#things get weird

[mlooperskate]

Liminal Traversal:

Remus Lupin does not believe that Sirius Black is dead and there is no limit to what he will do to get him back. An adventure through alternate realities, soul magic, necromancy, and the agonies of love.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/70097271

[suntiger745]

Magical curses are funny things. Especially old curses that appear deceptively simple.

We don't know exactly who the wizard was who tried to cure lycanthropy because nothing of them remained after the top floor of their house blew up. Fortunately, nobody appeared to have been harmed aside from the closest trees, and their house was in the middle of a big forest.

We have some scattered notes, written in cipher because of course they are. What we have managed piece together is that they tried to reverse the curse in some way.

At first it was just another wizard who fell victim to their own hubris or curiosity, depending on your point of view.

But then the people started to appear. Half feral and skittish with only very rudimentary speech, but unmistakably speech nontheless. The people in the villages at the edge of the forest were equally wary, puzzled and empathetic.

They appeared regularly but sporadically. It was six months before a trapper came in with the final clue. He had snared a fox, coming upon it late as he checked his traps. And then the fox changed into a young man before his eyes.

At first he thought it was one of the fey, but it was not. For a gift of a silver comb and a story, the fey did provide then answer to the trapper though. It was an anthrothrope. A beast who transformed into a human.

It caused quite a stir among the villages around the forest. It was debated wether they should kill these new... people animals, like they did with most lycanthropes, or just shun them. Or even try to help them.

No real consensus was reached. The people animals were rarely violent when they approached humans, unlike many lycanthropes, and they had a hunger to learn as much as they often were physically hungry for food.

Most people ended up mostly ignoring them, occasionally giving them some food or offering some lessons in exchange for a service. A few were bent on hunting them down and killing them, a task that proved quite difficult indeed. A few were openly welcoming to them, offering shelter and lessons and encouraging them to live among or alongside the regular humans.

People being people, it was among the later group that it was discovered that the anthrothrope nature bred true when they had a child with a human.

It was a strange sight indeed at first, seeing fox kits and human children playing games as if they were siblings, and part of the month there were more human children playing together and no animals, but despite some muttering and grumbling they were tolerated, sometimes even welcomed. Perhaps because a few of the families now had wolf and bear members who protected their four-legged and two-legged kin alike and most of those who had wanted to kill the anthrothropes were now dead.

There are still lycanthropes, and they are as dangerous as ever, and the druids and priest have confirmed that the anthrothrope condition still registers as a curse.

But whatever the wizard did, even though it didn't reverse lycanthropy, it seems this curse is less malignant, even if it leads to some quite unusual family constellations.

[voxofhearts]

i wish making text bigger for accessibility wouldnt break half of all websites

[mintaka14]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Okay, I don’t even know what this is, but it’s been fun to write. Goddesses and immortals and cat viligantes, oh my! All notes and acknowledgements are on the AO3 link. Chapter 1 is sfw, and can stand on its own if you don’t want the nsfw second chapter.

Have fun!

O Fortuna

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

 O Fortuna!

Velut luna

Statu variabilis

[Carmina Burana: Carl Orff]

 They call her Lady Luck, and for those who worship at her altar, the Lady can be kind. She can be generous.

But Luck can also be a fickle mistress. Luck can turn savage and cruel, and every hundred years, She demands a sacrifice from her devoted followers.

So far, they’ve been pretty… well, lucky. So far, every hundred years, a man bearing the mark of Luck’s favour on his wrist has turned up at the temple, and been offered up to their cruel goddess, that fortune might favour them for another hundred years.

The annals have recorded every sacrifice in the centuries since the Order of the Turning Wheel began, and honoured the men who turned the Lady’s face and brought back good luck. The ones who read those accounts were puzzled to note that there was a certain similarity to these men – they were all of them musicians and troubadours, blue eyes, blue-dyed hair, and an odd sense of humour in the face of their impending martyrdom. The scholars among the Order had argued many theories over the years, but never had the nerve to question the Lady herself.

The whole concept of the hundred year sacrifice had become something of academic interest within the Order. They were something that had happened in the past. They were stories and old records. Talk of sacrifices, and the wickedly sharp and well-used ancient makhaira knife that sat in a locked cabinet in the high priest’s office, didn’t jibe with the Lady they knew and prayed to for good fortune, so when the young man turned up on their doorstep, with a guitar slung over his back and the Lady’s quartered wheel in a cloud of ladybugs tattooed on his wrist, they had all exchanged uneasy glances.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing, Luka?” the high priest asked him, wringing his hands anxiously. The Lady had commanded her faithful followers to Paris to prepare for the ritual in her honour, and so here they were, with workmen in the background, clambering over the scaffolding to convert a dilapidated little apartment building in the heart of Paris into a temple to the goddess of fortune, complete with a very solid, very purposeful marble altar that was currently shrouded in a canvas dropcloth to protect it. “You should run while you still have the chance.”

Luka looked up from the guitar he was idly strumming, and glanced at the statue of the Lady watching over them.

“A copy of Tyche of Antioch,” he murmured. “Not bad work.” The quirked corner of his mouth grew into a brief smile when his gaze reached the river god under her foot. He glanced back at the high priest.

“I won’t run. I’ve accepted my fate,” he said solemnly, but there was a glimmer of laughter in his eyes that the high priest was hard pressed to explain, under the circumstances.

“Have you got a death wish, lad?,” he asked incredulously. “You know what that mark on your wrist means, don’t you? Why did you even come here in the first place?”

“What the Lady commands, who am I to refuse her?”

“We’re talking actual sacrificial rituals here,” the high priest persisted, trying to get him to understand the gravity of his situation. “Blood and fire on the altar, the whole thing. I’ve seen the knife – it’s older than the Order, and it’s no toy.”

Luka bent his head over his guitar, and the high priest thought he heard him mutter, “Lot of good memories, though,” but decided that he must have been mistaken.

