures him. "Come here, give that to me, hm?" Gently, she grasps the weapon and places it back in its holster.

"Hush, hush," Feyd mumbles and allows himself in a moment of vulnerability to rest his bruised cheek atop Glugo's head while his darling softly squeezes his shoulder.

"It is actually Glugo who deserves your gratitude, my Lord," Lilia reveals and Feyd holds the glugging creature a bit tighter. "It came to me crying and begging and I knew you needed us."

Glugo doesn't know exactly why everyone smells so much of tears and joy, but it knows it did something right and that it is surrounded by the kindest beings it has ever known.

"I wouldn't go near," the relic remarks, stopping Feyd whose prowling footsteps have carried him closer to the round tub in which the fleshy, white mountain of his uncle's corpse still floats, unmoving. "He's radioactive."

"I won't," Feyd grates out, plush lips skinned back from his teeth in distaste. He feels none of the morbid fascination he had always assumed he would feel when his uncle is finally dead by his hands, only a grim, long-awaited sense of accomplishment. Turning his head, he finds Glugo tugging curiously on the dead Reverend Mother's dress. The poor thing does have a penchant for liver after all. Feyd clicks his tongue. "Don't touch that!"

Glugo scuttles away and back to Lilia's outstretched hand. It will receive a proper victor's feast later, something more worthy of its bravery than an old witch's, rotting corpse.

"I want the bodies completely eradicated, both of them," Feyd demands. Lest they return as Gholas, a voice of paranoia whispers to him, but he is all too happy to listen.

"How?" His woman curls her arm around his middle and Feyd pulls her to his chest, inhaling the scent of her hair before he makes a decision.

"Burn it down," he rasps. "Burn down the whole wing."

In the afternoon hours, the citizens, guards and slaves of Barony are left gawking and gasping, faces turned in shock towards the colossal palace pyramid where vicious smoke curls from the very top, black claws against the crass, white sky. At the na-Baron's behest, no one is to extinguish the wrathful flames.

Proudly, he watches it burn, the place that holds two decades worth of abuse. The biting smoke soars towards the stars, like the herald of a new age.

I am Time (Death), cause of destruction of the worlds, matured And set out to gather in the worlds here. Even without thee (thy action), all shall cease to exist, The warriors that are drawn up in the opposing ranks.

- Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita

A/N: Killed the baddies with the power of friendship and science 🥹 (2 more chapter to come)

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd #feyd rautha x reader #austin butler #feyd x oc #feyd rautha x oc #peggysuave fanfics #peggysuave;relic #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd fanfiction #feyd rautha fanfiction #feyd smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd imagine #feyd rautha imagine #dune part two #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction

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ludinusdaleth · 2 months ago

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vax, his hair & his armor in black like a raven. ludinus, his hair & skin as white as the snow of eiselcross. vax, guardian of fate, ludinus, destroyer of it. vax the grim reaper. ludinus the white horse, the horseman. vax, gone too soon. ludinus, alive too long. vax & ludinus, eternally in the purgatory of immortality and undeath. vax & ludinus, both invisible to the matron. vax & ludinus, death & winter. death, winter, and the matron of ravens connecting them.

heretical as it feels to say, they are in some way brothers. kin.

ethedok & vordo in some ways meet again. certainly made in their image.

even as one sheds the others divine blood to end divinity, not knowing he'd choose mortal family over divinity like the other would, too.

#am i making sense #cr spoilers #critical role meta #critical role #vax'ildan #ludinus da'leth #the raven queen #ethedok #vordo #van speaks

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paingoes · 5 months ago

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Destroyer

Trigger Discipline

(Masterlist)

this is pre-series, set in the first year delta was given to the emperor. delta and paris are both around 13 here.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, child abuse, dehumanization, power imbalances, minor bullying, slavery, emotional whump, mass death implied)

==============

It was fall break, one of the few times Paris was allowed back into Castle Thales. He dragged the suitcase behind him. There was barely enough time to set it down before the attendants swept him into the dressing room. It was hard to play the handheld with his head up straight, but he’d gotten good at it — in the same way the maids had gotten good at working around him.

