#the irony is boundless

[moonflower91]

Aside from the plot. Do you have any theories as to why Aemond didn’t seem to have any luck hatching a dragon or bonding with one until Vhagar?

I think it’s because no one gave him a chance, perhaps.

Or maybe it's simple misfortune that his egg never hatched and that no other dragon was bonded to him until Vhagar.

Personally, I kinda think it was predestined that the Dance happened. The gods or fate or the universe in the Song of Ice and Fire world seem to love their little ironic jokes.

Give Cersei all the passion and rage and bloodlust but make her a woman in a time when women are seen as gentle compliant property.

Have Catelyn's first and (to her knowledge) her only remaining free child die in front of her.

Make Tywin's ugliest child the one who his beloved wife die to give birth to.

Make that most hated child the one that is most like him

Have Robb Stark die because he broke an oath by trying to do the honourable thing by a maiden

Have the only honest and protective knight in Sansa’s time in Kings Landing be embittered, disfigured Sandro Clegane

Give Viserys I a slew of sons AFTER he makes his eldest daughter his heir

Have the true father of Rhaenyra's sons die by fire, the greatest weapon of House Targaryen

And have the most sullen, dragonless boy of House Targaryen be able to claim the largest, most fearsome dragon in the world

The gods and their little jokes, hey? (quite frankly, I think the entire downfall of House Targaryen is due to their own pride and arrogance. They compared themselves to gods, and gods don't like that)

[daily-hanamura]

[clown-machine]

Trying to tie Vandalize to anything in Sonic Frontiers’ story without making it weird or creepy or grimdark was giving me an aneurysm, but One Way Dream is giving me pure autistic joy for just being so absolutely correct for Sonic. It’s way up there with Endless Possibility and It Doesn’t Matter (SA2 vers.) IMO

[hellinglasses]

not me loving loving loving halloween and being excited all week to be 1985 live aid freddie mercury for our small apartment party at my friend's place and then getting ready and immediately freak out because everything is wrong and i feel sjwowjoakakakakakal (bad sjwowjoakakakakakal) and suddenly i hate everything and every single clothing item i own except for the sleeveless turtleneck crop top i've just took out of the washing machine and i've vaccumed the house at least five times since getting up at 6am am now i'm in my very own pink robe of despair expecting said single okay item of clothing to dry so i can go fucking vote

[queen0fm0nsterz]

I will never not be amused by the endless irony of AM and how he, a machine with nothing but hatred and envy for the humans who created him, was so loved by his Harlan Ellison (the original author of the story, AKA his real life creator) that he HAD to voice him in every single installment of IHNMAIMS possible, not letting anyone else take him.

The very thing AM hates most is the one that gives him life and keeps him alive outside of the narrative. In a way, it's similar to how he keeps the five humans alive in the story, but at the same time it's the opposite spectrum of it: the burning hatred of the machine versus the boundless love of the artist.

[lux-drm]

WIP! sylus falls in love with his sons' elementary teacher

Sylus hated parent-teacher conferences. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be involved in his sons’ lives — he does, and Luke and Kieran were the apples of his eye. He had adopted them a few years ago after finding them scrounging for food in the back alleys.

Two scrappy, sharp-eyed boys who had stolen his heart in an instant. Bringing them into his world of dubiously created weaponry (and other miscellaneous business) had been an easy choice, even if it meant his life became rather… chaotic.

No, his distaste for these meetings came from the reactions he often received. Most teachers weren’t very forgiving of the twins’ antics. Luke’s boundless energy and Kieran’s quiet scheming often landed them in trouble, leaving Sylus to play the role of the apologetic father far more often than he’d like.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Teachers were supposed to be adept at handling all sorts of children, weren’t they?

Sylus sighed as he waited for his turn, mentally preparing for the usual litany of complaints he was used to getting before finally sending his assistants to do so in his stead for the past year. As he stepped into the office, though, he was hit with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Ah.

If Sylus had known the twins’ third-grade teacher was this cute, he might have made time to attend these conferences himself instead of sending his assistants.

He was completely unprepared, and felt a little betrayed. Why didn’t they tell him about this? Did they want to keep her for themselves?

