R4INBOW RUMPUS P4RTYTOWN (Capricorn ramblings )

[Sporky]

Y34H!!!!!!!![/color]




........





So, Xinder ( I hate you so much, you gog damn stupid ferret. <3< ) told me I should get my own blog. And so I did. Gog knows this won't be as eloquent as Xinder's, due to the nature of my brain, but gog damn it, I'm gonna use the hell out of this blog.

This post is just to get the thread up. I'll probably post here later, could be in a few minutes, could be in a few hours.


IT IS A MYSTERY.

[Vipervertical]

/obligatorycounterposting

[Sporky]

I H8 YOU. <3<

Anyway.

I have a few minutes before work, I might as well post something all up in here.

Shipping is a bigger part of the Homestuck fandom than you'd think. And probably a bigger part of the fandom than..for..most...fandoms. Shut up, I'm not good with these stupid word things.

Anyway, yeah. Nearly every fan that's REALLY into Homestuck has a OTP for each quadrant (Matespritship, moirallegiance, kismesissitude, and auspiticeship). While I don't have ALL my quadrant ships filled, I do indeed have a OTP.



Karkat and Kanaya as matesprits.

Now, I know what a LOT of people are going to say: There's documented canon evidence that Kanaya prefers females for her quadrants.


...So?

Yeah, I know it's canon. That doesn't mean I'm instantly gonna stop thinking my pairings makes sense.

In my head, Karkat and Kanaya start out as moirails. Karkat really hates himself, and Kanaya is his pillar of emotional support, enduring his raging, and supporting him when it becomes too much and he starts to be self-deprecating.

From there, Karkat's feelings start to change. Kanaya has ALWAYS been there for him, through everything. Always supported him, always had kind words..he starts to flush for her. It shows, and though Kanaya is reluctant to move out of the pale quadrant, she accepts.



BAM. MATESPRITSHIP.[/color]


That's all for now, since I'm heading off to work right this minute.

[Vipervertical]

> HARMONY HARMONY OH LOVE!

This was necessary. You know it was necessary. Do not try to deny its necessity.

[Sporky]

That was completely neccessary.

Okay, so you know what, folks?

I HATE MODERN HORROR MOVIES.[/color]

Seriously.

Modern horror movies pretty much come in two 'flavors', though there are exceptions:

-Flavor 1: Jump scares. Stupid 'CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!' jump scares where something pops out suddenly and you jump a little. That. Is not. HORROR. That's...that's...That's just dumb. |:

-Flavor 2: Gore porn. Yeah, I'm looking at you, Hostel and Hostel 2. Eli Roth is just...UGH. Apparently, mindless meaningless gore counts as 'horrifying'. Yeah, okay, it does...HORRIFYINGLY STUPID. It's not scary, it's just stupid or gross. I'm not scared of these movies, I'm disgusted by them. Saw is another horrible offender to me, and I haven't ever watched any of the movies.


'So Sporky', you may ask, 'What's an actually SCARY horror movie??'

Nosferatu. |:

No, I'm serious. It may be old as hell, and one of the first horror films, but Nosferatu actually scares me. The lack of speech makes it worse, too. There's just...an atmosphere to the film, that makes my skin crawl and my skin tingle. Most younger people, and even younger adults these days just laugh at it for 'horrible effects' and say that they can't take it seriously...



They're stupid.

They've got it SO ingrained in their heads that scaryness is either jump scares or gorn and that older movies are just silly that they REFUSE to let themselves enter the world that Nosferatu creates. :\


I hate people sometimes. I really do.

[Vipervertical]

www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=muVfidujxRg















That will be all.

[Sporky]

This is an alternate timeline (TIME SHENANIGANS, WUTWUT. ) for Wytmonde's military ancestor, the Fusilier Grandus Armorbane, real name Kimball Zeo. :3 In which he, my other fancestors, and the fancestors of one of my friends all grew up in Purrbeast Valley. So, here-a we-a go-a!

