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higuchimon · 4 years ago

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[fanfic] Answers To Unexpected Questions: chapter 3 [end]

“Juudai!” Yubel knocked him down, wings spread wide, avoiding the battery of crossbow bolts shot through the tent. One of them slammed into the man chained up to a pole, sending him spinning as far as his bonds would allow him.

It wasn’t Johan. Sparkman had been tricked. Either illusion or just making a mistake, which wasn’t that surprising.

It wasn’t a mistake that Juudai or Yubel would’ve made. Both of them knew the difference between Johan and his twin brother Rune on sight alone.

Yubel tried to tell me and I wouldn’t listen.

Juudai had enough time for that alone before he brought himself back to his feet and checked Yubel. The crossbow bolts did nothing at all save force them to step back. Their wings remained spread in front of him.

Ancient Elf stepped into the ruined tent, giving a very disapproving look as he did.

“I truly did not believe you would come for this ruffian,” he said, brushing his coat off as if Juudai’s very presence dirtied him. “Now, his brother, that would’ve been understandable. But why him?”

Juudai wasn’t going to let him know the truth. Instead he just tossed his head.

“You should know that I protect all life. Doesn’t matter who it is.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But this world is going to be destroyed and you will not be able to stop it.”

Juudai drew in a very long and very deep breath. “Could you save your speeches for after I’m dead? I really don’t have the time now.”

Rune was bleeding. Rune was dying, because Juudai’s powers didn’t include healing and Johan’s did, and Johan wasn’t there and they needed to get out as soon as they could.

He made no move at all. He couldn’t find Rune’s shadow, not with all the other light in the room. It had been by great good luck that none of the bolts hit any of the candles or lanterns there and set the tent itself on fire.

Maybe that would’ve been better. There would’ve been shadows there for sure. And the tent would’ve burned down. Maybe all of them would have.

Ancient Elf smiled. It wasn’t the kind of smile that would make other people happy in the slightest.

“If you wish to die, then we can most certainly accommodate you.”

“Not as long as I’m around.” Yubel growled, arms and wings spread to defend Juudai at a moment’s notice. “No harm will come to my Juudai.”

The old sorcerer turned a very disapproving look upon Yubel. “No one asked for your opinion, malformed one. But since you insist upon it as well, we’ve made plans for you.”

Fear coiled itself all around Juudai and he started to back for Rune. Even if he died, Johan wasn’t going to leave him here. Johan would need to know about this. “Yubel, we’re getting out of here.”

“Oh, I think not.” Ancient Elf tsked before raising one finger.

Many things happened at the same time.

A net of glowing green materials dropped down from above, wrapping all around Juudai. No matter how much he strained at it, he could not break it, despite how fragile it looked.

Another bout of crossbow bolts shot, arching over the elf’s head and burying themselves deep into Yubel. Each of them carried a malevolent white sigil written upon them, one Juudai only belatedly recognized as something intended to bind the effects of magic, sealing them off from the user.

Aodh had said that Yubel’s power wasn’t unstoppable. For that matter, neither was Juudai’s. Whatever this web was made out of, Juudai couldn’t so much as get a firm grip on it, let alone get it off of him.

Ancient Elf stepped over and stared down at him, a sadistic tilt to his lips.

“Oh, Herald. You thought it would be so easy, didn’t you? That you would just come in here, rescue this piece of offal, and dance away with your misborn creation before any of us noticed you. We knew you were coming from the beginning. It’s what someone as foolish as you does.”

He nudged Juudai with one foot. Juudai twisted away from it, trying to get hold of Yubel, to do something that wasn’t lay there like a lump.

Yubel lay against the far wide of the tent, a thick dark liquid coming from the half-dozen crossbow bolts still lodged within. Slowly, as if feeling his attention, Yubel opened their eyes and turned toward him.

“Beloved...” Yubel tried to reach for him. Juudai tried to reach back. But warriors in white armor trooped in and one of them wrenched Yubel away, not caring how much more damage was done in the process.

“First we dispose of the misborn. Then we dispose of him,” Ancient Elf decreed. He glanced toward Rune. “Throw that in the deadpile. It can be burned with the others.”

Juudai had time only to see that Rune still breathed, if shallow and unsteadily, before they dragged all three out. Yubel and Juudai were taken to a clearing he’d ignored on the way in, where a white marble altar had been spread out, and the strongest and most skilled of the Army of Light’s warriors awaited them.

The altar had been marked with those sigils that kept Yubel’s power bound, ensuring that there wasn’t anything Yubel could do to protect Juudai or anyone else as they hauled Yubel onto it, wrapping thick chains all around to keep them in place.

They’d bound Juudai tighter with the power-nullifying web, which also carried those marks, he noticed when he had a moment to stop fighting. A full two dozen of them stood guard on him, while Ancient Elf moved over to the altar and Yubel.

“Once you’ve both perished in honor of the Light, your souls will be cleansed by its power, and will nevermore be able to touch the unholy Darkness. Should you return to a mortal form, you will belong to the Light.”

Juudai struggled harder. He knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere, but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, if this went through, then he’d be dead forever. Being part of the Light embodied all that he stood against.

Ancient Elf raised a sharp, long-bladed dagger, marked with emblems of the Light. Clearly he wasn’t taking any chances at all.

“In the name of the Light, by the Power of the Light, by the Cleansing of the Light, let you be freed of your misborn form and your foolish vows to the Darkness! Let there be nothing more that binds you, nothing more that keeps you from serving the Light, as all things must!”

He brought the knife down, sharp and deadly and reeking of magic that made Juudai sick.

“I don’t think so.”

A different kind of light filled the clearing, one that Juudai squinted against, but it caused no fear in him. Instead, it drove all fear out, and he found it in himself to hope that this wasn’t the end.

“You!” Ancient Elf spun backwards even as that familiar voice spoke.

