#Encore Worthy

[dark4web]

Stray Gods: Музыкальный обзор ролевой игры - достойный бис

New Post has been published on https://dark4web.com/stray-gods-muzykalnyj-obzor-rolevoj-igry-dostojnyj-bis/

Stray Gods: Музыкальный обзор ролевой игры - достойный бис

На протяжении многих лет я играл во множество видеоигр, которые и вознаграждали, и наказывали меня за выбор, который я сделал,…

[zhelin-thames]

PHANTOM OF THE BATCAVE: A MUSICAL EPIC

There can only be one brother extras 5 - 25 + bonus parts

(Gotham City. Night. The Bat-Signal shines as the Bats gather on a rooftop. Suddenly—*music swells.)

OPENING NUMBER: "WHO’S THAT (GHOST) GUY?"

(The Batfamily spots Danny for the first time. Suspicion! Drama! Jazz hands!)

DICK: (dramatic spin) "Who’s that guy who caught Damian mid-air? Who’s that guy with the white-streaked hair? He’s too calm, it’s not fair— WHAT’S HIS DEAL, DOES HE CARE?!"

BATFAMILY (harmonizing): "WHO’S. THAT. GUYYYYY?!"

(Danny, oblivious, eats a sandwich in the background.)

DAMIAN’S SOLO: "TT (THE MUSICAL)"

(A furious, Broadway-worthy lament about his failed assassinations.)

DAMIAN: "Tt, tt, tt— I stabbed him twice and he called it ‘cute’! Tt, tt, tt— Now I’m perched here like some kind of brute! Grayson weeps, Father broods— BUT HE JUST RUFFLED MY HAIR AND I DIDN’T SHOOT!"

(Ellie appears out of nowhere to join the chorus.)

ELLIE: "WELCOME TO THE CLUB, KID, IT’S FUN BEING HIS!"

VILLAIN DUET: "JOKER’S LAMENT / WHY SO SPOOKY?"

(Joker and Riddler mourn their ruined chaos.)

JOKER: "I set a trap! It was brilliant! Then shadows moved and now I’m silent! WHO LET THE DEAD KID NEAR MY VIOLENCE?!"

RIDDLER: (sobbing) "He answered my riddle… WITH ANOTHER RIDDLE!"

(Harley Quinn tap-dances through the background, entirely unbothered.)

ROMANTIC BALLAD: "ALFRED’S TEA TIME (WITH THE UNDEAD)"

(Alfred serves tea to Danny, who is half-merged with the manor’s walls.)

ALFRED: "Earl Grey or ectoplasm, dear boy? The poltergeists prefer the chamomile blend…

DANNY: (floating upside down) "You’re amazing— Can I keep you? (Legally, I mean. Ghost laws are weird.)"

SHOW-STOPPER: "THERE CAN ONLY ONE (REPRISE)"

(Ellie and Damian lead a full choreographed fight on the rooftops, complete with backflips and glowing swords.)

ELLIE & DAMIAN: "THERE CAN ONLY ONE! (But also two!) THERE CAN ONLY ONE! (But sibling bonds count too!)"*

(Danny watches from below, eating popcorn.)

DANNY: (yelling) "USE YOUR WORDS, GUYS!"*

ELLE & DAMIAN: (in unison, mid-sword clash) "NO!"

FINAL NUMBER: "WE’RE ALL A LITTLE DEAD INSIDE"

(The entire cast joins in—Bats, Rogues, even Clockwork pops in for a verse.)

BATFAMILY: "Gotham’s dark, the nights are long— But with a ghost, it’s kind of fun!"

ROGUES: (grudgingly) "Fine, we’ll stop the crime… (…Until he leaves town.)"

DANNY: (grinning, arms wide) "FACE IT, GUYS— YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME! I’M DEAD, I’M WEIRD, AND FAMILY’S FREE!"

(The Bat Signal shines. Confetti falls. Somewhere, Bruce sighs—but he’s smiling.)

CURTAIN CALL.

ENCORE: (Because you demanded it.)

BONUS TRACK: "DANNY VS. SANTA (HOLIDAY REMIX)"

(Featuring actual sleigh chases and elf backup dancers.)

SANTA: "YOU’RE ON THE NAUGHTY LIST— YOUR GIFTS ARE MIST!"

DANNY: (dodging candy cane shurikens) "YOU STOLE MY COOKIES, OLD MAN— TIME TO SETTLE THIS!"

(Ellie and Damian ride a ghost reindeer through the chorus.)

[paradoxrewritten]

"The spotlight is on me now, Darling~!"

Introducing the lady herself...!

✨ RUBY PLUME COOKIE! ✨

Click more to read about her!

Her character inspiration is based on Burlesque Girls!

Personality Info

Ruby Plume Cookie is a vibrant, energetic and confident performer. Her energy is infectious as her confidence stems from an unwavering self-assurance. She loves helping other cookies who are struggling with their own self-confidence, actively seeking them out to offer words of encouragement and even guidance. She finds joy in witnessing others discovering their own inner brilliance and embodying a supportive and empowering presence.

Soulstone Description

A dazzling fragment imbued with the very essence of a grand performance from a piece of Ruby plume Cookie's soul. It radiates an infectious confidence. It whispers the tales of cookies who have found their inner sparkle under the brightest spotlight.

📋Quotes! 📋

General

🎰 Gacha Pre-pull 🎰

"Are you ready for the main event?"

🎰 Gacha 🎰

"Cue the music! Your star has arrived!"