---

It was raining incredibly hard, and there was a thunderstorm to boot. That never boded well. Despite the pouring rain and storm, though, Kimball lit a cigar and stepped out onto one of the extraterraneal landing slat of his hive, situated on a plateau midway up the mountain range that partly enclosed Purrbeast Valley. He was on leave from his office. Even he, who held the penultimate power in the military, only answering directly to Her Imperial Condescension, was entitled to time off. This was mostly due to the brief lull in the fighting that was going on across the planet, and none of the small skirmishes warranted his direct involvement. He was still kept up to date, but he was free to dress casually and enjoy the company of his darling little rustbucket, the pilot known simply as Red the Ace.

Speaking of Red, during a flash of lightning, Kimball saw the silhouette of a troll telekinetically flying towards him. He smiled. It could only be Red. As the troll drew closer, he saw it was. His smile faded, though, as he saw something was wrong...her arms and legs were limp, and she was flying erratically. When he saw the cause of this, his jaw dropped and his cigar fell onto the surface of the slat, and rolled away. Red's torso had been impaled by..he tensed. A sabre. And that particular sabre, with Ω etched into the blade and on the pommel was one he knew quite well. It was the sabre of Red's kismesis, Dread Duchess Bloodbane, second in command to the empress and second in line for the throne.

Kimball took Red into his arms when she was close enough. The glazed look in her eyes, her pained expression, and the difficulty with which she was breathing told him exactly what he had hoped WASN'T happening, despite the obviousness from the wound: Red was dying. Tears welled up in Kimball's eyes, and soon there were diluted grey-green waterfalls cascading down his face as he held his slowly dying matesprit. Much as he wanted to pull the blade from her, he was smart enough to know it would only hasten her death and cause her more pain. Gently, he stroked Red's face and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She smiled weakly.

"Kimmy..sugar.." she wheezed, pressing a hand against his cheek and stroking it. "Don't cry, darlin'. I ain't gonna die..I'm too damn ornery to die.." Kimball smiled sadly. Even in death, she was still Red, and her drawl and attitude was the same it had always been. "I know, Red..you'll be fine. Completely fine. It's just a flesh wound..some bandages and a nap in the slime, you'll be perfectly fine again.."

Red nodded, coughing up her beautiful red blood. "Always the fusser, Kimmy...always. It's gonn be the death of you.." Kimball nodded. "Fussy Kimmy..just a fussy little worrywart.." He lifted her head to his, and they kissed for one last time. Through it, he felt the last of her life leaving, and she pulled away. Her final words were, as much of a cliche as it was, a request. "Kimmy...make her pay.."

Kimball sank to his knees, sending a howling roar up to the sky. He drew the sword from Red's torso, adding it to his strife deck. He held her lifeless body to his, sobbing and wailing like a little wriggler. His matesprit was dead. Dead. DEAD, culled by a sick as all hell sea dweller, who had probably thought it a game. This couldn't be..no, it wasn't..she wasn't..he was just having a nightmare. He had fallen asleep out of his recuperacoon, and this was a nightmare. In desperation, he sank his teeth into one of his forearms...damn it..

It was real. Red was really dead..

His sorrow turned to rage as he lay Red's corpse down on the slat. He turned his eyes down to the valley.

Make her pay....


Bloodbane would pay...they would all pay...

[Vipervertical]

I'm wasting a ton of material here on you, so you better hate it.

[Sporky]

I AM TOO --EXICT--ED, AND HAVE BEEN FORCED TO LOOK LIKE A SCRIBBLE.


Anyway.


I'm always trying new flavors of soda, and I jump at the chance to have something I've never tasted before. ..I'm a Capricorn like that. ♑[/color]

So, guess what I should find at the store?



PEPSI THROWBACK

HELL TO THE GOG DAMN NUBCRACKING BULGECHAFING YES. <3333


Pepsi Throwback/Pepsi Retro is deliiiiiiiicioooooooous.

