#fashion (*he wears bright and varied colors when off-duty)

[bumblingbabooshka]

[TUVOKTOBER: Day 12] Casual telepathic conversation. There are some things you can't discuss with non-Vulcans.

No text!

The lady Tuvok's talking to is a canon, unnamed background character:

She's ex-Maquis and appears in like two scenes where she doesn't speak.

[unrestedjade]

Baseless Ferengi headcanons no one asked for and that get increasingly queer-navel-gazing and self indulgent because the horrible space goblins have consumed my brain:

- Mobile ears, because if hearing is so well developed and important to them they should be able to aim those big stupid radar dishes. Also because then they can emote with them and that's cute. THE AESTHETIC IS PARAMOUNT.

- Since they canonically sharpen their teeth with chew sticks and sharpeners, their teeth must grow continuously. So I submit: subcultures that let certain teeth grow out as a fashion/political statement. Ferengi punks and anarchists with 5" tusks. Ferengi with all their teeth filed flat (mom and dad HATE it).

- Corollary to the above, most of their teeth are crooked. At the least, they don't share our fetish for straight teeth. What if their teeth are deciduous, and there's no point in trying to force them into perfect alignment, since they'll just fall out and get replaced? So like, sharks but their teeth can also grow longer with no limit. WHAT HAST EVOLUTION WROUGHT ON FERENGINAR :V

- Parents nagging their kids to sharpen their teeth "or they'll grow up into your brain and you'll die :)"

- Personal space? Don't know her.

Okay I need a cut because there's too many now. WHOLE SOCIETY OF GAY HOMOPHOBIC UNCLES AND AUNTS GO I HAVE A PROBLEM

- I can't remember who on here put forth the idea of them having retractable claws but Yes. :3

- Pushing back against the worst canon episode a bit but: relative ear size being the only obvious sexually dimorphic trait, and even that having enough of a gray area that the only way to be 100% sure you're talking to a male or female Ferengi is if you do a blood test. Unless they're intersex! *shrug emoji*

- This is why they're so fanatical about gender conformity and their Victorian "separate spheres" attitude to men and women's roles. Capitalist patriarchy is fragile! And as artificial to Ferengi as it ever was to Humans! (self-indulgenceeeee about gender shiiiiit)

- You know how with domesticated rabbits, the rabbit getting groomed and paid attention to is the boss? Yeah. Go ahead and paint your bestie's nails, just don't be surprised if she cops a little bit of an attitude with you from then on.

- Their fight/flight/freeze/fawn instincts skew heavily toward the last three, and what a lot of other species read as annoying sucking up is the Ferengi in question feeling anxious and unsafe. Especially if they don't feel integrated into the group. Even being at the bottom of the pecking order is better than not being in the flock at all.

- If they DO opt for fight, it's ugly and typically their last resort. Bites or scratches will get infected without intervention-- microbes that their immune system can handle could cause big trouble for aliens. You might wanna check for full or partial teeth that break off and get lodged in the wound, too.

- Too many of these are tooth related but I don't care. :B More teeth stuff: you know what else has teeth that grow constantly? Puffer fish. Likewise, Ferengi can chew up mollusk shells as easy as potato chips, and they need the minerals for their teeth. (Imagine grandpa Sisko offering Nog a crayfish for the first time and watching as he just...pops the whole damn thing in his mouth and crunches away...)

- Their staple foods seem to be grubs and other arthropods, high in protein and fat. I've unilaterally decided their cuisine also involves a lot of edible fungi, ferns, plant shoots and seeds. Gotta get those vitamins. Overall flavor profile leaning toward umami, vegetal, and fresh herbs, and pretty mild (or "delicate" if you wanna be snooty about it, which a Ferengi probably would let's be real).

- Not much sugary food. I'm basing this solely on Quark's aversion to root beer as "cloying". Which could definitely just be his personal preference, but most of the people I hear hating on root beer cite the actual sassafras/sarsaparilla flavor (saying it tastes like medicine) not the sweetness. Nog might be the weirdo outlier for being able to enjoy it.

- Their home planet isn't bright and sunny, so their eyes are better at discerning shades of gray in low light conditions, with relatively weak color vision. Which could explain why they dress Like That.

- Conversely, human music has a reputation for stinking on ice because a lot of it is juuuuust lightly dissonant or out of tune because we can't pick up flaws that small. Ferengi can, and it drives them up the *wall*.

- Music? So many different kinds. Traditionally, maybe lots of percussion and winds, and water as a common component of many instruments to alter pitch or tone. Polyphony out the ass. Some of the modern stuff is an impenetrable wall of sound if you're not a species with a lot of brain real estate devoted to processing sounds. Pick out one melody to follow at a time.

- Yes, back to teeth again I'm sorry. It's a sickness. At some point in their history, pre-chewing food was just something you did for your baby or great grandma as a matter of necessity. Possibly your baby gets an important boost to their immune system and gut biome from your spit. At some point takes on a more formal intimacy aspect and gradually drifted from something all adults and older kids do to something only women do. Your husband and older kids have perfectly functional teeth, but you love them, right? =_= (Think old memes about husbands being useless in the kitchen if little wifey isn't there to cook, but even more ridiculous. Ishka was right about everything but especially this. Thank you for making your family chew their own food, Ishka. Not all heroes wear capes. Or anything!)

- How did they get started on the whole men: clothed vs women: unclothed nonsense? My equally stupid idea: men just get cold easier. Those huge ears dissipate a ton of body heat. Cue Ferengi cliches like "jeez, we could be standing on the surface of the sun and my husband would put on another layer." At some point, again, this got codified and pushed to ridiculous extremes in the name of controlling women and keeping everyone in their assigned box, to the point that women just have to shiver if they really are too cold and men have to pass out from heat stroke if the alternative is going shirtless, because That Would Be Inappropriate.

- Marriages default to five years, but they're also the only avenue for women to have their own household or any stability. Plus their religion places no emphasis on purity save for pure adherence to the free market and the RoA. So, curveball to the rest of their patriarchal bullshit: female virginity isn't a concern in the least. Bring it up and they'll rightly side-eye you.

- Family law is absolutely bonkers and lawyers that specialize in it make BANK. I feel like custody would default to the father usually but oh wait, the maternal grandfather has a legal stake in this, too, and your next father-in-law is asking HOW many kids are you dragging into my daughter's house, etc etc. Growing up with a full sibling is way rarer than growing up with half or stepsiblings, since it usually takes both men and women two or three tries to find someone they vibe with. (Not love, unless you're super cringe.)

- A misogynistic society is a homophobic society. Imo those flavors of shittiness just come in pairs. Homosexual behaviors are fine within certain parameters (aka "always have sex with the boss") but not on your own terms. To add spice, bisexuality is their most common mode (because I'm bi and these are my hcs for my fics I'm not writing, so there), but capitalism demands fresh grist for the mill so you better get het-married and pop out some kids you lowly peons. You have a choice so make the proper one. :)

- Corollary to the above, that doesn't keep all kinds of illicit "we're just friends with quid-pro-quo benefits for realsies" affairs of every stripe and every gender from going on everywhere. Many Ferengi have a lightbulb moment somewhere in early adulthood when they figure out their dad's business partner or the "auntie" who visited their mom every month had a little more going on.

- Plus there's way more gender non-conformity and varying degrees of trans-ing than the powers that be have a handle on. Pel isn't unique, even if most would have to somehow make it out into space to be able to thrive.

Damn a lot of these are just my personal bugbears plus THE GILDED AGE BUT WITH HAIRLESS SPACE RODENTS ain't they

- Women can't earn profit, okay. But lending or "lending" things to each other isn't commerce, riiiiiiight? To be assigned female is to master navigating a vast, dizzying barter/gift economy. Smart boys and men leverage this, too, and there are splinter sects that view this as the purest expression of the Great Material Continuum.

- Of course plenty of women make profit anyway, and just do their bast to dodge the FCA. The tough thing about insisting on using latinum as currency is that cash can be so hard to track, you know?

- Because of the RoA, guys are discouraged from doing favors or giving gifts without setting clear expectation of getting some return on investment. This can twist into an expression of friendship (and of course women do it too), and the ledger will keep cycling between debit and credit among friends for decades. A common mistake aliens make is to tell them recompense isn't needed without explaining why, or return their favor or present with something that zeroes out the debt. The Ferengi will assume you want to break off the friendship. (I cribbed this from dim memories of an African studies course I took in 2007 and whose textbook I know I still have but I can't frigging find it...)

- Flirting, they do a lot of it for a lot of reasons. Roddenberry made it clear that they're just straight up pretty horny, but there's no reason it can't pull double duty for building alliances with other people, smoothing over feuds or disagreements, or cementing friendships. Ferengi who are ace and/or sex-repulsed are possibly viewed similar to the way we'd view someone who's "not a hugger/not big on touching" and if they flirt just don't get offended if it doesn't go any further; aro Ferengi don't garner much comment aside from an occasional "wow how badass, never falling in love with anyone."

- where to even start on making sense of the Blessed Exchequer??? Like seriously, what is this literal prosperity gospel insanity, I need to force myself to re-read Rand and like, some Milton Friedman for this shit. Help.

- fuck I'm probably going to actually do that, RIP me...

[aveyna]

The Seal of Approval

SUMMARY: In which Nuru liberates a seal, Yong gets adopted, Hugo is a gay pining disaster, and Varian is the sole voice of reason.

Alternatively, Nuru partakes in the age old tradition of toppling a monarchy.

[NOTE] Apparently the desire to see Varian get slapped by a seal was strong, judging by my last post.

AO3 LINK

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“Can I at least take him for everything he’s worth?”

 “For the last time, no, Hugo. You cannot be rude to the king, you cannot antagonize him, you cannot make fun of his beard, and hell, you definitely cannot kill him.” Varian sighs. After their last run in with Donella and her goons, they had just barely made it to the kingdom of Equis. He is only so close to choking this brilliantly stupid idiot with those dumb goggles he refuses to wear like they’re intended to. “I’d like to sleep under a roof for one lousy evening.”