His leg bouncing annoyed them enough that they let him take recess. It was only then that he first saw his father, out in the empty hallway, against the backdrop of the purple banners. The Emperor grabbed at Paris’s wrist. He pulled it up to examine the bruises on his knuckles that the makeup hadn’t covered. No hello.

“The school called. Do you think this behavior is acceptable?” His voice was calm, always calm. Paris pulled his hand back protectively.

“They started it,” he insisted.

“Don’t talk back to me, Paris. This is beneath you.”

“I got all As. Four point seven with APs. Did the school call to tell you that too?” He didn’t hide the ire in his voice. That school was out to fucking get him. None of the other students ever got in trouble for fighting. It wasn’t like he could do it by himself.

The look his father gave him killed that argument before it could start. He wilted. The old man paid him no further mind, sending him straight back into the changing room. He spent the remainder of it in terse silence, not even arguing when they placed the crown on his head, the heavy one that always gave him migraines. He never wore it during the school year. He never wore it if he could avoid it. The weight of it felt all wrong.

Nobody mentioned there was going to be a showcase that night. (They might’ve, actually. He never checked his email back then.) Even if he’d known, he still would not have been prepared for the little off-worlder kneeling on the opposite side of the old man’s throne. Dark blue skin, even darker hair. Bright, bright eyes. The Emperor’s new toy.

Paris realized with a start that they were the same age.

He settled into the throne. The old man hadn’t come in yet; it was weird to share the dais. He watched the other boy try his best to stay invisible, like he wasn’t even there. They’d clearly had different media training. He slipped the handheld back out of his pocket while he waited for the event to start.

He sat through most of the ball unbelievably bored by the whole thing. They’d ceased to be impressive by the time he was seven years old. He never could fix his face; he was sure the discontent was obvious upon it. He didn’t understand how anyone else could manage to be polite about it or why they bothered to. The old man was good at many things, but true spectacle was not among them. That part desperately needed work.

Still, he was intrigued by the motion to his left-hand side, the noise as they unchained the boy from where he was kneeling and led him into the center of the room.

The lights dimmed — and his colors burned. He did not fully grasp the technical significance of the display; he doubted most people there did. The handler explained it as a kind of microscopic manipulation of the light, some supreme physical achievement. What it manifested as was the holographic appearance of the scale dragon right over their heads, its shimmering form reflected in all the small particles of air. The mirage was impressive. Paris still did not understand what it had to do with statecraft.

He saw the boy swoon like he might faint, then steady himself. He really was fresh out of the box. His eyes flitted nervously from side to side, trying to take it all in. He flinched at any loud sound — and there were many. He wasn’t used to it yet. When they led him back to the side of the throne, he seemed more grateful to be out of the spotlight than he was upset at being chained. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

It took a while before Paris could get him alone, without the old man watching. He had to wait until after the showcase was over and only the ball remained.

“How did you do that?” Paris asked. He leaned against the leftmost beam of the dais, partially obscured by the curtain. The boy was still kneeling there, still chained to the empty throne’s base.

He turned his head slowly. His glowing blue eyes studied Paris carefully; for a moment, he was afraid of the intensity behind them. Paris could not read his expression, did not appreciate the creeping silence he commanded.

“I know you heard me.” A certain defensiveness crept into Paris’s voice. The boy looked at him apologetically, raising a finger to his lips.

“Oh,” Paris’s eyes widened with the realization. “You’re not allowed to talk?”

He nodded his head so subtlety that Paris guessed he wasn’t even allowed to move.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised.

The boy seemed unconvinced, his eyes passing over the crown in Paris’s hair. Fuckin’ thing. He took it off.

The old man barked his name so loudly that the boy jumped, as if it was his own. Paris just rolled his eyes, replaced the crown, and stepped away from the dais.

“It isn’t your friend,” His father warned him, “Just because you can’t keep your own doesn’t mean I’m buying you new ones.”

His face burned.

Paris stayed up until the party was over, even when it ran well into the next morning. As the last of the guests trickled out, he sat down on the stairs of the dais. The boy’s handler came to untether him, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Did it talk to you?” The man asked. It took Paris a second to realize the question was addressed to him.

“No?” He said. The boy looked at him gratefully, like he’d covered up for him, when he was just telling the truth. The doctor looked somewhat disappointed by this answer. His irritation switched targets.

