#prosie rambles

[occasionallyprosie]

I've decided that Mask would be a good big brother if he has some Time influence, and Warriors sees these two angsty babies and is like: "is anyone going to adopt them?" and just doesn't wait for an answer.

Sky: I would! I would adopt them!

Warriors: Too late!

Twilight: Keep them, I have to deal with these guys *baby Hyrule, Four, and Wild on leashes*

[prosebushpatch]

Howdy, howdy, howdy! So I have finally taken the leap and made a website for my professional writing. I plan to blog about the writing process, offer tips on writing exercises, and general thoughts and encouragements. Please pop on over and give it a look! I currently have my first post discussing the strive for artistic perfection published, and my goal is to post every Thursday to fill out the blog. Thank you so much for taking the time to read!

[another-corpo-rat]

For the WIP Game - pockets of stones

omg you have no idea how excited i am to ramble about this one

pockets of stones has been a wip of mine since the '23 cyberhanami, mostly left on the shelf for two reasons; 1, at the time i couldn't fit it into any of the themes, and 2, i was (still am) feeling a little bit out of my scope with it cos it's imagery heavy at points and i worry about getting too purple-prosy with it like i have the visual in mind which i dont normally have when writing, which is making me a bit hesitant with it - still excited tho! its a weird feeling towards a wip lmao

i think what adds to my hesitance and back and forthness with it is cos i wanna present some headcanons for Smasher's backstory within it too. the basics of it is that Smasher lets Victoria connect into his biomon - a damn heavy gesture of trust, and lets her slip beyond that a summary taken from my disjointed notes:

she sees through his eyes, Glimpses of a childhood too fractured to be healthy, the scared, frightened pitch of a child calling for his momma through smoke and debris. He pulls her from that one, pushes her into another. She staggers – he staggers, feet unsteady, throbbing pain in his jaw. A thumb wipes at the blood and spittle had been knocked, throws himself at the other man, pins him – thumbs digging into his eyes.

the title is taken from the lyrics of a Florence + The Machine song, What the Water Gave Me - which ties into a kinda ocean/abyss metaphor about Smasher's memories and how they present themselves to Victoria

and how terrible is it that this is probably my longest sitting wip yet i have nothing snippet wise to even present lmao, so i hope the quick notes i have helps sum up the gist better than me rambling-

Vic dips into Smasher’s memories – buildings and rooms, lockers and files. Most important things people usually have in safes or behind some imagined security Smasher’s is like a stream – a digital torrent that brushes past her ankles in a steady pulse, memories brushing against her, flashes of his life, instances he is forced to keep by the black box. Follows its course, looking out to where it feeds into a pitch black sea until she’s no longer following but being dragged in Deeper – black surrounds her; great beast comes with an open maw – her hands come to rest on its snout, pressing in and feeling thr thrum of memories beneath; flashes of emotions. 'Shark' = his memories of Kei Arasaka. Looks up to the light, finds many of the beasts circling her One brushes against her, gently – Michiko Arasaka Another nudges, brushing past roughly but ultimately uncaring – x character – slight glimpse of backstory; an old friend. Easy to chase but she lets go, reaching instead for the gentler creature of Michiko, brushing into that warmth that gently eases her upwards, out of the abyss; flashes of those memories; a young Michiko whispering Adam’s name in the darkness, cradling one large calloused hand of his gemini between her delicate own.

[see-arcane-scribbles]

The Art of Eros

Summary: Jack called him an image of Thor once. Considering recent events, Art finds he has more in common with another god.

Quincey is always described as the laconic one.

It’s the trick of an American’s lilt. His Texan tongue is blunt and stunted compared to the thousand prosy offshoots that an Englishman seems dutybound to recite in order to arrive at a completed thought. Van Helsing’s monologues suggest that there are even heavier verbal afflictions a nation might curse its children with.

“For my part, I think I can only pass as the concise one because I don’t see fit to consult a dictionary whenever I open mouth,” Quincey went on over his glass. “I’m hardly a fool, but my jaw’s too lazy for the work our friends put into it.”

“What are you getting at?” Art says over his own crystal. He’s emptied two tumblers so far. Quincey seems to have forgotten his is there. The black chips of his eyes have not moved from him since they sat. Since Jack and the Professor finally resigned themselves to sleep, leaving them to the watch.

“I’m getting at you, Art. You can spin out the same rambles as the rest when the mood takes you. But it rarely does. You know I almost took you for mute the first week I knew you? It’s true. Gave me a hell of a shock the first time you saw my cousin’s terrier litter. A whole encyclopedia fell out of your mouth, all to do with those pups.” The tumbler turns back and forth under his hand. Amber liquid swirls in a gentle whirlpool, the glass sweating against the table’s fine varnish. “You keep your words in reserve, Art. I’d bet money that gave you an extra hand when it came to winning over—,”

Art watches his friend’s throat work. The leap and twitch of the Adam’s apple that is fast becoming a tell he never thought the man capable of. Same as tears.