 “Oh, come on, hairstripe. If not thievery, can’t I commit a little murder?” Hugo whines, placing his arm dramatically over his eyes. “What else do I have to live for?”

 It’s during times like these that Varian almost wishes he could go back to the way he used to be, before he and the princess had made amends. His younger self would not have hesitated to kick this sorry excuse of an alchemist to the curb. He loves him, truly, he does. The same can be said for Nuru and Yong, but he has just about had it. He had left on this journey in-search of his mother, but instead, he was stuck on babysitting duty.

 Distantly, he wonders if this is how Eugene felt with his past failures on the hot water boilers. He visibly shudders at the memory.

 No, let’s not think about that.

 “Then die.” Varian glares up at the taller man who was currently leaning on him. Scowling, he removes the other arm that he had perched on-top of his head.

 “Don’t be so heartless,” Hugo laughs. He smirks at Varian, but it softens ever so slightly. It seems almost fond and gentle, but quickly, it is wiped off from his face. “Huh, you really do make for a very nice armrest.”

 “Glad that’s all I’m good for,” Varian grumbles, brows furrowed in annoyance.

 Yong jumps up, waving his arms erratically as if he needed to expend that much effort in garnering Varian’s attention.

 “Yes, Yong?” Varian asks, smiling pleasantly at his shorter friend.

 “You’re also pretty!” Yong says. The color from Hugo’s face immediately drains.

 “Wha—” Varian laughs, but it does nothing to dissuade the complete awkwardness of this situation.

 “That’s what Hugo always says!”

 “Haha, no, my dear Yong,” Hugo exclaims, speaking a bit too fast and loud. He had rushed over to the pyromaniac, clamping his hands over him. “He’s got it completely wrong. I never said you looked pretty.”

 “No, but I heard—” Yong breaks free Hugo’s grip, only to be interrupted.

 “Boys, boys, as entertaining as this may be, we’re drawing a crowd,” Nuru says, lips upturned in a half smile. Her golden eyes are lit up in mirth. Clearly, Varian can tell she finds amusement in his misery.

 He raises his head, and…it looks like her assessment was correct. Surprisingly, a large number of people had gathered, eyes boring into the strange group with varying degrees of confusion and judgment. Yong had immediately jumped at the chance to talk with some kids his age who were conspiratorially whispering to one another as they pointed towards Varian.

 Yong nods, easily blending into the crowd. His expression is resolute as he earnestly listens before turning his eyes towards Varian.

 His feet are nailed to the spot, unable to shirk away from the attention. He feels as if he is a fish out of water, but…he cannot move. His two so-called friends had an iron-clad grip on his arms. “Let’s hear what they have to say. Afterall, we wouldn’t want to disappointment Yong,” Hugo concedes in a mocking fashion.

 If I must suffer, I won’t do it alone, his eyes seem to say.

 “Varian, hey, Varian, guess what—!!” The pyromaniac looks towards his new friends before nodding in understanding once more. “They just told me something really cool! Apparently you’re famous!?”

 Immediately, his reality comes crashing down. With Yong’s well-meaning statement, Varian stumbles back as if he were scathed by boiling water. He has done many things he wasn’t proud of over the course of his life. Varian…he had been hurt. He had hurt others, but, here, in this time and place, this family that he has found…it will all come crashing down. It hurts to look at Yong’s bright expression with the knowledge that it’ll soon morph to one of contempt or even pity. He lowers his head, bangs shrouding his downcast eyes.

 “Hugo, didn’t Varian kidnap the Queen of Corona?”

 His head immediately whips towards Nuru, eyes wide in bewilderment. What in the world—

 “He sure did,” Hugo replies in a dispassionate tone. “What a hypocrite you are, goggles. You forbid me from stealing a single jewel, yet you get to commit attempted murder?”

 They’re…they’re not disappointed in me?

 “Way to hog all the fun for yourself,” Hugo lightly chides, glancing down at Varian in a condescending manner.

 Varian’s eyes are glassy. He feels tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes, but he hastily wipes at his face. There is so much to unpack here. Does he even deserve their understanding?  Like his father and the king, he had been keeping secrets from his friends. They’d traversed across countless kingdoms and nearly died in the process. They had laughed, cried, shared good and bad moments, but for reasons unbeknownst to him, they still remain by his side.

 With everything they have done by merely staying by his side, he—

 Wait.

 How did they find out!!?

 Hugo adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses as he nonchalantly states, “Don’t shoot us that look, goggles. You’re acting like we kicked your raccoon.”

 At this, Varian’s initial agitation at the infuriating man returns ten-fold.

 “Why you—don’t bring Ruddiger into this!!” Varian seethes, standing up on the tips as he grabs Hugo by the goggles placed over his neck. His threat had come full-circle. Now, he is this close to murdering his fellow alchemist.

 Nuru looks between her two older companions. Earlier, she had found a disconnected amusement in their bickering. She had always been alone growing up; it was hard to find someone close to her age to forge a genuine connection with. But here, with these two moronic geniuses and a kid who would most likely commit grand arson in a few years tops, she felt…included, complete…as if she were not a princess burdened with a heavy task and instead, a normal girl.

 Still, it would be best to calm Varian before he gets a one-way ticket to prison. She cannot possibly understand how he thought they would never find out; the signs were obvious enough!

 “You would not believe how popular books on recent Coronian news are,” Nuru articulates, thinking back to her initial surprise upon finding chapters upon chapters on Varian’s initial [clearly not one-sided] betrayal of their princess and eventual redemption. Under most circumstances she would have had him thrown out of her kingdom, but she had seen his kindness first-hand.

 He had been abandoned when he was young; cast aside by those he had once admired. His problems were definitely more complicated than that, and its connections were deeply entrenched within the machinations of his kingdom and beyond, but—

 If he had gone out of his way to right his wrongs, she could tell he was a good person at heart, and certainly one she would not mind to have right by her side when traversing the great unknown.

 “You also talk in your sleep,” Yong mentions, eager to help out.

 Varian’s jaw drops, mind reeling at their confessions. Various expressions flicker across his face, but his words…clearly do not do his thoughts justice.

 “Oh, shit,” he says.

 Hugo playfully goads the shorter alchemist, attempting to rile him into another argument. “I thought you said no cursing around Yong?”

 The blue-eyed alchemist merely looks past the taller man and points. Curious, Hugo turns.

 “Oh, shit,” Hugo hisses.  

---

Underneath the sunny, brightly lit sky of Equis, Hugo…is confronted with his worst nightmare. No, even that would be too kind a word. Nothing can describe the complete loathing and disgust he feels at this very moment, not when he is face to face with the vilest person he has ever had the misfortune of encountering again. Even six years is not enough time away from this madman.

 Clearly, time had not been kind to him. Not that it had ever been, if Hugo were to be honest.

 Though…now he has a seal.

 That’s new, Hugo offhandedly mutters, staring at the seal wearing a lavish necklace and golden crown while…still hideous, actually shoots him, unlike this man glaring daggers at him.

 Nuru, however, her eyes…they are the brightest that they have ever been. She looks as if she had been struck by an arrow. Hugo looks at her, clearly disturbed at the princess’s…unusual behavior. “What. Is. That!?”

 She is shaking Varian’s shoulders, eyes filled with stars as gazes at the seal in an awed reverence.

 “A seal…?” Varian responds, somewhat worried by Nuru’s words, until…realization dawns on him. “Oh.”

 “He’s…majestic,” she practically shouts, smile impossibly bright. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

 We’ve lost her, Hugo deadpans.

 “What are you four miscreants doing in my kingdom?” the king of Equis, Trevor, demands as he narrows his eyes at the four friends. Quickly, he looks towards the crowd, only to have them quietly disperse, but—

 Not without shooting another curious glance towards their pathetic excuse of a traveling group.

 “I’m sorry about my friends, King Trevor,” Varian murmurs, casting a small glance towards Hugo and the others, as if beckoning them to remain calm and quiet. He looks at Nuru, but she has clearly lost herself to this newfound discovery.

 “Clearly,” the king guffaws. “Wait, I know you from somewhere…”

 His attention immediately snaps towards Varian, who is doing his best to hide behind Hugo. “Save me,” he says.

 I’m sorry. You’re on your own, Varian. Hugo relents, glancing between the alchemist and king.

 “You must be mistaken, I—”

 “Yeah, you’re that alchemist from Corona,” King Trevor utters, voice laced in suspicion. “You’re not working for that fool, Frederic, are you? Trying to steal the secrets of my great kingdom—wanting to overthrow my rule and displace all of my people? Good, hard-working, law abiding people, might I add.”

 Him? Willingly work for the king? He’d rather die.

 Varian’s eyes crinkle in disgust. He may be on good terms with Rapunzel, but it doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with her father. “What, of course not!”

 At his words, King Trevor marches past Hugo, red cape swishing as he levels his eyes with Varian. “You’re lying. Trevor Jr., come here—!!”

 Hugo inaudibly chortles. He named his seal after himself?

 “Arf,” the royal seal states, slowly moving its flippers as it waddles towards them. Its movement is so languid that anxiety begins to fester among their group until…eventually, it finally reaches the king.

 “Go on,” he says, urging his pet seal towards Varian.

 It turns its head towards Varian as it stares into the alchemist’s blue eyes. The alchemist cannot breathe as the seal regards him with a contemplative expression…at least, he thinks the seal is contemplating.

 A moment passes, until, “Arf,” Trevor Jr. says once again.

 He raises a flipper.

 Yong’s hands are pressed to his face; smile impossibly wide as he awaits the royal seal’s verdict.

 “Arf,” the seal barks. The flipper comes down and a resounding slap is heard.

Varian cannot believe this. Did he…

 Did I just get bitch slapped by a seal!!?

 “Arf arf,” Trevor Jr. huffs, head raised high as he turns away from Varian. The king’s eyes light up with a mirthless glee as he clears his throat.

 “Trevor Jr. has spoken,” the king extrapolates. “He is displeased, and for this…you, Varitas, will be sentenced to death.”

 “Actually, his name’s Varian,” Hugo corrects, helping Varian to his feet after he had been knocked over by the seal. He shoots a look towards Nuru, but her hands are pressed against her face, sporting the brightest grin he had ever seen on the princess.