All around them was the clatter and clang of the building site, and the raised shouts of the team of stonemasons manoeuvring a huge slab of stone into place. The temple was breathtaking, an elegant symphony of marble and stone shaped by master craftsmen in the heart of Paris. The ceilings of the formerly dilapidated building now soared over pillars and a stone floor that echoed underfoot, and it felt like walking into a memory, rich with Hellenistic history and Roman flourishes, with touches of gilt from a Versailles fairy tale. The Lady had taste.

No expense had been spared to create the stone mural that towered over the back wall of the temple, or the beautiful, faithful reproductions of Greek and Roman statues from the Lady’s temples in many far-flung corners. The Lady was fortunate in her investments, and could afford the best when she chose.

Somewhere near the doors of the temple, there was a crash and the sound of something breaking. The high priest’s head whipped round as one of the workmen started swearing, and a foreman shouted warningly, “Calm down! We don’t need any akumas today, not when we’re so far behind schedule.”

Everyone’s eyes lifted warily to the sky, but when nothing happened, they all returned to work.

“What was that all about?” Luka asked, his eyebrow raised, and the high priest shrugged. He’d heard rumours of a butterfly villain and a vigilante hero, and people being possessed by akumas in the form of black butterflies throughout the city, but fortunately, they’d seen no signs of them at the temple yet.

Two acolytes were currently unwrapping a huge bronze brazier that was one of the pieces the Lady had ordered brought out of storage. As they carefully pulled away the covering, the cornucopias and rudders and wheels that were the signs of the Lady were revealed. Collectors and archaeologists alike would have salivated over it. It was manhandled into position on top of the blocky and ominous marble altar that the Lady had insisted on.

No one could mistake the purpose of that altar, or the low stone table-like eschara laid in front of it, with the toothy crenellations running along the head and the foot.

The high priest’s gaze slid back to the Lady’s chosen victim, who was doomed to be laid out on that eschara soon.

“A nice boy like you should have your whole life ahead of you,” he said sombrely.

Luka laughed at that. “I’m much older than I look.”

“I won’t be a part of this. I’ll risk the Lady’s displeasure, and… and tell her we won’t perform the ritual.” He was wringing his hands harder now. It could go hard, if fortune turned on them. Luka put aside his guitar and came to his feet, his expression softening into something more sympathetic. He rested a reassuring hand on the high priest’s shoulder.

“George, you’re a good man,” he said. “It’ll all be fine. Trust the Lady.”

Theirs not to question the whims of Lady Luck… Fortuna… Tyche.