“Lucy.”

“Lucy,” he confirms. “I flatter myself to think I held her ear pretty well, and not unhappily, playing around with…” His free hand gestures to the whole of himself. To the broad sun-bleached hat that now rests on the corner of the chair’s back. “I got her to laugh with it. I’ll always treasure that. But you, Art? You got her to talk. You got her to spill herself out beyond all the practiced patter girls in her circles are strangled down into. I believe 'Miss Lucille Westenra' got to be just Lucy with you because you listened. Because you held your words back to hear more of hers. That was my impression. Always has been.”

“I know.”

“I only bring it up again because it’s got me thinking of recent events. How, in all the pandemonium—see, there’s my one dictionary word of the night—it’s been so easy for you to slip sideways out of all the chatterers’ perspective. The Dutchman, Jack, me…”

Art tries to drink again from his glass. Empty. He speaks with a dry throat:

“The Harkers.”

Quincey hasn’t blinked in over a minute, he thinks.

“…The Harkers. Right. All of us running our mouths. Us the only two not playing secretary to each day’s mess and adventure. And me still saying more in an hour than I think you say in a day. Is that an unfair estimate, do you think?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Wouldn’t say.”

“What?”

“The word is wouldn’t, Art. You wouldn’t say. Lord knows that’s been a gift too. You can always be trusted to keep your lip buttoned when it would do harm otherwise. You wouldn’t say we’re all a bunch of prattling magpies compared to you sinking silently into the wallpaper. Just like you wouldn’t loose a secret that would take the rug out from someone. You’ve been a man of honour since well before you became a lord. Even when no one is looking.” Finally, a blink. Slow. “Or when you think no one’s looking.”

A hot coal has lodged itself in Art’s throat. If he tries to swallow it, he thinks it might eat a hole through his neck. Certainly a worse puncture than the pinholes he had seen on Lucy.

Or on—

He swallows the coal anyway.

“Quincey.”

“Art.”

“I ask again. What are you getting at?”

“Not sure, Art. Not really. Just talking to keep awake, I guess. The worst of our troubles seem to come when we’re asleep on the job. Heads down, backs turned.” Art sees him pick up the tumbler and take his first sip. From his face, he may as well be drinking water. “But then, even when we have our eyes open, some things still slip by without us noticing.” Another sip empties the bourbon by half. “Like the Harkers.”

Art feigns interest in the table. In the chairs’ button-tufting. In how the fireplace paints the room in all its dancing reds.

“Hard to think how we could have missed all the signs with those two. So long and so completely. We should have known better. But no. Now they are what they are and that is in the wind. All under our watch.”

Art counts his heartbeats and he is—

Watching, watching, watching, in the hall and through the cracked door, the tears run and the blood flows and the words rush, Mina, Mina, I cannot, I will not, if you die then I am dead, I cannot raise my hand to you in any form, and if you are unmade I will unmake myself, for life is gone is over is tainted, and our love is holier than any God who would betray it, betray you, sorry, so sorry, I am selfish, I give myself where you were stolen, but it is the only way I can be, the only way to remain with you, on Earth or in Hell, amen.

“Yes. A miracle in reverse.”

“That's a pretty way to put it. More poetry to it. Takes more pain off if it sounds like Spenser.”

“Poetry has not helped me much of late. Not with my father. Nor with Lucy.”

Even in the throes of relief at seeing the Bloofer Lady removed and dead Lucy returned, even with the meaty crack and split of her ribs still trembling up into his hands as if he were still hammering down, even grasping at the Professor in his grateful grief and delirium, there had not been one ounce of the majestic or the holy that Jack, with his secret bard’s heart, had glazed the act with in his diary. Jack had seen a blessed return to rightful nature and purity in the tomb. Perhaps Quincey had too. Van Helsing certainly.

Art had only seen the corpse of his fiancée. Dead twice. Once by another, again by him. Yes, the monster had needed ending—there were more to think of than her. The children. The living population at large. A nascent Un-Dead wearing Lucy’s form should have been a small price to pay. And it was. Is. Surely.

Yet now, with the burden of knowledge, he wonders what she might have been if she had actually been taught anything rather than getting left behind by the horror that conscripted her. What did she know but her appetite? What evil did she think she committed beyond taking a small sip from many rather than murdering one, as Harker had seen the Weird Sisters do? What callousness was there in her but dropping a child at the sight of them?

Of him?