Standing on the back of a beautiful winged unicorn stood Johan, in his full power as the incarnate Light of Hope. His arms folded over his chest and he stared down at them like the very wrath of the gods, clad all in armor of white and trimmed in silver.

The rest of his guardians stood near him, a tiger and a great cat, a mammoth and a turtle and an eagle, and on his shoulder, a tiny little squirrel-ish creature that chirruped at the sight of Juudai.

“Johan!”

Johan gave a quick, quiet nod, before gesturing to Amethyst Cat and Topaz Tiger. “Get Rune out of here. I’ll take care of this.”

They didn’t argue, even as Johan turned back to Ancient Elf. “I could ask a lot of questions but I’ll save them for when people aren’t waving knives at my friends. So, let them go.”

He added nothing else. He needed to add nothing else, not with the way the rest of his companions stared down alongside of him.

Ancient Elf moved towards Yubel, knife still in hand. “Of course, of course.” His lip curled in hatred, no matter if he looked at Juudai or Yubel or Johan. “How could we ever disobey you?”

More crossbow bolts, but Emerald Turtle moved in front of them and they clattered harmlessly off of his shell. In the intervening moments, however, Ancient Elf struck down at Yubel, the tip of the blade piercing Yubel’s very center.

Juudai had heard Yubel scream before, but never since becoming his guardian and taking on the form of a dragon. The scream struck into the deepest part of his heart and he could see Yubel’s form shimmering before it shattered altogether, breaking into untold points of light, and then fading away with one last cry.

“Juudai...”

And then Yubel was gone.

Juudai writhed and screamed in rage of his own, rage enough to end the world, and he could see Johan running towards him and he didn’t care, Yubel was gone, destroyed, and it was all his fault, he could blame no one else and wouldn’t have even if he could, if he’d just listened and not rushed off like this, if he’d just so much as waited for a second check…

Yubel was gone.

Yubel was gone and Juudai’s heart bled and power that he’d known he had surged upward, shattering the bonds that held him.

One could hold the Darkness incarnate but only for so long. Darkness always fell and always rose again.

There was a voice that called a name. Then other voices. None of them meant anything to the Darkness.

It rose. The Light was there. It needed to be extinguished.

Yubel needed to be avenged.

The world needed to be saved.

The Darkness reached and all those warriors of the Light fell, screaming, and it was pleasing to the ears of the Darkness.

To the ears of Haou.

He smiled and terror spread among all those who gazed upon him and so would it be.

He would protect that which was his. If that meant to destroy all things, to crush them underneath his heel so that never again would the Light harm them, then so be it. Without Yubel, what did he have?

Juudai. Juudai.

Little more than a whisper on the wind, but it was enough to catch his attention and he turned to where the broken body lay. Standing next to it, transparent as a soap bubble, was… Yubel?

He spoke their name. The world shook at the sound of one word and he heard other voices again, and they still meant nothing at all to him.

I’m … I’m still here. I don’t know what happened. But I’m here.

He tilted his head. Did Yubel wish him to stop, then? He would stop at their will and theirs alone.

No, Juudai. I don’t. Yubel bared their teeth and it was not a smile and he returned it. Destroy it all. Let their folly be known throughout the land. Let the Light know what it threatens and what will happen when it fails.

Haou liked how that sounded. The screaming voices still meant nothing. He turned toward one and tilted his head a bit. The screamer meant nothing but Haou recognized him anyway. He just wasn’t what Haou wanted right now. Nor did he want anyone else to have it.

Hope gave people a promise. The only hope and promise he wanted the people here, the servants of the Light, to know was the chance for a quick death. It was the only promise he would fulfill.

He turned another way to recognize his bodyguards. The ones who weren’t Yubel. They kept on yelling, but nothing they said made any sense to him. Well, no matter. It was time to finish this once and for all anyway.

All the elements lay under his command. Fire rained from the sky with little more than an exercise of will. Water rose up from the river, ten times that of what Bubbleman caused, and the earth underneath their feet rocked and cracked open, sending legion after legion of the Army of Light screaming into the depths.

Winds roared, a tornado touching down in the center of their camp, shredding survivors and tents and all their equipment into useless junk.

“Juudai! Juudai!”

Hope again. Haou flicked a finger and a wave of energy knocked him to the side into one of the few still standing trees. He didn’t move.

Haou moved onward. He had a great deal of work to do and he would like to finish it before sundown.

Pain beyond pain tore into his back, ripping through his armor and sending him crashing to his knees. Haou pulled himself up and around to stare behind himself.

The same blade used to kill Yubel now sank up to the hilt in his own back. Far too close stood Ancient Elf, with another in hand.

“Even if I can’t kill you for the Light, I can still kill you!”

Haou reached for his own last bit of power: he knew what a dying body felt like, and this one was dying. He lashed outward with it, and Ancient Elf was no more, falling backwards with a twisted smirk in the last moments.

Juudai sank back down to his knees, stumbling even then, falling forward. One hand reached for Yubel. The other, for Johan. He spared one breath for the Elemental Heroes, even as he could feel the last of his life fading away.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know who he spoke to, but he meant it to all of them.

All my fault...

Juudai sat up, panting, before he wrenched around and threw himself into Yubel’s arms, holding onto them as if they would vanish if he let go for a single moment. His heart raced, tears spilled down his cheeks, and he whispered two words over and over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Yubel wrapped their arms even more tightly around him. “It wasn’t your fault, Juudai.”

“Yes, it was! Just like last time! This time! I’m always too stupid and I never listen and people get hurt because of it! First you and I … I … did I… Johan? Then? Did I...” Juudai didn’t know how much sense he made, but it must’ve been enough for Yubel.

“No. He survived and helped put Kuragari back together again after that.” Yubel tilted Juudai’s head up. “He made a very good King after Aodh and Kaien passed away.”

Juudai swallowed. Somehow, that didn’t surprise him at all. Then he blinked. “How do you know?” He hadn’t known that. He hadn’t been around to see it.

