TRIGGER TAGS: animal death (only really pics, though!) and irl gore.
ABOUT YOU: im mya! ive been rping for 4 years, give or take, but have hit a nice place with my writing and have become more involved in tumblr rp in the last year or so. iiii love playing villains, i love ruining fictional lives, plotting is my bff and nasty violence & gore driven bs make me go (heart eyes). im an amateur artist, an aspiring writer, and i love heathers the musical and peaches n cream! if im home, im online, and i love talking! never be afraid to spark a convo, ask a question, or bring up a problem with my tagging, language, or ignorance on any subject, etc etc! (does the double pistol thing, but shooting blown kisses. “hmu” is being spelled out in an array of fireworks behind me.)
DESIRED CHARACTER: vriska serket!
CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: Blue blood and circumstance can look like luck, if you squint. Vriska grew up in relative convenience. Hatched into disarray, she flourished under mayhem’s hand. Her silver tongue came first, her pride in her predatory dentition not long after. The bags under her eyes appeared somewhere in between. She is a (mostly) law abiding citizen out of convenience, nothing more – what was left of a once powerful nation practically catered to her quick wit and volatile nature, and morality was never mentioned on the wavers she filled out along the way. She was accepted into the Alternian Provisional Government for her aim and ruthlessness, held closely as a helpful piece in the more dangerous jobs, applying her shoot first, think later mentality wherever she damn well pleased. She is quick, cruel, and more than willing to do the dirty work, so long as nobody makes a fuss over the blood on her hands. While she has yet to take a pirouette off the deep end, her methods have gone from suspicious to downright deplorable since her separation from her walk-in sense of balance of a partner, Terezi. She walks a fine line, keeping herself in the good books of the APG with white lies and crossed fingers; a ticking time bomb of a girl, she is destined to serve nobody but herself. She is a spider through and through.
WRITING SAMPLE: Seven eyes stare down the scope of a government-issued assault rifle, looking at nothing in particular. The eighth is closed, an exercise in focus, and your entire body tenses at a hollow sound echoing too far off for even you to spot. The scenery blurs together, a mess of rubble and garbage, featuring heaps of literal and metaphorical shit. You’re bored, and it shows, a grey-looking, paper-tasting, piece of jerky thing dangles from between gritted teeth. You haven’t had a job in days. (Bang.) Not a real one, at least. (Bang, bang.) It’s been all scouting missions and search parties, filling your work hours with BS and whiny, juvenile, newbies, antsy for a little more action. (Bang!)
Sure. You’re tired, too. You normally are. You’re tired of shitfests and empty missions, and you’re really fucking tired of being shoved to the side into boring, useless, barely planned hunts for vaguely villainous foes, just so you can be kept busy. You know what game they’re playing. They’re testing your patience, winding you up, playing cute little mind games to jerk their already massive egos. They want you to remember that you’re their little bitch, and that’s fine. You’ll make do! You chew the tough, maybe-meat in your mouth, catching an especially criminal looking pile of crumbling bricks and bent metal framework. You test your aim, knitting your brows together and adjust against the wind (there isn’t any, but you take it into consideration, just for shits).
“What’s that, kid?” Your tongue presses to the back of your teeth. You pause to chew, swallow, then smile, lacing your voice with copious amounts of condescension. The fake, fakey, fraudy chump you are imagining amongst the ruins stops to shake with fear. “Huh, bitch? You got grubs you’re lookin’ after, yeah? Grubs and some nasty piles of old ass government-owned memorabilia? And-,” You hack out a laugh, the kind that scares anklebiters and small animals, the verbal equivalent to claws on a chalkboard. “And unauthorized weaponry. Cute. Seriously! That’s fucking adorable. You got the grubs with you there? They looking at you, all beady eyed? Give them a kiss before I blow your brains out.“ You take a breath, a quick one, and ensure you’ll be shooting right along the mossy cocking between the concrete blocks.
Bang, bang, bang. You shoot, and dust and debris go flying. There’s no way to check the extent of your accuracy, but you don’t actually care. It’s way less fun when you have to imagine the carnage, anyway.
TRIGGER TAGS: i’d like another that graphically references abuse/gore/rape/childhood sexual assault, just tag is as the word (ie rape m, or csa m) . i’m mostly concerned about pictures of gore/self harm (just tag it as gore) on my feed. usually folks are good about that, tho.