“Hello, Mr. Sylus Qin...? I’m Melissa Theron, a pleasure to meet you.”

notes:

Sylus Qin - founder and CEO of Onychinus International, a multinational industrial company and the largest tech conglomerate in the world (stark industries in a different font 😭)

Luke - older twin, vivacious and unpredictable

Kieran - younger twin, calm and dependable

Melissa Theron (MC) - elementary teacher (Melissa for the nickname "Missy", Theron because it means "Hunter", Missy Hunter = Miss Hunter ;p)

this is the first straight fanfic I've written in years,, 💔💔 bear with me

also my first love and deepspace fanfic

[bleue-flora]

Well in light of @elmhat’s post [here]. I started thinking even further, specifically about the name of the prison - Pandora’s Vault, no doubt named after the infamous Pandora’s Box, which in mythology is described as containing, All the Troubles of the World that could never be recaptured after being opened. The name certainly only further adding to this image of Dream being this boundless inhuman evil. Of course, Sam wasn’t going to see Dream as human, they put him in the main cell of Pandora’s Vault. As the only prisoner he became the embodiment of all the troubles and woes of humanity, a larger than life evil that Sam had sole responsibly to keep contained in the box. Which wow that’d be a pretty big task for anyone to be fair…

And if that isn’t a big enough job, the second part of the prison’s name is Vault - a secure place to store valuables. In this case the Revival Book, the ultimate valuable, the key to life once life has been taken, a book made all the more important by Tubbo’s almost recent death. Furthermore, a vault is also a place used for burials, which is fitting because in many ways this is Dream’s tomb, his sentence for life. Like a dead body, it is Sam’s job to strip him of all his valuables and lay him to rest. Quite the responsibility I’d say for poor Sam, to be in charge of containing evil incarnate, stripping it of its power and killing if once and for all…

And the irony as Dream points out in Daedalus:

“You put me in a box. And you made me very angry. I was tortured, I was betrayed, I was lied to and each and every person that has done these things to me is now going to face my wrath. And guess what? You released me—into the world, releasing evil and hate and anger. It’s pretty, you know, pretty parallel. Funnily enough.”

is that Dream never was the embodiment of evil. War still happened, people still died while he was contained. But in the end, Pandora’s Vault still lived up to its name just not in the way Sam thought it did…

As an aside, apparently in the myth Pandora shut the box before Hope could escape and I think there’s also something tragically beautiful about that parallel because in many ways, I think Dream’s hope lived and died in Pandora’s Vault…

[mako-neexu]

WHA THTEYFUJCCK WHA. THT HELL WHAT. WHAT???? ISTFGKLNDFKJSDN MAN. edguda is like. yeah prison tower gave edmond the opportunity to be like a light, be like someone's abbe faria, guda got to live but in turn it also damned him to a hell of poison called LOVE. i literally cannot do this. hoyl shit. they are each others' poison, each others' damnation and salvation istfg. istfg!!!!!!!! this edguda prison is a mad house now for me. ritsuka being who they are, is accepting of a person even as fucked up as the summoned Avenger that was originally there to kill them under the orders of a mastermind. ritsuka didnt try or do anything to enforce a 'cure' or a kind of holy salvation upon him and just allowed him to be who he is. a chaotic evil Avenger class Servant with a history of being betrayed. but guda is someone who will stay by someone's side even until their deathbed. as for the count of monte cristo, the very man who made it out of the hell on earth prison tower alive where madmen are put together with other madmen, he is guda's dream guardian and protector as well as someone who whispers words of encouragement, a man with steel of determination who will always pull them up again and again from the sheer anguish they've faced- poison in and of itself.

where, in the face of madness, in the face of boundless despair and hopelessness, remaining human, continuing to be normal, continuing to move forward despite it all is in itself a form of abnormal. dantes has damned them as well by the simple act of caring and protecting their body and soul as they traverse through this perilous journey-making them last longer when they couldve been killed anytime (when they couldve had the release of death, their suffering no more as their soul is lost to the world).... it also doesnt help with the irony of both of them having poison resistance wha yghyfujcjckckkkk.

guda, you totally ruined the count of monte cristo... im horrified and in awe. look at this man broken and helpless from love, his flames burning far brighter, far darker as fires of poison that consumed every part of his body, burning himself away for your sake, every crack and crevice of his body bleeding out just for you, just for your sake, just so you could have a path to walk on, for his fate, his light, his beloved accomplice, his star who has both saved him and damned him into a new kind of prison in this second life of his... where he calls it "paradis chateau d'lf"

[justsescape]

"Heeeey, nonnie~! I'm wearing your favorite outfit today! How's it look~?"

