#do you think they kept it clean and made sure no one stole their heirlooms?

[skygemspeaks]

So Beta sector declared the second Roman Empire in 2605, and the August Clan ruled for 53 years, until the Artemis tragedy happened in 2658

During this time, the Military were banned from Beta sector, and I imagine that included the Betan Military clan alliance.

I can't stop thinking of how heartbreaking that would have been.

All the older folk who had to flee their home planets and passed away in exile, never to see their clan halls again, never to be buried with their forefathers.

All the children who didn't have childhood memories of sleepovers with their cousins, of running through the clan hall and being surrounded by generations upon generations of their family's history.

All the young adults who never had their proper coming of age ceremonies.

All the presentation ceremonies and betrothals and weddings that had to happen in foreign lands, their joy tempered by the grief of being exiled from their homeland.

Do you think when the Military got the distress signal from the people of Artemis, they tried to send as many Betan military officers as they could? Do you think the people of Beta sector had that kind of Catharsis? The ones who had been exiled returning home in a blaze of glory and heroism to save the helpless civilians of their home sector?

And as much as there's heartbreak, there's also just as much joy.

Because 53 years feels so long, but in a world where people can comfortably expect to live to their hundredth, there would have been many older folk who DID get to go home. People in their 60s and 70s and 80s and so on, who had long lost hope of ever seeing their home again. They stepped through the interstellar portals, and were surrounded by the screaming welcomes of their fellow Betans, calling them home.

Children and teens who had grown up hearing wistful stories from their parents and grandparents, their uncles and aunts, finally setting foot on their home world, taking in the beauty of their planet.

Clan halls that had been empty and forelorn for 5 decades, covered in a thick layer of dust, suddenly echoing with the laughter of their family returning home.

Windows and doors thrown open to let fresh air in, old and young clan members alike spending days working together to clean their clan halls until the floors are gleaming and there are fresh sheets on all the beds and the whole building is steeped in the aroma of good food.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 16 - Ao3

Felix could only hope his mother would pardon him for thinking such harsh words, but he felt as though the situation merited it. Because this? Was bullshit.

He could understand, to a degree, where Marinette was coming from. Felix wasn’t a good person; ergo, put Felix in situations where he would be forced to do good to make him confront the benefits of kindness and charity and hugging snot-nosed orphans or whatnot. He could understand becoming a force for good; his family had the money and the influence to improve the live of the less fortunate, and he’d understood that ever since his mother enlisted his help with choosing Graham Films annual donations. He could stand losing some of his own money just to hear Marinette gush about the charity he chose, and how that money would be used (all information he knew, of course; you don’t donate without knowing exactly where your money is going).

What he could not stand is having all his time with Marinette interrupted by Cesaire.

Marinette’s reasoning was that she wanted her two friends to get along, but Felix suspected she just liked to see him suffer. Sure, he did Cesaire a favor once, that doesn’t mean they like each other! In fact, he would go out on a limb and say that Cesaire definitely hated him. Why? …He wasn’t sure. If it had been a few weeks ago, he would have said she was jealous he had been Marinette’s friend while she had been led astray, but now that he’d gotten to—bleck—know Cesaire, he was certain it wasn’t in the girl’s character.

He took the opportunity to ask Cesaire the next time Marinette forced them to work together on a project—this time, cleaning up the content of the Ladyblog. Apparently Felix’s demeanor would help push the blog in a more professional direction.

Cesaire’s fingers paused on the keyboard at his question. Even Marinette, who had been working on a separate project, stopped to listen in. “I don’t hate you,” she lied.

“Yes, you do,” Felix corrected. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, before your near suspension and after. You hate me, and I’d like to know why.”

“Felix, she doesn’t hate you—” Marinette tried, but Cesaire stopped her.

“Marinette, I appreciate you trying to mediate, but you don’t have to right now”—She flashed a smile at Marinette—“Felix, I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you.”

“Okay. Why?”

She drew back, shock crossing her face before she shut the emotion down. “Felix, the first time we met, I was an akuma. An akuma you caused. I still don’t know why you impersonated Adrien, but since you supported Marinette when I didn’t, I’m willing to tolerate you despite that.”