ABOUT YOU: i’m a skeleton slipcover currently attending college to be a mortician and very gay. i work two jobs and i’m busy a lot, but if you ever need me chances are i’m available. i’ve been described as a “contact as needed” friend bc chances are if you try to reach me, you will get thru even if we haven’t spoken in weeks. i’m old as dirt and i’ve roleplayed for 16 years omfg… too long, in fact, but oh well!!! i love it. i’ve only gotten worse over the years, but chances are you’ve seen me on tumblr before.
DESIRED CHARACTER: feferi “small fish” peixes
CHARACTER BACKGROUND: There were always big plans for a fuchsia, even in a wasteland. Feferi had been hatched for either privilege or death, and the two options would always be a weight over her. As a grub, she was quickly claimed by those who were in power. They could have smashed her, left her to die and never be their burden, but every troll makes mistakes. There were, indeed, big plans for Feferi. Raised in secrecy, she was blind to the struggles of the world around her. Electricity, food, lavish clothing, they were all maintained for her. She kept her chin high while the APG would only mention her in whispers as soon as they left her hive. She had been raised to be a tool. Trolls would listen to a tyrian, often, if only out of tired tradition. She could be utilized as a weapon of power, an instrument, and, if she had been raised properly, she would have never known that she had no power of her own.
Maybe some trolls actually thought she would have been a good ruler. She wanted to make life better for everyone, while she was unaware of her place within a dying world. She wanted to do good, but she never would have that opportunity. She was never meant to rule anything, not truly, and it was through the whispers of those that actually trusted her, she found out the reality of her privileged position. She was a nobody next to her advisors, her teachers, the trolls who had controlled her thoughts on matters for sweeps. It was her kind nature that led people to say too much around her. Eventually she caught on to the ways of the world, to the trolls who were using her. She had waited for nearly a sweep with that information in her mind, weighing on her usually boundless enthusiasm. She knew she had to either call out the advisers or leave her cozy hive and see the world as it truly was. Neither option was appealing, but only one option gave her a chance to actually help people. Under the protection of those few guards who she knew she could trust, she left the hive one night. A bag full of caegars and a chance of clothes were all she had when she left the comforts of her hive for an unforgiving world of poverty she’d never known and couldn’t empathize with. It was going to be the biggest struggle she’d ever know, if she could even manage to survive one night.
PHYSICAL DETAILS: Feferi is not very adult looking in the slightest. At 12 sweeps old, she’s still very young for a tyrian. She only stands around 5’0” flat, given a few inches more if only from her tall, curved horns. She has a very youthful face, dotted with a great number of freckles and a mouth of sharp, shark’s teeth. She has a bear trap smile that used to constantly cover her face. She’s over-eager and tends to show her emotions rather plainly. There are smile lines wrinkling her skin, just barely leaving indents, and even dimples. She carries weight, with a round stomach and round thighs, but she’s strong. She was being trained to potentially overthrow the empress, but it was her otherwise sedentary living situation that let her gut gradually grow. She’s strong in the way that all highbloods can be when they’re put to the test.
She’s entirely too adorable, entirely too out of place among those who choose to live in the urban sprawl. She’s too clean, too, but that’s because she still finds herself to be at home submerged wherever she can manage to do so. Her fins are large, and her hair is even larger. Well kept, she never saw the need to cut the incredibly long, thick hair up until recently. She often wears it in very heavy bun to try and keep it hidden up under a hooded jacket. She tries to keep her fins hidden under her hair, but she’s too expressionate and often fails at even that. Her two outfits are surprisingly plain but she has brightly colored sheer skirts that can make her slightly obvious in a crowd. She’s unused to needing good, fast footwear and has a penchant for wearing nothing more than sandals, a sign she hasn’t yet ever needed to run for her life.
She tends to wear goggles to hide her fuchsia eyes, something she quickly learned to do, but her manner of speech (fish puns excluded) tends to relay the fact that she’s wealthy and well-versed in traditional Alternian ways for highbloods.
WRITING SAMPLE:
The heiress’s fingernails dug, uneasily, into the sand. She’d rarely ever left the safety of the bottom of the ocean. Even the sand here felt different once the water receded. She was almost shocked that she’d managed to leave her hive, that she’d been permitted out on her own. Not having eyes on her every move was foreign. She’d gotten so used to them that she’d thought she’d just ignored them. Now, alone, she wondered if she’d made the right decision.