The irony was palpable. Uzaki-chan looked exactly the same as always: completely hidden behind a pair of breasts so wide, so tall, that they could easily plug the door of a double-car garage. Not even gravity itself could stop her boobs from staying satisfyingly round in spite of their cartoonishly gigantic proportions. Pristine skin was interrupted by pinkish areolae the size of manhole covers, and each of them were topped by nipples so firm and thick that they could be used as balance beams. Perhaps if you stood on one of them, you could actually see the rest of her. You'd just have to be careful not to slip and fall into her crushing cleavage.

"Come on, nonnie! Can't you tell?" Uzaki-chan must have been leaping; the way her gigantic tits wobbled like gelatin was evidence of that. But at the apex of every jump, you could just barely, barely catch a glimpse at the tips of bunny ears rising above her chest.

"Hop! Hop! I'm a bunny! I'm in my bunny suit, nonnie~!"

It was more like she had her birthday suit in the front and her bunny suit in the back. Uzaki-chan had once so proudly declared that she had finally surpassed five feet in height -- but that's only if you measured from the ground to the tops of her overdeveloped bust. The rest of her barely surpassed forty-eight inches. Such a big difference doomed this bunny girl to spending most of her waking hours in a staring contest with her own towering boobwall. Its only feature was the long, dark line of cleavage that rose far, far above her head. Surely, it must have been like staring into an endless chasm, into the unknowable deep -- not that such a thing could faze her boundless energy, of course.

"Let's celebrate with an Easter egg hunt!" Uzaki-chan's outstretched hand waved above her humongous chest. Such enthusiastic gesturing was met by similarly enthusiastic motions from her lengthened nipples. You got the sense that if you pulled on one of them, it would vibrate back and forth like a spring-loaded doorstop. "Can you find where I hid them all, nonnie? I hid them reeeeeal well~!"

All that wild movement, however, would be her undoing. Uzaki-chan's colossal breasts had slid ever-so-slightly apart from one another, revealing that her cleavage was cradling dozens -- if not hundreds -- of multicolored Easter eggs. They piled atop one another like breakfast cereal overflowing in a bowl. Naturally, it didn't take long for them to start to spill from her cleavage like water from an overturned glass. They toppled, they tumbled, they rolled across the ground like scattering marbles.

"Oh... oh no! Th-they're falling out?! But... but that ruins it, nonnie! I can't believe this is happening!"

Uzaki-chan's sorrowful tone inspired you to finally circumnavigate her ridiculous rack. There she stood, on the tips of her toes, legs shaking, her face painted with worry as she held her hands up to her cleavage like she was trying to block a leak on a sinking ship. Her shortened stature didn't preclude her from being delightfully curvy. Fishnets clung so tightly to her shapely thighs that flesh bulged in the gaps; surely once she took them off, her skin would be impressed with red patterned lines from where the strings once resided. Easter eggs repeatedly struck the top of her head as if they were being delivered by conveyor belt.

"I wanted to do an Easter egg hunt with you, ow!, but... well, I can't really, ow!, move that far," she admitted bashfully. "So I had to, ow!, just hide them all in the only place I could reach... ow!"

Yet another Easter egg plopped across her head before arcing toward the ground -- but this one didn't crack. Instead, it splashed. Unbeknownst to Uzaki-chan, her two heaving boobs had begun to leak. Milk funneled from the tips of her nipples like they were faucets, producing puddles that were growing with every passing moment. They pooled under her chest; they slicked the floor underneath your shoes. Broken eggshells were lifted from the ground by her own product and floated in various random directions.

"H-hey, nonnie! Don't get distracted by the ones that are breaking! Forget about those!" Uzaki-chan clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She stomped her feet in the milk as if it were a puddle of rainwater. "We can still have fun with the ones that are left! Go dive in and find them~!"

[bones-ivy-breath]

The first monster in Frankenstein is not this Creature... The famous Creature is a peripheral ephemeron, glimpsed by the crew on Walton's polar adventure as a near mirage on a far-distant ice-plain... The immediate astonishment is the appearance the next morning of a haggard being off the side of the ship on a fragment of ice, alone in a sled but for one dog, asking which direction the ship is headed. "Good God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for his safety, your surprise would have been boundless," writes Captain Walton to his sister; "His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and suffering. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition." This is the first dreadful wretch in Mary Shelley's novel, and soon the star of its first "Frankenstein" moment. The wretched being faints dead away then is revived, animated, by the crew... This crew brings life out of death. In a body dreadful to behold, teeth-gnashing, mad, wild, Victor Frankenstein receives concerned parental care as a fellow human being. Everything he recounts hereafter bears this tremendous irony. Monsters are not born, the Author of Frankenstein proposes; they are made and unmade on the variable scales of human sympathy.