Srsly.

That's all, yo. :3

[Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy]

+1 on the Pepsi. I've kicked high-fructose corn syrup, it tastes awful to me now. Like my teeth are rotting as I drink it.

So real sugar in sodas? Awesome. If you like the throwback, you'll like Mexican Pepsi/Coke.

[Sporky]

I've heard good things about Mexican Coke and Pepsi, and I've seen a bottle of Coke in a video. JEGUS CHRIS, that jank is huge. xD Do want. Sadly, I don't think they sell it around here. I've certainly never seen any.

[Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy]

You can generally find it online. I swear amazon.com has everything.

Or if you visit the SW, Wal Mart and Costco carry it.

[Sporky]

I'm bored, so let's talk death. :3 Specifically, my death.

Ever since I've been able to understand the concept of death, I've been obsessed with some sort of heroic death. Shoving someone out of the way of a moving vehicle without enough time to get away myself, buying just a little bit of time for people to run away, that sort of thing.

It shows up in my characters, too. Think: Glorck, the suicidally patriotic navy captain. Zordon, who because he is a Mando, pretty much has the idea that that is the best way to die hard-coded into his DNA.

That's also why some songs damn near make me tear up. Like the theme song I have set for Glorck: www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpaglmcpwGw Yeah, it's supposed to be all light-hearted and uplifting, but..I dunno, my mind warps it into sounding very heroic, which in turns make the Sporky cry.


I would make a wonderful god tier. Be dead in the first fight because I'd rush to save someone. Derp.

[Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy]

I've felt that way too, but ultimately I'd still rather avoid death. I've switched my goals to serious injury in a noble act. I'd totally be fine losing my left eye. I never use it anyway, and I could walk around wearing an eyepatch like a pirate. Arrgh.

Also, if you're into epic/heroic tear-producing music you need to listen to anything/everything by Two Steps From Hell. Starting with 'Heart of Courage.'

[Sporky]

Here's Wytmonde chatting with the Black King.

-- recoillessBifurcation [RB] began trolling blackKing [BK] at 19:44 --
RB: Your M4jesty.
-- blackKing [BK] is now an idle chum! --
BK: Ah
BK: Hello
BK: Sorry, I was attending to something
RB: Do not 4polo6ize, sir.
RB: You 4re import4nt. Trivi4l mess46es should be second4ry.
BK: Very true.
BK: Now, how may I help you?
RB: 4s someone who is not 4 Dersite, I 4hve 4 few odd questions.
BK: Mmm
RB: Do Dersites require susten4nce?
BK: Of course, everything requires sustainance, it is just the lower in the system the less you need to eat.
RB: If I underst4nd th4t, th4t me4ns you would need to e4t 4nd drink more th4n 4 common citizen?
BK: Very much so....but I usually have someone on hand to see to those needs
RB: Of course. You're roy4lty.
RB: Hmmmm. Wh4t 4bout 4lcohol?
RB: 4s 4 Hero of Time, perh4ps I'm the worst person to, but th4t is my vice.
BK: Alchohol is something to behold, much more rare a thing
BK: Even I try not to waste such things.
RB: 4h.
RB: Interestin6.
BK: Is there any other questions you wish to ask/
BK: Oh, I am sorry, my fingers slipped.
BK: I meant to use a question mark.
RB: This m4y sound 4 little suspicious, but it is merely curiosty, not 4ny intent: Do your scepter, 4nd by extension, Her M4jesty's Rin6, 'work' for non-Dersites?
BK: To be honest I do not know, we are linked to skaia by a sacred bond, I do not know if others would be able to use it's power.
RB: I suppose th4t m4kes sense.
RB: 4 non-Dersite would only be 4ble to, with respect to you of course, use it 4s 4 blud6eon.
BK: Mmm, you have made me curious on the matter now.
BK: If it where not for it being a symbol of my stature I would try this.
RB: Usin6 your scepter 4s 4 blud6eon?
BK: No, no, no. The use of it's power by none-Dersites
RB: Oh.
RB: The next question is...tent4tive. 464in, I me4n no m4lice.
BK: Ask away.
RB: You m4y be f4mili4r with the process of 4lchemiz4tion? R4ther simil4r to your prototypin6, in 4 w4y.
BK: Yes, I am.
RB: Do you know if the rin6 or scepter c4n be used in 4lchemiz4tion?
BK: Once again, I do not. These items are our symbol and our power, we wouldn't allow them to be used in such processes.
RB: Ok4y. I 4polo6ize if such questions m4ke you uncomfort4ble.
BK: They do not, I am just answering truthfully.
RB: Well Your Majesty, I shall leave you now.
BK: Farewell.
-- recoillessBifurcation [RB] ceased trolling blackKing [BK] at 20:32 --