She had known him. Still, even as she was, she had known him.

Was that a demon or, like the poor wretch that had been Renfield, merely a soul dented by inflicted appetites and the influence of a Master? How much of the Thing was a Thing and not..?

“I imagine not,” Quincey hummed. “I heard someone warbling a love song outside a pub the other day and felt sick. Can’t see you indulging in anything so flimsy as a few verses to get you through everything of late.”

“I haven’t.”

In the hall, through the door.

I know, Jonathan. I knew, for I was willed to read, to spy. I saw the shorthand. The Count was still baffled by it, but I had strength enough not to write the translation. Not to breathe a word. For as long as I still have to breathe. It is coming on, now, soon. And I cannot call to the others. Cannot stall. Cannot send you away. Cannot beg an ending from you. My love, my darling, what if I rise and do the unthinkable? If I merely kill you and leave you to bleed? What if I make you the monster’s promised jackal? What if..?

I have been prepared to die by your hand or mine since that night, Mina. Whether I am slain, whether I am turned, whether I begin knotting a rope, I am dead. More, I am damned for all I have enabled the Count in, and all I am prepared to do for you. All the sins I have committed in my heart, I would commit in full if only it meant you went on, never abandoned. Yet I would rather commit only one sin as a living man. If they ever find you in your box, they will find double their quarry—they can spare two stakes. And wherever God sends our like, wherever He sends you, Mina, you who He would scar for your flesh’s sake rather than pardon you for your soul, I will go there too.

Art feels the hammer and stake in his hands again. The tremble and pound in his palms. He sees the screaming, champing face. Red eyes on his, hating and hurting and wondering at him as blood ran in place of tears.

Then the red eyes are dead eyes. They shut.

Forever and ever.

Amen.

“I haven’t found time to indulge in much of anything of late, Quincey, poetic or otherwise. You know that.”

In the hall, breath held. Through the door, eyes wide.

Sleep falls into death. An opened wrist, blood falling into rosy lips. The lips sigh, the dead eyes open. A kiss full of ivory rises up to find the bared neck.

An open window. A cloud of mist carrying the prone shape of a man out into the night, their silhouette branded black against the moon. Then they are gone. Eloped.

Down the hall, into the parlor. A drink. Another drink. A counting of heartbeats. Then, upstairs, Jack begins to call out. Quick! Come quick! All that is left of the newlyweds are fluttering drapes and a drop of blood upon the pillow.

Across from him, Quincey empties his glass in full.

“I know, Art. I’m not really one for poetry as a rule. Not even Jack’s prose, kind as it might paint certain scenes. Sometimes a thing is only what it is, no matter what words we frame it in. Horror can just be horror. Regret can just be regret.”

“The same applies to love.”

“That’s right,” Quincey nods. He refills their glasses. “Love too.”

Crystal rings against crystal.

Somewhere in the night, two lovers laugh, and the sound is just the same.

Ao3 link

[sasorikigai]

[Follow Meme! I followed you because of sonxflight and I haven't regretted ever since! I was pretty intimidated (not of you but of your writing and I wasn't sure how you'd feel writing with a cartoony ish rp blog!) and didn't know if my experience could of stood against your style. When you followed back AND sent me memes I was super excited!!! Getting to you know, befriending you, PLOTTING, and just writing so many beautiful (and darker) themes together is why I stayed! <33333]

Tell me why you followed me and what made you stay. || @somniaxperdita || accepting

Let me begin, first of all, by saying I OWE DARI MY FUCKING LIFE lol. @sonxflight has been nothing, but such a good egg to me in all aspects of my blog and its interactions, and I’d like to thank her from the bottom of my heart first. She and I share a lot of mutuals and she is an epitome of being helpful, kind, compassionate, and an absolute sweetheart. 

I may be highly selective for personal reasons, but don’t ever feel intimidated by my writing style! Like I told you multiple times, I always enjoy your responses, whether they be asks or threads; I’d like to believe we all have strengths and weaknesses when it comes to being a writer and tbh, I’m often so insecure and weary of how my messy prosy ramble come across, and being a non-native atop of that only exacerbates things on my worst days. Hell, even on my ‘good’ days, I’m not all that entirely confident of how I write. I get distracted extremely easily, and it takes too long to finish one goddamn reply lol. I’m rambling, but you get what I mean. I may verbosely go on and on about my muses’ internal struggles and subconscious aspects, but I just absolutely suck at writing dialogues and actions. I literally have to imagine them saying them out aloud, or even enact on my own if writing them out doesn’t work out for me. That’s how atrocious I am at certain things. 