 He should be more sympathetic, but this is just too good to pass up. Sniggering, Hugo says, “Can’t believe a seal rejected you.”

 Varian glares at the older alchemist, but…screw this. He is too done with this day. All he wanted was one peaceful day. Just one, but instead, here he was…public enemy number one again…and Trevor Jr.’s surprisingly hard slap certainly didn’t help.

 He makes a move to retort, only for his words to be broken off by laughter.

 “I think he likes me,” Yong cackles, petting the seal, eyes starry in wonder and amazement.

 A whirlwind of thoughts goes off in his head; the weasel-like king seems genuinely conflicted, before casting a fond smile at the seal. He visibly sighs. “As much as it pains me to this say this, your execution…will be put off for now. Your little friend has gained the trust of Trevor Jr, so—”

 No.

 “He has gotten—” Time stands to a halt as Varian stares at the king in horror.

 Don’t say it, he and Hugo internally scream. Yong seems oblivious, but Nuru…she has lost herself to the cuteness of the seal.

 “—The seal of approval.”

 Varian cringes. “Just kill me now.”

 The taller alchemist merely pats his back in understanding. He, too, is visibly shaken by…the king’s choice of words. “Only if you kill me first.”

 King Trevor looks towards Yong as if he were an ant. “Feel blessed, child. I do not know why, but my Trevor Jr. has taken a liking to you.”

 “Do not disappointment him,” he yells at the sky, both fists curled into balls at his sides. “He is my baby; the only person in this world that I hold near and dear to my heart. Whatever Trevor Jr. says is the law.”

 “I’m Yong,” the alchemist exclaims an introduction. He looks up at the king in amazement. “Woah, are you two wearing matching clothes!? That’s. So. Cool!”

 The king audibly deflates, at a loss for words.

 “I like your beard; it’s fancy! Do you think I’ll get a fancy beard when I grow up?”

 No, no, please don’t, Varian laments. He had gone that route once upon a time. Those fingerless gloves, fanged bandana, the goatee. Yong should not commit the same mistakes he had committed in his past.

 “Oh, you do?” King Trevor says, twirling his mustache. “You never know, eh, but…probably. You look just like me in my youth. Just, nowhere near as tall. Or handsome.”

 “He does?” Hugo deadpans.

 “Of course he does! Can you not see the resemblance, boy?” the king barks. “We look exactly alike. Why, he’s practically the son I never wanted.”

 “Does this mean I have two dads now? And a mom?” The pyromaniac tilts his head in confusion. “I don’t remember them getting a divorce.”

 King Trevor pauses, contemplating Yong’s words for a moment. “I guess you do now.”

 “Well, eventually, I will need a successor, and seeing that I have no children, why not?” He glances at his seal. “If Trevor Jr. approves of you, who am I to judge?”

 Yong’s hands are clasped together, clearly ecstatic. The sight is so blinding that Varian almost has to shield his eyes. “Which one of my parents did you marry?”

 “Eh, who cares,” King Trevor dismisses.

 The pyromaniac presses his hands to his face, mouth forming a silent ‘o’. “Just wait until I tell my siblings!”

 “Follow me, Yoshi,” the king says, as he walks away from the other three teens. “There’s so much you must learn about Equis if you want to rule over my kingdom with an iron fist.”

 “Don’t you mean kind and just?” Yong says, eyes starry and impossibly bright.

 “Oh, silly, naïve Yoro,” the king chides. “You have so much to learn.”

 “Hold on, you can’t take Yong,” Varian exclaims in anger, placing himself between the Yong, the king, and Trevor Jr.

 A moment passes…complete and utter silence. The king raises his hand, but—

 “It’s fine, Varian!” Yong beams. “Guess this is my life now.”

 “No, Yong, it’s not fine—”

 “Trust me,” the shorter boy says. His expression darkens, but Varian must have been imagining it. “I need to make my father proud; I’m sure you understand.”

 The alchemist makes a move to run after Yong and the king, but Trevor Jr. had gotten in the way—lethargically following after the unlikely duo, but not before casting one final look of complete loathing at Varian. He shirks back on himself, the memories from the previous grueling minutes replaying in his mind.

 As he watches their retreating forms disappear into the distance, Varian makes a vow. “I’ll save you even if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

 “May the moon have mercy on his soul,” Hugo snarks, slightly concerned…but not for Yong. Oh no, definitely not for him.

 “I’ve met the moon,” Varian responds. “Personally, not her biggest fan.”

 ---

 Meanwhile, Hugo is waving his hand over the dazed princess. “Goggles, I think she’s broken.”

“I’ve never seen anyone so perfect in my life,” Nuru squeals, hugging Varian as she recalls the wondrous sea creature. “We don’t have anything like him back in my kingdom.”

 “Have…you seriously never seen a seal?” Varian asks, dumfounded.

 “When you grow up in a kingdom constantly bombarded by meteors, you…don’t get much in the way of wildlife,” Nuru responds, an intense gaze in her eyes as she jumps up. Resolutely, she looks forward, determination laced in her voice. “I’m going to rescue Trevor Jr. from that wretched king.”

 “You’ll start a war if you do that, Nuru.” Perhaps it had been the stressful day that he has had. Afterall, he was slapped by a seal, only to be nearly executed. Yong was whisked away by a king, and Nuru wants to steal a seal. Somehow, his only ally in this madness was the source of his many, many migraines. Varian leans in to Hugo, sighing as he closes his eyes in tiredness. “The king will be after our heads.”

 A luminescent blush forms on his face as Varian leans against him. The alchemist had always been oblivious to his attempts at courting him. That, or downright sadistic in his dismissals. He’d rather be turned down right then and there rather than holding onto false hope. Even if he were to tell Varian directly that he liked him, the alchemist, bless his poor, oblivious heart, would merely smile and say, “I like you too, Hugo. You’re a good friend.”

 But now, with Princess Nuru on the hunt for blood, and Yong somehow becoming royalty, he…can make his move. Finally, this will be his one and only chance. The perfect moment to ask the shorter alchemist out on a date.

 “No fair,” Nuru says, sticking her tongue out at Varian.

 Since when has she been such a brat, Varian wonders in sheer exhaustion and annoyance.

 “Worry not, goggles,” Hugo laughs, glancing over at Nuru as she makes a hasty [and certainly not discrete] exit. “She’s at that age when there’s only one thing on her mind.”

 “Homicide?” Varian mumbles, burying his face onto Hugo’s arm.

 “No. Well, yes, but aren’t we all?” the bespectacled man replies sincerely. “She’s partaking in the age-old tradition of over-throwing the monarchy.”

 “Oh.”

 “Absolutely right you are, hairstripe,” Hugo responds, squinting as he gazes up at the sky. Quite some time had passed; he’s sure it’s well past lunch with the insanity that they had been pulled into. “So….”

 “Sooooooo,” Varian says. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”

 “Hell yes,” Hugo beams.

---

 After breaking away from Varian and Hugo, Nuru had made off towards the castle. Certainly, it was not easy to miss—the sight of its gaudy walls was impossible to not see even from a distance. She was never one for physically taxing activities such as running across a large populated city, but with the powers of sheer determination and spite, she was ready as she would ever be.

 With a seal to save, Nuru knew she could accomplish anything.

 Sneaking into the castle was easy enough…surprisingly, or not. King Trevor did not have much in the way of military or police, but what he did have…were portraits of himself. A chill ran down her spine as she avoided the smarmy gaze of the portraits, who, while a fraction as annoying as the king…did not amount to much.

 “I’ll save you, Trevor Jr.,” she promises, as she crosses past yet another seal statue.

 Only the sounds of her nimble footsteps break the paper-thin stillness of the castle. For a place that should be brimming with life [especially as it is the daytime], she had not seen eye or flipper of any humans or seals. The lunar princess continues to walk in silence, but there it is. She detects movement at the corner of her eye.

 It is soft, quiet, as if…someone else were sneaking around. Could this be an ally or a foe? Both outcomes were possible in a kingdom with a king like Trevor.

 Nuru darts behind a seal statue, waiting quietly, anxious as to whom she will possibly see. She waits and waits…

 Another moment passes, but the mystery person never arrives.

 “Guess I was worried over nothing,” Nuru laughs, still feeling a bit uneasy and agitated over what could have been.

 “Hiya, Nuru!!”

 She certainly did not jump up in surprise at the sound of Yong’s voice. If anyone asks, she…saw a spider. Yes, that was it. That was definitely, most certainly the one and only reason.

 Somehow, without her notice, he had snuck past her…and has discovered her hiding place behind the gaudy [begrudgingly cute] seal statue.

 “What are you doing here?” they both simultaneously ask.

 “You first,” they both say.

 Yong beams up at her, hand pressed over his heart. “I want to make my father proud.”

 “Oh,” Nuru responds, struggling between her emotions of rescuing Trevor Jr., destroying Equis, and not disappointing Yong…which would be an inexcusable in and of itself. She’s about to say more, but the shorter boy merely pulls at her sleeve.

 “Are you planning to take Trevor Jr.?” Yong is not looking at her. Rather, his gaze is directed somewhere far ahead.

 “What if I say I am?” the princess inquires, arms crossed in defiance. Her loyalty towards him is great, but the seal…it beckons to her with its smart, inquisitive ‘arf’. “What will you do then, Yong?”

 He is silent. Nuru feels beads of sweat roll down her face in anticipation. Another moment passes, and then another, until…Yong beams up at her with the cheeriest expression she had yet ever seen on him or any other person. “Will it make my father proud if we release Trevor Jr. into the sea?”

 She narrows her eyes at Yong, searching his face for any signs of betrayal or trickery. But…there is nothing. Only a hint of mischief in his smile. “Yes,” she concedes. “I suppose it will make him proud.”

 At this, Yong cackles, hands raised to his sides as one would see on a mad scientist. Maybe…he has been spending too much time with Varian, Nuru notes, slightly disturbed and yet…impressed.