“Because I wasn’t dead. I didn’t know then what was going on. But because of what Ancient Elf did, I haven’t had a physical body since then. I can mimic one now, especially since you and I fused and I’ve learned more about the power I have. It took me over a century to learn just how to communicate with other people.” Yubel’s lip curled for a moment. “Not that I wanted to communicate with anyone but you.”

Juudai nodded, holding onto Yubel still. No matter what they said, he wasn’t going to absolve himself so easily. Then he lifted his head up and turned to where the Elemental Heroes stood.

“You all knew, didn’t you? About me? And about what I did back then?”

Featherman spoke. “Of course we did. We’ve been by your side almost as long as Yubel has. But why would we blame you for something that you did when you were pushed beyond coherent rage?”

“And why do you think that Elemental Heroes can take on so many different fusion forms in the first place?” Sparkman asked. “We resonate to you as much as the Neo-Spacians do, Juudai. Our fusions reflect what’s in your heart. That means we understand what it can be like when things like that happen. And like what happened in Dark World.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of your power or what you can do with it. Control is all you need, and you’ve been working on that,” Burst Lady told him. “You’re much better about it, too.”

Juudai eased back down into Yubel’s arms. “I don’t deserve all of you.” Nor did he deserve Johan, who’d risked so much to try to help him even when Juudai wouldn’t listen to him.

“So, you were different because...”

“Because after a few thousand years of not having a proper body, of not being with you at all, and what Ancient Elf did severing my connection to you in the first place, I… wasn’t entirely sane at the time, even before the Light itself got hold of me.” Yubel’s fingers tightened for a heartbeat. “I think this time it intended that I make certain you couldn’t fight back against it, instead of trying to take us both out at the same time.”

Juudai shuddered at how close the plan had come to working, both times. If it hadn’t been for Johan’s arrival, then they both would’ve been sacrificed to the Light. And this time, if it hadn’t been for him getting his memories back…

“I really should do something nice for Johan,” he murmured, starting to feel weary all over again. That had not been a restful nap.

Then he recalled Rune, and realized that he’d seen him before: in this lifetime.

“Yubel… that guy in Dark World. The one that I met before I fought Zure.” He winced at the thought of all else that happened then, before forging onward. “That was Rune, wasn’t it? The guy who was Johan’s twin the first time.”

“And still is now. He’s in Dark World somewhere, I presume. That’s where I sent him, anyway.”

Juudai whipped his head around to stare at her again. “You saved him?”

“I saved everyone you cared about. You cared about him, even for those few moments, didn’t you?”

He could not say he didn’t. He hadn’t thought of it at the time, but perhaps some vague memory recalled Johan’s twin brother. Then he sat up even more.

“Come on. I’m going to find him and he and Johan are going to get a family reunion!”

He stood up, all weariness falling away, and reached for Yubel’s hand. Then he leaned up and forwards to kiss her. “I really am sorry.” He would spend all of time making it up to Yubel if he had to. And to Johan as well.

Yubel returned the kiss, with interest. “You’re forgiven.” As simple as two words and his heart sang for joy, and he carried them away into the shadows to find a brother.

The End

Notes: And that's it. Though there will be other tales that involve Juudai and Yubel and Johan and maybe Rune.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo gx #yubel #yuuki juudai #juudai x yubel #yubel x juudai #soulshipping #chapters: answers to unexpected questions #series: past & future

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novemberseas-novemberskies · 5 years ago

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Week 3: Character Challenges 1 & 2

When I return from the inn, I head straight to the little shed at the edge of a farmer’s property where I’ve been fortunate enough to rent a stall for Nyx, upon the condition that I’ll pay him twice again the worth of any livestock she consumes. Thankfully it hasn’t come to that. She’s surprisingly well-behaved, further enforcing my suspicion that this is not her first year being dragged from the sea, and I hear her chirruping at me before I see her. Sharp-eyed and even sharper-eared, she quickly learned the sound of my shoes on the gravel path, and waits impatiently for me, sleek head stretching out into the night. She cuts an eerie silhouette as I approach, narrow skull almost snake-like in the flickering light of the lantern I carry. Her blue eyes flash ghost-white, and a little shiver goes down my spine before I approach her.

“Hello there, gorgeous,” I say, tossing the salvaged off cuts and offal from Gratton’s into her feed bucket, and she makes a sound somewhere between a chirp and a banshee’s scream before tucking into the bloody mess. It is simultaneously terrifying and endearing. I’ve come to know and decipher a handful of her odd noises, many of which are nightmare-worthy, and know when she’s angry, hungry, relaxed. It’s certainly taken me some time to do so, but I assessed early on that a harsh hand or word was not going to going to place me in her good graces. It only took almost losing a capall-bite sized section of my thigh to learn that lesson. But I was uniquely equipped to confront the situation nonetheless.

Spending so many years at an all girls’ school taught me many skills, and the most valuable ones had very little to do with what was taught in the classroom. When confronted with a potential rival for either status or popularity, as I often was in an environment which so frequently breeds such competition, I was not catty. I was not vicious. I was not backstabbing. No. I was sweet. I was kind. I was collaborative. In sort, I killed them with kindness. With such a strategy, I was able to gain many allies, friends even, while disarming the perceived threat. And so it is with Nyx. After all, she is just as beautiful, blood thirsty, and mistrustful of me as those girls once were. I do my best to care for her with what little funds I have, feeding her with small kindnesses: a marrow-filled beef bone here, a cautious stroke to her slick there. I sing to her as I prepare her for our training sessions, trying out new material for my shifts at the inn. She prefers tragic love ballads above all else. A girl after my own heart. And I read to her when the weather or conditions on the beach are too severe to risk a ride. Greek and Latin have already begun to feel unfamiliar on my tongue, but she doesn’t mind. She listens contentedly as I stumble my way through the Iliad, her eyes half-lidded, relaxed.