The city wasn’t too far from here. She knew that because what was present near the coastline were boating centers, pictures of opulence if it weren’t for the weeds that seemed to be cracking the hulls and docks. It hadn’t been cleaned or repaired since the last time she’d been ushered through here by the APG. They were crumbling, and the sight of them didn’t match her memories, put her ill at ease. But there were husktops there, ones that had been abandoned or scrapped for parts, but some that managed to work just enough that she could pull up a map. It couldn’t be that hard to find other trolls. Nothing was that far apart, in her rather limited knowledge of the world.
She pulled her wet hair upwards into a ponytail, tied and secured with a golden clasp. The water dripped down her back, leaving drops of darker spots against the sands as she plotted her course. She would head right into the city and she’d get a job, like everyone else had done but herself. She’d find work and she’d use her caegars until then to keep herself comfortable. They’d likely help her. She’d been told all her life that she was charismatic, that she had sway over others. It couldn’t be that hard to live as a pauper, right? She steeled herself into believing that it couldn’t be, but she had no experience with poverty. She had no real knowledge of need, either. She’d never spent a day falling asleep hungry. Maybe food would be the first thing she’d put on her to-do list.
Using a simple GPS on the husktop she’d pilfered (too scared to bring her own, she’d known enough to know about tracing), and she plotted a course right into what was listed as a market. It didn’t say what kind of market, but trolls buying things meant trolls with food, surely. She shook herself, letting her bare feet hit the pavement before she began to make her way. She’d have to finish this trip before sunrise, and she was sure she could do it. She was sure she could do anything. She was definitely, surely wrong about almost everything.
TRIGGER TAGS: #nsfw #nsfw text #gore #rape #abuse #slurs
ABOUT YOU: I’ve been doing Tumblr RP for four years now. This would be my third Terezi, and I can’t even count how many times I’ve modded group RP.
CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: Terezi is a 60-year-old android prototype built in Project Redglare, a government-sponsored experiment to create android units that would serve as soldiers on the empire’s front lines of foreign planets. Unfortunately, the project was cancelled three sweeps after her creation when the empire pulled out of Alternia, leaving Terezi a nearly finished model but not quite. A bug with her vision receptors led them to stop working within a few sweeps, rendering Terezi blind, but not altogether defective (as she has other ways of making herself useful). Otherwise she is a deadly weapon, intelligent, full of personality but ultimately belongs to the APG and therefore the law. She serves now as an A-Division (android division) Legislacerator, full of personality and a passion for justice, but no free will.
Terezi is, personality-wise, sarcastic, cunning, and has the whole usual smartass air to her. She takes her job seriously, and does it efficiently and thoroughly.
WRITING SAMPLE:
A crack, a twitch, and a last, haggard breath, and all is still.
Stepping away from the body of the troll, gun still outdrawn, you do a sweep of the room but there’s no one left. Not a single living soul but you.
You straighten and lower your gun (although you’re not foolish enough to put it back in the holster yet), observing the carnage wreaked over the past several minutes. It used to be a seedy joint far below the surface, some hideout for criminals against the state, stocked to the brim with weapons, illegal National Resources, and trolls alike; all that’s left now is trashed furniture soaked with a wriggler’s first attempt at splatter painting. Rust and cool tones compliment each other in streaks across the floor, the walls, the cargo crates. How they even managed to get enough ammunition and weaponry to fill up this many crates blows your circuits, but it really didn’t do them any good in the end, did it?
Stepping your way through the mess carefully, you’re already calculating estimates on death tolls and illegal paraphernalia that’ll go on the report when you get back to the precinct. After a solid check of the room you call up the team waiting outside, almost cackling into your communication wrist-tablet. “Alright, you bunch of wriggler chow! The big baddies are gone, get your quivering butts in here with a cleaning crew and some crowbars, we’ve got a ton to sort through before we can all go hive.” With a click shut down whatever chiding is probably going on at the other end. These trolls, they take their jobs too seriously, but never at the right time.
A second click, more of a crackle sounds beneath your foot. Leaning down, you dust away bloody glass to pick up a square piece of wood. A piece of paper slips out, heavy and old – a photograph.
Tossing the frame aside, you hold the photo lightly in your hands, examining it by lightly tracing the image with the pads of your fingers. You frown when you only get the texture of long-dried ink.