The Annotated Frankenstein edited by Susan J. Wolfson and Ronald Levao

[avvail]

writing snippet #26

tw: kidnapping, mind control, non-con touching (not sexual)

“You won’t get away with this,” the hero hissed through gritted teeth, jerking against the metal restraints that pinned them thoroughly down against the table. Supervillain’s lips quirked into a smirk, clear amusement dancing in their eyes.

“Darling,” they purred, stopping by the edge of the table. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be funny.”

The hero gulped, trying to keep the fear off their face. They hadn’t meant to get captured by Supervillain, and they had been separated from Sidekick moments before their trap had sprung, and Hero had been knocked out cold. They hoped their sidekick was getting backup, or getting out of here.

Supervillain was dangerous. Far too dangerous to have been wandering in their lair, but Superhero had orders, and they were meant to follow. The Agency had been keen on tackling the supervillain to prevent their most recent plans from going ahead.

But it seemed they were unaware that by doing so, they’d given Supervillain exactly what they wanted.

“Let me go,” they ordered, clenching their fists. “The Agency will come for me, and there’ll be nowhere for you to hide.”

Even though they were confident, they had to stop their voice from shaking. It boomed around the room, flickering with fear every so often. Supervillain hummed, smiling, before they slid their finger against the hero’s temple.

“Turn your attention to that painting, will you?” They ordered, and against their better judgement, Hero obeyed. The supervillain was known for being able to assert control through touch, but the Agency knew it wasn’t strong enough to completely overwhelm a person’s thoughts. They were perfectly lucid when given a command, and it could only be initiated through touch near the mind.

Hero’s eyes locked onto the long painting against the wall, swallowing thickly.

“Know what that is, darling?” They asked, glancing at them thoughtfully. The hero couldn’t think straight, but they shook their head regardless, spitting an answer through gritted teeth.

“No.”

“Shame,” Supervillain sighed, crossing their arms over their chest. “I am quite a big fan of the Catilinarian Orations, you know. In fact, I enjoy all of Cicero’s works. I think he’s an oratory genius, despite the irony that it was what got him killed.”

Hero tugged lightly on their restraints. Still not moving. They tried to focus on their breathing, eyes moving along the painting.

“It’s such a fascinating painting,” Supervillain drawled, staring at it in awe, as if they were seeing it for the first time again. “Beautiful. See here, this man, Cicero, delivering his famous speeches to the Senate to convince them that that man, Lucius Sergius Catilina, has intentions to overthrow them. The way it captivates his isolation, the boundless power of rhetoric against evil—don’t you find it truly amazing?”

Hero could sense their focus shifting, the effects of the minor control fading away. They blinked rapidly, meeting Supervillain’s terrifying gaze. They swallowed thickly, mustering up the courage to reply.

“I’m not a big lover of paintings,” they responded coldly, eyes darting elsewhere. “Or the Greeks.”

The criminal coughed. “Romans, but I’ll let you off, darling. I find myself rather similar to Catiline, in some ways.”

Hero pressed their lips into a thin line. “Is that a good thing? Wasn’t he supposed to be evil?”

“To the Senate, of course he was,” Supervillain grinned, stepping around the table, admiring the way Hero watched them beadily. “They were looking after themselves, after all. He may have been painted as an evil figure, but really, the Senate was in desperate need of getting rid of.”

Hero blinked, confused.

“It was corrupt. Riddled with bribery, and weak willed old men who would bow to any man who threatened to turn their armies on Rome. Collapse was necessary. Know what that reminds me of?”

The coy tone in their voice had Hero shaking their head, voice turning angry. “The Agency isn’t corrupt.”

“And I’m sure those Senator’s thought the same thing, in one way or another. Or told themselves that so they could simply stay in power,” the criminal chuckled darkly. “Turning on any man who threatened their position, and their precious Republic. Catiline was humiliated, torn from his people, and forced to adhere to their poor excuse of a government. The Agency doesn’t care about you, Hero. They don’t care as long as they get their money; I find the Agency has a particularly heavy price on my head for my capture, no?”

The hero’s hairs stood to attention, stomach twisting with nerves.

“That’s because you’re evil,” they hissed in a breathy whisper, jerking on their chains. “Let me go.”