She had been called by many names over the years, and answered to them, but the few people who knew her best, the ones who loved her, knew her simply as Marinette.

~~~~~

Marinette manifested in the temple she’d lovingly created, her blood-red skirts billowing behind her in a most satisfying way as the flickering torchlight gleamed darkly in the jet beads that she’d spent hours sewing all over her bodice, and the first thing she noticed was the shouting.

The second thing she became aware of was the two men glaring at each other across the sacrificial altar.

She’d spent a lot of time getting that altar right. It was utilitarian in the middle of the austere elegance of the temple, but it would do the job, and it brought back a lot of memories. She was particularly happy with the inscription chiselled into the front face of it.

She was pleased to see that Luka… the offering, she corrected herself… was wearing the silk shirt and black jeans that she’d tailored for the occasion. The way he’d rolled up the shirt sleeves was a little more informal than she’d intended, but she had to admit that it was a good look on him, and bared his tattooed forearms, with the beautifully inked wheel of fortune dissolving into a cloud of ladybugs, just above the rough hemp rope wrapped around his wrists. Marinette blew out a faint breath, and resisted the urge to press her hands to her suddenly heated cheeks.

She had not, however, anticipated the blond guy in the weird black leather cat suit who was glaring back at him.

“Will you just hold still?!” the blond guy yelled in frustration, brandishing the staff he was holding. “Why are you so pissed off? I’m just trying to rescue you here!”

“Of course I’m pissed off. You’ve just barged in here, and beaten up a bunch of guys who were only trying to do their job,” Luka told him impatiently, gesturing with his bound hands at the robed figures who had retreated to the edges of the temple, away from whatever was going on at the altar. More than one of her acolytes seemed to be nursing injuries that, luckily, didn’t seem to be too serious. “And I told you, I don’t need your help.”

“Have you seen the akuma?” the blond guy was saying.

“The what now?”

This seemed to bring the blond cat guy up short for a moment. “The akuma. Have you seen her? Do you know what her akumatised object is?”

“What on earth are you talking about? I’m not from around here.” Luka glanced down at his bound wrists, and grimaced. “Look, I know this looks weird, but I’m fine, honestly.”

“You’re tied up and about to become a sacrifice to an akuma who thinks she’s the vengeful goddess of fortune,” the blond guy said with rising exasperation. “It’s lucky I got here when I did.”

“Please, just go away,” Luka growled. “She’s going to be here any moment, and I’m not going to have you ruin date night.”

The blond guy took a two-handed grip on his staff, and advanced purposefully. “You really don’t know what you’re getting yourself into here. I’ve fought these akumas before,” he reassured the other man. “You just think she’s a goddess because she has akumatised powers. I’m really sorry about this, but if you’re going to fight me I’ll have to knock you out until I’ve dealt with the akuma. You’ll have a few bruises when you come to, but at least you’ll be free of her.”

“I don’t want to be free of her! I don’t care what crusade you’re on, and I don’t care how many of these akumas you’ve fought – the Lady is not one of them!”

“It’s the akuma making you think that. You don’t realise it yet, but you’ll feel very different once I’ve defeated this luck goddess of yours…” He gestured in the direction of the stone mural that Marinette had spent months working on, and his voice trailed off in a gurgling whimper when he saw her.

Marinette smoothed down her gown a little self-consciously, and adjusted her grip on the businesslike iron makhaira she was holding in her other hand. Maybe the plunging neckline on the corsetry was a bit much. She felt as though she was spilling out of it, and resisted the urge to tug it a little higher. She bit her lip, her gaze shifting to Luka, but he seemed to have forgotten his argument, and was staring at her with a very flattering intensity.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Marinette, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“You like it?” she beamed, and then recalled what she was supposed to be doing. “I mean, cower brief mortals! Your Mistress walks among you.”

The handful of acolytes milling around remembered their cues at that, and stumbled over the first lines of their chant in honour of Fortuna, Lady of Luck. The song gained in confidence, exhorting her to look on them with favour for another hundred years, and accept the offering. She flicked a glance at the two men. The blond guy was staring at her with an open-mouthed look that left her blushing uncomfortably and feeling suddenly exposed in the tight corsetry and skirts caught up indecently high, almost to her hips, before they spilled in a profusion of red satin to the floor behind her.

She covered her discomfort by turning away to dismiss her followers, and they filed out slowly, robes hushing over the stone floor. One or two of them dared to shoot bewildered glances at her as they passed, but their eyes dropped quickly.

“Oh, Jeffrey!” she called as one passed, and the cowled hood turned towards her. “Your little girl – did the surgery go alright?”

There was a nervous smile under the hood, and a bobbed head.

“It did, O Great Mistress of the Turning Wheel. She’s recovering nicely, and you have my eternal gratitude for her good fortune.”

“And…” she went on a little diffidently, “the parcel I sent? Did she get it?”

The smile grew warmer. “She did, Lady. She loved the doll you made her, and now she doesn’t want to let go of it.”

Marinette blew out a relieved breath, and turned back as the last of them shuffled out of the temple. The blond guy in the cat suit was still there, still staring up at her as if he’d been frozen to the spot. He jolted as she glanced in his direction, striding towards her before she could react.

“Lady Luck, gracious lady.” He swept up her hand, pressing a kiss on it. “Put aside your righteous anger, and let this man go free. I know he must have upset you, but you can’t go stabbing people, no matter what Hawkmoth has promised you.”

“Stabbing?” Startled, Marinette looked down at the makhaira she was holding in her other hand. Forged from a solid piece of iron, it spoke clearly of immense and well-used age, but the curved single edge had been kept honed to a wicked sharpness. Along with the altar and the eschara, it struck a rough and functional note against the elegance around them. “Oh, this isn’t –“

“Let him go. Take me instead.”

“What?” Marinette squeaked, yanking her hand out of his grasp. “Wait, no!”

She threw a frantic glance at the blue-haired man collapsed over the altar, his shoulders shaking.

“Luka! A little help here?”

“I can’t say I blame him. You have that effect on me, too.”

“When I heard that there was a goddess here, I didn’t believe it, but now I see the rumours are true,” the blond guy said with a roguish smirk. “You could well be the goddess of fortune herself.”

“Well, actually –“ Marinette started to say, a little sheepishly, but he cut her off.

“The Songs of Fortune themselves could have been written in praise of your grace and beauty, but they would fail to do you justice.”

“I know,” Luka sighed. “Lyrics have never been my strong suit.”

Marinette pouted at him, distracted for a moment from the blond guy still trying to take her hand. “I love those songs.”