“You shouldn’t speak Common in the palace. It’s unbecoming.”

Every adult swore they had a right to tell him how to act. Even this total stranger.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Paris snapped.

The fight drained out of him as his father re-entered the hall. All noise died but for his voice.

“I’ll take it,” his father said, extending one hand out in an almost chivalrous motion. The boy, now unchained at the neck, quickly jogged down the stairs to meet him. Paris watched as his father slid his hand onto the boy’s shoulder, leading him gently out of the hall. He watched as one ringed hand brushed a strand of black hair out of the boy’s face. The boy flinched — ungrateful.

========

The Emperor did the same thing over spring break, the next time Paris returned to Thales. He had to watch the same routine, watch the old man carefully soothe out the folds of Delta’s clothing, run a thumb over his cheek. He’d been given free reign at this one, apparently. Even though he kneeled by the dais again, he wasn’t chained to it. It seemed like he was allowed to take breaks.

“It’s an object,” the Emperor would insist whenever Paris tried to get close. “What use do you have for it? I won’t tell you again.”

He still paid it more attention than he ever spared him. So publicly, as if he wanted him to see. Paris bit into the flesh of his own hand, leaving teethmarks. His father smacked him on the back of the head; he withdrew his hand back to his side, wiping the blood and saliva along his pants.

He could only corner Delta when the night was closing in, when all the adults were too drunk to notice. Paris caught him just outside of the dining room. He flicked at the silver tiara placed into his — its? — hair. It fell a few inches out of place. Wordlessly, Delta readjusted it. He kept his head bowed, his hands at his side, not speaking. Totally resigned to the treatment.

“He doesn’t actually like you, you know.” Paris said. There wasn’t much certainty behind the statement.

It got a reaction, but not the one he had hoped. Delta looked up a bit, the side of his mouth quirked up into a disbelieving grin. He thought it was funny. He was fucking laughing at him.

Paris was temporarily too mad to even see. Delta seemed to recognize the danger and immediately became expressionless again.

“Sorry.” There was still a bit of humor in his voice. “Um. Yeah. I know.”

Like he didn’t even care. It didn’t mean to him what it meant to Paris.

His hands curled into fists. Delta noticed, stepping back a little.

“Your Highness,” He added the honorific on quickly, as if that was the problem.

“Forget it,” Paris waved him off.

He walked away before Delta could even respond, retreating to his room. He’d be reprimanded for it later, but there was no way he could go back to the party now. There was something hollow in him that would not let him sleep.

===========

Delta moved the pawn forward, his claws clicking delicately against the piece. The whole board shook from the turbulence of the ship.

Even in summer, it seemed like they were making a concentrated effort to keep Parks out of his own house. He saw his dad more, though. It was tour season; he was obligated to tag along. It meant that his schooling never truly ended throughout the year, but he didn’t mind so much. Everyone said he was a natural.

Delta was the only person even close to his age on the tours. As much as he’d been discouraged from interacting with him, they saw each other constantly, the only ones at each other’s eye level. He would’ve sworn the kid sought him out on purpose.

He didn’t talk much, but he was good at listening, which Paris cared more about. They broke off from the main group in the downtime, descending deeper into the ship. There was an old chess set laying around in the crew’s lounge. Paris had climbed up to the top shelf to get it, letting it clatter loudly against the coffee table. Delta knew how to play; it was weird, the things he knew and didn’t know. The things he was good at. Paris got the sense that Delta was letting him win.

They were halfway through the second game when the doors opened up, entirely too many personnel for the situation at hand. The Emperor was among them. Paris shrank back.

He startled as Delta’s handler abruptly backhanded the boy, knocking him out of his seat and onto the floor. He heard Delta take a sharp inhale of breath, but remain silent otherwise.

“Apologize.” The doctor’s hand was in a vice grip against the back of the boy’s neck, nearly pressing his head to the ground in the forced bow.

“I’m sorry,” Delta responded immediately, without hesitation, even though it hadn’t been his fault. The doctor shook him a little, prompting a stronger reaction. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

Paris had asked him to. It’d been his idea. But his father was standing right there. He couldn’t bring himself to admit to it, not after he’d already been warned.