From outside you hear the voices of your team. Before they can arrive on the scene, you fold the photograph neatly and tuck it into the breast pocket of your jacket, turning in time to meet your coworkers with a nasty cackle and a remark on their competence at their jobs.
TRIGGER TAGS: animal abuse/harm, swarms (of insects), I also have a thing about things moving or growing beneath the skin or something living emerging from the skin, but i can’t seem to find a name for it?? but if you could tag anything of that nature as ‘liv don’t look’ or something that would be great.
ABOUT YOU: well i’ve been rping on tumblr for about maybe close to 4 years maybe, i think my most well known blog is definitely voidkind,
DESIRED CHARACTER: Equius Zahhak
CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: Equius is an freelancing engineer and selective mute who has a wide array of skills and is in very high demand due to his “follow the money attitude”, which isn’t really the case at all, it’s more of “if it’s interesting enough I will consider it”.
Ever since he was younger he has been trained in and employed on the industrial engineering and mechanic path, helping to keep things running for the APG essentially. During those years he attempted to keep a relatively low profile but you don’t get to be the best at what you do and go unnoticed. So with that came sabotage, death threats and eventually attempted murder.
So, scarred and tired he moved to into seclusion as soon as he was sure he would be able to pull enough jobs on a regular basis. Currently he works for just about anyone and dismisses projects that he deems unworthy of his time unless, of course, it’s from a higher ranking official because you can’t really say no to them now can you?
WRITING SAMPLE:
You’re pushing you’re way through the crowded bustling walkways, stopping every few minutes to motion for your lusus to hurry up, at this pace you two were definitely going to be late. This isn’t something you were usually worried about because your regular clients would be lucky that you would even bother with visiting their little hovels.
You readjust your satchel with a grunt and call out tersely once more, “Aurthour.” You can’t really blame your lusus too much, he was weighed down with equipment also. Eventually you two do make it to the gates and as you’re checked over by the guards you do last minute check mentally. You had to make sure you looked presentable as possible. As presentable as you can look with a half of your face scared. Once you’ve pushed the few stray strands back into place you are escorted to where you’ll be working and with who you’ll be working for.
Once you enter the room flanked by your lusus and a couple security personnel, you can see that you were working for another blueblood. Fantastic. You were in no mood for power plays today. You were already briefed on what needed to be done beforehand, so you grunted and a gave a curt nod in lieu of a proper greeting and quickly got down to business. Your employer raised and eyebrow either at your appearance (which you were used to) or at your rude behavior (again, something that happens often), but you’re not sure which.
As you open the wall panel to access the correct wiring you hear your employer’s voice float over. “You’re not much of a talker are you?” You shrug in response. They continue on, “I mean, I know you got a reputation, but maybe you should sacrifice a little of that and show some more respect.”
You’re growing more and uncomfortable as this one-sided conversation seems to drag on. “Pardon my poor manners,” you manage to grind out quietly but clearly. They go on speaking to you and and you can feel the sweat bead on your forehead as they continue to pressure you into responding verbally. You continue with noncommittal grunts, nods and shrugs for as long as you can to avoid speaking to this stranger.
By the end they’ve managed to drag two full sentences out of you in total, your shirt is damp and sticking to you, and you’ve snapped three different tools in half. “It’s done,” you grind out through clenched teeth, interrupting whatever they were babbling about. You quickly replace the panel, leaving it a little worse for wear, pack your tools and get the hell out of dodge with your lusus hot on your heels.
ABOUT YOU: my name is ash and i am a smoll who has been rping homestuck for five years and i know youve seen me around. i promise. im THAT person.
DESIRED CHARACTER: karkat vantas
CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: Karkat is a lean, mean, tired machine. As age grows on, it wears on the soul. Mentally he is drained, physically he is exhausted. Most quips coming from him are well thought out and articulated make just an ounce of sense to those being bombarded by his words. He never goes out of his way to cause trouble or publicly berate someone. He keeps his head low and nose out of trouble. The absolute picture of good behavior. At the least, coming from a guy who goes out and scavenges for supplies with a rag tag gang of highly trained Cadets. A society shying away from civility towards each other, you pick and choose your battles, and he decided to duck around with a rag tag group of trolls in the hopes that he can make something of himself without having to plaster his name on the fading skylights. Just let him work in quiet.