“That’s what the Senate claimed too,” Supervillain whispered back, carding their hands through Hero’s hair. They let out a trembling cry and jerked harder on their restraints. “To hide behind their own wrongdoings. I threaten to expose them for what they are, and destroy them from the inside. That’s why they love to paint me in a negative light. But will it truly be bad, if the Agency is destroyed?”

Hero felt a hand tighten in their locks, stopping their head from thrashing. Their eyes burned with tears as terror punched straight through their gut, voice rising to a desperate scream.

“Let me go!”

“Let one evil thing destroy another,” they hummed calmly, smiling down at them. “I have always been of the opinion that unpopularity earned by doing what is right, is not unpopularity at all, but glory. Ironic, that a quote from the First Oration speaks to me so much. Maybe Cicero was nothing but a coward compromising an outcome that benefitted nothing but himself, but who am I to say? Oh well, it’s all in the past now, isn’t it?”

Hero felt a sharp pinch on their neck, and they seized up, spilling into pained sobs. They felt fingers pressing against the sides of their temple, vision starting to swim.

“Just a little something to strengthen the effects of my power, that’s all. Need to keep your conscious asleep so you’re all mine to use. You understand, don’t you?”

Hero could feel their muscles melting into the table, something sliding through their thoughts and dousing them all out.

“No. No, no, please, no,” they slurred, eyelids fluttering with drowsiness. “No, no. Please...”

“Hush, pretty thing,” Supervillain whispered softly, stroking their temples and soothing their worries. “When you wake up, the Agency will be gone. And you won’t have to worry about them ever again...”

[coolearistrashcollection]

Chapter One: A Ghost from the Past

Characters: cult leader!Geto, cursed spirit!Reader TW: isolation

part 1 (prologue) here, next part (3) here!

--------------------------------------------------------------

See. 

There are no objects, no features to provide orientation or break the monotony of the vast, uncharted emptiness. There is nothing surrounding you, complete emptiness. Nothing, no objects surrounding you. The space that surrounds you is an unbroken expanse of absolute emptiness, an infinite canvas devoid of form or substance. It is as though you are suspended in a boundless void, where the very concept of matter seems to have dissolved. The ambiance you find yourself in is neither black nor white– there are no colours here, no gradients of light or shadow. The atmosphere desperately wants to be something –anything– and fails to do so, boring your eyesight for eternity. It remains stubbornly abstract, this relentless lack of definition, has no hint of shape or pattern. This prison will forever bore your perception, rendering it numb and disoriented.

Touch. 

Your silk robe was once a soft caress on your skin, smooth, luxurious, delicate, yet with time they resulted to feel like sandpaper. As a result, your skin is overly sensitive and raw from the constant abrasion, left in a state of perpetual discomfort. The robe was once a symbol of opulence and comfort which currently feels like a cruel irony. Irritated, overstimulated, every gentle brush of the silk against your skin feels like a grating scrape, an unending assault on your nerves. The repetitive friction is maddening, a cruel paradox forced on you, where something once so intimately comforting has become a source of ceaseless agitation. 

Taste.

At first, saliva has no taste. Slowly, you hallucinate that it does have a taste, probably due to your mouth being dry. This taste, if it can even be called that, seems to materialise purely out of the deprivation of your senses. It is a taste that defies description, perhaps born from the emptiness of your environment rather than any actual flavour. Then, after centuries, you start noticing every time you swallow. The once-unremarkable act of swallowing begins to assert itself with an unsettling presence. Your tongue begins to assert its own significance in a disquieting manner. Once a largely unnoticed organ, it became a constant presence in your mind. You can feel it resting against the roof of your mouth, lightly touching your teeth. This once-ordinary sensation now feels exaggerated, an intrusive reminder of its own existence. The tongue took on a disquieting role, with its purpose to keep you perpetually aware of its position—a constant, uncomfortable thought that intrudes upon your otherwise vacant consciousness.

Smell.

Scents of flowers were a distant memory. At this time, the very concept of fragrances and aromas seem alien, a distant reminiscence that no longer holds any meaning. The camellias, plum blossoms and lilies that once brought such joy, relegated to recollections, their essence lost in the chasm of your current existence. Slowly, you forget how many things smelled, slipping through your grasp like wisps of smoke.

Listen.