“It’s okay,” Paris said softly; the words felt sickly in his mouth.

As he caught the expression on the Emperor’s face, he could tell it hadn’t mattered. The old man hadn’t believed it for a second.

The doctor released his hold, pointing sharply back to the exit. Delta scrambled to his feet, practically running out of the door. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he’d apologized and he didn’t look back at him when he left.

They all followed out onto the balcony for the show of force. With the handprint still across his face, Delta sat by the edge of the platform, his eyes closed in deep concentration. In the next moment, there was calamity. The large fortress walls all broke down beneath their own weight, sending the enemy castle tumbling down into the sea. All the residents had still been inside. The old man kept a tight grip on the back of Paris’s collar, making sure he saw all of it.

===========

The clipshow continued in the Emperor’s office, all the shades drawn and the lights dimmed. It was a supercut of the weapon’s military record, all the carnage, even the burnt bodies. Some of the shots were truly gratuitous. Paris wasn’t allowed to look away.

“Twelve years in the making and you’re selfish enough to endanger it. You can’t be that desperate,” his father said.

“I wasn’t trying to endanger it.” Paris’s fist clenched and unclenched against the chair. “I didn’t…think it was a big deal.”

“And I assume you know more than the experts, like always.” It was still dark in the room. The clips were still playing silently.

Paris’s lip bled a little from where he bit it. He had matching cuts along his tongue. He shook his head.

“I don’t know how to make this more explicit to you, Paris. It is a weapon. It may look like a person, but its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.” The video showed a still-living hand reaching out from beneath the rubble. “It does not need you confusing it or meddling with its programming. When I tell you not to interact with it, I am doing it for your own good. Its reactions are unpredictable. The last thing I want is for you to become one of its casualties.”

Paris flinched as his father’s hands slammed down onto the desk. His voice still came out calm.

“It only exists to be commanded — and that command is not yours. You will not meddle with my property. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“This will not be a conversation next time,” the Emperor promised. Paris nodded. His throat was choked up.

He slinked out of the still-dark office, back down the hall to his room. He was glad summer was ending. He didn’t even want to be home anymore.

He was surprised to see Delta still pacing the halls with his handler, not yet placed back in his cell. He briefly made eye contact with Paris, then immediately cast his gaze back down to the floor, chastened.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

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doctorslippery · 2 months ago

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An early villains/first villains conglomeration that was suggested on Fuh as a supervillain team to faceoff with their opposite numbers.

Wonder Woman - Dr. Poison Batman - Hugo Strange (though the Monk and Dr. Death were earlier) Green Lantern - Invisible Destroyer Superman - Ultra-Humanite Flash - Turtle

Could be an interesting story whether you stuck with Hugo or went with one of the earlier two. Some of the heroes faced earlier villains, but they were not considered supervillains.

The Ultra-Humanite lays claim to being the first published supervillain in DC Comics.

#dr poison #hugo strange #invisible destroyer #ultra-humanite #turtle

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itsabouttimex2 · 1 year ago

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ooo if your not busy maybe Mei or Azure a gn! Reader who’s a descendant of the lady bone demon but said friend tries to hide that fact from them

(Thank you for sending such an interesting request! I ended up liking this scenario so much that I wrote out a few characters for it!)

Descendant of the Lady Bone Demon: Part One

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Maybe they should’ve seen this coming. Maybe there were a few warning signs they didn’t pick up on. Looking back on it now, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? All those little things should’ve added up a long time ago.

The way the room grew silent and tense when you walked in, no matter how how exuberant it had been prior. How you manage to sneak up on everyone without even trying, as though you had no presence. The wide berth that strangers give you, even though they can’t explain why. That last one had been particularly strange for your friends. They hadn’t understood why people would treat you so coldly, not back then.

They understand now.

Mei Dragon thinks of you as one of her best friends, right alongside MK. Even in childhood were the two of you close, your company providing a brief break from her parents expectations and the crushing weight of living up to her family name. She grows up to think of you as a sibling, really. She’s a ride or die, rise to the challenge, thrill junkie sort of girl. And above all else, she’s fiercely loyal to her friends.

So Mei doesn’t believe a word that LBD has to say. She doesn’t care about destiny, about fate, about these so-called “invisible strings that guide us all through life”.