Olivia Winter is such a fun and unique character; I have nothing, but respect towards OCs and I admire and look up to how you have expanded her verses, and given her quirks and facets that are so relatable, but also, they make her complex. I wish I had the ability to literally dive into any verses imaginable, and make them work out in the end. I also appreciate what you tag me on Discord, and all the convos we have on there. I’ve grown to love Modern Hanzo and her together, and how convoluted and complex their relationship is. If you have more ideas, don’t qualm yourself from throwing them at me! I love their chemistry and dynamics, and your writing is such joy to read. 

[dansiere]

Greetings! Welcome to #dansiere; an independent, canon-divergent & loosely fandom-affiliated blog for Steven Universe’s Renegade / Crystal Gem Pearl. My name is Cynthia (24 / she, her / teacher-to-be); I’m a rather slow writer who certainly loves to ramble. 

     Please read my RULES & take a look at my DOSSIER if you can spare a minute or two (now with basic data, lore, verses & a not even close to being done biography)! My blog usually runs on a queue while I lurk on the side; feel free to shoot me an ask, an im or request for my discord-tag (if we are mutuals) anytime! 

     ━ DISCLAIMER: my take on Pearl can be considered rather ‘heavy’ or ‘prosy’ at times. I am a very passionate person who deeply cares about the muses I pick which may or may not come across as “too much” or “overbearing”. I love writing headcanons, metas & long tag analysis; I tag all of my “long stuff” with the tag #// long post or #// long tags. Blacklist them if you don’t want to see my takes (tm). 

     ━ CANON DIVERGENCE + SHIPS: on this blog, Pearl was originally one of White Diamond’s five default pearls & was given to Pink Diamond approximately 900 years after her original emergence. She was rejuvenated & handed over after Pink had accidently broken her former pearl (aka Pink Pearl). I will link a longer, more detailed post that further eludes on other aspects of canon-divergence in due time.      Additionally, untagged content concerning the ships pearlrose (pre-show timeline) & volleypearl (su: future timeline) will appear here on the daily; both relationships are integral parts of Pearl’s story arc. If you cannot stand either this blog is perhaps not for you. 

[opedguy]

U.S. Press Seeks War with Russia

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), March 10, 2021.--Backing 78-year-old President Joe Biden’s inexcusable attacks on 68-year-old Russian President Vladimir Putin, the U.S. press eggs the cognitively impaired Biden to commit the U.S. to war with the Russian Federation.  When Joe called Putin a “killer” without a soul March 16, it’s clear that Biden lacks the filters needed to be commander-in-chief.  Whatever Joe thinks of Putin personally, he shouldn’t be name-calling on the world stage, prompting gasps from foreign leaders around the world.  Biden claims he’s leading the “Free World” but no one in the European Union [EU] or any other country wants a confrontation with the Russian Federations.  Instead of backing or supporting Biden’s reckless behavior, the media should be calling him out for endangering U.S. national security.  If former President Donald Trump called Putin a “soulless killer,” he would have been impeached.       

      Media backing of Biden’s reckless diplomacy suggests that they’re pushing for a military confrontation with Russia.  No one in the EU wants any part of such nonsense, despite Biden threatening Putin March 16 saying he “would pay a price.”  Biden’s referring to alleged poisoning of 44-year-old Russian dissident Alexi Navalny, now rotting in a penal colony, once known as a gulag in Soviet days.  “President Putin authorized operations during the election to denigrate you, support President Trump, undermine our elections, divide our society,” said ABC’s flame-throwing left wing TV journalist George Stephanopoulos.  Biden took Stephanopoulos bait, hook, like and sinker, thinking, he’s in safe territory for a memory-impaired president.  “What price must he pay?” asked Stephanopoulos.  “He will pay a price,” Biden responded, not saying what he would do to Putin.       

      Stephanopoulos’s statements about Putin aren’t supported by facts or real evidence but are a continuation of Democrat talking points used against Trump.  Trump was accused for four years without evidence of working closely with the Kremlin.  Speaking utter rubbish to Stephanopoulos, Biden rambled on about meeting Putin face-to-face.  “I said,  ‘I looked into your eyes, and I don’t think you have as soul,’” Biden told George.  “He looked back, and he said we understand each other,” Biden said, recounting pure rubbish, pure fantasy that Biden concocted to give Stephaopoulos what he wanted.  Stephanopoulos didn’t say to Biden, I think you said the same thing about Trump, making “restoring the soul of our country” your campaign theme.  Baiting Biden into making incendiary statements is bound to harm U.S. national security, not criticized by anyone in the liberal press.     