“Although they were never supposed to publish Song 17,” Luka admitted, flashing Marinette an apologetic half-smile, and she bit her lip, resisting the urge to press her thighs together at the tingling rush of heat that ran through her. Luka might not claim to be a lyricist, but his metaphors had been … inspired… in Song 17.

The blond guy flushed a deep brick red and coughed.

“Those poems are thousands of years old. Are you seriously telling me you wrote the Lucanian Songs of Fortune?” he said impatiently. Luka raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and the blond guy’s attention shifted back to Marinette. “Just tell me where the akuma is, and I’ll free you from Hawkmoth’s clutches. A beautiful lady like you, you could have anyone, if you just let go of your rage. Whatever this guy’s done, you deserve so much better. I’m sure you have every right to be angry with him, but you can’t kill him.”

“Angry at him?” Marinette said in confusion. “What? No! It’s our anniversary!”

“Your anniversary?” He halted in his determined advance on her. “You two are married?”

From where he was leaning against the altar, Luka held up his still-bound hands, and gave a little wave of his fingers.

“Seriously? You two are married?” The blond guy scowled, looking put out for some reason. He turned on Luka, and gestured at the general décor. “Did you forget the anniversary or something? What did you do to upset her and get her akumatised?”

“Upset her?” Luka repeated blankly. “What are you talking about?”

The blond guy stabbed a finger at the knife still in Marinette’s hand.

“That looks pretty upset to me. She’s got a knife and she wants to kill you.”

The choke of laughter that Luka gave at that was quickly schooled. “I certainly hope she plans to finish me off.”

“That’s a real knife!” the blond guy’s voice was rising in disbelief. “What is wrong with you?! What have you dragged me into here? This has to be an akuma, because otherwise, you’re crazy. It must be in the knife.”

“I did say I didn’t need your help,” Luka pointed out.

“It has to be that,” the guy muttered under his breath, and Marinette didn’t like the way he was eyeing her now, his gaze running over her in a way that made her feel just how much of her was left revealed by her gown. His glance flicked to the knife in her hand, and back to her corseted cleavage. “There’s nowhere else you could be hiding anything.”

When she awkwardly folded her arms, makhaira and all, to cover her bust, he turned brick red again, and ripped his gaze away.

“Really, this is all a misunderstanding,” she tried to explain. “I know what this looks like, but it’s our anniversary. We just wanted to do something special to celebrate.”

The cat vigilante was starting to look a little wild-eyed. “This…” he gestured violently at the temple around them, taking in the general décor, and the flames licking above the brazier on the altar, and finally the sacrificial blade that she was still holding. “All of this… the temple, the minions, the whole…” he stabbed a finger in the direction of Luka and his bindings “… whatever… is a set-up for an anniversary celebration?? What the hell kind of kink is this??”

She shifted uneasily. “It’s not like we do this every day, only for special anniversaries. Seventeen… no, eighteen hundred years today.”

The blond guy blinked at them stupidly. “Eighteen… hundred? You think you’re eighteen hundred years old?”

“Careful there,” Luka said steadily. “It’s never wise to speculate on a lady’s age.”

Marinette giggled at that. “No, of course I’m not eighteen hundred. That’s when we got married.”

“Although I did marry young.” Luka grinned back at her.

“But…” the blond guy’s eyes shifted from Luka to Marinette and back again, “… how…?”

“Good genes and clean living,” Luka said. The blond guy scowled at him.

“Who are you?”

“Nothing more than a singer of songs and a son of the sea.” Luka flashed a glance at Marinette, those deep blue eyes of his darkening with a private smile. “And the luckiest bastard alive.”

The would-be rescuer was muttering that it had to be an akuma, there was no way this could be real, goddesses didn’t exist and she had to be an akuma, but she ignored him.

“Luka –“ Marinette said softly, her eyes on her husband and an answering smile trembling on her lips.

She was caught unawares by the vigilante’s sudden lunge. The knife was snatched out of her hand.

“Hah!” With a triumphant shout, he dashed it against the stone hard enough to crack the metal into ringing fragments of iron.

He watched the pieces expectantly, and for one, long, silent, shocked moment, Marinette could only stare.

Her makhaira.

The blond guy’s expression was shifting rapidly from smug anticipation to confusion to incredulity now. Whatever he’d expected to happen had not happened. It would have been almost comical, if Marinette hadn’t been distracted by the rising fury in her.

Her consecrated knife.

Her anniversary plans, ruined.

A rumble of thunder echoed softly around the chamber, and the flames burning in the brazier whipped in the sudden rush of wind. When she looked in his direction, the blond guy was staring at her.

“No akuma…” he breathed on a note of dawning realisation.

The wind rose, sucking the crackling air from the temple and flinging fire in writhing coils up to the ceiling where it left black streaks.

Marinette was not a large person. She was used to everyone towering over her, but as she stalked towards the interloper, she loomed. Her presence swelled to fill the temple with the immensity of her outraged goddesshood. Thunder growled ominously on the edge of hearing, and whatever the cat boy saw when he met her eyes left his face blanched cold.

He seemed to have finally realised that he was dealing with something greater than his petty mortal villains. Something ageless and unbound by temporal limits and very, very annoyed.

Blood-red satin swished fiercely around her, and her heels rang like doom against the stone flags as she stalked towards him, striking sparks that swirled around her and came to her hand as she raised it, spinning faster and faster with the force of her anger until she held a whirling scarlet wheel of fate and flame and dust that, for all its insubstantial matter, gave an aura of great and implacable weight.

He might not have recognised her Wheel for what it was, but there was something primal, deep down in him, that responded to it. He scrambled back out of reach with more haste than grace.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he babbled, backing up further until one of the pillars got in his way.

“If you leave now,” she said coldly, “you may yet outrun your misfortune.”

The blond guy snatched up his staff and fled.

[holly-fixation]

Ink Clouds: Chapter 11

Summary so far: Cloud is sent back in time by the calamity, who permanently damaged his brain. He is now half squid, and constantly spewing ink that carries Geostigma. Now he's telling Zack and Sephiroth things like 'live' and 'forgive', which are triggering memories and emotions they should not have yet. But Cloud is still in pain from the calamity in his mind, and is now laying at the bottom of his tank, refusing to eat, move, or sleep.

Based on the prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien

Please Enjoy!!

Chapter 11: Connections

Some of the troops were restless. Some of them wanted to be out on missions. Others were alright with the extra training. Most were going stir crazy from the lack of assignments, but not the thirty that consistently showed up at 4AM to get extra training with one of the Firsts. Some of them stayed away because of the Stigma. Others found the risk worth it to gain invaluable training. By the end of the latest seminar, only five troops remained, panting and exhausted.