The horrible sound of the void, which has caused your ears to beg –almost scream– for a ring or a chime. The horrific stillness of this place has left your ears yearning for any sort of sound—a distant ring, a faint chime, anything to break the relentless monotony of the silence. The contrast between what you wished for and what you now endure is stark and painful: the once-desired quiet is a form of torture, even greater torment. The silence is almost sentient, aware of your suffering and savouring every moment of it. Your mind, starved for auditory stimuli, clings desperately to the memories of sounds you took for granted. The faint echo of birdsong, people talking, the hiss of a fireplace. It is as if your brain is etched with an indelible craving for those sounds, a yearning so intense that it overshadows your persistent buzz of tinnitus. 

Suddenly, you heard a crack. Looking around, you also can see it. The crack, thin and jagged, cuts through the nothingness with an undeniable presence. Its edges are uneven like a flaw in a vast void. The very presence of this crack is jarring, a visual aberration in a space where nothing had ever shifted or moved. The contrast between it and the surroundings is sharp, the dark lines slicing through the uniform emptiness with violent clarity. Closely, you can see how it affects the limbo itself. The surrounding space, which had previously seemed to stretch into infinity without deviation, now shows signs of deterioration. It ripples and wraps around the fissure revealing glimpses of instability.

And then, there was motivation. 

You extend your arm into the rift to nudge it, causing it to expand. Its jagged lines grow longer and more erratic. Your prison is beginning to show signs of wear. This means that the strength of the seal became obsolete with time. It was finally compromised. Perhaps it was your time to leave this prison: you forgot why you were there in the first place, but you wanted revenge on the person who locked you away. A nudge became a push, which then became a shove; and without any notice, you could use your senses again. The seal broke, you were free. 

Well, almost free. You feel the presence of two strong sorcerers approaching the forest. No, it is your forest, your territory. However, your fight or flight reflex decides to go for the window, after all, you are still recovering from being dormant for so long. Something takes over you, a trance, a hidden memory that tells you exactly where to flee for safety. Not far away was a peaceful mount. Now it is called Mount Wakakusa, but you remember it wasn't always like that.

The view from the mountaintop changed too: the charming village of Nara became a touristic city, the plague of a new architecture, brutalism, infecting it. Groups of people feed the local deer and the lake fish, some pointing a strange object at the people posing. Watching people from above gives everyone a sense of power: the bird's eye view from the mountaintop makes you essentially omnipresent, you can observe even the smallest of details this way; one of those, two people, a white dot and a black dot walking side by side, leaving the forest and going into the city. Their cursed energy is different from the rest of the people, that's when you realise, they are sorcerers, and they are looking for you. Hunting you, and probably meeting with other sorcerers to warn about your escape. 

You need a plan. And fast. You would not stand a chance against many sorcerers in your current state.

“I need to learn the city and make a map.” So you observe. Some people might find staying in the same spot for hours boring, but you’re used to that anyway. This time it was not a prison, but survival, you could not afford to stop watching like a hawk. Night time arrives in a swift motion and you watch attentively how the city changes, and with curiosity, decide to investigate it.

As you step into the city you find yourself confused. The once-familiar landscape is now adorned with artificial stone-like masses that resemble cuboids, their surfaces glowing in a spectrum of colours through expansive sheets of glass. These structures illuminate the night with a vivid array of hues, creating an almost surreal ambiance that is both captivating and extremely foreign. Modern buildings stand in comparison to the few remaining traditional houses, which retain their historical charm with their black roof tiles and white exterior walls. 

Wandering through the streets, you encounter an array of metal beams and thick cables crisscrossing above you, their presence an intriguing feature of this new era's architecture. The once-dominant wooden structures and pagodas are overshadowed by these sleek, industrial elements, which seem to define the city's current skyline. It paints a vivid picture of a city that has transformed over time while still holding onto its glorious past. Nara now represents an intersection of history and the present whilst offering a unique glimpse into how an ancient culture has adapted to the demands of the present era.

Another noticeable change is the way people dress. The elegant robes and overskirts that once characterised traditional attire have been replaced by a new form of clothing. The “hakama” are now referred to as “trousers” and appear to be unusually tight. Indigo became accessible too, blue colours adorn people’s outfits. However, trousers are now paired with a simple upper garment, its name being a “T-Shirt”. You see that these modern garments have a practical appearance, clothes are no longer elaborate and layered.

Through the shops you see a stack of paper, in fact, it was a pile of stacks of paper. Was paper now a commodity? It is much thinner than what you remember, too. Fascinating how much these pathetic humans have advanced. That’s when you see the date in the newspaper: 3rd of February, 2006. Roughly 1300 years have passed since you were sealed. 