[Sporky]

Wytmonde extended an arm, a 'cut off' gesture that was purely symbolic. He knew that his companions could simply ignore him and fight anyway. But no. He and his other self, the undeniably much more powerful 'Beast of Time' him, Silene's original Wytmonde, had talked it out extensively during the three yoctoseconds they'd spent in stopped time. The other Wytmonde desperately wanted to give himself up, but no. Silene needed him. This Wytmonde, the Heir..had nobody. Nobody other than his moirail..who would simply turn to the other him.

If someone told you

The other him took them away before they could react, leaving only the Heir and his adversary. Doc Scratch, Alternia's First Guardian was silent. He was observing again, like he'd always done. Yet there was something to his stance. Wytmonde could tell the old man was angry. Very angry at the proceedings of this session. His master didn't like it, there was something about this session, or perhaps its reward, that he didn't like. So Scratch was tasked with stopping it. The other Wytmonde had been dead set on rising to Scratch's challenge, to fulfill his destiny as only a doomed Wytmonde..but no. The Heir knew HE was doomed, despite his session being the Alpha. It was complicated, but it didn't matter now.

that you could save a life

He made a step towards Scratch. Hatred and fury bubbled up inside him, surpassing every instance of such that he had known in his life. He had seen Scratch's doings, his taunting of the Beast, and his meddlings in other troll sessions. Scratch wore his omniscience like an armor, cloaking himself in an all-seeing robe. But his knowledge beyond this point was that of any normal person, strangely. Neither he nor either of the Time players could see what would occur from this fight. Well..Wytmonde, of course, knew: He would die. He would die, despite having ascended to God Tier. He would die the death of a martyr, giving up his immortality to a cause he believed in: His friends, and himself.

at the price of oblivion

"My entire life, I've looked to the past. Idolized my ancestor." Tears streamed down Wytmonde's cheek as he once again observed the final moments of Fusilier Grandu....Kimball Zeo. Now, he saw the man's decision differently. It wasn't paranoia, and it wasn't just loyalty to Alternia. Kimball had honestly done what he'd felt was right. He'd followed his heart right to the very end. Wytmonde touched his own chest, right where his heart was.. "I've always wanted to be him..be like him. Achieve some small shred of the glory he had..because deep down, I was convinced that the only way I'd ever amount to anything would be to copy him.." His entire life flashed through his eyes several times. Meeting Rommwel, being run through the old bird's obstacle course several times, his matespritship with Yamuna...and the subsequent breakup..meeting Arquua, Perzac, Colferas...his causing the destruction of Alternia in this timeline..his death at the hands of Perzac..everything. "This game has made me realize that..all I need to do is, really, the same thing HE did...follow my heart." He drew his weapon, an axe alchemized in secret from belongings of his original FLARPing friends. Despite the bonds he'd made with Perzac, Sansit, and Silene over the course of this game, the other names still rung through his thinkpan: Yamuna Terdoa, Cirria Nimbus, and Mocero Monodo. The three friends that had been responsible for his finding of Kimball's journal, and the complete rewriting of his life. "And that's what I'm doing now: My heart is telling me to do this..something you'll never understand, Scratch: Caring. You'll never know what it is to truly care. I pity you." The words that came next were his proclamation, his final statement, his dying battlecry. "My name is Wytmonde Herleifer. I am the Heir of Time. I am the Fusilier Grandus. I am a patriot. Semper fi!" He charged at Scratch, and the fight began.

would you do it?