I’ve surprised myself with the amount of affection I’ve developed for this monstrous horse. The capaill never enchanted me the way they seemed to the rest of the island the few times I encountered them. Why risk life, limb, and sanity to ride one of these beasts when there are perfectly regular and significantly safer horses available? But it’s different with Nyx. Perhaps it’s out of necessity, knowing that I hang my highest and most desperate hopes on her. Perhaps it’s by virtue of the fact that we spend so many hours together. Or perhaps I’ve truly come to create a bond with her. Having another living creature who is not judgmental, or pitying, or scornful has been such a relief. Nyx simply sees me for who I am, stripped bare of the trappings of wealth and status, or lack thereof. She expects nothing from me except a bucket of blood and a kind word. Our relationship certainly is complicated by the fact that she likely would drag me into the sea with no regard to my life or safety given just enough rein or complacency. But until that moment happens, and knowing that if it does there will be little to nothing I will be able to do about it, I have now embraced this odd friendship. I do not know if she truly feels any of the affection that I do, or if I am simply projecting longed-for human emotions.

Whatever the truth may be, I am thankful for Nyx. I am thankful for the order and discipline that she gives to my days, which prevent me from spiraling too quickly into the darkness that has seemingly overtaken the rest of my family. I am thankful for her warmth, damp and slippery as it may be, which reminds me that life goes on even when you almost wish it wouldn’t. And I am thankful for the hope of a future that rides alongside me, no matter how narrow and unlikely. All this and more placed on her narrow but strong withers. And I am so grateful.

#Lettie and Nyx #TSRF2019 #The Scorpio Races #The Scorpio Races Festival #Character Challenges

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antihero-writings · 5 years ago

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Jack of All Trade, in This Masquerade—Chapter 1: Nothing But Her—Pandora Hearts fic for Phmonth18 Tragedy Trio Week, Prompt/Day 2: Mask (Full Chapter)

Fic Title: Jack of All Trade, in This Masquerade

Fic Synopsis: Jack's stream of consciousness describes how society is like a masquerade, while his dreams show his own hypocrisy

Chapter Title: Nothing But Her

Character Focus: Jack Vessalius

Notes:

For Phmonth18, Week 3, Prompt/Day 2: Mask.

What started out as something that was supposed to be a short little fic about Jack’s internal monologue became an in-depth look into Jack’s psyche…hehe. I’ll admit, this is one of the weirdest formats I’ve ever used, and I’m not quite sure if it works, but I had fun with it! This is my first time writing heavily about Jack, and it’s about how his mind works….so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies to his character. I also wrote this pretty quickly, so I will likely need to edit it. I also intended to post it as a long oneshot, but the second half was already lacking, and I couldn’t do the ending justice in a day, so I decided to post the first section right before Phmonth18 ended.

Some good songs for this fic: "Masquerade" by Jonathan Thulin, and "Welcome to the Masquerade" by Thousand Foot Krutch

Chapter 1:

Everyone always wore a mask.

That was how things were, how the world worked. No question. No alternative. No argument you could make to stop it. Like a plague that replaced everyone’s faces with the skin of monsters.

The world was a masquerade. A dance, where you trade partners, and you never quite know who you’re dancing with anyways. You’re thrown in without knowing the moves, and are required to learn as you go, because you can’t stop. If you stop, the music, the momentum of the world turning, doesn’t. So if you do, you may just be trampled, thrown off the world.

As you grew up, you learned the moves, programed them into your bones until the motions were mechanical, and your body knew nothing else. Nothing but the lies. Grew up, painted your mask, made it more ornate, less likely to show your true colors, less likely to fall.

Something that made a louder crash when it did fall.

They always do. Eventually. Don’t think you can escape it.

Your parents, your family, your friends, they’re no different. When I said everyone, I meant everyone.

But when you grow up in gutters, in the stench and blood, the offal of humanity, and watch from afar, forbidden from the dance, but also from...not dancing, learning that you must to learn the dance to survive, to make in it the world, you may or may not grow to hate humanity.

I couldn’t wear a mask. But I was doomed to see through everyone else’s. See their lies, see their hypocrisy, their cold cut rules about how much of a clown you could be, I could see the puppet strings.

I learned to hate.

But.

The room glittered and gleamed. The chandeliers, the polished marble tiles, the wine glasses, the clothing of the dancers, and his smile.

Jack stood on the sidelines. The black and white players spinning before him, coming near him in flashes and fake smiles.

Outside, snow fluttered down onto a darkened ground, he couldn’t see past the wind and flakes to a world beyond. He had to stay inside, or else the storm might overtake him.

Storm inside. Storm out. Between two evils, how do you know which is worse?

They didn’t know they were simply chess pieces. That this was simply a game, that they would be sacrificed, all for the sake of the king.

Once, he had found their twirls and fanciful garments fascinating; the masks shined and their feathers climbed towards a twinkling ceiling. He looked on with longing, then.

Now, the word fake grew out of the crevices where their eyes were meant to be, it crept along their porcelain cheeks, their feathered heads, their bejeweled necks—and they didn’t see the vines, the spiders, linked together into chains, strangling them, driving fangs into their chests.

At the same time, sickness pooled in his own heart, started creating ripples towards his thoughts, reaching his words, crashing upon the shores of his actions.

A sickness called hate.

It took him far too long to realize the motions held no meaning. They were all just tumbling in the dark and the cold, trying to make meaning of the moves when there is none. The shimmer on the surface of the water was reflected from a sky they could never reach, not something buried beneath that they could touch, hold, and keep, if they just held their breath long enough.

The same was surely true for the waters in his own heart.

At least, that’s how it seemed, and what he told himself.

Black and white. No color. Pawns and knights in a grand game of chess.

What was real?

What would happen if it all just…stopped? What if we called the world, the dance by name?

A pause. A flicker. A flash. Color.

First it was red. Red like lamplight, in the night-soaked brightness of the room, a lantern of hope, guiding him across the lifeless waters to a land where there was more light like hers. Red that burned—could it burn down the masks? Like blood. Like roses.