Oh. “I had forgotten that,” he admitted, looking away.

“You… forgot?” She didn’t believe him, it was clear in her voice.

“Yes. I was having quite the bad day myself.”

Cesaire looked ready to say something, but Marinette placed a hand on her shoulder. “Felix, I’ve been meaning to ask you… Why did you impersonate Adrien that day? Knowing you now… it doesn’t seem like something you would do without a reason.”

Felix pursed his lips. True, what he did that day had been… poorly thought out. He would even say that he’d acted rashly, but to be honest, he had planned it from the beginning. The entire time his father was on his death bed, the entire time Felix watched him die, Adrien was calling and emailing him, talking about his friends and modeling and school like Felix hadn’t begged him and Uncle Gabriel to come over and visit, to support them in their time of need like his family had done when Aunt Emilie went missing. Perhaps it was cruel that he and Mother tried to take back their family rings on the anniversary of Aunt Emilie’s disappearance, but it was cruel that they didn’t come to his father’s funeral because… because of a fashion show!

So Felix told them. Despite himself, he told the girls about his father and how much he loved him, and how it broke his heart to see the strongest man he’d ever met waste away in front of his eyes. How his mother cried for months as she sat at his bedside. How their company suffered with the CEO dying and his mother beside herself with grief, how Felix was forced to delegate power to those loyal to his father and their family, trying to keep their business afloat and still in their name.

“Adrien… is very cruel in his ignorance,” Felix said. “He’s more than happy to ignore other people’s problems until they affect him, then he’ll do whatever he can to solve the problem. And I… wanted him to be affected.” He shook his head, picking at Marinette’s bedspread. “I thought that if I caused him to lose all his friends… Well, that plan backfired, so there’s no need to go into detail. I should feel lucky that I got at least one of the rings back.”

“Rings?”

Felix showed off the one he’d stolen from Gabriel, the silver band glinting in the sunlight. The metal seemed to hum against the warmth of his fingers. “The wedding bands of Gabriel and Emilie Agreste were originally family heirlooms of the Graham de Vanily estate. Originally, they were supposed to be used when the eldest child, my mother, got married. Unfortunately, that was impossible.”

“Wait, your mom is a Graham de Vanily?” Cesaire asked. “So, your dad married into the family?”

“That’s correct; Grandfather arranged it back when Father was a mere director in our company.” Felix shook his head. “Mother and Father were supposed to wear these on their wedding day. But Aunt Emilie stole them for her own marriage.”

Marinette gasped. “No! Why would she do that!?”

“I have no idea; if Aunt Emilie ever said why, Mother certainly has never mentioned it. My grandparents disowned her for the theft—though, to be honest, they were already on the edge because Aunt Emilie was marrying someone they didn’t approve of—and it was only Mother’s intervention that kept them from reporting her to the police.” He twisted the ring around his finger. “These rings mean a lot to my family, to my mother… I know it hurt her that she and Father never wore them, even if Father created near replicas for their 3rd anniversary. She never wore hers though… I think she thought that if she did, it would be acknowledging that the rings would never come home.”

“What’s so special about these rings, anyway?” Cesaire asked, moving closer to look at, but thankfully not touch, his ring. “It’s plain silver.”

“Honestly, I have no idea. They’ve been in the family for centuries, and Mother said that you could only understand how precious they are until you and your love both wear them, but…”

“It’s not the value of the rings,” Marinette finished. “It’s what they represent.”

“Precisely. Aunt Emilie stole them to begin with. Now that she’s gone—and honestly, I’m not entirely convinced she didn’t just leave Uncle Gabriel—the rings should come home, no matter how sentimental Uncle is about them. He has made it very clear that he doesn’t consider us family, so there’s no need to keep family heirlooms.” Felix clenched his fist. “I already stole one of the rings; I can steal the other one too.”

Marinette was shaken, but Cesaire immediately nodded her head in agreement. “Go for it.”

“Alya!”

“What? If they were stolen to begin with, then there’s no problem with him stealing them back. Besides, it’s not like Gabriel can report him to the police. There is evidence that the rings were originally your family’s, right? Like, pictures of your grandparents wearing them, or even official documentation?”