---

 Honestly, Hugo does not know what to make of this situation. They had been off in-search of the perfect sandwich shop [he wanted to spend time with Varian, but he wasn’t lying. It was well past three and he was starving], but…he got neither a date nor a sandwich. Instead, he was granted the fortune of sneaking into a stupid king’s castle and no lunch. He at least had Varian by his side, but…he really wanted food. Even a cracker would do at this point.

 He had originally thought the princess to be prissy and snuck-up like the nobles back home, but she had quickly gone above his expectations. Hugo could nearly cry at the proud feelings he felt as he saw her sneak into the castle.

 Nuru was completely insane. She was feral in her attempts to rescue this seal through and through, and he could not get any prouder.

 Truly, he was proud of her. He would very much like to shake her hand under any given circumstance and take her under his wing, but now…he is just irritated and very hungry. How long they had been wandering the corridors of this castle, he does not know. He eyes glance down towards Varian, and…yeah. The shorter alchemist definitely looks to be on edge, not that the [creepy] portraits the king had ‘decorated’ the castle with have done to help.

 Hell, they…had stumbled upon one room in-which King Trevor had taped his face on top of a family portrait…which he had somehow stolen(?) from the king of Corona. It was very, very creepy. He and Varian are both convinced that he is stalking the poor queen, but…that is a disturbing problem for another day. Faces blank, they both sped walked out of that room, eyes downcast underneath the watchful gaze of the Queen Arianna and his royal travesty, King Trevor.

 “Ugh, where do you think Nuru ran off to?” Hugo complains, cringing at yet another excessively ornate and gaudy portrait of the king.

 Varian shoots him a quick glance. “If I knew, we wouldn’t be here.”

 Their steps continue across the empty castle…really, the sight is rather eerie if Hugo were to be honest. Unfortunately, their luck had just about run out. Rounding a corner, there…are two guards sporting the official crest of Equis.

 “Great, just our luck,” Varian sighs. The guards seem to have heard their voices. Quickly, the younger alchemist grabs his hand before shoving the both of them into a broom closet. It’s rather small, and uncomfortable, but…hopefully, the guards will not think to look here.

 “This cannot possibly be your brilliant plan, goggles,” Hugo deadpans, trying no to stammer at how close they are.

 Varian merely rolls his eyes at the taller alchemist. “Oh, just shut up and kiss me.”

 Hugo locks eyes with Varian, mouth agape as the goggles he wears around his neck are grabbed until he is at eye-level with the alchemist. His mind is floundering. He cannot think, cannot speak, and Varian…his eyes had always been so blue. But, they almost seem to be glowing…or maybe it’s the theoretical sparks that he had always heard about literally igniting in his head. He had always prided himself on his persona—the suave playboy act that he had crafted for himself.

 And yet, all it took was for a smart, stupid, but surprisingly kind alchemist to undo all of his hard work.

 He makes a move to say something, but Varian merely glares past him.

 “Do you mind?” the shorter alchemist drawls, voice as sharp and scathing as a freshly sharpened knife. Hugo inwardly protests at Varian’s withdrawal, but he is still reeling. Had…Varian finally realized his feelings for him? Were his affections finally reciprocated?

 “Ahem,” a guard coughs into the crook of his arm, eyes averted from Varian’s icy gaze. “Sorry for interrupting you two. Uh, carry on……”

"Lousy teenagers,' Hugo hears them say.

Varian listens to their footsteps fade away before devolving into a fit of laughter. He wipes at his eyes, grinning brightly at Hugo as he helps him out of the broom closet. “I can’t believe that worked!”

 “Yeah, I’ll say,” Hugo responds, still clearly dazed. Wait…worked? Was this a setup!?

 As he listens to Varian drone on about ‘The Adventures of Flynn Rider’, his face must be undeniably crestfallen. All it takes is one look for the dark-haired alchemist to immediately shut up. Now silent, the duo continues to walk across the marble floors of the castle with only the gaudy decorations adorning its walls for company.

 Varian wants to break the silence somehow, but there’s something off about Hugo. His demeanor had soured, but it’s not even just that. He seems more agreeable and not at all his usual sarcastic self. There are no taunts or joking retorts. The bespectacled man merely seems to be lost in his own thoughts. It should be a welcome change, but considering everything that they had gone through this day, he cannot help but worry. He raises his head and reaches for Hugo, only to jump up in surprise at the large cacophony of wild laughter and screams coming from down the hall.

 Their senses are immediately filled with the bitter scent of smoke, and…yeah. Looks like they found Yong, and…judging by the sound of rushing water, they’d bet Nuru was there with him.

 Without giving it a second thought, Varian grabs Hugo’s hand and races down the hallway with him in tow.

 In other circumstances, Hugo would complain. But with Varian, he would follow him til’ the ends of the earth.

 “REVOLUTION!! FREEDOM FOR ALL!” Nuru cackles as she races down the hall with not just Trevor Jr. following her, but another seal with a slightly smaller crown. “We will not stand for this tyranny any longer, isn’t that right, Yong!?”

“Stick it to the man!” Yong pumps his fists into the air. He, too, has decided to partake in this bout of teenage rebellion. The hallway is billowing gray smoke, and they can hear the angered screams of…what appears to be the king.

 Varian stares at Trevor Jr.

 The seal stares back.

 ---

 Somehow, despite everything, they have finally made it out of the kingdom of Equis [relatively] unscathed. Varian is sure he may have lost a bit of his sanity, but…that would not be the first time it happened. And he is sure it most certainly will not be the last.

 As he looks back towards Nuru and her new seal brethren, he is sure of it.

 The kingdom of Equis may have sworn vengeance against them and their descendents for generations to come, but…Varian can live with that. But what he cannot possibly understand, however, is Yong’s toothy grin. It is unsettling with just how plain cheery this boy can be. If he could, he’d ignore it. But, Yong’s incessant wide-eyed gaze will not cease until he gets to say whatever it is in that strange, strange, terrifying mind of his.

 “Yes, Yong, what is it?” Varian sighs for the umpteenth time that day.

 Yong beams up at the alchemist. “Do you think my dad will finally be proud of me?”

 Why, I don’t know, Yong, he murmurs to himself. He had set King Trevor’s castle on fire, lied, cheated, and stolen his royal seal… “Yeah, I guess.”

 “Great,” Yong chirps. “Maybe now I’ll be the favorite child!”

 At this, the three older teens stop in the tracks, staring mouths agape at the would-be arsonist.

 “Dad hates King Trevor,” the short boy explains, grinning up at his friends. “Something about a fireworks deal gone wrong…”

 His sentence falls into obscurity. But, these are words best left unsaid.

 “Well, you’re my favorite,” Hugo quips, patting Yong on the head.

 “Agreed,” Nuru replies. “You can do no wrong.”

 Varian looks from Hugo to Nuru to Yong.

 He shrugs.

 Yeah, he can do no wrong.

[longsightmyth]

any advice for describing clothes without getting too technical or bland? like fantasy clothes? I have all these dresses in my head and then i write it and its like "she wore a blue dress." ughhh

You’re in luck because if you had asked me this before I started Shatterglass I would have said ‘idk friend good luck.’

I HAVE written quite a bit of Shatterglass now, though, and people seem to like the writing from a dressmaker’s PoV, so here, have some examples and then I’ll try to summarize my best tips.

Philippa’s livery:

She wore palace livery like a second skin, even though her red hair clashed with the red panels on her black dress. She had a little bit of embroidery around her hem and collar, which Lillian knew meant the woman was of relative importance in palace servant hierarchy.

Lillian’s first ‘new’ dress:

High necks had been out of fashion longer than Lillian had been in Endovier, though. Philippa, Elaine, Gytha, and Sara had contrived a lacy insert that hid Lillian’s chest and neck nearly to her chin.

“Oh,” Gytha said when they had finished. Sara bit her lip and Philippa sighed, but Elaine looked smug.

She had a right to be, if the lace had been her idea. It didn’t look at all like Lillian was trying to cover anything up: if anything, it looked as if Lillian was trying to get people to look closer. The lace was more a wink and a nudge at modesty. You couldn’t see anything, not really, but it looked as if you should try .

Lillian nodded as she examined herself in the mirror. “I think it will go well with a corset, for the shape,” she said, shifting for a side view. “And I like the color.”

The soft blue-green let her coloring stand out, lending her eyes a greenish cast and heightening the little bit of color she’d gotten from riding for three weeks without a hat.

Nehemia and Kaltain’s first appearances:

She considered leaving, but she was caught by the dresses the two women wore. One wore a deep, bright blue, cut close to emphasize a slim waist but, to Lillian’s surprise, as high-necked as Lillian’s first dress. The neck wasn’t lace on this one, though, just more gleaming fabric. The seams came in from under the arms, Lillian noted with interest, and ran down her front, emphasized with golden embroidery that in turn emphasized a bosom Lillian might have been jealous of before Endovier. The seams and embroidery continued down the full skirt to a wide strip of lighter brocade around the hem.  The color showed off how pale she was, which made the pitch black hair she sported shocking. Lillian approved, though she thought she could have made the dress fit even better. The waist did manage to show off the woman’s slenderness, but Lillian thought it should have been just a touch lower.

The other woman had much darker skin and curls twisted into ringlets down her back and forehead, with what might have been actual gold dust sprinkled through it. She was shorter than the other woman, with a larger waist and hips. Her dress was red, as deep and vivid as the other woman’s blue, with no brocade but more embroidery. It looked almost like it had been wrapped around her, the edges of the embroidery peeking in and out until it spun out from her hips in wavy lines. It left her arms free, and though the neckline didn’t go all the way up to the chin it still covered her collarbone, the way the skirts moved suggested you might catch a glimpse of leg if you looked hard enough.

Garden party dress:

Elaine had outdone herself. Instead of a lace insert, a warm ivory lace overlay went from near-solid at the neck to increasingly more loosely tatted until it became uneven near the hem, like flower petals. Under it, the burnt orange color of the gown itself was slowly revealed. Lillian didn’t have to worry about going barefoot this time: even fashion bowed to the possibility of getting noblewomen’s feet covered in dirt from the gardens. Her slippers matched the underdress exactly.