Red in her eyes.

Then it was her hair, a splash of brown, flowing between the sides of black and white.

Then the violet of her dress, like she was the only royal in a council of fools, and common sense.

He lost track of the moves to stare her way.

One day, as I met a girl—brown hair, eyes red as roses in the snow—who wasn’t wearing a mask. She told me she could see through the masks too. But instead of hating the world in general for the practice, she questioned, she wondered, and she cheated the game.

And looking into those red eyes, I realized nothing else mattered. Not the world, not the deadened grasp of humanity, the music, the moves, or the masks.…Just her.

I tried to follow her, but in the mix of feet, in the unlearned motions, I myself was trampled to the ground.

So I resolved to learn the dance—not to live, not for the dance itself—but to follow her. To trade partners until I found her hand. I had to get up, to sew together a mask, glue on the feathers with blood, and pull the jewels out of dead men’s hands.

Horror is the word, I believe. The one to describe the things I did. I think you’ll find that both joining the dance, and subverting it, will inevitably lead to that word. I followed in the steps of people who did worse than me. Danced with partners whose masks were sewn into the skin. I did things that’ll make you shudder to think.

All part of the dance.

Nothing but her.

Outside, silent snow turned to to the taps of rain, asking to get in.

As he stared the girl’s way, the other dancers knocked against his shoulders, they trod on his feet, and scoffed at his incredulity.

He looked over their shoulders, trying to catch another glimpse of the one real thing in the sea of falsity.

She faded.

Fear, desperation set into to his fast-beating heart.

And, at last, he moved.

Out from the sidelines, into the mix of motions.

But instead of following the ordained pattern, he was a wrench in the perfectly predestined machine.

The other cogs knocked into him, he tripped into the workings, fell to the tiles beneath, was kicked by the steps, and lay beneath, watching the movements of the gears ticking above him.

“Lacie!” he reached out for her.

And on the floor, his gaze on her fading footfalls, he realized that that the pattern was too ruthless to break. Kicked and beaten by the dance, he realized that the only way to follow her, was to join the dance itself.

He wouldn’t give up. He’d follow her footprints through the forest of feet and fakes.

If he’d bend the rules a little.

After a long time of setting the moves into my hands and feet, the day came when my hand found hers.

She…didn’t remember me.

No peppered, cheerful hello. No pretense, or pretending.

No mask.

My free spirit. My unmasked beauty. My blood red girl. My Lacie.

In eight years, she still hadn’t changed, been chained; she was still the same dash of color in a world of black and white fakes. A player in a world of pawns.

Despite all the things I had done, I knew she was the one person who would still accept me.

The time we spent together after that, the days in the sun…I never wanted it to end.

But.

After the moving maze, the muddied world of men, the journey to get back to her, his hand found hers.

Something real, something dynamic, instead of stagnant, something warm to the touch, not metallic and cold.

Standing before him—at last—was his pride, his prize.

She was on the other side of the endless ballroom, off to the side, her head turned, gaze out the window. But she was still dancing with someone. Slowly, their moves less cold and mechanical.

He didn’t bother with the pretense of the dance, or courtesy towards the one she was currently dancing with. He threw his arms around her, and held her tight.

The shock in her eyes told him something wasn’t quite the same.

—(Or maybe he wasn’t quite sane)—

Did she not remember him? That moment when color entered his world?

What was all of time for him, was a passing glimpse for her.

It didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t cover those pretty eyes with the mark of a fake.

And she never did. Not as long as he knew her

“Jack.” She placed her hand on his cheek, running her fingers along his skin, pushing a strand of his hair behind his ear.

She smiled, and it was the only real thing in the sea of masks.

But that smile didn’t last forever; it became a twisted thing, etching itself onto her features.

A thing that certainly didn’t belong to her, even now.

Was this her mask? Could her face have been a mask this whole time?

She pulled away from him.

“You fool.”

He drew in a sharp breath, and it pierced his heart.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

She gestured grandly to the room as a whole.

What? What didn’t he see? This was how it had always been. Nothing had changed.

She grabbed his chin and made him look away from her.

“Look at them.”

Then he saw.

The dancers around them weren’t just dancers, strangers, background.

They weren’t strangers at all.

Or maybe they were even less known to him than strangers would have been.

Many of them were wearing the same green outfit he wore presently, others were in red, and blue, some wrapped in a thin blanket…They all had the same blonde hair, sometimes in a braid like his, others messy and short. And they all still wore masks, as if the emotions could be written and plastered on rather than felt—happy, sad, angry…that disgusting smile…

His disgusting smile.

Each and every one of them was himself.

Had it always been this way? Since the beginning? Or had they become this way? Somewhere in the middle, had strangers morphed into mirrors?

The music faded out, and the rain outside grew louder and louder until he couldn’t help but turn to the window, as if to demand some peace and quiet.

The drops that dribble down, and splattered across, the panes were not clear, or grey, or blue.

That red he had once found so fascinating, once begged for, was painting the world.

He swallowed.

As he realized the change in scenery, all the other Jacks stopped, turning to him with mechanical motions, and faceless expressions, some creepy army of past-self-dolls.

“Lacie,” her name on his lips, he turned to her, his one hope, his one safety in a world that had fixed its canons against him.

She was no longer beside him.

Laying in his hand was a limp chain.

He didn’t want to look, to follow the trail; he feared what he would see. But he chased the links to the ceiling—

Her body, suspended in the air above, like she was one of those twinkling chandeliers. Her body, pierced by chains.

That red rain was inside now.

And below her, looking his way, was someone else. Someone who wasn’t wearing a mask.

My Lacie, who lied, and died at the hands of her brother. For the simplest crime of never wearing a mask over those red eyes. For the simplest crime of existence.

Oswald. Her brother.

I should have hated him, perhaps. For taking her from me.