        What’s Stephanopoulos trying to do, whip Biden up into such utter nonsense, claiming Putin tried to sway the 2020 U.S. election.  Well, he did about as good influencing the 2020 election as he did in 2016, where former Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton believes her own campaign rubbish, the “Steele Dossier.”  U.S. intel agencies are quick to blame Putin for almost anything, going so far to say he influenced the 2016 and 2020 election results.  Well, Hillary won 3 million more popular votes than Trump in 2016 and Biden beat Trump by 5 million votes in 2020.  So, what’s Stephanopoulos talking about saying Putin influenced the 2020 election.  Stephanopoulos asked Biden whether he thought Putin was a killer.  “Mmm Hmm,” Biden said.  “I do.”  With judgment that bad, the media should be screaming about Biden’s incredibly bad judgment, not knowing the consequences.        

     U.S. foreign policy depends on cooperation with the Russian Federation in hot spots around the world, including Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, North Korea and Iran.  With U.S. troops getting ready to leave Afghanistan, Putin holds sway with the Taliban that looks poised to topple the U.S.-backed government of Ashraf Ghani.  When it comes to Syria, Putin stood up the U.S. and European Union [EU] prosy war to topple the Damascus government of President Bashar al-Assad.  Former President Barack Obama and Biden spent billions supporting a Syrian insurgency that caused, over eight years, 500,00 deaths and 12 million Syrians displaced to neighboring countries and Europe.  Syrian immigration to Europe drove the U.K. out of the EU with Brexit and practically broke the 28-nation union.  Biden has now alienated Putin to the point he’ll provide no cooperation for likely hot spots around the globe.      

       What’s wrong with the U.S. media backing the insanity of Biden calling Putin a  “soulless killer,” something that offended members of NATO and practically every nation on the planet.  What’s Stephanopoulos trying to do, cause a military confrontation with Russia?  Does George think WW III would be good for ABC’s ratings?  Surely, egging Biden on to make whopping gaffes should not make the U.S. press proud.  It’s utterly disgraceful and dangerous for the press to manipulate a cognitively challenged president that doesn’t know what he’s done to harm U.S. national security.  Sending Secretary of State Tony Blinken and National Security Adviser Jake Sullivan to Anchorage to embarrass the China was equally irresponsible.  Yet Biden’s “proud” of Blinken’s Anchorage summit with China.  U.S. press should try to provide a safety check for Biden’s reckless behavior.

 About the Author 

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news.  He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.  Reply  Reply All  Forward

[thesmartbluebox]

Re: LotR. Yes! Please read them. They're a bit prosy by today's standards, but there are SO many great details the movies missed. I could go on for a while, buuut I'll save you the ramble. *hand waves* I just flipped open my copy of Fellowship to an example of Legolas being the king of sass and it reminded me that his friendship with Gimli has SO much more meaning in the books than it was given in the movies and now *I* need to go read them again.

They have been on my list (and shelf) for years, so I’ll definitely get to it soon-ish :D I have been trying to go through the Wheel of Time, but I try to read a shorter and quicker book or two between every part because there is so much WoT I would get discouraged from reading altogether otherwise, however I’m not entirely sure I can use LotR as “shorter and quicker”. Then again, compared to all of Wot, LotR doesn’t seem that lengthy, so I might try. :D I keep seeing so much stuff about the books on my dash all the time anyway and they seem super interesting so I'm actually really looking forward to reading them once I get myself psyched to start!

[sorteddictionary]

Garrulous

1: given to prosy, rambling, or tedious loquacity : pointlessly or annoyingly talkative 2 : wordy 

garrulous speeches

[changeourminds]

it’s a good picture of you

parent baggage man!!! for sure. i’ve thought about it. i’ve known since high school i’ve had a habit of neglecting taking stock internally in favor of helping other people manage their emotional swings, (thanks pops), but i made a pretty herculean effort to break that off in college. not necessarily in healthy ways 🤔 since the self-awareness is so low it was often a case of things being shit for a good while until I finally went “hm. this feels bad. time to go. ninja smokescreen, pocket sand, etc.” then poof!!! no more problem!! hahaha right? yep yup just leaving that in the dust  🙃🙃🙃

that’s the historical biggie, but doesn’t really apply here. mom baggage is harder for me to sort through i think. i remember you comparing yourself to mom and i went aaaghhh you’re not too similar!! thankfully!!! LMAO that was that dread response. I adore her, i really do, but damn that woman’s got some excavating to do. i’m still sidling up to the pattern comparison. but i feel how much i admire you tracks a lot, along with the protectiveness i feel over you and what you’ve been through, plus a little bit of tantalizing trauma-induced emotional unavailability. still chewing on this one.

ooooof.... tbh the only self-cannibalism stuff besides survivor type was pretty gory... it looks like there’s a short story called “the savage mouth” by sakyo kamatsu 👀 what say we endeavor to book club that one? vanishing twin syndrome is another medical-ish thing i get writer cravings for