And I’m going to toss Roland’s Banquet Look in here so I can have a dude:

Roland stood surrounded by a group of younger noble sons, laughing loudly in a shade of green-blue just different enough from the greens in the garden to let him stand out. His shirt was white, but he hadn’t quite edged into the royal prerogative - his trousers and perfectly shined knee-high boots were black. He let his hair, as golden as Lillian’s but much straighter, gleam free to his shoulders instead of wearing any jewelry.

Your level of detail is going to vary depending on situation and PoV. Lillian notices all of these details because she is a dressmaker turned assassin and thus trained in every sense of the word to notice details, specifically details like these. When we get to Celaena’s PoV she’ll notice details but different ones, like how many knives somebody could be hiding (though admittedly Lillian can spot a knife at fifty paces these days) or old-fashioned fashions from Terrasen, or maybe think more about how protective or not a particular fashion is.

Dorian wouldn’t notice fashion except how it indicated status (he Will Notice anybody wearing white or anybody wearing crowns or crownlike accouterments). Chaol would notice, again, people who might be hiding weaponry, and also that Lillian looks nice in blue.  

Basically you pick and choose your details. Someone who isn’t fashion conscious might just call it a blue dress, but they might also, depending on background, notice how expensive the fabric is or that the skirt is cut for easy movement. 

If you want GENERAL descriptive advice, the best I’ve got is to use comparisons to your advantage. It makes your descriptions do double duty and makes it sound a little more natural if you’re writing from somebody’s PoV, third or first or even, yes, second.

Hope that was helpful!

[undercoverwizardninjaturtle]

BatDad and Turtle Sons One-Shot

Summary: A crossover au between Batman and TMNT to see what I think it’d be like if Batman was the Turtles Dad

Word Count: 4040

Pairing: None (unless you count Leo and angst)

Rating: T (for blood and mild mild violence)

Life is strange, but the path we choose is even stranger

 Leo clung his leg to his chest, hissing in pain. Managing to bounce around on one foot for a few moments before falling. He could feel the muscles in his leg spasming between his fingers as he cursed his own body.   He wa so wrapped up in cursing his body that he almost didn’t the arm that wrapped around his shoulder. “Breath Leo, you need to stretch your leg to prevent straining.”

 “I know Dad.” HE did as his father commanded, and though his breath came out shaky at first, the more he stretched out his leg the easier it became to breath. He gave a weak sigh, “Sorry father.” Before looking to the man holding him up. No one in their right mind would ever accuse ‘Bruce Wayne’ of stereotypical ‘dad bod’. For a man in his late forties he was still in excelled shape, and if it hadn’t been for the slight grey tinges in his hair no one would have thought he had changed at all.  Bruce moved around to get a better look at his leg, rolling up the pants leg of his sweatpants and looking over the muscles with a father’s eye, “You’ll be alright son, you should just rest for the rest of the night.’

 The blue masked turtle gave out a sigh that almost sounded like a death gasp, “But we barely got started.” Course, the sympathetic smile his father was giving him only added to his shame,

“Just for the night, Alfred can look at it and we’ll go from there.” Bruce moved under his arm, lifting him up. With his support Leo was able to balance on one foot and move out of the rumpus room.

 For the past ten years, the citizens of Gotham had been curious at the ongoings at Wayne Manor, mostly on why, no matter the time of day, was the Manor always lit up? But Most of the citizens, the one who didn’t think it was full of vampires, would shrug of their own curiosity and mutter ‘rich people’ and shuffle on their way

 And the very answer was the turtle being helped of the small rumpus room by his father. The seventeen year old Leo was the same height as his father but lacked the build Bruce Wayne had. But dressed in dark blue athleisure wear. Another spasm shot through his leg, despite himself and his already brewing shame he can’t stop himself from hissing. Praying it hadn’t been overheard by Bruce.

 But very few things passed his fathers notice. Even the slightest hitch of breath, Bruce immediately turned to him, looking around and taking one of the hallway chairs and puling it closer, “Sit.”

“Dad its=” but choked off as his leg spasmed again. Leo reluctantly sat back down as Bruce looked over his leg again, “Look its really fine- “

 “Leo, you once broke your foot and didn’t say a word for week about It. If this pain is enough to make you make a noise, then it’s no small thing.’” Bruce held Leos’ calf between his legs, kneading the muscles with his thumbs, “You wait here. I’m going to go get some ice and some pain killers and call Al.”

 “No, Dad it’s fine I- “he was cut off by a gentle hand rubbing his scalp for a moment before his father disappeared down the end of the hallway. Leaving Leo to sigh and lean back in his seat. He wasn’t embarrassed about his father’s protectiveness, but rather his own inability to cope with the pain.

 Well, now that the pressure was off his leg, he was bored.

  Atleast until a moment later when a loud crash filled the opposite end of the hallway his father had gone. Followed by a stream of shouting and cursing. Leo could only sigh and pinch his brow, “Oh no.”

Almost in unison the two voices suddenly yelped loudly before starting off again. Alfred turned the end of the hall, dragging along two of Leonardo’s brothers, the Chaotic Twins known as Michelangelo and Raphael. But they were only twins in the sense of age, since they hardly looked alike. Mikey was closer to his height then Raph’s, since Raph was the only brother who stood taller then their father. And other then their similar skin tones of dark green they even dressed differently. Since Mikey always liked to wear bright colors of varying fashions and Raph preferred dark red or black. But right now, they both were at the mercy of Allred, who had a tight grip on their masks and pulled upward so the knots that kept their masks on was pulling the fabric in a most uncomfortable manner,

 “He was the one who tried to- “

 “Lies and slander! Don’t’ listen to this poser Al- “

 “POSER!?” Raph yanked away at the death grip on his mask, “You’re the one who filled my shoes with, GOD what was that?!”

 “I have no idea what you’re talking about! But if I DID I’d say it was a mixture of something I found in Dad’s closet, and a lot of Dicks old hair gel- ‘

 “Oh, you son of a-OW!”

 Alfred glared at the two turtles at his dwindling mercy, “That is enough out of both of you. If I hear one more word about ‘posers’ or ‘murdering’ eachothers or ‘memes-’

 Mikey looked up at Allred in confusion, ‘But I haven’t mentioned memes all day-OW!” ceased by another jerk on his mask

“Then you will both be sentenced to Laundry duty.” The two turtles immediately shut up. Even Raph looked a little worried for a moment. Alfred, finally noticing Leo was there, sighed, “Leonardo, my favorite turtle- ‘(ignoring Mikey shout in horror, ‘I thought I was your favorite!!!’”) “Please tell me you’ve seen your father? I feel compelled to inform him of his sons latest, ‘projects’”

 Leo couldn’t help but grin, truth be told Alfred HAD no favorite turtle. But at some moments Alfred would use his ‘favorite’ turtle tactic to get one of them to behave better, Atleast for a few minutes, “He’s getting some ice. I pulled my leg when we were practicing.”

 Alfred let out a long-suffering sigh that one might hear from a tired mother and not from a former British Secret Agent/Military Veteran, “Well that won’t do at all.” He gave a jerk on Raphael’s mask just as the red masked turtle tried to reach over and smack Mikey, “As soon as I’m done with these two, I will look at your leg- “

 “What did they do this time?”

 When his father had returned, Leo don’t know but he knew that he wouldn’t have jumped so hard if he had known it was his father taking his leg again, “Well Master Bruce, apparently there was a ruckus that involved defiling Master Raphael’s’ gym shoes and said Master swearing his revenge.”

 Bruce gave another sigh like Alfred’s, running his hand over this black hair, there were only a few dark grief streaks that undoubtedly came from, not dealing with a multi trillion-dollar company, but dealing with four teenage sons all day, “Raphael we’ve been over this, no killing your brother. Michelangelo stop tormenting your brother. If I catch either of you with a bruise or covered in chicken fat your both grounded

The moment Mikey was free he gave a loud yelp in joy, “Thanks Dad!!!!” before turning and charging for freedom. Free of the Mayhem Twins, Alfred knelt, “Let me handle this Master Bruce,” before pressing the icepack to Leo’s leg, Leo glanced to the one turtle who hadn’t run off in joy. That was the seething brother that, though younger then Leo, was taller than their father. “Why do you let him get away with everything?!” Raph demanded, “He torments me all freaking day and all he gets is a warning?!”

 “He’s not just getting a warning Raph, “if Bruce had mastered anything in the past thirteen years, it was patience, “I’m gong to talk to him later.” Raph scoffed angrily, storming a few feet away with his shell to them. Bruce stood up and walked over to him, taking him by the bicep and Turing him to look at him, “Why don’t you get some fresh air? Dick and Tim are back in town, I’m sure they’d like to take you on one of their patrols.”

 Leo could see the gears rolling in Raph’s mind. Struggling between staying and exacting his forbidden revenge on Mikey or being able to crush some one’s skull with his other brothers. Eventually he groaned, “Ok fine.”  Before turning and leaving

 “Don’t forget your coat Raph, “Bruce called, “If you stay until morning then call me. Don’t let anyone see you.”

  “I know I know Pop.” Raph waved without looking at him before leaving the need of the all. Leo had no doubt the news tomorrow would have several more segments of criminals begin beaten to a bloody pulp, “Are you sure that’s wise Master Bruce?” Alfred asked reflecting his own fears, but only hissed when Alfred shifted the icepack higher on his leg, “You know how bad his anger gets.”

 “He’s a good kid Alfred, I trust him. Sometimes he needs to let off steam. Dick and Tim will take good care of him.” Bruce stood by Leo’s chair just out of Leo’s peripherals but a gentle touch on his shoulder told him his father was still there, “How bad is it?’

 “He’s stressed several tendons in his leg, I recommend he rest it for Atleast three days.’

“Three days?!” Leo twisted to look up at Bruce, “Dad that’s not fair- “

 “If Alfred says to rest it then you rest it.”

 Three days though? As much as he wanted to argue, he didn’t want to disappoint his father. With a sigh, gesture his family shared, he leaned back in the seat with his father coaxing. Allowing Alfred to wrap up his calf. If he had to rest, he Atleast wasn’t going to be trapped, “Would it be alright if I used crutches Atleast?” he asked, “I don’t want to be stuck in one place, I promise not to move around too much.”