And there was a part of me that did. Surely. But he loved her too, you know. And it was some sick sense of duty that threw her into the pit, not his own will.

I was a question in his eyes, and he was an answer in mine. There’s something about mutual darkness between people; being able to look into someone else’s soul, and see your struggles reflected, and yet…not yourself… Something that we call friendship.

The first thing he saw was his cloak, like a wave, breaking across his shoulder. Crimson, just like her eyes.

Just like her blood he spilt.

Then his eyes, violet, like her dress. A violet that was sharp, and cold, and unforgiving as a winter storm. Then it was the black of his hair and clothing. A deeper black from the dancers before. A darker sky.

He was the black king, after all, wasn’t he?

"Lacie is dead,”

“I killed her.”

It wasn’t malice, or revenge. It was the requirement of a leader.

Or at least, they poisoned his mind, and made him think so.

I’m sure he would have joined me, if he wasn’t such a fool. If he wasn’t so wrapped up in his own ignorance.

(An ignorance that was my fault).

Joined me to get her, that is.

Death isn’t quite the right word. She was cast into the Abyss, into a place where no return.

But I learned that the masks, the dance, the masquerade, goes by another name:

Chains.

Chains come in many forms. There are the chains that killed her, the ones that we create contracts with. Chains between people, and the chains we create for ourselves.

Then there’s another type; this world is a ruin—(I always knew it)—and the Chains around it are the only things keeping the world from the Abyss. They fall between the lines on the pages of our story, into the places our eyes can’t see.

Or, more accurately, keeping the world from her.

Blood red world. My gift for my blood red girl. And I didn’t care how blood I spilled in the midst. Not really. Not enough.

This world is rotting anyway. I’ve known it from the start. But not to her. She saw the light. She saw the stars. She saw that there was something real behind those shimmering lights. That maybe it wasn’t all on the surface. Maybe there was something beneath the waters that we could reach.

And I’d bring the world she loved to her.

I’m doing this for you.

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kinny93ethz · 5 years ago

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#kinny93ethz #chamber3

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theupsidedownunderblog-blog · 7 years ago

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THE ICONIC MEAT PIE - AUSTRALIA'S NATIONAL DISH!

The Australian meat pie is a hand-sized pie containing diced or minced meat and gravy, sometimes with onion, mushrooms, or cheese and often consumed as a takeaway food snack. The meat pie is considered iconic in Australia and New Zealand. It was described by former New South Wales Premier Bob Carr in 2003 as Australia's "national dish".

The Meat Pie has been described as Australia's national dish! The Victorian pie brand Four'N'Twenty produces 50,000 pies per hour and Australians consume an average of 12 meat pies per year.

The Victorian pie brand Four'N'Twenty produces 50,000 pies per hour. Hmmm, I polish off around 12 of these beauties in a month - let alone a year - so there must be a lot of people who aren't eating their share! The meat pie is heavily associated with Australian rules football and Rugby League as one of the most popular consumed food items whilst watching a game. Even one of our former Prime Ministers, Julia Gillard, likes to tuck into a good ol' Aussie Pie now and again

Former Australian PM tuckin' down on an Aussie Meat Pie. But are they healthy? Former New South Wales Premier Bob Carr launched a childhood obesity summit in 2002, where he told participants that feeding children a diet of meat pies, sausage rolls and chiko rolls was akin to child cruelty. In April 2002, the Australian Consumers Association (ACA) conducted a study of 22 frozen meat pies available in supermarkets. They found three brands did not meet the minimum 25 per cent meat content requirement set by Food Standards Australia New Zealand (FSANZ), and that the fat content ranged from 15 to 35 grams of fat per pie.

Aussie Meat Pie Eating Contest The ACA study was of a select group of frozen meat pies in supermarkets, thus the study does not account for freshly baked meat pies of which the meat content and nutritional value varies from bakery to bakery. Another study by ACA in 2006 found 5 of the 23 pie products tested had less than the minimum 25% meat required. In 2006, The ACA awarded pie manufacturer Black and Gold "The CHOICE Shonky Award for UnAustralian Content" for their pies found to contain just 17% meat. Do you really know what you're eating? The meats allowed by FSANZ to make up at least 25% of a meat pie are... beef buffalo camel cattle deer goat hare pig poultry rabbit, and Kangaroo meat, a leaner alternative, is also sometimes used. However, most pie manufacturers specify 'beef' in their ingredients list; typically, those using other types of meat will simply put 'meat' in the list instead.

Now! Thats what I call a Meat Pie! FSANZ's definition of meat includes... snouts ears tongue roots tendons, and blood vessels. Only offal (such as brain, heart, kidney, liver, tongue, tripe) must be specified on the label. Wild animals ("slaughtered ... in the wild state") may not be used. Be warned though, pies can be lethal! Bruce Holland, 64, was taking part in a half-time contest during a televised football game at the Bushland Beach Tavern, a pub in Townsville in north Queensland. He collapsed while eating the pie at 9pm on Wednesday night and was rushed to hospital but died around 10.30pm.

As delicious as they are, be warned that eating pies can sometimes be hazardous! Arthur McMahon, from Lillywhite Hotel Group, owner of the pub, said Mr Holland was well-liked and immediately volunteered when some others at the tavern suggested holding its first pie-eating contest. Mr McMahon told The Townsville Bulletin... “He was always up for raffles or anything and used to like winning things,” “There were seven other people in the competition and the meat was not overly hot He started to gasp and sat down with a glass of water and then passed out.” A friend, Michelle Bradley, said she saw him utter his final words but was unsure how he died. “Was he choking on the pie?” she said. “Did he lose breath and have a heart attack?” Police said the exact cause of the death was unknown and a report was being prepared for the coroner. It is believed Mr Holland suffered a heart attack. Another local, Paul Jacobs, said the close-knit community was stunned by the accident. “I have been to plenty of State of Origin matches at the Tavern and they were always great nights,” he said. “We will all be thinking of his family and friends.”