She lives her life as she pleases, doing what makes her and her friends happy! And she’s not gonna listen to a word that some wannabe world-destroyer has to say about it!

Until the Lady Bone Demon mentions you.

“Y/N bears my very own blood, thin though it has grown. In time, they will follow the very same path I have, to cleanse this world of pain and suffering.”

Now she’s listening. Her control over the Samadhi Fire slips, scorching a ring of death into the earth around her. The heat alone wilts the any flora that was spared outright combustion. “How…” The fire flickers, fizzles.

And then promptly reignites, blazing hotter than ever before. Immediately, the Lady Bone Demon cringes away from Mei’s sweltering power as oppressive heat waves bear down on her. She can only watch in fear and awe as the Samadhi Fire grows hotter and brighter, fueled by rage.

“How DARE you say that about my friend! Y/N would never do anything like that!” A blazing arc of black and red fire slices into the blue crystal formations created by the demon, melting them into sizzling puddles. Her anger builds with each lash of multicolored fire, reducing each and every spiked crystal around her to a mess of glowing goo.

That anger doesn’t fade even after the fight is over, not even after she gets to see the Lady Bone Demon shred apart and drift away. It’s cathartic to watch, but doesn’t make her any less angry about what she heard.

No, that anger only fades once she has you in her arms, hugging you as tightly to herself as possible. You don’t know about your lineage. No one else does either. Just Mei. Which leaves her with the worst dilemma of her life.

Does she tell you? Does she tell anyone?

She doesn’t want to be like Sun Wukong, hiding important information from even the people who would be affected by it the most. She was a victim of that, and it had hurt. She doesn’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing she wants. But she also doesn’t want to cast any doubt on you, doesn’t want anyone to think you might end up a destructive foe that would one day need to be struck down.

The fear of losing you somehow outweighs the fear of you being angry at her for withholding information from you.

So she keeps quiet.

Mei rationalizes her silence on the matter by telling herself that she’ll tell you later. Yes, everything will work out, she’s sure of it! She’ll just… wait. Just a little bit. When everything calms down and everyone starts to move on from this disaster, she’ll speak up. Once everyone is in a better, happier mood, they’ll definitely be more receptive to the bad news, right? So she isn’t doing anything wrong. She isn’t acting like the Monkey King. She’s… just keeping you safe.

And she really hopes you won’t hate her for it.

———————————————————————

Tang has long pondered your place in this little group. It’s not that he doesn’t like having you here, nothing of the sort! Really, he sees you as family, the same way he sees everyone else in this ragtag group of misfits.

But you stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone else has a direct tie to the original pilgrims who once undertook a legendary journey to retrieve sacred texts.

Tang Sanzang for Tang. Zhu Baije for Pigsy. Sha Wujing for Sandy. Ao Lie for Mei. Sun Wukong for MK. Everyone had someone who their skills, appearance, or even personality harkened back to.

Everyone except for you. Tang had made several guesses before, wondering if there was someone you yourself were standing in the place of. But no one truly seems to fit. Rather than distancing himself from you over this disparity, he makes an effort to grow closer. “It must be lonely”, he reasons to himself, “being the odd man out.” He’s struggled with his own insecurities of being useless or weak, so he can relate to you on a personal level. After making that connection between the two of you, he starts to look out for you, trying to help guide you as you grow.

Tang probably sees himself as your father figure, just the way he sees himself as MK’s.

But, since you don’t have the support system that MK has, he tries to take a more involved role in your life. He’ll sit down with you to chat about any troubles or struggles you have, offering you a kind ear and a welcoming shoulder. And if you ever are struggling with something so bad that it breaks you down and leaves you in tears, he happily takes you into his arms and stays with you through the meltdown. If you fall asleep in his embrace after wearing yourself out, he enjoys it all the more.

He cherishes moments like that, actually.

Sure, he’s sympathetic to your feelings of loneliness and isolation. It’s true that he wants you to be happy. Sometimes he hates the world for hurting you the way it has.

But he loves that you trust him enough to break down in front of him, that you trust him to console and protect you in your weakest moments.