[Sporky]

I really don't recognize myself between moods. When I'm very down and depressed and self-loathing-y, whatever I type comes off as very strange and pathetic when I read it again in a good mood.

Anyway. Here's Sark's introduction were he in Homestuck.

---

==> Be the warmonger

$¢$ I am not a warmonger. ¢$¢

==> Be the businessman

$¢$ That i$ pre¢isely what I am. A $imple bu$ine$$man. ¢$¢

Your name is GRIGOR SARK, and you love your life.

You are all of 45 years old, and you are a TITAN OF INDUSTRY, the PATRON SAINT OF SELF-MADE MEN. You started a SMALL ELECTRONICS REPAIR STORE not long after high school, and began to TEACH YOURSELF HOW TO BUILD ELECTRONICS. Your store grew into a SMALL COMPANY, and from there, with you still teaching yourself how to build various things, slowly grew into A MAJOR ARMS MANUFACTURER OVER THE COURSE OF TWENTY PLUS YEARS.

As the CEO of SARK INDUSTRIES, you enjoy an OPULENT LIFESTYLE. FINE DRINKS, GOURMET FOOD, INVITATIONS TO EXCLUSIVE EVENTS, and the FINEST OF AMENITIES. Your most reasured of possessions is the PROPHETABLE INVESTMENT, a pleasure yacht that is also RATHER HEAVILY ARMED FOR A YACHT. She is your second office, your home away from home.

Your strife specibus is SHOTGUNKIND, and your weapon is, of course, CUSTOM MADE FOR YOU. Semi-automatic, 12 shell magazine, gold plating, hand-warmers in the grips, and custom made depleted Uranium buckshot. You call it THE DEFILER because it sounds sufficiently cliché.

Your fetch modus is set to BUSINESS. You must 'buy' items out of your sylladex once you put them in. Fortunately, you are rich enough to be able to use this modus regularly. You knew this when you yourself programmed it. Your sylladex cards are CYAN AND WHITE, the company colors of Sark Industries.

If you were to play the game known as SBURB, your title would be the Gent of Funds. Your land would be the Land of Mines and Carpets. Your consorts would be moles, and your fetch modus would change slightly to cost boondollars instead of regular dollars.

Your chumdhandle is capitalismDeity, and $¢$ your $pee¢h ring$ of wealth and ri¢he$. ¢$¢

[Sporky]

I'm just posting here to say that I adore how hypocritical the staff is sometimes. Me and Xinder will get chastised for typing with troll quirks because it'll give prospective members a bad idea, but Jace and Rugs are free to LOVEBOX and JACE HOLD ME and RUGS LOVE ME whenever they please without recourse.

And like Xinder said...Sparrow. Seriously. You really don't offer much to the box other than antagonizing snark. Not really becoming of a moderator. Shame on you.


Ban me, guiz. :3 You know you want to. I've DARED call you out on your faults. DAAAAAAAARED.

---

Hopy ship, new update:



My reactrion:





Hussie, you magnificent bastage.

[Vipervertical]

Don't forget:



You have been watching the banner, no?

Also, I'm still not sure what this update means.

[Sporky]

Xinder.

Darling.

I hate you. D< I hate how much you antagonize everything I do, and constantly try and break my mind. That new sober!Gamzee sigbanner is just the latest offense. Every action you take, every word you type is custom designed to PISS ME RIGHT THE HELL OFF.

I just...

Please don't ever change, you giant ass.

<3<[/size]