🎁✨Wish ✨🎁

"Something worthy for my next show!"

⚔ Arena Loading Screen ⚔

"The spotlight awaits!" "Is the audience ready for me?" "Let's give them a show they'll never forget!" "Every stage is a chance to shine!" "Prepare for a dazzling performance!"

✌ Victory ✌

"What a show! Take a bow, darling!" "Another standing ovation for us!" "We truly stole the show!"

🏳 Defeat 🏳

"Can we take an intermission?" "Don't fret... This is just a practice!" "We all stumble infront of an audience."

😵 Knockout 😵

"The show must go on without me!"

Upgrade

⬆ Promotion ⬆

"Practice makes perfection, darling!" "Your brilliance is truly undeniable!" "Another star is born!" "The stage just got bigger for you, darling!" "Shine on, My magnificent star!"

🌟 Ascension 🌟

"A star never stops growing!" "Now let's turn heads and steal their hearts!" "Truly a show of divine proportions!" "My my! Your radiance knows no bounds!" "The universe is your stage now!"

Touch

🏰 Kingdom 🏰

"Do I look ready to relax? The stage is calling!" "Careful now! These feathers are one of a kind." "Glitter everywhere? You're welcome!" "Feeling fabulous as always!" "The breeze is just right to practice!" "Dull days? Not when I am around, Sugar~!" "You really know how to make a cookie feel seen!" "Is it time for another fitting? or an encore?" "Now what grand performance shall we plan today?" "Let your true colors shine through!" "Every cookie has a unique sparkle, Even you!"

📝 Cookie Info 📝

"Looking for secrets, darling? You'll only find sparkles." "Admiring the artistry, darling?" "My confidence is my greatest costume!" "A dash of charm and a pinch of flair...- Viola~!" "Not all cookies can handle this much dazzle." "Oh how I live for my adoring fans!" "Every sequin here tells a story." "The center sage suits me, Don't you think? "Careful, Darling! Look too close and you may fall for me~!" "Even my mirror claps for me!"

Yes, When she is refering to "darling" or "sugar" she DOES mean the player or YOU!

I'd add more but I ran out cause brain empty :D

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Do we know the favorite books that the French revolution figures liked to read? (It could be anyone, Robespierre or Saint just or Louis xvi it doesn't matter).

Much like this old ask about revolutionaries’ favorite dishes, I can’t say I know of any instance of someone exclaiming: ”this is 100% my favorite book,” but at tops people mentioning books that they thought were good or bad:

In his memoirs, Brissot writes he’s picking up Rousseau’s Confessions for the sixth time, so I guess that could qualify as a favorite book? send help

We have this list of books seized at Robespierre’s place after his death.

According to the memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay, Robespierre would read ”the works of Corneille, Voltaire and Rousseau” for her family in the evenings.

In a short biography over Desmoulins written in 1834, Marcellin Matton claims his favorite book was René Aubert de Vertot’s Histoire des révolutions arrivées dans le gouvernement de la République romaine (1719), of which he always carried a copy. Matton is an infamous romanticizer it’s from him we have the stupid leaf myth for example, but I’m willing to give him some leeway here since he could have obtained the information from Camille’s mother-in-law and sister-in-law, who were his friends:

In one of his first classes, he received Vertot's Révolutions romaines as a prize. Reading this work transported him with admiration; in the future, he always had a volume in his pocket. It was for him an indispensable companion, it was his vade mecum. He used or lost at least twenty volumes. It is perhaps to this excellent work and to the particular work that he did on the discourses of Cicero and especially on his Philippics, that we owe the lively and sharp style which distinguishes all the writings coming from the pen of Camille .

Desmoulins was however less fond of Rousseau’s Confessions, in number 55 (December 1790) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant he admits that he abandoned the book after getting infuriated by it:

Not that I idolize J.J. as I did in the past, since I saw in his Confessions that he had become an aristocrat in his old age. How far he was from looking at an Alexander with the pride of this Cynic, to whom he is compared, and how painfully I saw that he united the opposite faults of Diogenes and Arisippus! It is a pleasant thing to hear the author of the Social Contract protest in his Confessions about the simplicity of the commerce of such great lords (M. and Madame de Luxembourg) he cries with joy, he wants to kiss the feet of this good marshal, because he wanted to accompany one of his friends, an office clerk, for a walk. Is there anything smaller, more ridiculous? I received, he says elsewhere, the greatest honor that a man can receive, the visit of the Prince de Conti, (an honor that Rousseau shared with all the girls of the Palais-Royal.) At this point I tossed away the book out of spite, and I admit, that I had to reread the speech on equality of conditions, and Julie's novel, in order to not hate the philosopher of Geneva, like Durosoy and Mallet du Pan; for the same principles, in the mouth of such a great man, are more condemnable and worthy of aversion than in the mouths of our two gazetteers, whom God created poor in spirit, and predestined as such to the kingdom of heaven.

In a diary kept over the summer of 1788, Lucile Desmoulins mentions reading L’Âge d’Or (1782) by Sylvain Maréchal (of which she also copied two verses, Le Trésor and Le contrat de mariage devant la nature, in a notebook the year earlier), Les Idylles et poèmes champêtres (1762) by Salomon Gessner, L’Hymne au soleil, suivi de plusieurs morceaux du même genre qui n’ont point encore paru (1782) by Abbé de Reyrac (where she wrote down the verse La Gelée d’avril), Nouvelles lettres anglaises, ou Histoire du Chevalier Grandisson (1754) by Samuel Richardson and  Les Noces patriarchales, poëme en prose en cinq chants (1777) by Robert Martin Lesuire.