“You all need to use different swords for training,” Angeal mentioned, and even with the helmets on, he could see their confused expressions. “A heavier sword for training makes actual combat easier. Of course you need to use a normal weighted sword once a day for control, but all other training should be done with a heavier blade.”

“Permission to speak?” One of them asked, clearly a shy adolescent boy, probably no older than sixteen.

“Of course. This is just a seminar.”

“Is that what you use your other sword for?” He asked with curiosity, not a hint of sarcasm despite the gestures he received from the other troops.

Angeal smirked. “No. This sword is special to me. I don’t use it unless I absolutely have to.”

He looked like he was going to ask another question but in the end decided to close his mouth.

“Permission to speak plainly?” A different troop asked.

“Granted.”

“Then why do you bother carrying something so large?”

Angeal almost laughed as he thought of a response. “This sword is for defense, not attack. It’s protected my back more times than I can count.”

“... Could we ever get a sword like that?” The original, shy trooper asked.

He took it off of his back and held it with both of his hands. “Would you like to try?”

The rest of the troopers backed off, but this shy one walked forward.

“If…you’ll allow me.”

This sixteen-year-old. “Hold out both of your hands and get down on one knee for balance. I don’t want you or my sword getting damaged.”

He followed the First’s instructions exactly, holding his hands just above his knee.

Angeal slowly, gently laid the Buster Sword in the troops hands. The troop almost buckled initially, but they quickly regained their balance, slightly shaking from the weight. It was only in his hands for ten seconds before Angeal lifted it back up and returned it to its magnetic sheath.

The small troop fell to his hands and panted lightly. “That’s… a big sword,” They continued after Angeal smirked. “...I want to use one like it when I get into SOLDIER...”

“With your drive and honor, you’ll make it.” He looked at the rest of the troops. “Seminar’s over. You’re all dismissed.”

After what the other troops just witnessed, they left before the last one could even catch his breath.

Angeal offered a hand to the remaining troop, which they hesitantly but eventually took and rose to their feet.

“Thank you,” The troop spoke softly.

“What’s your name, kid?” Angeal asked genuinely. “And your face, for that matter.”

The troop glanced away before returning his gaze and asking for clarification, “Permission to remove my helmet?”

He chuckled, “Granted.”

The troop took off his helmet and revealed his blonde spikey hair, the same as the stigma creature’s, and his much younger face. Angeal nearly took a step back.

“I’m Cloud. Cloud Strife.”

What? He had to think quickly. Same hair, same name as the creature, basically the same face as well: this kid could either be in great danger or be the reason the creature exists in the first place. Too many theories were running through his head in less than a second.

Angeal held his hand out for a proper greeting, trying to act as casual as possible, “Angeal Hewley. Nice to meet you properly.”

Cloud, this Cloud, shook his hand excitedly.

“I have an odd request for you,” Angeal spoke once the young troop took his hand away and immediately gained his full attention, which was a nice change of pace. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”

The troop looked confused.

“I’m giving you my number. Can I see your phone?”

The poor teen practically dropped it as he whipped it out too fast.

Angeal took it with a small smile and quickly added himself to this kid’s contacts. “I want you to message me if you need help training, have any questions about getting into SOLDIER, the usual stuff. But also message me, or better yet call me, if something seems extremely off or weird.”

The teen nodded but still looked confused as he took his phone back.

“Do you use Warker?” Angeal asked casually.

“No,” He answered honestly, almost quietly, “I don’t have anyone I’d follow. My village barely gets Shintranet. Most of our news comes from the morning paper or local inn.” This Cloud seemed sad when he talked about his home.

“It’s not a problem, I’m just curious,” if you’ve seen the video of the monster that looks like you. He didn’t finish that sentence out loud. “Which town?”

“Nibelhiem.”

Angeal could practically hear the alarms activate in his head. “Then just send me a picture of yourself so I can add you to my contacts.”

He nodded again. “Of course! Thank you, Angeal.”

Angeal smiled. “You’re dismissed.”

* * *

The moment after the troop was out of his sight, he sent a message to the First’s Group Chat.

‘I got some news. We need to talk. When can we meet up?’

He didn’t realize he sent the message at 8AM. Luckily every one of them should be up by now.

‘After paperwork, I should be free by 4.’ Genesis responded. ‘Don’t count on the other two responding for a while.’

That wasn’t a normal occurrence when they were in HQ.

‘Why not?’

‘They’re both heading to R&D now because someone forgot to send an email.’

* * *

“I’m sorry…” Zack mumbled for the third time on their way to the lab.

“I told you it’s alright,” Sephiroth countered. “The email didn’t go through. It was out of your control.”

“That head assistant did contact me anyway so I guess it worked out.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” his mentor responded after hearing this information three times already. “You finally got their name, correct?”

“Oh, yeah! They said it’s Doctor Ace, and to not expect any sort of quick response with emails,” Zack explained before finally opening the door to the creature’s ‘lab’.

“We have a cure!” the head assistant to Hojo, Ace, grabbed Zack’s shoulders so quickly when he entered he nearly fell over.

“How effective is it?” Sephiroth asked with small hope in his voice.

“As a scientist I cannot say one-hundred percent, but all fifteen patients with this latest cure lost all of their symptoms even though the virus is still in the body.” Ace let go of Zack, who seemed just as excited as they were. “Then the virus, somehow, and we’re still doing testing so please keep this low for now. It for some reason stops acting like a virus and just remains in the body in a sort of hibernation state.”

“So you lower it from malignant to stable?”

“Again, still testing, but we are so close to approval for more time based or concerned tests. We may start hosting clinics by the end of next month.”

“Thank you for the news!” Zach chimed in before getting serious. “Now, what’s going on with Cloud?”

The assistant turned to them both and ridded themself of their neutral expression. “Cloud’s first problem is that he only produces the ink we need to produce the cure for half an hour after seeing you two.”

The SOLDIERs looked at each other before looking back at the doctor speaking.

“And the second: yesterday he…” They paused, clearly looking for the correct explanation. “He’s been laying at the bottom of the tank, barely moving for hours. I’m worried. He’s never done this. He isn’t eating.” Ace stared at Zack and Sephiroth with petrified worry on their face. “If he dies, so does any chance of us curing the planet of the stigma. Please help us.”

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Thanks for reading!

Hopefully this makes the story easier to navigate! Chapter 1 - Thinking Chapter 2 - Testing Chapter 3 - Orders Chapter 4 - [Mis]understa