Huh. It seems Cesaire is more than she first appeared. “That’s correct, we have both.”

“Then he can’t do much. At worst, he can try to pass them off as a different set of jewelry since the ring is so generic, but that would just draw out the investigation and bring more evidence against him to light. Even claiming that you were the one to steal the ring could be difficult to prove unless he got it on camera.” She frowned. “Getting to the other ring will be difficult though, since Gabriel will likely protect it.”

“Plus, if he knows you stole it, he’s not going to let you into the house,” agreed Marinette. Both he and Cesaire exchanged at look at her abetting. “What? You act like I’ve never stolen anything before!”

“But you… haven’t?”

A cat-like grin stretched across Cesaire’s face. “Oh? She hasn’t told you that story yet?”

A groan. “Alya, no!”

A smirk twitched across his lips despite himself. Perhaps working with Cesaire wouldn’t be so bad after all…

Taglist: @graduatedmelon @novicevoice @dur55 @kris-pines04 @18-fandoms-unite-08 @moonlightstar64 @bee-a-garbage-shipper @sol-o-shade @kittyotakunoir666 @tinyterror333 @allieoftheenemy @marichat00 @xgxmxtx @two-faced-biatch @feliciakainzofspades @evil-cricket @emilytopaz @spicybelladonna @chocolateherringtacofan @user00000003 @wannajointhecrabcult @happymonster-pants @duquesapincarrasca @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen  @sxltinette @kittydemon9000 @thetrashypanda423

[ratdad-ninjutsumaster-archive]

Esoteric (Prologue)

She had been searching for months.

Shinigami had left New York (and by extension, Karai) seven times in the past year. She had been granted permission of course, no questions asked, but Shinigami far preferred to be with her master’s clan than stuck in the heart of Tokyo in a loop of dead ends, foolish bribes, and desperate interrogations. And yet she kept coming back, promising herself it would be worth it if she succeeded, until she found was she was looking for. The discovery was sudden, unexpected, like an ambiguous image where the subject of the picture comes to light just when the trail seems to lead nowhere. Through the grand wooden double doors of the hidden back room of the temple she wandered, down through the halls of paper doors and ancient tapestries whose quality defied time, following the glow of candles and the steadily growing smell of agarwood. Now that Shinigami was finally, finally finding what she had searched for, a long-absent terror was taking hold of her heart.

Not without good reason of course. Shinigami had heard many stories of what became of those who followed this same path, most ending horribly, many involving her own bloodline; powerful, esoteric, and nearly erased completely from history.

Shini had studied these stories countless times. She memorized what mistakes those in the past made and pressed them deep into her heart, recounting the lessons diligently in her final steps from the wooden halls into a large paper room painted with prints of shinboku trees. She stopped in the doorway as her panic hit it’s pinnacle. The subject of her search was right there, unbothered as she reclined elegantly along a fainting couch, elevated like a throne at the center of the room. Long black hair, smooth and clean like that of a well-tended doll was strewn in waves over a golden kimono, suffused with so many countless layers that it was easy to lose oneself trying to distinguish the patterns. The fabric of her gown, much like the incense, filled the room wherever the lamps, flowers, artifacts, and other treasures didn’t touch. The figure was svelte and unusually tall, not like a giant or a monster, but like a goddess. Seven foot at least, though it was hard to tell from a distance.

Shinigami kept walking forward, pretending her legs weren’t shaking beneath her, excitement and fear threatening to destroy all composure. She spoke aloud, working to coax herself into the confident assurance she had the upper hand.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hiding from me” “I like my privacy.”

The voice of the figure upon the throne was silky, deceivingly relaxing. The voice of a friend… no… a mother, a mother that knew their child better than they knew themselves, and Shini was quick to remember how many died due to their faith in that voice. Her hand quickly moved to her hat and she tightened her grip around the golden cats eye of the meteor hammer, hot to the touch like a machine being worked to it’s full capacity. Shini ignored the uncomfortable warmth radiating through her gloves and held it up by a length of chain.

“I am here to make use of my heirloom. You recognize it I’m sure.” The figure blinked slowly as she let out a gentle hum of understanding. Her black lashes fluttered like butterfly wings, rosebud lips soft and pale, eyes sharp, nose and face long but in a delicate and charming way. The traditional beauty depicted in ukiyo-e prints: A fox with wisdom past it’s years, and years beyond comprehension. Kitsune, the nine tailed fox.