In his memoirs, Buzot mentions enjoying the works of Rousseau and Plutarch:

With what charms I still remember this happy period of my life which can no longer return, when, during the day, I silently roamed the mountains and woods of the city where I was born, reading with delight some works of Plutarch or of Rousseau, or recalling to my memory the most precious features of their morality and their philosophy. Sometimes, sitting on the flowering grass, in the shade of some thick trees, I indulged, in a sweet melancholy, in the memories of the sorrows and the pleasures which had in turn agitated the first days of my life. Often the cherished works of these two good men had occupied or maintained my vigils with a friend of my age whom death took from me at thirty, and whose memory, always dear and respected, has preserved from many errors!

Wow any chance you can sound even more like an 18th century man stereotype, Buzot?

…and that’s basically all I can come up with for the moment. But add on if you know anything more! @louis-antoine-leon-saint-just @lazarecarnot maybe you would like to share your favorite books with us if you have any?

[fayes-fics]

WIP Extract: Sonnet #29 Sequel

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Next week is the 3rd birthday of this blog and, thus, also the 3rd anniversary of my very first piece of fanfiction, Sonnet #29.

I have been writing a sequel to that fic for a while now, which I hope to publish on May 13th.

Under the cut is an extract.

More soon 😁🧡🧡

“Are you hoping for a revisit, darling?” 

His husky voice confirms your suspicions as you climb onto his lap. The wool of his trousers tickles your inner thighs as you settle, straddling him in just your gauzy cotton nightgown.

“Maybe…” you coquette, glancing briefly over to the billiards table.

As he raises the cigar to his quirked lips, you snatch it and take a drag for yourself. His brow arches at your insolence, but the flex of his quad muscles under you as the fragrant smoke fills your lungs tells you how much he approves. You exhale in a swirl, curling your tongue, staring him down with a glint of challenge. Eager for him to take you again, right here in this room, something about an encore so very alluring.

“Do you know Anthony made me pay to have that table rebaised,” he murmurs, more than a hint of hubris laced through his words, a hand on your thigh dragging upwards, rucking your nightgown with it. 

“Perhaps you should not have ruined me quite so thoroughly upon it, husband,” you cluck, raising a brow of your own. 

There’s a flash of admiration in his eyes, even though his answering inflexion is casual: “Well, that is the crux of the dilemma, is it not, dear wife…..” 

He plucks the cigar back from you, balancing it on an ornate pewter ashtray adjacent to his drink, the air heavy with its pungent earthiness as it continues burning. His other hand burrows under your hem, and without preamble, he slides two fingers into your slit, making you gasp loudly. 

“... For I doubt any man could resist such a lush bounty as yours,” Benedict posits with a crooked, victorious smile, feeling just how aroused you are. “Least of all me.”

It doesn't have a title yet, but I hope it will once I am done writing. I hope you all consider this a worthy follow-up to the original 🤞

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

29. “I’ll never stop.”

Miniseries for @juneofdoom. General tw for captivity, supernatural drugging, and a very sour protag.

First / Prev/ Last!

*

Meanwhile, in a town that had been nice once, Supervillain was having a field day.

“Muahaha, I’ll never stop, for the sky is my slave!” they yelled at the clouds.

It didn’t matter that no one else was there. Some people like the sound of their own voice, especially since that means the only one worthy to hear them is available. Having conquered most of the city once the beloved hero of the city had mysteriously disappeared, Supervillain had a lot of free time.

They were standing on the top of the tallest building for the view and the dramatic setting, but in a few minutes they’d go down and visit their new subjects. Maybe make the mayor grovel a little. They grinned at the rain splashing on their face. What a good day this was.

It demanded an encore.

“I am the master of lightning and rain! I am anger! I am retribution! These miserable creatures shall bow to me-”

All wrapped up in their speech, they didn’t notice right behind them a battered man who looked a lot like Hero, only angrier.

“Nothing can stop me n-”

“Bzz,” commented the taser on the highest setting, proving that there was a certain kind of electricity Supervillain didn’t control.

"Aargh," aarghed the latter.

“Problem solved,” concluded Citizen, observing the caped figure that flopped on the ground.

That was the moment his legs decided all this was quite enough. He was about to fall on top of Supervillain, but two hands held him back. Hero threw an arm on his shoulder and helped him sit down, his back against the wall that protected absent-minded people from a thirty-meter drop.

Henchman had already teleported himself away. Under the pouring rain, Hero stood up, his legs shaking. He rummaged through Supervilllain’s suit to finally find a phone. After hacking it (the code being 0000), he called people after people.

Citizen closed his eyes, and stopped moving.

*

Conclusion tomorrow!

[isuggestwishcraft]

Summary:

You wake up to a clear, cloudless sky. It's bright. Of course it is — it's midday, from what you can remember. The sun is warm on your face, like it's creasing you with love, and the whispers of trees intertwine with calm peeping of birds into a soft melody. The nearly darkless grass under you feels like a soft cushion, perfect spot for a nap. The entire picture is nearly worthy of a painting with all of this beauty packet in a single clearing, even with you lying in the middle of it. It should be calming. Perhaps it was, once upon a time. You are anything but calm, now. — — — Or: Encore! Encore! Encore!!!

loosely based on this post by captain-krow-drozdov

[theelegantmentalist]

When you’re with a man are you top or bottom?