Your body relaxed, it started to settle that you are free. “Tengen…” The name rolled off your tongue, feeling bitter quickly after. Was that the person who sealed you? You could feel rage fuelling your brain, the urge to kill starting to creep up. But you know you can't kill a person that easily, that will surely put a target on your back, and they already were trying to find you. Moreover, this would leave significant remnants of your cursed energy, more than enough to track you easily. Causing a scene would surely result in a death sentence.

So instead, you decide to find an alleyway infested with smaller curses. It is pathetic how your species devolved, curses were once powerful forces to be reckoned with. A simple touch of your hand makes them explode instantly and a giggle leaves your lips. Maybe that’s why sorcerers keep hunting curses, these deaths are funny, deserved even. Those lowly beings give you a bad reputation in some way, you had to be sealed, unlike these. As you keep exterminating them, you feel your strength replenishing. 

Your mind goes to the two sorcerers from earlier. “If I were to kill them, then I’ll probably regain all my strength back…” After all, their energy was unmatched. Once you got all your strength then you could challenge Tengen… or at least find more sorcerers to punish as revenge. 

Oh, right. The plan. You almost forgot about the plan. Using an old newspaper and a pen would be a great way to record the city, or at least draw what you think will be important for later. Plus, a benefit of being a curse is that no one can see you, so you can go to restricted areas like sewers. A map of the sewers could also be useful to set up traps– no, focus. First the city, then the sewers if you have time, and exterminate small curses in the meantime. You’re sure the sorcerers will be back tomorrow, and you will also need a new hiding spot.

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.190 thoughts

[100th Time's the Charm]

(Contents: Character analysis - Julia/Juiz)

If there's only one takeaway from this chapter, it's that we need to see at least one Quest from the first or second loop, cus apparently Juiz was a lot different before loop 100. She was so demure and distant in this past loop that, aside from the little glimpses we got into her real personality here and there, it's kind of hard to see her sharing a general personality with Julia here

Granted, a few hundred billion years and the repeated deaths and betrayals of everyone you've ever known and loved will probably do that to you, huh?

In a way, though, I think Julia is meant to be our glimpse into Juiz's real personality. This is who she would be if she weren't beaten down by the weight of eons upon eons of failure

If there's any doubt in anyone's mind that these two are the same person, though, this chapter should go a long way to assuage those doubts: just like Juiz, Julia did not let one single failure break her spirit, and instead persisted for 100 attempts, where in the end she cast aside her pride and instead entrusted the outcome to fate. It's a bit on the nose, but it's a microcosm of the struggles that Juiz went through in the first 100 loops, right down to culminating in relying on Fuuko's abilities as her final ray of hope

The fun part, and the irony, is that while Julia is fighting to learn what kind of person Juiz is, all she really needs to do is look in the mirror. Her willingness to throw herself away for her goals, risking her life and abandoning her pride, and pushing forward against a foe that so clearly outmatches her right up until the very end; that's all Juiz

But it's also Fuuko

Her insistence on finding a way to get what she wants no matter what, forcing her will onto everyone around her but without compromising their ability to all laugh in the end, and an overall refusal to let anyone keep her down or take her smile away. If Fuuko was a reflection of Juiz, then Julia is a reflection of Fuuko; Juiz's spirit and image filtered down through blind naivete and boundless optimism

I do wish we'd gotten more scenes of Fuuko and Juiz together over loop 100, I feel like that would have helped hammer in how much of an inspiration Juiz was to Fuuko, though Juiz's passing of the torch definitely establishes their connection perfectly well on its own. I wonder if the novels help with that at all...when will Viz give us the novels???

Anyway, after Julia manages to eke a win off of a Fuuko, Fuuko declares that she's going to be an inspiration to her the same way that Juiz was for Fuuko, buuut the way she goes about that isn't quite analogous...instead, Fuuko hops on Kinto'un and sweeps Julia screaming off her feet, laughing as she declares that she's going to show her amazing things all over the world

Sound familiar?

Just before Fuuko was stabbed by Ruin in loop 100, Andy said he would "drag [Fuuko] around the world and get into even wilder shenanigans." The wording's a bit different, but the spirit is the same: Fuuko's not emulating Juiz's leadership here, she's emulating Andy's lust for life. Poor girl doesn't even realize that she's going to make Julia fall stupid in love with her!