 Alfred gave Bruce a look before nodding, “So long as you keep your movements to a minimum, I will get you a walking cast “

 “Thank you,”

 “I was going to ask, “Leo was grateful to have his father’s attention on something else for a bit, “have you seen Donatello?”

 “Actually, I have. He was lingering around the kitchen again. NO doubted trying to sneak a cup of coffee.”

 Father sighed,’ Not again, I’ll deal with it. Will you get Leonardo somewhere comfortable and get him what he needs?” Without waiting or a answer, Bruce was already gone. No doubted off to fight the monster that was Donatello’s caffeine addiction.

 With a sigh Alfred looked back to Leo, “How many more years till I can retire?”

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

This wasn’t happening

The Chunin looked back down at his hands, the kunai he had been handed looked so big in the grip of a six-year-old, “You…you want me to what?” he asked the dark abyss

“They are not learning as quickly as you are.” The darkness exhumed cold, like the breath of the dead, “They are holding us back.”

“Th-they’re doing their best Master.” He begged, “Please, I’ll help them. I-I—” Chunin face exploded with pain as a staff backed across his face. If it hadn’t been the first time he experienced such pain, he might have been knocked over. But he instead squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head, ignoring the blood now running down his cheek. He felt a clawed hand grip his shoulder that seemed to suck all the happiness out of his body, “You are nothing but a weapon, Chunni, a tool. You have no will of your own except to cry out mine.” A claw as sharp as a knife touched underneath his chin, drawing his gaze up to a pair of pure white eyes with needlepoints for sprinkles. The white surface jagged with red lines, despite himself Leo could feel himself start to tremble. And the Master whispers to him

“Kill them.”

 The book and blanket that had been resting on his chest suddenly flew to the ground as Leo jolted awake with a gasp. His sudden movement irritated his wrapped leg and stole his breath. The turtle nearly doubling over as he held himself flighty, squeezing his burning eyes shut as he struggled to breath.

A dream

He tried to tell himself it was just a dream, a ghost of a memory but his shaking body refused to listen. Remembering the breathing techniques his father had taught him, he led himself through a short meditation, tell his body finally stopped trembling and his breathing beamed regular. When Leo lined back in his seat he glanced over at the large grandfather clock. His first irritation was that it had only been about half an hour since Alfred had dumped him in the library with a tray of snacks and books, the second behind this father had already been in to check on him, hens the blanket draped over him, and the third filled him with more sadness then anything

 And that was the slight angle to the clock itself. While that might have been a minute issue for certain people, for him it opened a can of worms.

 Leo stood from the couch, testing his walking cast before hobbling over. How someone had managed to get past him, even if he had been asleep, was enough to irritate him. But that irritation was drowned by his concerned brotherly nature. He took the Grandfather clock by the frame and pulled it away from the wall, letting it swing like a door.

The tunnel inside was as dark as ever, tinging with dust, but a faint light at the end of the steep staircase told him he was right. Someone was down there

 And he knew exactly how it was.

 It was strange to descend that staircase. The steps, like everything else, was covered in dust and cobwebs. With only faint darker steps marking anyone having been down there recently. Yet, when he reached the end, he still had to muffle a gasp.

 The Batcave, though still covered in dust and cobwebs, was just as impressive as it had been the first-time father had brought them home. It had scared his brothers so much that Mikey and Raph had refused to leave his side, and father had to carry Donnie in his arms. The T-rex alone was enough to give any six-year-old who lacked basic knowledge of anything, nightmares.

 Speaking of Donnie

 The giant behemoth that was the Bat monitor was the only thing in the room that had been recently cleaned off, all screens lit up with the same image of a dark tunnel. Leo sighed as he moved towards it and the chair facing it. he peered around the chair to see a familiar purple masked turtle sitting, his teal orbs fixated on the screen behind glasses, “Donnie” he sighed, shaking his brothers’ shoulder

 The youngest gave yelp jumping in his seat and immediately slashing his arms around as thigh he was in a kung Fu movie, his headphones sliding down from the sides of his head. After a few moments Donatello’s eyes looked back up to him, “Leo!” he fixed his headphones again, “Who-what are you doing down here? Dad told me you needed to rest.”

 “What are you doing down here, you know we’re not allowed in here.”

 “I-I” Donnie slapped at the console, turning off the monitors, “I wa seeing if Dad used to play solitaire down here.”

 If eto shared anything with his father, it was his intolerance of being lied to, “Fine, get grounded, see if I care.” Before taking a grip on his youngest brothers’ bicep and lifting him up to his feet, “We’re leaving, now.”

“No wait-I- “Donnie was able to pull his arm free, but also succeed in flailing back into his seat, “I-I.” he glanced back at the screen, “I-I lied. I’m sorry.”

 The anger Leo had felt ebbed from him, as much as he doesn’t want it to, “Then why are you down here again?”

 Again, teal eyes looked up at him, drawing in concern and worry that made Leo’s heart ache despite the stoic stance he was trying to pull off, “I was checking some of Dad’s old surveillance cameras to see if they were working.”

              “Why?”

 For a memo Leo was impressed his new ability to talk without being speaking Before realizing he had no such skill and his voice had no such ability to change at moments notice. The two turtles turned to the Batcave entrance to see the form of their father standing there, arms crossed with a less then impressed look in his eyes that promised repercussions.

 For a moment, he felt sorry for his youngest brother

 Then he remembered the time Donnie had turned his stereo into a robot, and quickly pushed his pity aside

 “B-Because I’ve seen the news Dad,” Don’ stuttering didn’t come from a fear of their father but rather a lifetime impediment, “Th-There have been a lot of disappearance in the sewers lately in Star City, Cyborg told me. And-and I wanted to see if the camera’s caught him, or anything.” Donnie looked back to Leo and then their father, “Its him, it has to be right?”

 The room fell silent, Bruce crossed the room and turned the large armchair in his direction before kneeling, “Donatello- “

 “It has to be him, what if he’s back Dad? What if he came back for Leo?  I Don’t want him to hurt my brothers=”

 “DON.” Their fathers tone wasn’t hard or bitter like the monsters in Leo’s nightmares, but one of a parent demanding their child’s attention, “Donnie, ‘he started again,” his hands coming up to rest on the youngest child’s shoulders, “Even if there was a chance he survived our fight in New York, there’s no way I’d let him anywhere near you or your brothers. That’s why I have those cameras in the cities surrounding ours, so I would know” Bruce’s hands came up to hold the sides of Don’s tear stained face, “You are my sons, and you will always be safe so long as I draw breath.”

 Donnie looked at the ground for a moment, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears before he gave each nod. Bruce drew him in to an embrace. Don’s smaller arms wrapping around his fathers’ neck as Bruce stroked the back of his head.

Leo looked away to spare his brothers’ pride, and to repent to his own harshness. Of course, Donnie wasn’t a bad kid, he was only a few years younger then himself, almost fourteen. He wasn’t’ like Mikey who always tried to cause mischief, or Raph whose anger sometimes overshadowed his overwhelming big heart.  It took him a moment to realize Donnie had finally broken his hug, wiping his eyes as Bruce stood up, turning to face Leo, “Go rest son, enjoy your night. Make sure you close the door behind you.” Before going back up the stairs. It took him a bit longer to realize Donni eyes staring at him, “What’s wrong?” he asked

 “Are you mad at me?”

 “No, I- “Leo paused, “No I was wrong, I was too harsh, I’m sorry.”

 Donnie nodded, his eyes glancing back to the blank computer screens, “he was really bad right? The Master? I mean, I don’t’ remember him, but I was walking by Raph’s’ room the other night and he…” he paused, being his lip, “Raph was crying. I even heard Mikey the other night screaming.”

 He remembered that, it was always this time of year that brought all those painful memories back. Leo had tried to reach them to provide some sort of comfort, but Dad had beaten him to them both times. “Yes, he was.” Was all he managed to say, but he took a breath, “But Splinter is gone, D, even if he wasn’t, there’s no way Dad or I would ever let him near you or our family.” He wasn’t sure if Donnie would believe him, mostly because he doesn’t believe himself, but his young trusting eyes turned to him again and nodded, “I believe you.”

 Those words could have broken him, how many times had he this same conversation with his father? Back when they were children and he still feared every shadow? How many times did he wake up crying in the middle o f the night only for the rather to appear a moment later, rubbing his shell and coaxing all the nightmares away? Despite himself, Leo gently cupped Donatello’s face with his palm, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before pulling away, “Come on little brother, why don’t’ we hang out in the library? That was Alfred doesn’t get a conniption from me standing on my leg

 Though light returns to his intelligent brothers’ eyes as he nods, there’s still a shadow of fear in his eyes. Leo follows his brother out of the Batcave, and as he closes the Grandfather clock behind them, he notices the tremble in his hands and immediately hides them from view.

He never thought he’d still fear monsters

 (#)(#)\/(#)(#)

“It’s him, isn’t’ it?”

 Bruce feels as though his lounge is sandpaper as he nodes, standing at the window. “I knew it was him when I saw the reports in New York, then in Philadelphia. For a ninja, he leaves an obvious trail.”

 “Then why let Raphael leave? Aren’t’ they al in danger?” despite the incident earlier, Bruce never doubted how much Alfred cared for his sons,

 “HE’s with Dick and Tim, and by my calculations, Splinter hasn’t’ reached Gotham yet. But I have no doubt that’s where he’s headed. “

 “DO you think he’s after Leonardo? That he sill wants his weapon? OR does he want revenge?”

 “If I know anything about him, he wants both. But he’ll get neither.” Bruce moved over to his large bed and sat down, his hands rubbing on his thigh,

 “IF I may,” nothing could ever stop Alfred from voicing his opinion, “You are not the man you were ten years ago. You may have taken his most valuable assets, but he took something from you as well.”