Oh, you filthy little creature, asking if I’m a top or bottom like it’s some coy little label that could ever contain me. Please. I don’t just have sex I perform. I seduce. I orchestrate scenes so decadent they leave people trembling at the memory. So don’t for a moment act like that’s supposed to scandalize me. Darling, I don’t just fuck I devastate. I don’t lie there and take it I invite ruinwith open legs and a tongue sharp enough to cut through the tension before the zipper’s even down.

I’m the kind of bottom who’s crying, gasping, begging to be hammered into oblivion, makeup smeared and spit dripping down my chin as I tremble beneath someone’s brutal grip. Legs spread wide like an invitation, nails digging into sheets while I worship the filthy cock burying itself deep inside me. I’m not shy I’m devoured, destroyed, and loving every damn second of being used like the dirty little mess I am.

And with a woman? She’ll bend me over, drag her lipstick across my cheek and neck, marking me like her personal fucktoy. She shoves me hard from behind, making me choke on her name as I shudder and sob, completely her slave, dripping wet and begging for more punishment. I’m owned, fucked silly, and proud of how damn well I degrade myself for her pleasure.

I degrade myself like an artist masterfully, unapologetically, a spectacle of lust and ruin that leaves them breathless and begging for an encore. I’m not just a bottom I’m theatrical devastation, a decadent tragedy dressed in silk and spit. I perform. I seduce. I ruin lives from the bottom. I make them come back crawling, hard, aching, and still not fucking worthy. And I laugh, sweetly, with my legs still spread.

So top or bottom? Baby, I’m the entire goddamn stage.

[sjerzgirl]

No One REALLY Likes JD Vance.

JoJo of Jersey emailed this to her subscribers. It's long winded and I eventually tired of it, but it's got some jim-dandy smackdowns of JD Vance! Some vulgarities, yes. But, some real cold, low-blow, one-liners that're worthy of night time comedians. Enjoy!

"Yesterday, I tweeted the following:

(Let’s be honest, no one likes JD Vance. Not even the MAGAiest MAGA likes that f*cking guy.)

And boy oh boy did that trigger the cult. Every fascist asshole from Mike Lee (Utah's contribution to treason. wwv) to the Project 2025 “bloodless Revoltiin” guy came to his “defense” and that was how I knew I was directly over the f*cking target.

Because they all KNOW that J.D. Vance is the political equivalent of a wet fart in a crowded elevator—unavoidable, embarrassing, and guaranteed to ruin everyone’s day.

The guy has the charm of a truck stop urinal cake.

Nobody f*cking likes this guy. Not his colleagues, not his constituents, not his own party, not even his poor f*cking dog likes him.

The GOP only tolerates him because he’s just barely useful enough to keep around, like that one coworker who always f*cks up the coffee order but knows the Wi-Fi password. The second he stops being useful, they’ll drop him faster than he dropped his principles. J.D. Vance is not a leader. He’s a f*cking placeholder. A warm body in a cold chair. A white dude with a pulse and a willingness to sell out. That’s it. That’s the whole résumé.

He isn’t just spineless—he’s the political equivalent of a damp tissue someone tried to use as a parachute, and he sold out Appalachia faster than a meth head pawning a flat-screen TV.

He’s so f*cking weird he’d bring a karaoke machine to a baby shower and sing Nickelback like it’s a goddamn encore. He’s the type of guy who’d eat soup with his hands and then get pissed when you stare. Talking to him feels like getting stuck in an Uber with a driver who won’t stop talking about crystals—painful, endless, and it makes you want to jump out of a moving f*cking car.

This man is so soul-crushingly boring, he could make a Red Bull chugging contest feel like a meditation retreat. Honestly, he’s so f*cking dull, if he started talking at a rave, the DJ would cut the music just to tell him to shut the fuck up. Seriously, watching J.D. speak is like staring at a beige wall while someone reads you the terms and conditions of a Comcast contract. It’s not just dull—it’s an assault on your will to live.

He could read the ingredients on a cereal box and still make it sound like a eulogy.

He could walk into a room full of cocaine and make it yawn. He could host a TED Talk on surviving poverty and have people in the audience Googling “how to fake a seizure to leave early.”

He could walk into a room full of free beer and blowjobs and still have everyone wishing he’d f*ck off. He could hand out winning lottery tickets and people would say, “Keep it, asshole.”

He’s like a rash that talks—irritating, ugly, and impossible to get rid of.

This guy is so f*cking boring he could host a seminar on surviving the apocalypse and have people praying for the sweet release of death. He is such a charisma vacuum, he makes C-SPAN look like a goddamn Tarantino movie.

He thinks cargo shorts are “edgy” and oatmeal is “spicy” and refers to sparkling water as “a little too wild for me.” He’s the dude who brings a PowerPoint to a potluck to explain why he only brought napkins. The man probably thinks using a GIF in a text makes him “hip with the kids” and then ruins it by calling it a “jif” out loud.

He has the social instincts of someone who’d high-five a stranger at a funeral and then try to save it by saying, “It’s what they would’ve wanted.”

He’s so f*cking useless he can’t even order a goddamn donut like a normal f*cking person. He’ll stand there holding up the line, squinting at the menu like he’s deciphering the f*cking Rosetta Stone, and then hit the cashier with, “Soooo, what donut really speaks to the human condition?” Bitch, it’s fried dough with sugar—just pick one and f*ck all the way off before someone pelts you with a Boston Cream, you pretentious donut-dumbass.