In that instant Shini sympathized with every idiotic mistake every protagonists in those stories ever made. A moment of locking eyes with the creature, and she wished desperately that she could love Kitsune without damnation, almost as much as she wanted what she was risking everything to attain.

“You can’t harm me” Shinigami continued, forcing her way through her fascination as she held the meteor hammer higher “I have the Cat’s Eye. I have your seal.”

“I understand. The fate of Kavaxas was probably an encouraging sight, unless you were here looking for me the day he got his brief taste of freedom.” Shinigami was silent for a second. She wanted to ask Kitsune how she knew, but of course she knew. In any case it was best to assume she knew everything and only asked questions for the sake of irony and manipulation. Yes- this was an attempt to lead her down a rabbit hole, get distracted by a story, lose sight of her intentions and loosen her grip on her mind. Shinigami kept talking, kept on target.

“You know what I’m here for then”

Kitsune nodded again, and there was a pause between them. It was a mere few seconds of stillness, but Shinigami couldn’t help but jolt when Kitsune stood. Her rise from the chair was the picture elegance, but the fabric of her clothes swayed around her throne like they were a singular force, and for a brief moment Shini was certain they’d take hold of her and swallow her up like the ocean tide.

“Karai has suffered many things at the hand of Saki, so it’s two birds with one stone” Kitsune postulated “Spite the monster while giving the one you love everything he stole away…” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she placing a curled finger to her bottom lip “Well, almost everything. I would need a far more than scattered ashes to give the poor girl back her mother, but Hamato Yoshi? Yes. Yes, that sounds like something that can be done.”

Shini caught her breath, still holding the cat’s eye high over her head as she took a step forward to make up for her earlier evidence of cowardice.

“Then you’ll do it”

“I can, but-“ “I know. I know there are limitations to what I can make you do” Shinigami said, surprising herself with how quick she was to interrupt. She was feeling herself bend beneath the pressure of this encounter and didn’t wish to look weak, but being overly aggressive would also prove a mistake. Creatures as old and unpredictable as Kitsune often valued conduct if nothing else, so she bowed and apologized without relenting her grip on the meteor hammer.

“I’m sorry, I know the eye protects me, but while demanding knowledge and wealth is one thing, raising a man from the dead is another altogether. However, I am willing to discuss…”

Shinigami hesitated, a subtle glimmer in Kitsune’s gaze frightening her. “… stipulations,”

Kitsune placed a hand to her chin, thinking over the suggestion (or at least playing like she was) and slowly descended the throne, gliding down to meet the witch standing in her doorway. Shinigami kept her eyes on the approaching figure, mind grasping in vain to take in the strange transformation she was witnessing. There was no appearance of Kitsune growing smaller, she remained unusually tall, but was somehow so much less imposing by the time she reached the floor. The robe trailed behind her, still breathtakingly beautiful, but it too had lost that godlike quality and hypnotizing pattern. Shinigami felt herself relax, though deep down she knew that all she was seeing was the wolf fastening herself into sheep’s clothing.

Shinigami lowered the meteor hammer but kept it in her hands, even as a tiny trail of smoke began to rise from her now fairly singed gloves and her hands twitched in pain.

“I suppose we should put together a contract then”

Shinigami nodded in agreement. Kitsune smiled sweetly and bent down, placing a long pale hand against her guest’s cheek. Shinigami didn’t flinch, strangely enough. She had flinched when the ancient rose to her feet, and yet now that she was feeling Kitsune’s fingers against her skin she leaned into it in spite of all self-understanding. It appeared to please the nine tailed fox in a way that made the witch remember her unease. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you write your name in blood” Kitsune reassured, the lighthearted gentility of her voice mismatching the nature of her words as she rose back to her full hight and wandered toward the corridors, gesturing for Shinigami to follow.

This time there was little hesitation, and the witch followed close behind the long golden train of the robe of the fox, her fear giving way to a cautious yet positive anticipation. After all, if this would make Karai happy in the end, then what was there to lose really?