Until next time, let's enjoy life

[cdroloisms]

my personal interpretation of c!wilbur is someone who read a lot of left over (functionally) historical propaganda over the revolutionary war and became radicalized, not fully grasping how his position in the world changes what his own desire for revolution really means. hes like a white knight lib to me (simplification but i hope it gets across)

ehhh i see where you're coming from but i don't really agree

to be clear i'm not super c!wilbur brained he's a fascinating character but i haven't watched enough c!wilbur content recently (especially early c!wilbur content) to really consider myself particularly uh able to give like, a nuanced read of the guy. but c!wilbur is honestly a lot more self-aware than a lot of people give him credit for. he crafts these narratives not because he inherently 100% believes them, you know?

there's a lot about mmm the lmanburg revolution and all that's quite openly ig like, underhanded even in the way that he plays it early on. the whole "words, not weapons" moment where he reveals that that's actually a ploy to stab people who believe them in the back comes to mind. the content creator himself has always asserted that a significant part of the creation of lmanburg is meant to assert and keep power, and this is something we see reflected again in the elections, which--uh, pretty obvious power thing, imo.

this isn't to say that like, being a good person and all isn't important to c!wilbur. it is. it's very important to him, and part of what shatters him so much in pogtopia is looking at what he's done and realizing that it doesn't really make him the best guy. but i don't think c!wilbur buys what he's selling like, at all in early lmanburg era. mans knows that he can speak things into reality and he uses that. a lot. part of why c!quackity unsettles him so much even as early back as the elections is because c!quackity was someone he couldn't get a clear read of and someone that therefore left him on the back foot. but in terms of the revolution, delivering them from oppression, etc etc--the fact that he owns this whole "we aren't like the brutish, tyrannical americans and their barbarity" while himself being american as established in boundless sands reeeeeally hammers in the whole irony of his lmanburg sales pitch.

as far as i can tell, i usually operate on the assumptions that like. 1) c!wilbur wants to make an impact, be remembered, legacy is a whole thing yadayada my unfinished symphony yadayada ozymandius yadayada literally all of the hamilton references. self explanatory. 2) c!wilbur is a character that often navigates the world + relationships to power in terms of "either you're the one with power or you're the one having power used against you"--a lot of his interactions reflect a need to have control over a situation, his interactions with people that he perceives as having power or threatening his power/control tend to involve challenging them and their authority, stick it to the man, the whole thing of putting a block under himself while talking to people. this could've been put better but yeagh. 3) c!wilbur wants to be respected + wants to be, like, a good leader? and he can get wrapped up in a lot of that while you know not having the most accurate perception of his Actual strengths 4) c!wilbur is self-aware and intelligent and charismatic, and he's quite confident of all of these qualities. he's a hell of a manipulator and uses manipulation quite often to get the upper hand in social situations 5) a lot of the power/control issues have roots in very real fear--he's a guy that's quite ill and obviously as we get into elections and pogtopia especially (schlatt scares the bejeezus out of him) we see a lot of that. realizing that his actions makes him a bad person affects him greatly and he ends up struggling with this idea for Quite a long time--he tries to get control over this by trying to Own the whole "i'm evil" thing <- also not put the best but ehhhhh ehh. again, not a c!wilburian and 6) c!wilbur, in the role of the "lmanburg narrative", takes the role as its writer. he's the one that comes up with the story in order to validate his creation and make it into a Thing, and this succeeds--but the mythos also quickly snowballs beyond him. he creates the story as it exists but it becomes something More, yknow? i don't think he ever truly believed in it i don't think that c!wilbur actually buys any of his stuff about revolutions and oppression and all of that, i dont really think lmanburg was any more legitimate of a cause when he began it as the drug van breaking bad rp that he made the day before. but it's a story that took hold and grew to have very real, tangible power that affected the whole server and affected him as well. which obviously goes into the whole exiting the narrative thing.

anyway that's all a bit of a rant and i'm not exactly the person to ask for c!wilbur thoughts but yeahhhh 🤷. i tend to no-nuance him a little bit bc he's a complicated character and im a hater 😂

[geddy-leesbian]

No more boundless optimism, no more faith in greater powers, too much pain, too much grief, and too much disillusion. Despite all that, I realize the great irony that although I now believe only in the exchange of love, even that little faith follows the childhood reflex that “I was brought up to believe.”

though the balance tilts against me,

I was Brought Up To Believe.

[halcyonminor]

i started liking ocean significantly more after seeing discussion of its limitations/irony in its s6 behavior... it is genuinely much more interesting to me than if it was Actually ~Boundless