Honestly, J.D. gives off the energy of a guy who practices finger guns in the mirror and still manages to miss.

He’s about as interesting as vanilla pudding, but somehow manages to be even blander—like if f*cking pudding could apologize for existing.

He has the energy of someone who keeps a diary of every gas station bathroom he’s ever visited, ranked by “vibes,” and still calls it his “travel journal.”

If charisma were a currency, this guy would be deep in debt, begging Elon Musk for a loan in Dogecoin.

He’s the kind of weirdo who says “goodnight” to his Roomba and genuinely waits for it to respond.

If a malfunctioning AI tried to simulate a relatable human but accidentally downloaded all its personality traits from the comment section of a f*cking mayonnaise recipe, it would be JD.

JD Vance is what happens when ambition and mediocrity have a baby, and it grows up to be a professional f*cking disappointment.

Oh, and let’s not forget that this guy has changed his name more times than a scammer on Facebook Marketplace. J.D.? James? Jimmy? Whatever the f*ck he’s calling himself this week, it’s clear he has no idea who he actually is. He’s like a Build-A-Bear stuffed with bad ideas and self-loathing.

And let’s not pretend his supporters are any better. These people act like he’s some kind of backwoods messiah, but in reality, he’s just a bootlicking corporate shill with the personality of a DMV waiting room.

They’re out there screaming, “You’re just jealous of J.D.!” Bitch, jealous of what? His ability to look like an apperceptive loaf of f*cking Wonder Bread? His uncanny knack for making every room he’s in feel like a funeral for fun? The only thing I’m jealous of is the people who’ve never had to sit through his bullshit. They’re the real winners here.

And can we talk about his face for a second? Why does he always looks like he just got caught jerking off to a Sears catalog? It’s this weird mix of smug and confused, like he’s genuinely shocked people haven’t figured out he’s a fraud yet.

Not to mention the fact that he’s somehow still out there pretending to care about the working class while sucking up to billionaires like they’re handing out free blowjobs.

And as an aside, Hillbilly Elegy is a steaming pile of self-aggrandizing horseshit masquerading as literature. This man wrote an entire memoir about his family like he’s the f*cking protagonist of Appalachia, but all it really proves is that he’s a judgmental little bitch who thinks he’s better than everyone else. “Oh, look at me, I escaped poverty and now I’m here to tell you why it’s your fault you’re still poor!” Shut the f*ck up, J.D. You’re not an inspiration. You’re a walking “How To” for bootstrapping bullshit. Your book is what happens when white guilt meets a thesaurus and decides to ruin Thanksgiving dinner.

He’s about as relatable as a f*cking Fabergé egg. He’s the kind of asshole who shows up to a tailgate party with a quinoa salad and wonders why everyone hates him.

And for f*ck’s sake, can someone teach this strawberry-scented-shit-heel to hold a six-pack. It’s beer, not a live grenade. Watching him clutch it like that is like watching a toddler try to parallel park after it got into granny’s secret stash of Crème de menthe.

And let’s not gloss over the fact that he demanded a thank-you from Volodymyr Zelensky.

Imagine being so insecure, so pathetically thirsty for validation, that you’re whining about not getting a gold star from a guy who’s literally fighting a war. “But why didn’t the Ukrainian president personally thank me for my performative bullshit?” J.D., shut the f*ck up. You’re not a hero. You’re not even a sidekick. You’re the random background NPC that gets killed off in the first five minutes of the movie so the real characters can have a reason to care.

So here’s the deal, J.D.: You’re a joke. A punchline. A f*cking afterthought in the grand scheme of American politics. You’re not a leader, you’re a leech. A parasite. A bottom-feeding opportunist who latched onto the MAGA movement like a tick on a dog’s ass. And the best part? Nobody f*cking likes you, dude. Not really. Even your so-called supporters are just pretending, sticking with you like they’re babysitting a screaming toddler they can’t wait to hand off. The second someone even slightly less unbearable comes along, you’re out—ditched faster than a blind date who shows up wearing Crocs and talking about crypto.

The sad f*cks in your little cult rushed to “defend” you, but let’s be real—that’s just guilt disguised as loyalty. Sure, the MAGA incel brigade swarmed Twitter like it was a Call of Duty lobby, hurling lame memes and misspelled insults in your “defense”, but it was less a movement and more a sad group chat spilling onto the timeline.

They don’t like you; they pity you. Every forced word of support screams, "We’re stuck with this clown." Even your defenders can’t stand you. The joke’s on you. And maybe, just maybe, if you could get your stupid f*cking face outta that poor f*cking futon for a hot sec, you’d be able to figure that the f*ck out.

But now that I know just how triggering insulting you is to the cuckholds in your cult of a party, there’s no f*cking way I’m taking my foot off the gas anytime soon."

This was also in the newsletter - it starts out good, but then crashes and burns for me. Like he just went too far. There's already enough stuff to laugh about without creating stupid shit.

[wildflower-otome]

[Translation] Shuuen no Virche EpiC:lycoris - Adolphe Encore Ending After Story

Source: Shuuen no Virche EpiC:lycoris Limited Edition Booklet Note: Spoilers for Adolphe's Encore Ending below.

Even if it means living as a mere doll - Adolphe Encore Ending After Story

‘I…..want..to…live.’

—Even now I can’t forget the desperate look on Ceres’s face as she said it.

‘......................I, see.’

...........Truth be told.

(I wanted her to say “I want to die” while she still retained her dignity as a human being)

I didn’t want to see her suffering any further for wanting to be with me.