 Bruce nodded, rolling back the leg of his pants, revealing a pale leg that matched the rest of his body. But he twisted his thigh for a moment, and with a his the deceiving human leg separated from his body. WITH the top off the line robotics, this leg still lacked the natural hairline reflect the rest of his body had. And while that may not be a issue for a normal person, for him it made every fight a struggle between life and death,” when I first fell into those sewers, I didn’t know what awaited me Alfred, I expected monsters but instead I found a turtle in form of a child, a child more scared then any child should ever feel, flinching at every shadow, and I wondered what could eve remake someone that young so scared of the dark….” he looked back down the remains of his leg, the horrendous scaring that marked where eat had been removed from the rest of his body, “But all those years being Batman didn’t prepare me for that kind of monster.”

 “You should send the boys away, they can stay with Mr. Kent.”

 “They wouldn’t’ leave and you know it.” Bruce put his leg back in place, the hissing markings where the leg was realigning with the already stationed apparatus. HE stood again< “IF I have to, I will return to the darkness. I will do what ever it takes to protect them.” Before his mind wondered back to the Cave he had just caught is sons in, the tall glass displays still covered in dust, marking a life he had far left behind.

He would do whatever it took to keep them safe

[the-under-archon]

.:Pinnacle:. (AU2)

Characters: Torioi Mitsue (cultivator, AU...Mitsue), Koremune Satoru (cultivator, AU Sohza’a), Torioi Hideo & Kiyo (clan heads, AU variants), Torioi Shinya (AU Sari)

Warning(s): Vague sexy times, some violence.

Origin Date: 19 April 2019

The cultivators of Katsuragi Peak were the examples of what discipline should be in an ever-changing world. Steadfast as the mountain they called home, unrelenting as ice in the face of their morals. The heir to this bloodline finds himself tested sorely in the face of a visiting disciple. And it would be his downfall.

(Part of the AU2 arc with @ninetales-carbuncle which was inspired by Mo Dao Zu Shi concepts and practices. Which I admit I borrowed a lot from Gusu Lan Sect.)

----♦•♦----

Mitsue wasn’t quite sure when he started watching the Koremune heir. It was the usual turn of the year that saw the Katsuragi Peak open for trainees of other clans. Summer on the high mountain still held a bit of a chill but it was negligible, especially to those that spend their entire lives in the seclusion the blessed grounds bestowed upon them.

 This day he’d been oddly free of his duties, assigned to attend the latest class of cultivators as a senior disciple. It also helped for the future heir to observe and learn the methods and mannerisms of the minor sects that made up Japan’s cultivation base. All were aware that the old ways were slowly dying in this modern world. People were so caught up in their cell phones, televisions, fashion, love affairs…they had no cares, or even awareness, of the things that lurked about them.

 Thus education was even more important than it had ever been in history, or so the Katsuragi held firmly to that belief. Being one of the eldest sects with one of the oldest bloodlines that rivaled the Akiyama and the Hanahara, it wasn’t uncommon to foster students just as the others did. Each clan had their specialties and particular disciplines.

 Here, there was no leniency. A strict code of conduct, a need for respect and decorum, and obedience to your seniors and the old ways reined atop this peak. Already Mitsue could tell /that/ man would have a difficult time with them. Most of the students chattered away as they strolled about the stone paths that curled about the varying layers of elevation that made up this place. They were new, they’d learn.

 So many colors from so many clans. It was nearly blinding. The Katsuragi wore white and grey as befitting their worship of the snow, ice, wind, and water. It was a constant devotion to the power of this mountain and its sisters. When the turn of the seasons came and the pilgrimages began, it was more like spring than summer with all the colors.

 Oddly enough, the loudest of the group wore dark green and brown. Rather muted but strong colors. He was a magnetic personality among his peers in the same garb. A good leader he would be having the hearts of his clan already. But would he have the discipline and patience needed to head a family in a world where such things were rapidly dissolving?

 Mitsue frowned, his arms in the long sleeves of his pure white robes. Pale of flesh, hair as white as snow, eyes grey as mountain stone, he was the epitome of the Torioi bloodline and perfectly bred. With a sharp intelligence and steadfast devotion he’d taken well to the cultivation arts and would be the quintessential example of a firstborn son.

 But of all the visitors, Koremune Satoru kept his attention.

----♦•♦----

Mitsue may have been a stubborn and unmovable force of discipline and study, but he wasn’t naïve. He noticed how his gaze lingered on Satoru’s hands as he wrote, how the scent of pine trees seemed to follow the energetic man, how his dark hair shone under the sun when he spun on his foot to harass one of his friends.

 There was affection there. And what did Mitsue do? Stomp it down. Relationships were forbidden as a disciple within the Katsuragi. The focus should be study, not romance. Devotion, not intimacy. Once he was recognized as fully-fledged cultivator perhaps one day he would be able to wear his hair down from its hightail, the sign that he was bound to another.

 But not now as a teenager in the throes of study. And that irritated him. So much so that whenever he heard that chirp of his voice, his grip tightened enough about his inkbrush that it snapped. There was a small pile of poor broken things accumulating on his desk much to the concern of the instructor. Likely that would be reported to his parents later.

 ----♦•♦----

 “Torioi-san, eh?”

 Mitsue blinked and looked up from his book. He’d taken to reading outside this afternoon, the sun high and warm and the blossoms of summer in full decadence. Fingers tightened about the spine of the old text. He should correct the lack of proper address to an heir in his home but that didn’t fly to his tongue as it normally would. “Yes? Koremune-san, correct?” Of course he knew who this was, fortunately his neutral expression didn’t give away that small wiggle of panic.

 Satoru just grinned and plopped down, looking over the pages of Mitsue’s book. The close presence made the Torioi tense further. That scent of deep forests, evergreens, it filled his senses. It would be easy to lower his head, to take that scent in close in that dark hair.

 “Oh, that’s the homework that’s not due for a month, right? And you’re doing it already?” A curious tilt of his head, an almost cat-like motion.

 He resisted nibbling his lip in his nerves. A habit his mother had pointed out…and made a point to correct him on every time he was caught in the motion. “Yes.” A simple answer, he could do this. But on a passing thought, he raised an eyebrow. “How do you know the readings so far in advance?”

 “Oh, I did it already.” That bright grin again and Mitsue watched as the other disciple pulled away to flop on the grass, arms behind his head. There he lay to bask like some feline in the sun. “What did you think about the concepts of application to the wrathful spirit in the Mo HaoChen example? Seems like they did it all wrong, don’t you think?”

 A surprised blink. Did…this lackadaisical goof already get that far? Truly? Or was this some bluff? The book rested on his lap. “They followed the proper order. They couldn’t predict that a demonic cultivator had been the orchestrator of events in that village. It was approached as a singular event, not as the spark that would set the region in the middle of a five year-long battle of sects.”

 “Ha, so you can say more than five words!” One of those violet eyes peeked open, a grin on those lips. “We were taking bets. Honestly I thought you were mute at first until Taira-sensei called on you. Even heirs aren’t exempt from answering questions in class, huh? Didn’t expect that here.”

 There was an inkling of irritation as he looked down to that amused expression. Did they all think he was privileged because of his future position? That he would be exempt from the same examinations and rigors that everyone else was? No. If anything they were harsher! He opened his mouth to retort before a finger was held up in his face.

 “And you get angry! You sit back there like some statue all of the time. Though I know you get pissed off. Your right eye twitches a bit when you think someone’s doing something stupid. Look, it’s doing it right now!” Satoru cackled.

 With a ‘hmph’ Mitsue closed his book and went to stand much to the puzzled expression of the other teenager. “You’re annoying,” he mumbled before walking off.

 The victorious laughter that followed his departure down the path did indeed make that eye twitch.

 ----♦•♦----

 It was against the rules.

 It would be easy to place all the blame on Satoru but as Mitsue enjoyed the sounds the smaller man made beneath him…well, it was hard to say he /wasn’t/ involved. Their trysts were quiet, secret, and secluded. Fortunately growing up on this mountain gave knowledge of many places to hide. It was against all of the discipline that the Torioi had obeyed all his life but yet he’d given in to temptation. It didn’t help that the other was /always/ around, always at his side, always trying to poke him. But time revealed that Satoru was /incredibly/ intelligent despite his personality.

 In fact it had been an evening study session in the library that had led to Mitsue finally giving in and landing a chaste kiss on that olive-toned cheek. Mortified by his own actions, it had been assuaged when he’d received that surprised look, a grin, and a reciprocation on the lips. It had taken time to progress to something more physical but continued study sessions had evolved to…well study of a different kind for the two teenagers.

 The first time Mitsue had returned to his room mortified, as if his mother’s fury would come crashing down and he would be made to do handstands on their family pond that never melted from freezing ice. His current record was two days and he didn’t want to extend that. Kami help him, it would be at least a /month/ if he’d been found out. Punishment never came as the secret remained just that…secret. Fear was replaced with a warmth in his chest that Mitsue wasn’t used to.

 He was aware of what love was, the sect wasn’t /that/ harsh. And he loved his parents with all he had. He loved this place. And one day he would marry and love whoever was chosen for him. But this was different. It sent his heart racing whenever he sat near Satoru in class. It made him ache as they had to pretend to just be two disciples in study in that large classroom full of so many differently colored robes. And it made him lose all control when they were finally alone and those violet eyes danced in mirth and want when Satoru reached for his hand.

 But the year was almost at a close. The snow was melting, spring in full bloom. Summer would be upon the Peak soon. Grey eyes almost glared at the flowers dancing in the wind outside until a hand on his side pulled him from his musing. They’d taken to one of the caves hidden near the main river that wound down the mountain where little foot traffic passed.

 “You’re going to set that poor tree alight if you keep looking at it like that,” the dark-haired man purred.

 With a sigh, Mitsue lay down again. The two lay bare on a blanket, curled against each other. The chill didn’t bother the Torioi but Satoru had never really learned to love the cold of the mountain. He had a tendency to burrow as closely into the taller broader man as he could. The Koremune son was of slight build, made for agility, for sneaking into places he shouldn’t be. Meanwhile his lover was growing into a broad frame, a body trained from the strict discipline of his sect. They were opposites in every way, perhaps it’s why they’d ended up like this.