Even at a moment like this, where one of the greatest threats to humanity is bearing down on the two of you. For once, he doesn’t hide or cower. Not when your life is on the life. His golden shield encapsulates both of you, a fierce glare painting his face as he holds you close. You breath raggedly against his shoulder, barely able to support yourself. You had been wounded in the fight, nearly passing out after taking several blows for him and the others. Now, he holds you close, standing tall as you lean on him for support. He watches as the Lady Bone Demon throws attack after attack at the two of you, each blast of crystal and bone shattering and fading against his aureate shield.

The ancient demon glares down at him, a sneer curling her face. “You would fight your destiny? The great monk, Tang Sanzang-”

“I don’t care! Even if I am his reincarnation or his descendant… the choices I make are mine and mine alone! And I will always choose to protect my friends!”

“Even Y/N? Even the very one who bears my blood within them? Are you truly willing to risk saving them now, that they might follow my ways later?”

All the little pieces click into place for him. The mystery he had pondered the most was finally solved, and now he had to live with learning the answer.

“That- that doesn’t matter! Y/N is a person all their own, who will make their own decisions! And I trust them to stay by our side and fight for good! I won’t let you corrupt them!”

And he doesn’t. His resplendent barrier holds fast, shining brightly until all that is left of the demon has been scattered to the wind. He holds you gently, mustering the strength to carry you on his when everyone makes the trip back to Pigsy’s noodle shop. Someone like Sandy or Wukong would definitely better suited to the physical labor he was performing, but Tang couldn’t bear to separate himself from you yet.

Nor is he willing to let go once everyone has taken a seat. He props you up against himself, rubbing your back to keep you awake. “The kids eat first,” Pigsy says, carrying three hearty bowls of noodles. MK, then Mei, then you. Once all of you have your noodles, the chef goes back to the kitchen to start on another batch. Tang holds the bowl and the chopsticks, lifting the noodles to your mouth. Occasionally, he tips the bowl to your mouth so you can sip at the nourishing broth. On any other day, he would’ve swiped a few bites for himself while feeding you. Now, you’re all he can think of. He feeds you bite by bite, then guides you to lay your head in his lap once you’ve finished.

“Hey, Tang.” Pigsy peers down at him, another bowl of noodles in his hands. He passes it to Tang. “What was that demon lady saying to ya anyways?”

Tang looks down at you, watching your chest rise and fall, looking more at peace than ever before. He can’t tell you. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever. But he and Pigsy can both keep secrets, and more than that, you’ll have two targets to split your anger between, keeping Tang from catching the brunt of it if you ever do find out. So he asks:

“Do you think you can keep a secret, Pigsy?”

Red Son

He doesn’t know why he likes you. By all means, you’re just another peasant, another mortal working at the same noodle store that his arch-rival is. But there’s something different about you. Maybe it’s the way you never seem to flinch or cringe or even cower. Maybe it’s the cool head you keep. Maybe it’s the wide-eyed awe you stare at his creations with.

Even after you had been kidnapped.

“I thinks that it was very clever of you,” you softly admit, not fighting against your bonds. “The way you used the tri-toothed 1x2 plates. I don’t see many people use those.”

He shouldn’t be happy to hear you say that. He should scoff and huff and strike down your praise like it’s meaningless drivel. But it’s not. Not to him. He’s been waiting to hear something like that for a long time, actually. Now, if it only it had been from the mouth of his father…

He shakes himself from those thoughts. “Not that a PEASANT like you could ever comprehend just how truly clever my work is! In fact, the legs of this machine are held in place by a truly unique-” “Technic angular wheel,” you finish for him. “It was a smart choice. I bet finding one that could evenly bear the weight of four legs at once wasn’t easy.”

No… no, it hadn’t been. In fact, it had been very hard to source that component. But here you were… acknowledging him. Praising him. Giving weight to his accomplishments by recognizing them. Somewhere deep inside, he’s a little touched to have his efforts commended.

Not that your kindness inspires him to release you. The only thing that frees you is MK and Mei coming in and storming through, knocking him over the head and escaping with you in their clutch.

Still, he doesn’t… hate you, at least. Or maybe, he just hates you less now. It’s a surprisingly good start.