[minart-was-taken]

I know your Taz blog is inactive so i thought i'd stop by and say i really love your Mama design!! Which Taz is your fave? i like amnesty the best!

Oh thanks!

...Ah this ask is gonna bother some people but I dont think I like any of them...? The blog is inactive for a reason, after all... 😞

Balance never quite took me, Amnesty was great but the ending left me disatisfied and a lil angry, Graduation was good but same issues as Balance, and I havent had the interest to check the newest one after all the above...

I DONT THINK my opinion is based on their quality, just a variety of personal things. They just werent for me, it turns out.

Im glad others can love them! Im glad my old fanart can bring joy. Those are for you taz fans! Enjoy them where I no longer can, please.

[sinisterexaggerator]

OK, hear me out: Idea for a longfic featuring Cad Bane and a female OC (eventual smut / romance )

 Said original character works for Kayson at Kayson’s weapons shop in Mos Eisley on Tatooine, which is a weapon’s store mentioned in legends, I think? Kayson is “a grizzled alien, who was also very adept at obtaining weapons on the black market. He sold a variety of legal weapons, all in excellent condition, but also offered contraband to trusted customers - He had a sour disposition and atrocious manners. He was a hulking ape-like humanoid with short fur, four nostrils, and an optical enhancer worn over his left eye.”

The female OC is from Lothal, - she has dark hair and bright blue eyes. Her father was a horrible gambler and lost a game of Sabbac to Kayson when he was on Lothal doing shady business dealings with a male Devaronian who was a part of the Broken Horn Syndicate – most likely buying weapons to sell at a higher rate and to “elite” customers who have expensive tastes. Her father, a heavy alcoholic, bet their house and all their property – when he refused to pay up, his life was threatened. His daughter (OC) offered up her life to slavery instead to repay her father’s debts, to her mother’s dismay.

She is taken to Tatooine and learns the ropes; how to care for and repair weapons. Kayson gradually starts to trust her, even though he is less than kind. Maybe she is given tasks such as selling said unsavory items as his customers require, putting her own life in danger. She is forced to learn to protect herself.

Cad Bane comes in one day for something weapons related, of course, which he is on the hunt for someone in Mos Eisley. He is taken with her on appearances alone. They talk, etc, but nothing much happens. – At some point, he’s hurt. She witnesses this event and pulls him to safety, or nurses him back to health, gradually. He grows to care for her, feels in debt to her, and wants to free her from Kayson - of course, he’s not soft... much. I would try to keep canon compliant on what I think his personality and disposition would be like in a relationship - somewhat dominant, possessive, protective, perhaps the longer the story goes on. He either pays him off, or makes enemies of the man by whisking her away when he refuses to let her go.

She surprises him; she’s a good shot – maybe she helps him a few times with her usefulness.  Todo isn’t sure he likes her; but she grows on him. He takes her home, planning to drop her off on Lothal for some reason or another. She confesses her love and doesn’t want him to leave.

This is just a rough idea!

[greaterawarness]

What's Left Ch. 3 "Old Friends"

(Kix goes with the Ghost crew to investigate if the owner of this bar knows where Rex's son is. Things don't go as planned.)

Kix can feel their eyes on him. A glance here, the dart of the eyes there, and then there’s the nautolan who is content to just stare blatantly at Kix. All attempts to converse with him went out the porthole when Kix failed to be much of a conversationalist. He would answer their eager questions with short sometimes one word replies. The more they spoke the more Kix felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t in a place where he can look back on the good old days and smile. It was still a fresh wound that hadn’t even begun to heal yet. He hoped they understood when they slowly stopped asking questions and started facing forward in their seats. Right now, they were the closest thing to Rex he was going to get.

“We’re coming up on Coruscant now.” Azil announces. Kix finally found out that she’s a Lasat. Caleb whispered it to him when he was caught staring for to long. Reveth shifts her weight but doesn’t uncross her arms. She hasn’t spoken much since the captain left them on the Ghost. Pendewqell mutters under his breath from time to time but Kix doubted anyone could hear it. Reveth’s stone expression was a constant reminder that they aren’t here to make friends. This was a retrieval mission for the memory core. They were then to report back to the Shrike hopefully with this kid Fives in hand. But Kix wondered if Sidon actually planned on keeping his word to Maz. Kix leans on his knees and delves deeper into his thoughts. What if the Corsair crew wasn’t his only option now? These people knew Rex. Maybe they would take him in? his stomach twists. Maybe they’ll take pity on me?A spark of anger spreads heat across his face. He has to tap his foot and let out a long breath to feel normal again.

“Emmy, you stay with the ship just in case we need a speedy getaway.” Jacen instructs when the Ghost id docked. The nautolan nods, still not saying a word. Kix flinches when the orange droid, Chopper, speeds past him. Caleb elbows Kix.

“He grows on you, trust me.” He winks before pulling on his Mandalorian helmet. Kix glances at Reveth who just shrugs. They follow Jacen off the Ghost and out into the Coruscant Underworld. When Kix first steps off the ship ramp, he takes a moment to glance up at all the starships floating in and out of the large docking tunnels. Even though he was born and raised on Kamino and everything he loved is most likely gone or changed into something unrecognizable to him, he can’t help thinking, I’m home.

“Alright, stay close. The bar isn’t to far from here.” Jacen calls from the front of the group. Kix snaps out of his gaze when Pendewqell shoves him forward. He stumbles slightly and shoots a look over his shoulder, but Pendewqell doesn’t seemed fazed. Kix takes everything in. The poorly lit walking paths plotted with filth and trash. The almost nauseating stench of ship exhaust and every now and then the putrid stench of sewage. But what he really enjoyed was the starship traffic overhead that forms a river of lights in the sky. While taking in the sights of the city he once called home, he almost doesn’t notice a hand attempt to pickpocket him. Kix reacts quickly, catching the thief’s hand and pulling them away from his body. The boy no older then 16 looks flustered by getting caught before ultimately running away.

“Got to be careful on the streets,” Azil says when they continue walking, “Coruscant used to be a respected planet. But now its fallen to crime syndicates.”

“How is that possible?” Kix frowns as he walks. She shrugs with the shake of her head.

“After the Empire fell it went back to being peaceful but…” she trails off.

“But then the First Order showed up and now this place is as lawless as ever.” Caleb finishes for her. Kix doesn’t push the subject any further. He’s already spotted a few stormtroopers peppered into the crowds. The first time he ever saw one he mistook it for a clone trooper. The sudden burst of excitement and relief to not be alone that was immediately extinguished when he heard the strangers voice speak back to him. The clones are gone. Now, he’s all that’s left.