WRITING SAMPLE:
Perhaps, in retrospect, he should have been more careful. More calculated and precise with his movements, but, then again, that never was him. He was a terrible conglomeration of beautiful mistakes and lucky breaks, only scraping past disaster with no more than a few singed hairs. A cruel world can only hold out for the occupants so long. Only tolerate the cruelty of humanity before delving itself into further reaches of hell itself to whence it cannot be retrieved.
That’s how Karkat Vantas knew he was going to live to see another day.
Granted, it was a dreary outlook. The hulking hand of the blue blood around his throat only posed more problems than solutions, but that’s what he did best. Over his twelve sweeps in existence (though miserable at best), he has accustomed his actions to make up for his rash decisions. In short, he has one hell of a quick draw for these things.
Mistake number one of the offending brute, was to allow both of his victim’s hands to be free during the assault (however, to be fair, Karkat was the one to rob the poor man to begin with). Mistake number two was to spatter on with colloquial renditions of past torture mechanics without watching the movements of the mutant in his hands.
His third, and final mistake, was not to here the swift click as the thumbprint scanner registered audibly, allowing the blade to flick out in an effortless whimsy before wrapping itself around his throat with the very threat of breaking skin. No one argues with a troll carrying a blade, after all.
Happiness isn’t what the shorter man asks for. He doesn’t provide it to the citizens of the city where he resides, but he can be sure to know anyone who crosses his path will be miserable at best, and that’s a promise. One day he will patent the pocket sickle, but for now, they’re all his, and his alone.
A reaper, of sorts, for the lost souls of the APG. Maybe one day he can do them justice to assure they didn’t wander in vain. He’ll make it up to everyone who couldn’t be here beside him. It’s the least he can do.
After, of course, a brief vacation. One too many hands around the throat really wears on one emotionally.
About: Goddamnit I just can’t resist, again, as usual.
Sollux Captor
Backstory:
Hatched and raised among a small group of rusts and ochres looking out for each other in the ruins of post-urban jungles, overgrown sprawl, and nuclear deserts, Sollux Captor doesn’t exactly make for a likely Alternian ideologue and propagandist. But when he was captured at the age of seven sweeps for theft of National Resources (the Provisional Government’s sickly Orwellian term for the barely-salvageable junk that coats the planet), he staved off a death sentence and earned a role in society by “willingly offering” to turn his comrades-in-arms. The great betrayal is the reason he’s alive today—and, five sweeps later, he’s managed to earn a spot for himself not only as an able agitator and propagandist, but also as an occasional double agent and fifth column, subverting and destroying rebel and vagabond groups at the fringes of the Alternian capital.
But for all his public orthodoxy and his service to the Provisional Government, his personal views are an enigma, uncrackable to any who try to dig deeper. And under the right circumstances, Loyal Citizen Sollux Captor, on his face an unflinching hand of justice for the tyrannical State, might turn his finely honed skills back against the government and work to destroy it from within.
Physicality & Competencies:
Slightly taller than average, but not at all unusually so and not quite lanky; below-average muscle definition but stronger than he looks. Carries a scowl of constant betrayal with the slump in his back; perennially incapable of standing up straight. Scarred hands, brittle and rough, bloody nailbeds and ragged edges, mottled knuckles irregular and fractured from one too many fistfights. Poor circulation, with blood-bleached ice-cold fingers.
One blue eye, draped with hacked-together circuitboards, cameras, and radios soldered onto clear frames; another eye sewn shut, sometimes hiding behind unruly, shaggy hair, oily, iron-straight, thick and coarse. Stubble that never seems to grow beyond three-days’ shadow. A frame that shrinks from attention, fades from the foreground so well it could convince you he was never there.
Moves like a rehab patient. Slowly, deliberately, like he’s trying more than anything not to twitch and thrash and fall apart. Mild essential tremor when he’s stressed. He’s always stressed.
Sample:
He talks with no patience, no quarter given to the stupid, the ignorant, or the unworthy. He has no time for repeating himself, or, for that matter, even explaining himself the first time around. He takes no pleasure in ritual, and less still in the sick sadism of the whole ceremony. But Sollux Captor has long since learned that his own pleasure and satisfaction are far from the minds of his employers; perhaps their own, too, though he rarely bothers with that possibility either. It’s not germane; little is, anymore, most days, other than the practised actions that keep him alive. So this—this ritual sacrifice for his own safety—is all that he can hold onto, thankless and joyless as it is.