 “Summer’s here,” Mitsue muttered, an arm under his head as he lay on his side to allow his lover to soak up his body heat again.

 Which Satoru gladly did, pressed firmly against that pale skin. “Not yet. We have a month. And we have to make it worth it.” A small sigh. Jovial he may seem, a sense of duty did hang over him. “Otou-san says the fighting’s getting worse back home. Something has the undead stirred up. Add that to the damned Ninmyo poking about. You know I’ll have to head back right away.”

 Mitsue elected not to answer in the moment. The struggle of smaller clans was something he knew of but would likely never experience. As the cultivation world grew smaller and smaller and inherent talent dwindled, skirmishes weren’t uncommon between the minor clans to swell their numbers. Usually it was attempted politically at first through marriages and alliances. But the Koremune and Ninmyo had never gotten along with their close proximity. It wouldn’t be surprising if they were purposely luring undead towards the other village.

 “You could stay here,” he finally mumbled. Even as the words left his lips, Mitsue knew they were fruitless.

 As if Satoru could sense that, he didn’t tease. Just a small chuckle, warm breath against the body he was almost desperately burrowed against.

 It wouldn’t be that easy. And they both knew it.

 ----♦•♦----

The cold had never bothered Mitsue. But there was some chill in the air that got to him nowadays in the wake of the summer’s students leaving. They were still disciples but much more learned than they’d arrived. He could still remember that day they left. Knowing that he’d likely be unable to keep that neutral expression in place, the Torioi had watched the class depart from a high ledge. He hoped Satoru wouldn’t mind. Likely not...he was a smart man and would know exactly why that white-clad figure wasn’t in the group at the end of that last day.

It had been five years since then. Correspondence had been regular, intimate words hidden between pages of official reporting and boring dribble. Things were constant and unchanging atop Katsuragi Peak. It wasn’t so below the mountain’s shadow. The letters that would arrive once a week dwindled to two weeks. Then a month. And now it had been half a year since Mitsue had seen the familiar sloppy scrawl of his lover. The Koremune clan was a week away by flying sword, a few weeks by boat down the river.

So why had things stopped? Mitsue found himself clinging to news during the daily meals with his parents who were much more engaged in the going-ons of the other cultivation bases. They traveled frequently as representatives and still participated in night hunts. How he found out disaster had come was from eavesdropping on some of the newest disciples.

Angry spirits had multiplied significantly in Koremune territory, finally overwhelming the clan. It was as if some power had come into the Ninmyo’s hands to turn the years of deadlock. Mitsue was gone into the night he’d heard the news.

What an influence Satoru had been on the ‘good heir.’ First those summer days and now stealing away from his home the farthest he’d ever been on a rumor. Rennai was swift beneath his feet, the silvery blade his constant companion over the years. The dark landscape flew by. Places he’d never seen and still didn’t spare a glance to. All that mattered was getting to that village. All his focus put into the sword to urge it as fast he could. A week was nothing, he wouldn’t pause

----♦•♦----

The Koremune territory was a farming community at heart to adjust to the changing times. Nestled in hills, rice paddies had been perfectly tiered and tediously tended to under the protective gaze of the head family. That was all gone now. The terraces had been torn apart, water lay murky black, and the bodies lay about everywhere.

Mitsue looked down at the carnage, gasping for breath. He’d flew for as long as his body would let him, only resting in brief stops. What had he expected here...? Something better than this? What a fool he’d been. He leaned heavily on Rennai, the sword’s sheath resting as a support on the ground. The pristine appearance of the Torioi heir was haphazard, hair fallen from his hightail, robes uneven, and dirt on his face.

There was no movement below in the growing evening that overshadowed the village. What had been done here had been done days ago, a week ago, maybe more. There were no embers or cinders, no last pockets of resistance. It was all still, ash and debris and bodies and death. The aura of resentful energy could still be felt and the studious eye of Mitsue, even in his grief, could tell some of those many bodies had at one time risen in attack.

The Ninmyo had a demonic cultivator. Or more than one with the number of corpses about. Had they been so desperate to turn to that foul forbidden practice? Had it been truly worth it to fall so far from the righteous path to gain control of a neighbor in a world where all of their bonds were so frail already?

What sense did this make? /None./

There were tears on his face that he wasn’t aware had even fallen leaving marks on the dust that marred his pale skin. Hands shook on Rennai and it was difficult to breathe.

He had to find Satoru. Somehow. If he...if he’d fallen among this mess, Mitsue would make sure his soul would find rest. Maybe he could even lay to rest this entire battlefield. It was all he could do.

----♦•♦----

They’d lingered.

Filthy plunderers, greedy men that looted the small amount of magical artifacts that the Koremune had. The clan wasn’t a hugely rich one but it was comfortable enough to survive to the modern age, supplemented with its agricultural base. 

How could those damn Ninmyo /justify/ rooting about the dead, taking anything of value, not even just cultivator tools?! Jewelry, clothes, heirlooms. Mitsue didn’t even know he was moving. He wasn’t even aware of Rennai’s pure blade drawing human blood, easily parting flesh of a screaming man. A blade that had been blessed to exorcise evil now turned on mortal life.

Mitsue didn’t care. These men were evil. How could the desecrate a place like this? HOW COULD THEY BE SO GREEDY AND FOUL?! He was well-trained and strong. His movements were quicker than any normal human, the white of his robes bright in the gloom. There was no chance for retaliation. Some didn’t even get a chance to scream, to draw their own weapon in self-defense.

He cut then down.

Every.

Single.

One.

And he wasn’t even breathless from the effort as he stood in the square of the destroyed village. His grip was tight on Rennai, the jade-enlaid hilt slick with blood. Human blood. Some part of him could feel the blade’s distaste, flickering internally of its fraying bond with its cultivator. It was screaming for him to stop. But he didn’t.

Those grey eyes were like ice as he spotted movement. More looters. And so he attacked again, a herald of destruction come from its mountain to lay these corrupt souls to rest.

When all stilled, he turned west. The village of the Ninmyo clan was that way. Also agricultural, his well-trained mind recalled the facts.

Rennai wouldn’t rise to his call to carry him there. Fine, he’d walk. Nothing would stop him from cleansing this FILTH that took his loved one away.

----♦•♦----

So many fell by his sword that his arm began to fail from even his expert and effortless strikes. First it was just their cultivators. But he didn’t stop there. He was numb.

Even the enchantments of those Katsuragi robes had begun to fail, the cloth’s pristine glow stained with red at its edges, random splatter darkening the grey of its lining. The cries of his victims, innocent ones but he didn’t care, didn’t still his hand.

He was tired. Were they all gone now? Rennai was dead in his hand, just a piece of metal. It had sealed itself off from the corruption of its master to protect itself. Fine. All he needed was an edge.

A grip to his arm and he shook it off, the dripping blade raised to retaliate. But the hold returned, strong. Another gifted.

“Mitsue! STOP!”

Eyes focused to see the brilliant white before him. White cloth, loose snowy hair, pale skin, wide afraid blue eyes. One of the few men taller than him. And everything just came crashing down. There should be a fear of retribution. Of what he’d done. But the ever-dutiful son couldn’t cling to that. Instead fingers clenched into his father’s robes just so he could stay on his feet. Words struggled to  leave; apologies, demands, curses. But they couldn’t escape his lips.

Torioi Hideo’s hand traveled down Mitsue’s sword arm, long fingers threading through the other’s to make him loosen his hold on that sealed blade. It fell to the dirt with a hollow sound. Arms hugged the blood-covered figure close, his other hand resting on the back of his son’s head. As if hiding his face could make this all go away.

The clan leader looked to the mess. The sorrow, the blood. Were there any survivors? Kami help them. The repercussions of this would be... Fingers tightened in the crimson-tinged strands of the crying man.

Where Lady Torioi Kiyo was a cold fire that burned fiercely, Hideo was the soothing water that flowed dutifully along its path without pause. Both were steadfast and traditional despite their duality and were a perfect union because of such things.

“Let’s go home, Mitsue. You need rest.” An understatement to what would happen. But for now, this was needed. The aftermath would come swiftly enough. And it would be fierce.

There was no fight from the young man, he had nothing left to give, nothing left to fight.

----♦•♦----

There had been no survivors reported from the Katsuragi that surveyed the area in the days past. They hadn’t been told of how the massacre occurred, just told to reconnoiter the area. However the trained eyes could tell something had happened that wasn’t the cause of restless or vengeful spirits. The disciplined cultivators laid the spirits to rest the best they could without protest and then departed, leaving no sign to what had exterminated an entire minor clan.

Rumors floated among the younger disciples unfortunately. It couldn’t be helped. They were human, they were from the more modern world where gossip was common and quick to spread. It didn’t help that Torioi Mitsue suddenly disappeared from the public eye.

Five years of seclusion. It had been an order but he’d taken it without protest. That along with fifty lashes by his father’s hand and all the privileges of his station temporarily suspended. Rennai had been taken to be purified. The blade was a remnant of the ancient Chinese cultivation sects, it was too precious to be discarded. Hopefully it could be awakened again.

The man that had emerged from seclusion was soulless, wandering about the family household as if a ghost. Then he’d met Shinya. The boy had been taken in during his years of seclusion. Still in his single digits, the dark-haired child clung to Kiyo as if she were his birth mother. And that fearsome warrior of a woman treated him as she did her own flesh and blood, gentle but firm, loving but guiding. Watching such a thing finally brought a bit of life back to the eldest son.

Shinya was so small, so skittish. Peering up at Mitsue’s tall form with that one bright blue gaze, half his face hidden under a medicated cloth. He’d been told that the child had been found in the Ghost Markets to be picked apart for his spiritual energy, bit by bit. The eyes were an amazing reservoir of spiritual energy and one had been plucked out already by some evil being. Fortunately Kiyo had found him before anything else could happen.

This he would protect. His sins couldn’t be erased even if his parents had done their best to keep the rumors in control. He’d always know what he’d done. But when Mitsue walked about the Peak with the young boy in his arms, he could forget for a bit.

This boy with hair as dark as ink, just like another man he knew with laughing violet eyes.

This he would protect.