It doesn’t take long to make it to their destination. Kix is surprised to see how large the bar is. it looks more like a warehouse then a place to get drinks. A few groups of people are loitering out front around several parked speeders. Kix follows silently behind the Ghost crew as they enter the bar.

Inside it’s almost pitch black except for the neon paint spread along the walls, floors, and ceilings. The mass of people dancing to the overly loud music all wear some form of brightly colored fabric that lights up like the paint. Some have symbols painted on their bodies if only to have something that glowed in the dark. Kix realizes the paint on Caleb ignites in the dark like everything else. He sticks closer to the others. It would be way to easy to get lost in a place like this.

They eventually find a long bar that stretches the length of the back wall with several bartenders scattered about to serve as many people as possible. Kix sees Jacen peering at each bartender before shaking his head. Azil gstures to the second floor that looks down at the main horde of dancing people. They make their way to one of the two stairs and begin climbing. Each stair is painted a different color, forming a rainbow all the way to the top. the second floor is much less crowded. There are sectioned off areas with cushioned benches and private tables. They pass one man that is surround by women of different species and the next is a group of men throwing a bachelor party. Kix notices a much smaller bar in the corner. Only one man stands to serve drinks. When they approach the small bar, the bartender doesn’t look up from drying a glass.

“What do you want?” his voice is low, but it carries over the music. Jacen takes a seat on one of the five barstools. The man behind the bar is a Kiffar. His clan tattoo is a gold line running down his forehead, nose, lips, and chin with three gold dots marked under his left eye. He is completely different then the other bartenders. While the others wear vests that glow different colors in the dark, he only wears dark clothes. He has a long jacket that rests just past his shoulders revealing gold tattoos that cover his left shoulder and travel down his arm to where Kix could no longer see. The top of his dreads is pulled back into a bun while the lower part is let to fall below his shoulders.

“I’m looking for my cousin.” Jacen tries to speak loud with out shouting. The man finally sets the glass down and meets Jacen’s eyes. He reaches under the bar and pulls out a shot glass before pouring blue neon liquid to its brim. He slides it towards Jacen.

“What makes you think I know where he is?” the man tilts his head but shows no emotion.

Jacen leans over the bar. “He’s in trouble Qell.”

When the man, Qell, doesn’t react in any way, Reveth pushes her way forward. She takes the shot meant for Jacen and downs it in one go. She slams the glass on the table and meets Qell’s eyes. “The Crimson Corsair is looking for him. You can tell us what you know, or things can get messy.”

Something in his eyes change. Qell leans shifts his weight while mulling it over. He crosses his arms and stares at the floor with his lips pressed into a thin line. After a moment he gives a small nod.

“Fine,” he says making Jacen’s shoulders relax. Kix glances at Caleb and Azil. They keep their guard up. “I’ll go get him.”

“Alright,” Jacen breathes. When Qell disappears through a hidden door by the bar, Kix gets an uneasiness deep in his gut. “I told you he’d do the right thing.”

Azil gives a snort and begins pacing the length of the small bar. “We’ll see…”

While they wait for Qell to supposedly retrieve Fives for them, Kix pears down at the dancing crowd. The crowd swells and falls like uneven ripples across water. There may have been a time where he would want to join them. Especially if Jesse and Hardcase talked him into it. They were good at that. His thoughts are interrupted by a loud siren blaring through the building. He covers his ears, wincing. Down below, he can make out two people running through the crowds dispersing something to each patron. After a moment he realizes they’re masks. He quickly whips his head towards the people in the private areas to see them sitting comfortably on the benches all wearing masks that glow different neon colors.

“What’s going on?” Pendewqell screams over the siren.

“Shit.” Caleb curses under his breath. Kix follows his eyes and see even the bartenders are now wearing masks. All of their masks glow red. Kix flinches when a large, animated eyes and mouth appears on the large wall overlooking the crowds.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the loud animated voice speaks commanding everyone’s attention. Kix reaches for his blaster but only grasps at air. He peeks over his shoulder to see his blaster is gone. The others catch on and find that their blasters are missing as well. “Now is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Remember to keep your masks on at all times and to act responsibly! If you need assistance at any moment, please do not hesitate to hit the red button on the side of your masks or to reach out to anyone wearing a red mask!”

“What does that mean?” Azil asks before yelling. “What does that mean?”

The eyes and mouth disappear. A large red 10 appears on the wall. Everyone below begins to chant out the countdown.

“We don’t have weapons Jacen.” Caleb hisses. Jacen stands next to everyone unsure of what to do.

“We don’t know what its counting down to! It might not be anything bad.” Jacen doesn’t sound convincing.

“… 5… 4… 3… 2…” The crowd continues chanting. Kix holds his breath. Everything in him tells him to run. Then the crowd screams, “… 1!”

At first, nothing happens. Then the lights flip on causing Kix and the others to flinch and groan at the sudden brightness. This has been happening a lot to Kix. But when the lights shut off again a horn is blown and clouds of color rain down on everything. The music is blaring so loudly that Kix can feel it in his chest. the people go nuts dancing in the clouds of color and soon colorful foam appears on the floor. Kix and the others all give a semi embarrassed “Oh.”

“My blaster is still missing!” Reveth hisses through clenched teeth as if to remind them that this wasn’t innocent at all. Kix turns to respond to her but suddenly feels a blow against the center of his shoulder blades. He doesn’t fully realize what’s happening until he hits the ground. On the first floor. He lets out a long groan and then cough when the smoke gets into his lungs. Its not the same type of smoke that the kid Fives used on him, but it still made breathing difficult. He struggles not to slip on the foam that now covers the floor. A torguta man walks towards him wearing a red mask. Kix holds out a hand, assuming he’s here to assist him but is then kicked in the chest and sent sliding across the floor.

He has to use a table currently occupied by a group of women to get to his feet. They stare at him blankly, so he bows his head at them and goes, “Ladies.”

He barely has time to adjust to standing again when the next hit comes. This time he’s able to lift his arms and shield himself. When the man swings a leg, Kix manages to catch it throw the man off balance. He throws a punch himself but the man dodges. The smoke stings his eyes, and he coughs so hard his lungs ache. This gives the man another opening. The man’s boot collides with the side of Kix’s head sending him flying to the floor again. This time when he tries to get to his feet, he waits. When he hears the man approaching, Kix pulls a knife, one he just remembered he had, and swings at the man. The man tries to dodge but Kix is able to plunge it into his thigh. The man lets out a painful scream before punching the side of Kix’s head. When Kix no longer sees two of everything, the man is gone.