“I don’t know what you want,” says the Subject, quiet and terrified, its voice clinging to the corners of the room. It is much easier, Sollux thinks, not to think of the Subject as a troll: this prevents the inconvenience of developing infantile, diseased emotions like friendship or sympathy for the Subject. Better, instead to think of the Subject as the obstacle to the goal of performing one’s duty as a citizen to the Provisional Government.
“You know how this is going to go already,” Sollux answers, voice a deadened monotone. It’s almost serene, soothing, the degree to which he can excise the pain of emotion from these conversations. He doesn’t know whether the Subject truly knows how it’s going to go, already. In this age, he’s betting not; among the shattered remnants of society left over after the Exodus, there’s less and less with each passing sweep that can be said to be common cultural knowledge. So perhaps the Subject is blissfully unaware of what lays in wait. But this isn’t Sollux’s concern. “A cache of National Resources go missing, and you’re trying to tell me, knowing full fucking well that you and your posse were seen with your sniff nodes in the proverbial grub loaf, that you don't know anything? Are you stupid, or do you just think that I am?”
“I told you, I don’t know what you're talking about,” the Subject says, voice rising in panic. Sollux doesn’t react, doesn’t raise his voice.
“Fine, you’re playing dumber than a grub’s waste chute. Then let me ask you another question. Which of those eyes you have, would you say, is your favourite?”
It’s a script he knows well. Painfully well. Yet here he is again, doing it again, just so he can take another breath, another breath even as his heart burns with pain and shame and rage. But it’s all he can do, is keep breathing, and hope that maybe one day the breath can be for something new, for someone else.
Wouldn’t that be nice, he thinks, as he withdraws a knife.
ABOUT YOU: Yall know me. I’ve been rping for two/three years now? I think… and I am not very good. I know what I’m doing and how to fake it but yeah. Some classic urls include lightkind! vampgore! magisteroctupla! and many many more~
DESIRED CHARACTER: nepeta
CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: Nepeta Leijon was born in the wastelands and has lived in the wastelands. She makes her living as a runner. Someone who ventures out into the more unsafe territories to get things people wouldn’t normally be able to get. She hunts for a majority of her food and lives wherever. She craves this life of danger but at the same time, doesn’t know any different. She’s still young at heart and really reckless but strong enough to back it up.
WRITING SAMPLE:
A quiet crack could be heard as her fingers interlocked. Nepeta flexed her fingers once or twice before kneeling down into a crouch. It was too quiet to take a step yet. Any little hint at your presence now would give away the whole game and ruin your only chance at food for the day.
Out of the brush she burst, claws fastened to her wrists firmly. With one deadly strike they found target in the beasts side, puncturing the heart with ease. The claws were pulled out, jagged edges bring viscera and gore with them. “Yeah! Score! Whose the best? I am! Nepeta begins to cheer not caring who can hear.” She said aloud, proclaiming to no one in particular.
However someone was listening. A bandit who had a gun in his hand. However his grip was quite a bit more lax than moments previous. He stood a few meters behind where she had been before the leap and the look of fear in his eyes was something.
“Oh hi there! Surely you were planning on helping me with this boar. Right?” Her eyes glinted, claws gleaming in the light. The look on her face was animal. But this animals primary instinct right now was glee. Glee and self defense.
The bandit scrambled to his feet and ran away, dust kicking up in small clouds behind him. With tongue hanging out she blew a large raspberry in his direction. “Smell ya later alligator!”
ABOUT YOU: I’m a fruit. I’ve been rping on tumblr for two years and some change, overall for about seven years on various forums. I have extensive Aradia experience to the point where I lost track. I like pugs.
DESIRED CHARACTER: Aradia Megido
CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: Aradia is and has always been a non-citizen of the APG. She spent her first five or so sweeps as part of a small band of lowblood refugees under a small, centralized leadership. The camp was decimated by a raid, which she and her lusus survived, and by her sixth sweep she was on her own. She is now a Professional Vagabond, wandering from urban ruin to urban ruin, pilfering and camping and living out her life without much to-do. She collects a lot of the cool junk that she finds.
WRITING SAMPLE:
“Yeesh. Look at all this junk.”
Broken glass crunches under the heel of your boot and metal clunks dully by as you hup your way carefully down a mound of dirt, concrete chunks, and stuff. It’s the only thing standing in the way of you and the inside of this abandoned, walled ghost town.