It would have been far better for her to escape from this cruel world as soon as possible, so that she could be reborn and find her happiness without me.

…..However, she had said it.

“I want to live”—though she had struggled to get the words out, her meaning had been clear.

Without loathing the world.

—Instead, loving it.

(Ah, how-)

...........-unbelievably endearing she is.

(.....It’s because you’re so kind that you fell in love with a self-centered guy like me.) 

If only her personality had been more twisted, she might have been able to become happy.

All the same, I had fallen for her exactly because she was so excessively kind—.

‘.....You really are strong. If I was in your position, I would have abandoned a heartless world like this a long time ago…..’

My love for her had been of no use, but I would still see it through to the end.

After all, she’s got no one else but me now.

—This wasn’t the time to be thinking about whether or not I was worthy.

‘If that is your wish—I’ll make it come true.’

No matter how merciless the world was, I would continue to do all that I could.

For no other reason than to grant the wish of the woman I loved.

…..Even if nothing but pain awaited in the future.

* * *

‘...........-’

Wiping blood from shoulders that were covered in wounds I applied an ointment to them.

As I groaned from the pain, I suddenly looked up at the bed——

‘Uugh, uuuuh…..!!’

The woman I loved, unable to even sleep, was gripping the sheets as she moaned in anguish.

‘.....Stop it. You’ll hurt your fingers doing that. I’ll hold you again once I’m done treating my wounds—’

‘—.....-’

Quickly finishing getting myself ready, I embraced her.

‘............-’

And the instant I did so, I heard the sound of something splitting and tearing.

I knew immediately that it was flesh being torn apart by teeth.

‘—Ugh-.....!’

I’d lost count of how many times until now she’d ripped apart my flesh as she groaned in pain.

This level of pain was probably nothing compared to the torment she was experiencing right now.

Still…..

‘...........If only we could go back to that time.’

‘.............-’

Back to the time in which we both knew nothing, the time we had spent together as brother and sister.

Although if Ankou had been here, he might have laughed at me, saying that that would have been a foolish choice.

…..At the very least, I was sure she would have been happier than she was now.

‘It’s alright, you’re alright…..’

Those thoughts in my mind, I continued to hold her.

…..I wonder how long it’s been since I stopped being able to hear her doing anything but groan.

‘—.....I’m so pathetic. I miss hearing you call my name.’

Even though I had vowed to be with her, no matter how cruel the future was—

Simply saying her name on my own felt empty.

I couldn’t help wishing that I could hear her call my name, “Adolphe” over and over like she did before.

And as I was thinking that-

‘............I’m, sorry.’

‘.....!!’

I reflexively looked up at hearing a voice doing something other than express pain.

When I gently moved back from her, I could see tears welling in her eyes.

‘............Just now-’

.....Had I imagined it?

(..........Even if that were the case-)

I didn’t want to make it as if I hadn’t heard it.

I wanted to believe that the woman I loved still had a sense of self left in this world.

Therefore, with the assumption that I really had heard her voice-

‘You fool, don’t apologise. …..I’m doing this because I want to.’

This time I embraced her, not so that she could bite me, but so that I could hold her gently.

Time passed—and I felt her tears moistening my shoulder.

This was my life.

This was my punishment for not trying to save her, choosing to protect myself instead.

If there was such a thing as another life, I wanted her to live as a normal human.

…..Even if that meant she never ended up meeting me.

Just so long as she was happy with a person she loved—in a place that I didn’t know.

‘.....If only. That’s enough escaping from reality.’

Late at night. As I watched my little sister repeatedly alternate from waking and sleeping, I murmured to myself.

‘If all you’ll ever get from it is never-ending pain, you’d be better off dead. …..But even then, you vowed of your own will to live.’

As I pushed back the golden hair that had gotten stuck to her forehead from sweat, I continued to talk, knowing that there would be no reply.

‘That’s why, no matter what—I won’t force my own opinion on you. Even if I know that not doing so is cruel to you. …..Like just now. I’ll keep waiting until the day you tell me whether you want to die or live again.’

I would live, not for love, but to respect her wishes.

(Even if it means living out my entire life as a doll that can do no more than take your pain—)

[kilfeur]

Le miroir de Fizz a un rôle à jouer dans cette scène, durant sa crise de panique tentant de se calmer en vain. Asmodeus le voit dans sa loge voulant savoir comment il se sent. Et Fizz qui continue dans son envie de se prouver par lui même. On voit que le miroir reflète davantage Fizz laissant Asmodeus en arrière. Même la scène où justement il se confesse qu'il veut être méritant de lui, il y a encore le le miroir qui fait obstacle dans leur relation. Même quand il retire son chapeau et qu'il le regarde on peut très bien voir le visage de Mamon bien qu'en arrière plan. Montrant l'impact qu'il a envers Fizz mentalement. Toutefois Asmodeus l'admire pour ce qu'il est et cache le miroir en montrant justement ce qu'il vaut. D'ailleurs c'est un joli parallèle avec la scène où Fizz se prépare et Asmodeus n'a pas vraiment envie qu'il aille à ce concours.

Fizz's mirror has a part to play in this scene, during his panic attack trying in vain to calm himself. Asmodeus sees him in his dressing room, wanting to know how he is doing. And Fizz continues in his desire to prove himself. We see that the mirror reflects more of Fizz, leaving Asmodeus behind. Even in the scene where he confesses that he wants to be worthy of him, there's still the mirror standing in the way of their relationship. Even when he takes off his hat and looks at him, Mamon's face is clearly visible, albeit in the background. Showing the impact he has on Fizz mentally. However, Asmodeus admires him for what he is and hides the mirror, showing just what he's worth. It's a nice parallel with the scene where Fizz is getting ready and Asmodeus doesn't really want him to go to the contest.