A start that you continue to build off of throughout your repeated interactions, to his surprise. Your praise wasn’t just a one-time thing, wasn’t a way to get him to drop his guard. It had been genuine, entirely sincere. You had truly thought of him as clever, and you still do.

His schemes become less destructive, but more frequent. MK starts sending you out to deal with him, and most of your “skirmishes” end without any true damage. The two of you talk tech, and then he “tactically retreats” from the fight. Eventually, he drops the act, just swinging by the noodle store to talk with you about mechs or vehicles or rare components and where to find them at reasonable prices.

It’s a strange sight for everyone, the two of you amicably chatting. Sometimes someone will try to butt in, usually MK, who tries to keep up with your conversations to no avail. Other times it’ll be Pigsy, making sure that one of his employees isn’t being threatened or endangered. If one of his new mechs has a Journey to the West inspiration, Tang will happily chime in on it.

But most often, it’s only the two of you, happily talking as equals. Not enemies. Not rivals. Just… actual friends, somehow.

Even if it meant fighting to defend them, these are the sorts of moments he doesn’t want to lose. He wants to protect these cherished hours he spends with you, sharing noodles and blueprints in the middle of a crowded but welcoming restaurant.

Even if it meant fighting a foe he had no chance of defeating. All he has to do is buy a little bit of time. Just enough for MK and his ragtag team of idiots and peasants to smash this osseous demon into pieces. He glares up at her, his hair and hands exploding into flame. It’s a mere display, a small threat to keep her occupied. If she focuses on him, then she can’t hurt you.

Not that she’s trying.

“Foolish child. Do you really think I can’t understand the game that you’re trying to play? You would stand in the way of a peaceful world, all in the name of protecting the heir of your enemy?”

He falls to the ground, clutching his head in pain as she taps into his mind to deliver her next words.

“But a meager resistance cannot hope to undo destiny. I will find Y/N, and add their power to my own. That is their destiny, and I will see it fulfilled.”

“You- you won’t! I wont allow it, you… you PEASANT! You can’t hope to beat all of us! The Demon Bull Family, Sun Wukong and his successor, and the Six-Eared Macaque! All of us will stand against you! If we stand together, there is no threat that can overcome us!”

It’s a little funny, almost. Once, he would’ve scoffed and mocked another for saying such a thing. They sound silly on his tongue, cheesy and overblown. It’s something more suited to MK and his band of goons, speeches of friendship and overcoming adversities together. But it’s true.

And her defeat is testament to the strength that loves brings.

He thinks he loves you. You’re what he imagines having a little sibling is like. He wonders if you could love yourself, if you knew the truth of your heritage. Maybe you could. Maybe you’d fall apart and refuse to trust yourself ever again.

He chats idly with MK as you rest your head on his lap. It brings a strange peace to his heart. You look almost happy, in spite of the bruises and cuts. You look happy, which is proof that you didn’t hear a word that the Lady Bone Demon said about your blood ties.

He doesn’t want to rob you of that happiness so quickly, not when you fought and bled for it.

He absentmindedly strokes your head, thinking of how he’d roast anyone who might try to harm so much as a single hair on it. He can’t let anyone hurt you. Not even himself.

So he keeps quiet, and prays that all will turn out well.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere LMK #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere Mei #Mei Dragon #Yandere Tang #Mr. Tang #Yandere Red Son #Red Son #sorry it took so long #I put a lot of effort into this one!#Crystal Heir

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dcbinges · 1 year ago

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Showcase #23 (1959) by John Broome & Gil Kane

#hal jordan #green lantern #the invisible destroyer #invisible destroyer #martin phillips #john broome #gil kane #showcase #dc #dc comics #comics #50s #50s comics

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henrytanael19 · 1 year ago

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Propatulus Aurora AU

In which Earth, the entire solar sytem and other planets is alive, a universe where the impossible is only an illusion, where monsters and gods are sometimes both and can be killed, living amongst their mortal kin, where the concept of Death is different for every planet or galaxy, but the solar system has a concept of death joined with the void, as inevitable as it is kind, the primordial darkness rejoicing of the life that dots it. And in which Humans are just vibing after being properly introduced to the Wider Galaxy Community, turning enemies into friends and the like. Also, Earth takes no shit from alien invaders and boots them out the moment they try to enter her atmosphere.