I have a pretty solid outline and a few scenes so far... this is always a really strange stage, where i try to start large and then get more granular, but i know it’s pretty inevitable once i hunker down in the weeds that a bunch more stuff is gonna pop up. it gets away from me!! which can be fun but messy. that’s where the real juicy stuff comes in, i guess... makes it tough to be disciplined....   🤔 (I LOVE YOUR DRAWINGS AAAAHHHH)

i’m circling around on sinkholes... kelpies... (creepy violent comic)  🤔 things that feel dangerous and sneaky but hard to say no to, things that draw you in by pieces. i’m landing on kelpies because this rose is all about deflecting by talking in pop culture trappings and movie refs n literary allusions n shit from her trust fund baby individualized degree (which she didn’t finish natch), and it makes no sense to have a water devil in landlocked ass Appalachia. im kind of vibing with having this clash of water imagery that feels so rose to me (a la saltwater said’s purple prosiness) where she feels like she’s the power here, she’s the seductive one, and having that slowly eroded with this... big irresistible earthy ancient unending imagery that this pearl brings, like damn rose you really played yourself here. i want that! i’m working on some fossilized imagery at some point maybe when they fuck the first time.... like rose having the flash idea of being some beautiful studied thing on pearl’s mantel. (pearl was working on a geology doctorate but took a “semester off” that turned into like a year and a half, ofc she lies to rose about it lmao) i really need a good sense of images before i feel confident committing to a bigger piece i think

also (sorry i’m a little drunk so it’s rambly) writing this out for you helped me realize that i could play with the sugar-in-concrete picture the whole damn thing starts with dflvkdmflkvmgv thanks for that (when you add a correct proportion of sugar to wet concrete, it prevents it from setting properly and can cost thousands and thousands in damage... apparently french anarchists were super into that). rose is the grocery cashier (trust fund baby engaging in blue collar tourism to piss off fam) ringing up pearl who’s buying Too Much Damn Sugar and ends up blackmailing her later when she figures out what happened. girl ya shit gonna backfire hard lmao

I didn’t even talk about my damn photo, that’s kind of fitting

[occasionallyprosie]

So I'm trying to incorporate more nicknames for the boys, so here's what I got so far, any additions or ones I've missed?

--

Four

Smith/Smithy

Little One (by Time)

Little Guy (by Triple Threat)

Rainbow

Hyrule

Traveler

Explorer

Rule/Rulie

Healer (post Life Spell reveal)

Calatian (country of origin)

Legend

Veteran/Vet

Collector

Hoarder (by Warriors and Twilight, derogatory, becomes affectionate)

Scholar

Apple (by Twilight and Wind)

Kid (by Wind)

Kit (by Twilight and Sky)

Sky

Skyloftian (shortens to Sky)

Sky Knight (shortens to Sky)

Chosen

Birdbrain

Lover boy (affectionate, by Downfall Duo)

Woodcarver

Time

Old Man

Sprite (by Warriors)

Ancestor (by Twilight)

Fairy Boy (post meeting Malon, by Downfall Duo and Wind)

Twilight

Rancher

Goat Herd

Ordonian (town of origin)

Pup (by Time)

Country Boy (by Warriors, derogatory)

Forest (by Legend and Wind)

Warriors

Captain (or any other military form of address)

Pretty Boy (by Legend, derogatory, becomes affectionate)

Soldier Boy (by Twilight, derogatory, becomes affectionate)

Wild

Champion

Cook

Wild Child (affectionate)

Cub (by Twilight and Time)

Wanderer

Wind

Sailor

Pirate

Ocean (by Legend and Twilight)

Kid (by Twilight and Warriors)

Conductor (by Legend)

Tune/Tunie (by Time and Warriors)

Whys for some:

Rulie and Chosen (Hyrule and Sky) -> Both make the mistake of telling the group their hero titles, Hyrule is eventually nicknamed Rulie by Legend and Wild as a result (nobody else calls him that), and Sky gets Chosen from everybody.

Apple, Forest, and Ocean (Legend, Twilight, and Wind) -> Nicknames from Triforce Heroes (from my hc of them being the Triforce Heroes)

Kid (Legend) -> Another nickname from Triforce Heroes, Wind is the only one who calls him that in LU though (Twilight takes too long to realize Apple and the Veteran are the same person)

Kit (Legend) -> Sky and Twi start calling him that after the bunny incident, Twi does it first and Sky joins in after because he's a gremlin and both know Legend hates (eventually likes) it

Conductor (Wind) -> Caused by music night when Wind leads the music with the Wind Waker and just sticks

[prosebushpatch]

I rewrote my thesis and it's under 120k words bay-beeeeeeeee!!!!!!! Let's goooooo!!!!!!