At least. You think it’s abandoned.
“Hello!!” You cup your hands around your mouth to yell into the city, not really prepared for the possibility of an answer. It’s a good thing that there is none.
More crunching sounds on the side of the pile you just climbed over, so you peek over the top with your fingers curled into the toughness of your gloves to see your lusus hoofing her way up the hill, one roped bag sliding down her side. The knot is secure, though, so the worst that’ll happen is she’ll look funny with an upside-down pack hanging from her stomach. You stomp your foot on the dirt to let her know you’re going on ahead, then jump the rest of the way down. The impact shocks through your insteps and shins, and you reel for a moment before setting off onward.
You can’t wait to see what stories this ruin has to tell.
ABOUT YOU: I have muned a lot of timelines and rp’d a long ass time.
DESIRED CHARACTER: Gamzee Makara
DESIRED YOUR CHARACTER: Gamzee is the head of the APG’s enforcement division, which is centered around crushing all dissenting parties and sowing fear and respect in the populace. Their duties range from local law enforcement to carrying out public executions, breaking apart any so called “governments” that would dissent, and even preforming regular inspections of state employees to check for signs of treachery.
Gamzee would also be the leader of the clown cult, though they mostly just revel in their apparent victory against life and have the occasional party where they beat the shit out of lowbloods and get high.
Coincidentally a lot of them are also probably Enforcers.
Gamzee himself would be tall and “unprofessional” looking. Lots of piercings, messy hair, a fucked up horn that totally isn’t a carry over from some other timeline or anything what are you talking about. Though naturally not looking very strong at all he can probably beat up just about everyone and everything. Suffers from frequent moodswings between lackadaisical and homicidal and lacks overall decorum but his willingness to follow orders and execute basically anyone kicked him up the ranks quickly.
WRITING SAMPLE:
You swagger your way down yet another corridor, not bothering to match up with the stiff little military march your subordinates keep up behind you beyond keeping your hands crossed behind your back. Tonight was another housecall. Some dead end nobody working some paperwork desk job was anonymously reported for “suspicious, possibly anarchist actions”. It was almost certainly bullshit, you were well aware that such reports were often filed for personal revenge. Didn’t personally care much, gave you a nice excuse to hit someone for a few hours, ruin a life or two. Besides, if, or more realistically, once it was proven the report was fake you get to backtrack it and ruin someone else for wasting government time, money, and resources. Again, you didn’t personally care, but it was a perk of the job and a good time to boot.
Double checking the address on a little pocket tablet of your’s you nod at your assistants and then politely knock on the door via shoving your foot through it. Then in an equally polite manner you stomp over the plastic shards making a b-line for a frankly terrified and panicked midblood. He looked old. Probably a middle-aged when the empress left. Just as useless then as he is now you figure. You grip him by the neck, lift him up, and then slam his face down into the shards of what used to be his door, making sure to rub it around a bit to get as much jammed into his skin as possible. “Afternoon. I am the motherfucking chief Enforcer and I am here to investigate a report of high god damn treason. Now would a brother be knowing anything about that?” You sound about as uninterested as you feel, but that doesn’t seem to calm him down for some reason. He blubbers and whines out some excuses about how he’s done nothing while his cold blood leaks from little slits on his wrinkly and old fucking face., where he’s been and why it couldn’t be him. One of your lackeys jots all the shit down on a little pad. For all you know he could just be pretending but that ain’t your department.
Slamming his head into his former door again to shut him up you pull the both of you back to your feet, pushing the poor unfortunate towards your friend who wasn’t writing the report. You reach both of your hands down to your waist and pull out your batons. The midblood looks between the three of you, begging someone, anyone to stop this. Out of the corner of your eye you see a few people walk by the door, pretending not to see. Typical. Calmly you inform your charge he is under arrest before you commence to hitting him. Again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
Do you like Homestuck AUs? Do you like writing about plot, character development, and world building?
Then you should take a look at Otiosebent, a SGRUBless Alternia-centered AU that focuses on the trolls living on their home planet, a place long abandoned by the Alternian Empire, and the )(IC herself.
Information on the AU:
Setting: Alternia Time Since Empire’s Last Occupation: 25 sweeps; 54 years Genre(s): Cyberpunk; Dystopia; Societal Collapse
areudirty
dededos
origamiaround
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