Upwards of 20,000 meat pies are consumed at our State of Origin footy matches. The fastest time to eat three mince pies is 54 seconds and was achieved by Robert Edward Lee (Australia), in Ellenbrook, Australia, on 17 August 2013. The Great Aussie Meat Pie Making Contest Started in 1990 and held annually since, the Great Aussie Pie Contest was created to find the best everyday commercially produced meat pie produced in Australia, to promote the higher quality pie production as well as attempting to increase media attention upon the foodstuff, the iconic meat pie often dwarfed by the omnipresent advertising of fast food chains.

Bakers and Pie Makers from all over Australia converge alternately in Sydney & Melbourne each September to compete for the most sought after award in their industry, The Official Great Aussie Pie Competition. Run in parallel to the main contest is one for gourmet pies, with categories for such fillings as chicken, seafood and even vegetarian pies. As well as the main prize, certificates of excellence are awarded for entries that reach set quality standards. The main award is highly coveted due to the greatly increased sales it generates, with many people travelling interstate to sample the winning pie. The Aussie Footy Pie Competition This is intended to be a fun class that revolves around the latter end of the footy season. This class allows the entrant free rein as to the top design of the pie which must depict in edible form, their favourite footy team with a few basic rules. This beef mince pie must be of good quality, & be suitable to be eaten at a traditional game of footy.

Brothers Harry and Lochlan enjoy a pie and chips. Picture: Hamish Blair General Criteria: The pie must be oval in shape as per the traditional football and must fit into the palm of the hand. Traditional good quality mince beef only to be used (not chunky) The Meat filling has to be firm and stable when hot (this is to allow the whole content of the pie to be eaten whilst watching the game and not get shirt-fronted!) The top of the pie has to depict your favourite team colours and applicable design. Of course only edible food colouring can be used. Judging criteria: Pies will be judged on creativity and originality and marks out of 30 will be awarded. The filling and overall taste, stability, and quality of the pie will be marked out of 20. There will be no bias on the part of any judge taking part in the judging process. 2 Pies with the same design are to be sent into the competition. 1 entry per bakery. A Typical Aussie Pie Recipe? An Aussie icon, this classic pie is made with a shortcrust base and a rich beef mince gravy. There are literally hundreds of meat pie recipes. Here's a simple one to get you started...

Suburban Burger owner Andrew McTighe has created a meat pie burger for Australia Day. Picture Jason Sammon Ingredients... 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 large brown onion, finely chopped 500g lean beef mince 1 tablespoon cornflour 3/4 cup Massel beef stock 3/4 cup tomato sauce 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce 1 tablespoon barbecue sauce 1 teaspoon Vegemite 2 sheets frozen shortcrust pastry, thawed 2 sheets frozen puff pastry, thawed 1 egg, beaten Method Heat oil in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onion. Cook for 3 minutes or until soft. Add mince. Cook for 4 minutes, stirring with a wooden spoon, or until browned. Mix cornflour and 1 tablespoon of stock to form a paste. Add remaining stock. Add stock, sauces and Vegemite to mince. Bring to the boil. Reduce heat to medium-low. Simmer for 8 minutes or until thick. Cool. Preheat oven to 220°C. Place a baking tray into oven. Grease 4 x 8cm base measurement pie pans. Cut 4 x 15cm circles from shortcrust pastry. Use to line bases and sides of pans. Fill with mince. Brush rims with water. Cut 4 x 15cm circles from puff pastry. Place over meat. Press to seal. Trim. Brush with egg. Season. Place pies onto hot tray. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until golden. Serve. Start fangin' Sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meat_pie_(Australia_and_New_Zealand) https://greataussiepiecomp.com.au/ http://www.guinnessworldrecords.com/world-records/fastest-time-to-eat-three-mince-pies https://greataussiepiecomp.com.au/downloads/The_Perfect_Pie_2013.pdf http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/australiaandthepacific/australia/10190319/Australian-man-dies-during-pub-pie-eating-competition.html http://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-06-22/what-does-it-take-to-feed-hungry-state-of-origin-fans/7529982 Click to Post

#aussie meat pie #culture #food #meat pie

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vampireadamooc · 7 years ago

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As Always: text is provided only in the event of access expiration or post deletions from the hosting site. Whenever possible, always read the article at the link provided.

The bloodthirsty aswangs of Philippine mythology By Yvette Tan Updated 18:00 PM PHT Thu, July 13, 2017 http://cnnphilippines.com/life/culture/2017/07/13/aswangs-in-pinoy-myths.html

In Philippine myth and folklore, bloodthirsty monsters include a wide array of creatures other than the vampire, from the bebarlang of Mindanao to the supernatural Danag. Illustration by TIM LOPEZ

Manila (CNN Philippines Life) — Mankind has always had its monsters. Many of the earliest stories have been about a culture’s fight against the darkness and the horrors that dwell within the unknown. Today, such beliefs survive in pop culture usually as remnants of a superstitious past, though there are still individuals and communities that believe in such creatures, especially (though not necessarily always) in isolated areas.

Not just Dracula

One of pop culture’s most popular monsters is the vampire. Though Eastern European in origin, it was popularized by Irishman Bram Stoker in his classic book, “Dracula.” Vampires have evolved since its pre-literary days, morphing from a scary, dangerous creature to dashing, well-dressed night dwellers who have the power to bestow the gift of immortality.

The vampire-type creature isn’t just an Eastern European phenomenon. Almost all cultures have their own version of a blood-sucking monster. The Malay penanggalan, for example, is a beautiful female whose head detaches from her body, flying off with her entrails dangling below. She feeds on human flesh and/or blood in almost the same way our manananggal does: by perching on the roof of a house where a child is born and lowering her proboscis-like tongue (basically a built-in bubble tea straw) so that it can suck the entrails out of the mother and child.