[fetus-cakes]

Words of the day

anality: the condition or quality of having an anal character; collectively, the personality traits characteristic of the anal stage of psychosexual development.

hermeneutical: (hermeneutics) the theory and methodology of interpretation, especially the interpretation of biblical texts, wisdom literature, and philosophical texts.

garrulousness: given to prosy, rambling, or tedious loquacity : pointlessly or annoyingly talkative 

imputation: using words or actions and ties them to a person or a cause. They are similar to accusations. Often, this word relates to imputations of dirty deeds, especially illegal deeds.

anamorphosis: a distorted projection or drawing that appears normal when viewed from a particular point or with a suitable mirror or lens.

sartorial: relating to tailoring, clothes, or style of dress.

expatiate: speak or write at length or in detail.

rigmarole: a lengthy and complicated procedure. a long, rambling story or statement.

declensions: the variation of the form of a noun, pronoun, or adjective, by which its grammatical case, number, and gender are identified.

docent: a person who is a knowledgeable guide, especially one who conducts visitors through a museum and delivers a commentary on the exhibitions.

deontological: an ethical theory that the morality of an action should be based on whether that action itself is right or wrong under a series of rules, rather than based on the consequences of the action.

qualia: the internal and subjective component of sense perceptions, arising from stimulation of the senses by phenomena. (philosophy)

anhedonia: inability to feel pleasure.

inimical: tending to obstruct or harm. unfriendly; hostile.

[newstfionline]

Word of the Day

garrulous (adjective) GAIR-uh-lus 1 : given to prosy, rambling, or tedious loquacity : pointlessly or annoyingly talkative 2 : using or containing many and usually too many words : wordy

English has many adjectives that share the meaning “given to talk” or “talking.” Talkative may imply a readiness to talk or a disposition to enjoy conversation, while loquacious suggests the power of expressing oneself articulately, fluently, or glibly. Voluble suggests a free, easy, and unending talkativeness, and garrulous implies talkativeness that is dull, rambling, or tedious. Garrulous, by the way, derives from the Latin verb garrire, which means “to chatter” or “to talk rapidly.”

Example: Bob’s garrulous and outgoing nature is a stark contrast to his brother’s more retiring demeanor.

[themaraudingmisfits-blog]

Love actually

It’s a hot, sultry day, I’m sitting droopy eyed watching the wedding crashers with Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn. The movie keeps rolling, both of them bedding bridesmaid after bridesmaid and it finally leads up to a cliché scene where Owen ends up falling for one of these maidens and tells her that love is finding your counterpoint in another (cue to roll eyes). There’s tons of movies like the wedding crashers out there, all with hapless souls looking for a good shag or that perfect kiss or a romantic rendezvouz or butterflies and tingly feelings and ultimately true love. Somehow it strikes some weird ass cord in me, maybe because apart from my recent Netflix induced rom-com addiction, many of my classmates from school and college are rushing off to be part of the happily married club and here I was still eating ice cream out of the tub, feeling like a loser in the relationship battlefield, completely de-motivated to find my someone, to make an effort to run a brush through my messy mane, handicapped at flirting and too flippant to care about it.

I wasn't always like this though, I had my fair share of crushes, almost relationships and surprisingly enough an actual one too. It wasn’t some fling or sad affair, it was a long process of best friends turned to something more. I for one got caught up in the multi million dollar industry of sweet nothings, valentines, hand holding and the like, the kind of love which makes you all weak in the knees, him fawning over the princess that you are sort of thing but then reality hit me, HARD. I think I was blinded by my very lovestruck friends, the gazillion rom-coms I'd watched growing up, prosy Shakespeare and trashy novels with buxom ladies and blue eyed men. After that rude awakening, moping about breaking up and a lot of healing chocolate I became sane enough to realise that THAT wasn't what I was looking for.

But now that Owen's saying all this stuff... was I wrong? Had I given up on love too soon? I couldn't brood for long though, I had a  date with mom and the vegetable vendor down the street so I reluctantly switched off my only chance at having those lovey dovey mushy Netflix moments and went out  with mom. We were still deciding on what curry to cook, when she suddenly did something, she held my hand ( in my family we aren’t very demonstrative so it was rather odd), she looks at me and then tells me that she’s going to miss me when I go off to live own my own and all sorts of weird mother daughter stuff…I sort of zoned out but I recognized a familiar feeling…one that was long gone….one I’d moved on from… the warmth of being loved… and that’s when I realized that I needn’t be sad about being ousted by the happy couples club, that I needn’t wait around for love , that love had always been there in my life…