[accidental-mother-series]

I literally just find posts with either

Accidental references (Like a "I love this post" "This post loves you too" could be an accidental reference to the debug sign that says "This sign loves you!")

Accidental Vibes (That one gothic leftover pizza post.)

And I tag them with the respective game

I won't do Mother Encore, CogDis, or Oddity since I don't consider those canon at all.

The only AUs I'm doing are Mayhem AU because that's my AU and it's really close to canon anyway

Feel free to tag me if you think a post is worthy, i'd prefer if you give me a reason but I can figure it out most of the time.

[blackjackkent]

All right, taking a break from giving myself massive Jaheira/Khalid feels to instead give myself some more Rakha feels. :D

We left off having explored Lorroakan's vault in order to a) give Rakha exciting and probably blasphemous necromantic powers, b) get all the loot and clear out all the traps given that we killed Lorroakan and claimed the tower for ourselves, and c) find the Annals of Karsus and discuss overthrowing the gods, so the gang have been having a fairly exciting day. So, frankly, I don't think anyone's super enthused to emerge into Sorcerous Sundries and discover a familiar face waiting for them.

"Elminster?"

"Hello, m'boy! Don't mind me - I'm just enjoying a fresh lungful of Baldurian air - a distinctive aroma, though perhaps not one worthy of bottling." The elderly wizard gives an elaborate stretch, his keen gaze nevertheless fixing rapidly on Gale's face. "Tell me. What curiosities have you and your companions discovered within the walls of this esteemed emporium?"

(A/N: I'm still deeply amused by the fact that on Hector's run, I TPed straight out of Sundries into camp rather than go outside, and the game responded by teleporting Elminster directly into our hotel room.)

Rakha glares at him. She was pretty unimpressed the last time the group encountered Elminster - when he came to deliver the news that Gale was instructed to blow himself up for the glory of Mystra. Her opinions on his goddess (and gods in general) have definitely not improved in the intervening time, and her conversation with Gale in the vault is still rattling around inside her head, so she looks at Elminster with a sour expression, folding her arms across her chest.

"We know how Karsus made his crown," she says flatly - never one to lie or try to hide her intentions once decided. "And Gale's going to re-forge it."

Gale winces. "Perhaps it would have been better to keep that particular opportunity between ourselves," he says in an undertone.

"The Crown of Karsus?!" Elminster sputters. His eyes narrow to slits, and Rakha finds herself a touch startled by the sudden anger and intensity in his voice, the facade of a harmless old man suddenly thrust to the side. "No, Gale," he growls. "It's for the best that I know. I trust there's no need to remind you what came of Karsus? His folly humbled a whole civilization! No one seeks an encore of that."

Rakha can see the way Gale recoils under this barrage from his former mentor - but she has no such connection to Elminster, and stands her ground, her jaw working. "Gale," she says flatly, "is the best wizard in the realms. He'll succeed where Karsus failed."

It isn't flattery. It isn't really even a compliment, just a statement of fact. Rakha knows the Weave as perhaps no one else on Toril does - intimately. She feels it on her skin, tastes it on her tongue, sees its ripple over the face of the world. And she has seen Gale's magic; she saw the way he channeled the Weave for her on very nearly the first day they met. Even hamstrung by the tadpoles, and even despite how rocky their relationship has often been, she knows perfectly well that Gale - like herself - is unique, a prodigy.

And she has heard his confidence as he stated that reforging the crown was possible, that it was necessary. And she believes him, because he is one of her people, one of the tiny little ragged family she has formed out of the blank bloodsoaked void of her mind.

(A/N: This is all a little bit of an unexpected development, but I honestly really kind of like it. It's not fully out of left field; Rakha was thinking in vague terms about the idea of toppling Mystra all the way back in Act 1, though it was more of a beast-fueled fantasy at the time than a practical plan. AND at the time Karlach, whose opinions Rakha generally trusts, agreed that Mystra is "no god at all" for her treatment of Gale.

So an unexpected choice. And (as @suntiger745 pointed out) probably not likely to actually lead to the true ousting of all the gods (including Bhaal) that Rakha is hoping for. But nevertheless I enjoy that this does follow up on a thread that's been drifting around in Rakha's story for quite a while now.

Also I've never seen anything of the God!Gale ending so it will be interesting if we do go all the way to that. XD)

Elminster squints at her warily for a moment, then looks back at Gale. "Does she speak true, Gale?" he asks, somewhat more quietly. "You truly believe yourself capable of wielding Karsus's crown?"

Gale, who has been looking at Rakha with some astonishment after her unexpected expression of confidence in him, squares his shoulders. "Perhaps she does," he says firmly. "Would you begrudge me the chance to make things right, Elminster?"

Elminster frowns. "Of course not," he says gravely. "And the time has come for precisely that. Mystra knows you defied her, Gale. Of course she knows - she's Mystra. She bids you come to her holy shrine in the Stormshore Tabernacle. There, she will grant you an audience at last."

Rakha can see the way these words rock Gale. Understandable, perhaps. He was cast out by this goddess - who he loved as well as worshiped, at least to hear him tell it - and now she wants to speak to him again.