CNN Life - Aswang - 5 Manananggal - 170713.jpg The manananggal was made famous in the first “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” through Peque Gallaga’s short of the same name. Illustration by TIM LOPEZ

A more recent bloodsucker is the Mexican chupacabra, which first appeared in the 1990s. It got its name, which literally means ‘goat-sucker,’ because of its penchant for sucking the blood out of livestock, particularly goats.

Roots in nature

The focus on blood is simple: blood is life. The one thing our prehistoric hunter-gatherer ancestors understood was that if you didn’t have blood, you died. If you didn’t have all your internal organs, you died. Another thing they understood was that offal was filled with the nutrients needed to survive a long drought or winter. So it stands to reason that blood and guts is what their most dreaded supernatural enemies would immediately gun for.

Another inspiration is the natural world. There are many fish, birds, insects, and animals that live on the red stuff. We (and our pets) know how painful, annoying, and potentially deadly mosquitoes, fleas, and ticks can be. Birds like the oxpecker eat the insects on the ox they perch on, but they can also drink the blood that flow from the ox’s wounds.

CNN Life - Aswang - 6 Sigbin - 170713.jpg In the Visayas, there is the sigbin, basically a bloodsucking cross between a dog and a kangaroo. Illustration by TIM LOPEZ

Vampire bat saliva have anti-coagulating properties that prevent the blood in their prey’s wounds from clotting so that they can feed on them longer. The lamprey is a leechlike fish that attaches itself to other fish so that it can suck their blood. With horrors like this surrounding our ancestors on a daily basis, it’s no wonder that one of their major preoccupations was keeping their insides intact, thank you very much.

One thing that these monsters play on is the concept of opposites. Since they are essentially the enemies of the forces of good, some of their characteristics are mirror opposites to what is found in nature. It’s kind of the same logic behind the upside-down Christian cross representing Satan as a bastardization of Christianity. It’s why the aswang’s companion tiktik and the ghoulish bebarlang (see below) sound softer the nearer they get.

Related to this is the concept of the other. Many monsters, such as the penanggal and our own manananggal, for example, have human forms, that usually of beautiful maidens or old crones. This was a form of exclusion — a cultural removal of the powerful feminine, the patriarchy’s way of keeping women in check by branding old, outspoken, or even just plain weird ones as dangerous.

CNN Life - Aswang - 3 Bebarlang - 170713.jpg Bebarlang are basically ghouls, monsters who feed on the flesh of the deceased. They also feed on the living by going into a trance and using their astral body to enter the homes of unsuspecting victims. Illustration by TIM LOPEZ

Filipino bloodsuckers

In the Philippines, we don’t have bloodsuckers so much as what folklore authority Maximo Ramos calls viscera suckers. That is, your friendly neighborhood monster isn’t just going to drink your blood. It’s going to suck up all your juicy, nutritious innards with its straw-like tongue, too. These monsters are generally grouped into the category of “aswang.” Contrary to popular belief, not all of our folklore come from before Spanish colonization. Some of them, such as the kapre and other kinds of aswangs, appeared in the World War II era as word-of-mouth propaganda to scare away the enemy.

There are many kinds of aswangs. Here are some of them:

Danag — One of the aswang creation myths involve the Danag, a supernatural race that lived side by side with humans in the old days. Legend is a human got a wooden splinter caught underneath his fingernail one day and a Danag offered to help by sucking it out. A bit of blood accompanied the splinter as it exited the nail, an iron taste which the Danag took a liking to. Since then the Danag have become aswangs, subsisting on delicious, delicious blood.

CNN Life - Aswang - 2 Danag - 170713.jpg The Danag was believed to be a supernatural race that took a liking to human blood. Illustration by TIM LOPEZ

Bebarlang — Tales of Mindanao’s bebarlang hail from before WWII. They’re basically ghouls, monsters who can be found in graveyards feeding on the flesh of the deceased. When there aren’t enough dead, they feed on the living by going into a trance and using their astral body to enter the homes of unsuspecting victims to feast on their entrails. How the physical entrails get carried through the astral aswang bodies is never explained.

Mandurugo — The mandurugo is the Filipino version of the black widow. Stories tell of a beautiful woman who married a man, who shortly after, passed away mysteriously. Her being beautiful, and beauty being the only thing needed to make a woman desirable back then, it wasn’t long before she found herself another husband. Unfortunately, it also wasn’t long until he too died under mysterious circumstances. The woman married again, but the same thing kept happening until the last man she married, afraid that the same fate would befall him, took a knife with him when they went to bed. When he felt pinpricks on his neck that drew blood, he plunged the knife into his assailant. When he woke the next day, he found his wife dead.

CNN Life - Aswang - 4 Mandurugo - 170713.jpg The mandurugo takes the form of a desirable woman who preys on one man after the other. Illustration by TIM LOPEZ

Manananggal — The manananggal was made famous in the first “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” (SSR) through Peque Gallaga’s short of the same name. The manananggal is usually a woman (though Miguel Rodriguez played one in “SRR” as well). At night, she grows wings, separates her torso from the lower half of her body and flies off in search of a meal. She prefers heavily pregnant women whose nutrient-rich fetuses she can suck out like a raw egg. The manananggal is sometimes accompanied by a tiktik, a small bird named for the sound it makes. As mentioned above, the louder it is means the further it is, and the more silent, the nearer it is.

Sigbin — In the Visayas, there is the sigbin, basically a bloodsucking cross between a dog and a kangaroo. These cryptids are said to be most powerful during Good Friday, where they are said to hunt for the hearts of young children that they make into amulets. They are said to be aswang familiars and may have been a folkloric interpretation of an actual animal, possibly the cat-fox.

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higuchimon · 8 years ago

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[fanfic] Answers To Unexpected Questions: 3/3

Because of Tumblr not allowing searches for posts with external links, I decided it would be much easier to just start posting my fics to Tumblr itself. Easier for people to read if they so desire as well

||Pairing: Yubel x Juudai|| ||Word Count: 9,367|| ||Chapter Count: 3/3||