Love walks in, all glitter and color, love is fuzzy caterpillars, coloring books, hidey holes and little imaginings. Love is with me all day, cooking treats, brushing my hair, kissing my booboos. Love comes in after a hard day’s work, stressed, sweaty and tired, his face lights up when he sees me huddled in a corner with my lego blocks, he sweeps me into his arms, lifts me up and tickles me till I’m all giggles and patiently listens to me as I ramble on about my day. Love laughs, watching me struggle to hold my spoon, in the end splattering peas all over the kitchen floor. Love comes in to read bedtime stories, to kiss me goodnight, to double…maybe tripe check for monsters under my bed and lets me sleep in between them on stormy nights. Love watches over me, as I grow up from being a lisping, stumbling babe to the one who's brushed and tidy waiting for the school bus, all ready for the big scary world out there...

Love loves me, hates me, hugs me, bugs me, she's my partner in crime, my worst nemesis, the wiser one, the one whose stuff I steal, the one who I look up to . Love thinks I'm an annoying brat of a sister whom she's stuck with forever. Love wishes she didn’t have to share her room with me. Love is frustrated when I tag along but she secretly loves that I adore her and eventually ...grudgingly shares her cool stuff but inspite of all that love’s an overprotective little goose who’s there for me through the years.

Love morphs into a curly haired person who sits by my side, learning to make her squiggles look like alphabets, love and me trade lunches, make secret codes and promise to be bff’s . We chatter nineteen to the dozen and celebrate a gazillion little moments together- bike rides with no training wheels, the art of talking with our mouths filled with water, figuring out how to win tic tac toe...we have exchanged a million whispers, pinky swears, phone calls and friendship bands, love and me are  like two peas in a pod.

Love is weirder now. Love has shorter hair, broader shoulders, a raspy voice and an inkling of a moustache or so he thinks. Love and me talk a lot,he sheepishly looks away when I catch him looking at me , I giggle, he smiles, sparks fly when our fingers touch. Love loves little puppies and has bad handwriting, love defends me, love finally said he likes me. Love makes me all muddled up in the head, I move away from love and we don't see each other as much as before...love fades. Love comes again, he has brown eyes now and shaggy hair, love is an artist, he takes me to a different world all together,one filled with music and poetry, love does not know I like him...love fades. Love comes again, he has spiky hair, he’s super tall and is a total badass, always getting into trouble, love does things I’d never dare to, but I know it'll never be. Love fades…love has his nose buried in books, he’s a total nerd but super hot but love is a bit mean and avoids me altogether…love fades. Love keeps coming again only to leave and then to come back again just like characters from the Vampire Diaries.

Love’s back, this time closer than ever, love knows me, at least the parts of me where I’ll let him in. Love brings with him gentle rains, flowery bowers, little love birds, beautiful rainbows, long walks, unending conversations and a lot of firsts, making me do things I never thought I'd do, bringing out parts of me that I never knew existed. Love is fading though and this time it’s not so easy, love doesn’t want to leave, he’s pushing and pulling me at the same time but love must leave…

Something's not right here...maybe I wasn't made for love or love for me. What's wrong here? Is it me? Everyone around me seems to be blissfully in love, building castles in the air about some fairytale like dreamy life, the kind I find myself running away from...maybe, just maybe I'm enough for myself? Suddenly forever seems scary, forever on my own, with no love in my life.

Fast forward to now…(after a lot of brooding and late night conversations and that much needed mother daughter time) the problem I figured was that I had started seeing love as being all about finding "the one", my forever, just like everyone else around me but what I forgot along the way is that love has different shades , not just blacks and whites.

Love is here again now, love drops by when I’m upset to get me off my sad ass, love shrieks and screams in glee when I’m happy, love lets me be when I’m moody, love lets me know that I can always depend on love, love knows when I want to go wild and splatter some crazy all around. Love is moonlit nights and rainy days,love is a dozen fuck yous, sorrys ,thank yous , hugs and kisses from my crazy bunch, love is a wagging tail, a dozen dandelions, a good book to curl up with, mumsies yummy cupcakes, daddy’s enormous holdable hand… Some days I’m so sure I see love,but other days I can't recognize love even if love walks past me. I might not be looking for what your idea of love is but I'm in love with my kind and I like these weird ways in which my kind of love surprises me…

[occasionallyprosie]

Whenever someone comments(that gives so much serotonin omg I love everyone who comments) something about "poor legend" or "bro is going through it", and it's on a multi chapter fic that's only just starting I'm like

Oh sweetheart

It's going to get so much worse

...

Someone needs to call the Legend protection squad and take him away from me before I kill him... again.

Is there a protection squad? Is that why I always get away with it?

Now I feel bad, the baby deserves a protection squad.