Except for the good ones, they can stay.

In this Au, Planets were vaguely sorted into three categories: Destroyer, Creator, and Protector. The likes of Primus, Eukaris, Devisiun, Petropia and numerous others were known as Creator-planets, due to being able to seed life from their own bodies. Whereas Unicron, Pyros, Appoplexia and the like were known as the Destroyer-planets, being known to destroy dead planets to make way for the new cycle. As the name suggested, Protector-planets were primarily concerned with the defense of their home system, protecting it both from Destroyers seeking to devour a still living planet and Creators from seeding other planets with parasites, but also has the fewest planets of the three, with Earth being counted among it alongside her siblings in the Solar System in the Milky Way. Arburia also counted as a Protector before it's destruction.

But for those lacking a Protector-planet to defend them, a Guardian and a Titan was the next best thing individual planets can have. Consisting of a planet's strongest children, they can be considered as gods in the view of others. E.g. Godzilla and Mothra of Earth are a textbook example of a Titan and Guardian pairing, despite the fact that Earth was a Protector-planet. Earth is their version of a cryptid to her fellow planets, appearing in other galaxies with no warnings.

Where humans have powers that is derived from their souls, some able to turn it tangible as their weapon of choice like a sword, or manifesting an entire armour made up of their soul or even performing them like the four elements. Due to this close connection with their own lifeforce they live somewhere in between the living and the spiritual world, otherwise called as the umbral, or fourth dimension. The denizens of the Umbral World consist of mythological or extinct creatures and primarily steeped in magic, invisible to the naked eye. And in honor of their mother-planet, they dedicated themselves to taking care of creatures trying to cause trouble in the mortal realm, whether by rehabilitation or execution, the primary group known for this is called the Titanslayers, led by June Darby and Cade Yeager.

All of this is done quietly in the shadows, considering almost none in the Wider Galaxy Community is aware of the Umbral Dimension. The Anur system are one of the few to also be able to interact with the Umbral Dimension, as well as the Null Dimension and Legerdomain by virtue of being attached to it.

Earth is steeped in magic, so humans have been able to mostly connect it seamlessly with technology and even science (E.g. Ben Tennyson being a World Shifter as well as a biologist in this AU). The primary examples are the Jaegers, metal machines operated by human pilots and the love child of science, technology and magic.

The Earth-Titans are also denizens of the Umbral Dimensions, so they are a visible example of creatures originating in the Umbral Dimension living in the Mortal Realm.

Also, Earth is as ancient as the other planets, consisting of those ages in trillions, but because she only settled into a planet after most planets already turned inactive in the case of the Creator-planets, the Galaxy widely believed she was only 4 billion years old, having only counted the years she was a planet rather than the active creature she was back then, having been the third to settle as a planet in their solar system.

Also, Earth's biodiversity came from the planets and creatures she has killed and eaten, once having been described as containing a black hole for a stomach, and with those biodiversity inherited by humans was born their nearly limitless ability to procreate with any sentient creature in the Galaxy. As long as they have the equivalent of a soul, they can carry a child of that alien species, double the effectiveness if they were just using their soul, as having just used it means their lifeforce is still closer to the surface of their physical body and made flexible enough to make procreation between two different species possible. (E.g. The Plumbers Kids/Amalgam Kids, Max McGrath, Kevin Levin, Others)

Hybrid children still aren't that common though, due to having to feed fragment bits of their own soul to sustain a half foreign onr. It can even prove taxing enough to require a third party stepping in just so both parent and offspring doesn't die.

Ancient creatures lurk in the background of the universe, taking the form of Suns, Black Holes and the like. Helios, the Sun of the Solar System, is one such example.

And as a bonus, this AU is primarily crack with eldritch horror, heartfelt feelings and interspecies romance mixed in.

In other words, welcome to the crackfest that is Propatulus Aurora, and enjoy your stay!

(PS. I'll be taking stuff from each canon and mashing them together to fit my perceptions and suits my purposes, and ignoring anything else that doesn't.)

#earth is a deathworld #earth is awesome #humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #transformers #godzilla #ben 10 #max steel #pacific rim #Propatulus Aurora #naelsthoughts #crossover #behold my magnum opus #*sarcasm*

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