Kix stumbles to his feet, wincing at the throbbing in his head and the ache in his back from his fall. He glances towards the second floor. Azil is draped over the side rails, Jacen is currently getting to his feet, and Pendewqell coughs hysterically into his arm from the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Reveth and Caleb still in the midst of battle. Qell and a female Mikkian fight off Caleb and Reveth on the rainbow stairs. He begins stumbling towards them, but the crowd is to pact together and he couldn’t manage his way through. More colorful smoke rains down obstructing his view of their fighting. He coughs harder and waves the smoke away.

Hands shove Kix into someone behind him. Qell runs past with the Mikkian woman. Kix gladly runs after them when he sees their headed for the exit, but he’s trapped in the crowd. They jump and chant from under their masks completely unaware of what’s happening. Kix coughs harder, feeling himself curl into himself. Hands push him through the crowd. Reveth appears, now covered in paint and bruises. She helps him through the dancing crowd and to the exit.

The fall through the doors, landing on the ground. Both coughs roughly towards the ground. They crawl further away from the entrance so they can sit themselves up against the building walls. Some of the loiterers outside stare at them judgingly. When the doors burst open again, it’s the Ghost crew and Pendewqell. Caleb is the only one who seems fine. His Mandalorian helmet saved him from the smoke.

“Well,” Jacen’s voice is hoarse, and he tries to keep himself from cough anymore. “That could have gone better.”

“No shit.” Reveth gets to her feet. She slams the side of her fist against the bar wall in frustration.

“We should get back to the ship.” Azil’s voice is strained but no one argues. Each of them is covered in the colorful smoke. They leave a trail of neon footprints as they make their way through the city. They don’t say a word. Each of them is pissed and while they won’t admit it, embarrassed. When they make their way into the port where the Ghost is docked, they freeze.

Panels from the ghost lay on the floor with bolts and nails rolling around. A part of the ramp lies flat on the ground while the rest hangs in the air. Bits and pieces of the Ghost are strewn throughout the dock. Jacen walks forward, hands squeezed into tight fists. A ship hovers above the Ghost with wires tethered down to the hyperdrive being lifted from the ship. on top is two Jawas. Both waves enthusiastically. The sound of thrusters draws their attention to Qell who is lifting up to the Jawas. He glares down at them and gives a low laugh.

“I’ll give Fives your regards!” he shouts before the ship pulls them away.

***

When Qell is safely in the ship, he gives a long low sigh. He pulls his mask off and tosses it onto the couch that curves into one of the ships corners. The twins push past him while bickering over their new hyperdrive.

“Hey, Gigi, Suzu, cut it out.” His voice reveals how exhausted he really is. “Go make sure Chop doesn’t need any help.” The two Jawas nods and shuffle off to find Chop. Qell takes this moment to rub his face. When the ship doors open, Calli steps into the room. She’s doesn’t take her eyes off the datapad that’s in her hands.

“You okay?” Qell places his large blaster on the table by the couch. When she doesn’t respond or even acknowledge him, he asks again. This time she flinches and meets his eyes.

“What?”

Qell gives a soft laugh before saying, “Are you injured?”

“Oh,” her pink nose wrinkles at such a thought, “no, I’m fine. Chop on the other hand got stabbed in the leg.”

“Of course he did.” Qell rolls his eyes. Calli begins walks towards another set of doors before Qell speaks up again. “How is he?”

She pauses, not looking back at him. her voice is forcefully neatrul. “The same.”

When she disappears through the ship doors, he feels the quietness settle. It’s a peaceful quiet but it gnaws at the pit in his stomach. The pit formed by the worry that’s been building up little by little with every passing day. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ease the worry back down. When the ship doors open again, Chop walks out, wearing an apron and rubber gloves that stretch to his elbows.

“What are you doing?” Qell sighs when the torguta shuffles through cabinets while mumbling to himself.

Chop pauses to stare at him and then, as if it wasn’t clear enough, lifts his rubbered hands and says, “Dishes.”

“Dammit Chop! Go find Calli and get your leg patched up!” Qell shouts but there’s no real anger behind it. Chop hops from one thought to the other usually before Qell has time to question his first one. Chop almost looks confused before glancing down at his leg.

“Oh, right.” He says. “I’ll go find Calli.”

Qell shakes his head while watching him leave. Not 10 minutes ago he was fighting in the bar. Now he’s trying to do the dishes with a bleeding leg. Qell decides that this is enough for one day. Calli can hold it down long enough for him to get some rest.

When the doors part, he’s greeted by his dark room. The only light is from Fifi’s work bench lamp. He can’t help but eye the memory core sitting in the center. He forces his eyes away and pulls his coat off. He hangs it in his closet before kicking off his shoes and then lining them neatly with his others. He notices some of Fifi’s clothes strewn around and gathers them in his arms before dropping them into the dirty hamper. He rubs the back of his neck and sits on the edge of the bed. The lump behind him shifts.

“You know,” he starts softly, “Your cousin came looking for you.”

He waits for some form of response. The only thing he gets is another shift from under the blankets. He can spot a few strands of blonde hair peeking from under the covers. Qell stares at his hands. He’s not sure how much he should tell him. At least right now. Fifi gets in these moods. Sometimes he’s really up and feels like he can do almost anything. Things like still a memory core from the fuckingCrimson Corsair. And then there are times like this. The times where getting out of bed is next to impossible. Qell presses his lips together and squeezes his eyes shut before letting out a breath and relaxing his shoulders. He'll wait until Fifi feels better. Then they’ll come up with a game plan.

“I’m sorry.” Fifi’s voice is small. Qell looks back at the mass of blankets and pillows. He crawls over and peels the covers back just enough for him to plant a soft kiss on the top of the blonde head.

“It’s alright. Get some rest.” Qell speaks softly. “When you feel better, we’ll figure out the next phase of the plan.”

He doesn’t stir anymore under the blankets. Qell lets the covers fall back over his hair. He thinks back to the red twi’lek. And that man. The one that almost looked like Fifi. He glances at Fifi’s helmet that sits in its usual place on top of Fifi’s dresser. The clones are gone. He reminds himself. There was no way that he was a clone. A child of a clone? Yes. But even as he tells himself this, he can’t help but feel the nervous pit in his stomach grow.

(I know it might be confusing that Rex's kid is named Fives so I'm gonna try and have them call him by some nicknames. I just can't see how Rex wouldn't name his kid after Fives though, so I'm probably gonna keep the name.)

Read full story HERE on Ao3!