Rakha tries to imagine it, if Wyll had cast her aside, told her she had to die for her past bloody crimes - and then invited her back to speak to him again. The idea brings a tight ache into her chest.

But there is a significant difference - Wyll is not a god. Wyll has never tormented and used her as Mystra has Gale. And Rakha can see this, even if Gale cannot.

"Mystra's done Gale enough harm," she says flatly. "We don't owe her anything."

Again that flare of power flashes through Elminster's eyes. "Not true," he snaps. "Not even close. Mystra's ways may seem cold, high-handed, tyrannical even. But she is a goddess! Her ways are not for mortal reckoning..."

He trails off, turns to look at Gale again - and for a moment, the power and anger fade, and a strange expression of something like sadness replaces them. "Though some mortals come close to understanding. Very close indeed..."

He sighs. "The Crown is not the answer. I promise you that. If you will not hear it from me, hear it from your goddess," he finishes quietly. "What truths she has to offer are for your ears alone, Gale of Waterdeep." A pause. He raises a hand as if to rest it on Gale's shoulder, then changes his mind, lets it fall to his side, and vanishes in a burst of smoke. "Godspeed."

[goochfiddler99]

I CANT FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE

i'm gonna be sick

either wuthering waves has genuine cry worthy, heartstring snatching storytelling or im more of a sensitive pussy bitch than i thought

but jfc i'm finishing up encore's companion storyline and im gonna kms oh my god

grief and hope as base emotions for the overall storyline is enough to have me boohooing but GRIEF OVER LOSING UR MOTHER

i'm in shambles

i haven't lost my mother thank god but the THOUGHT of it sends me in hysterics every time so encore's lore is really fucking me up

[paperlovesadness]

Okay - listen up babes. We need some positive / reasonable energy up in here. I'm not gonna pretend I'm completely normal and not dissapointed by this turn of events. Because of course I am! (though still holding up some hope). And because these guys are my hyperobsession and I had too much time on my hands this evening apparently - and I wanted to see just how out of the norm this whole situation was - I spent some time on setlist.fm today (becuse even though I watched all these performances a thousand times each, my memory for details and dates and numbers is awful and I needed to do it in a research manner). So from what I gather (please correct me if I [and setlist.fm] am wrong though and missed something obvious!) Miles and Alex singing "Standing Next to Me" together beyond the Puppets is something that happened only 5 times ever? Alex only ever joined Miles at his gigs to sing SNTM 4 times:

Olympia Paris in 2012,

Worthy Farm in 2013

Glastonbury 2013

and of course the infamous La Cigale 2018.

And Miles joined the Monkeys once for a rare ocurrence of singing SNTM at an AM concert:

Finsbury Park 2014.

Some other interesting facts to note about 2014 Finsbury Park are:

They played that venue two days in a row (May 23rd and May 24th)

Miles also had a set there - featured as a special guest / support but just on May 24th.

People expected him to still show up May 23rd for 505 - he didn't.

People expected him to come play 505 on May 24th - he didn't.

He did then join Alex for SNTM for the encore though, after 505 without him was done.

Now does that explain away the hype Miles was kind of building up, hinting at the Puppets before Ireland? Not really I guess. But then Miles is just a happy, enthusiastic guy and maybe all he meant by it was a reference to their reunion playing the same venue. Either way - this isn't the first time Miles is seemingly with no logic not playing 505 despite being there, it's also not the first time they wait until the last date of a place to bring him on despite hype and speculation (also see: us waiting around for three days straight in a prayer circle manifesting and losing hope for Miles to join 505 in London this tour). Edging might just be their speciality 👀 Or perhaps the speciality is keeping things special by only doing them a certain number of times. Saving best for last, not overdoing it (come to think of it; no way in this universe they'd do a Puppets song three days in a row while the band is inatcive. In any context ever. It takes attention away from their main projects; which is in a way showing a lack of respect for those. And also just totally ruins the flow, aesthetic and consistancy I think they both like to build in their performances - Alex especially). Personally I'm holding up hope for 505 tomorrow. And if that doesn't happen I'll probably just be back with a post trying to understand it. (Honestly there just has to be a normal explanation. As people have been saying here - there's no actual signs of bad blood and also even if there were - they're too professional to just abandon a gig plan over a spat if they were in fact initially planning to do that everyday. So that's not a valid explenation to me. I just think they weren't ever plannning to do it in the first place).

Let us see what tomorrow brings!

[ask-mranttenna]

...

*looks at Tenna, with my eyes shining*

...would you really do this for me?

...oh my goodness...oh my, this...

*sniffles*

This is...this is an honor, dear Mr. Tenna...

*wipes away my tears*

Oh my heart...it's overflowing with joy!

This makes me want to...sing!

*puts my hand on my chest and starts singing*

"My heart is full of happiness, and I guess you know why."

*holds Tenna's hands and starts dancing a little with him while singing*

"Your kindness is so great that makes lots of people cry~"

"Your humility is admirable, the best I have ever seen"

"That's one of the main reasons that I love watching TV~"

-🎩

Now that’s a tune worthy of prime time!

Mind if I add a verse?

“You came with a song, and I gave you the floor,

But you’re the real magic they’ll come back for!

So tip that hat, and twirl that cane,

And tune in next week to dance again!”

(Mr Tenna gently spins them once, laughing stars shimmer on his screen. He tips his top hat on the final note.)

You, fine gentleman, bring joy, heart, and a mighty fine musical number, why wouldn’t I want the world to see that? Encore anytime, sir!