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#about #south park roleplay #south park #zombie roleplay

are you still looking for anyone to fill roles?

Yes, we are! Masterlist is currently up to date, so check out our links! [Date of post: April/5/2023]

What happened to mr. garrison, satan & jesus?

We don't have canon lore including those three, so you can assume whatever it is you imagine, honestly.

#anon #asks

Welcome Cartman!

Welcome Firkle!

Karen McCormick is reserved!

Welcome Pip!

Cartman is reserved!

Henrietta and Eric are open again!!

#south park rolepaly

Gregory of Yardale is reserved!

WELCOME BEBE STEVENS!

`Name:` Bebe Chanel Stevens

'Age:` 24

`Gender:` Cis Woman

`Pronouns:` she/her/hers/herself

`Sexuality:` Straight, but is willing to make out with girls. (bicurious)

`Height:` 5’7’’

`Location:` Shelter Wilds (the woods, more specifically)

`Occupation:` Bebe is trying to fend for herself right now, key word being ‘trying’. She’s holed herself up in the woods, living in an abandoned caravan.

`Brief History:` Bebe was extremely popular and well-liked throughout school, and remained friends with all the girls up until they had to leave for college. But, she was a social butterfly, and seemed to flourish even more in college than in her small high school. Her Instagram was wonderfully organized and always super good looking, and always had a busy schedule. She did manage to keep her grades at a fairly decent level, while still making time to go to the gym, and have a social life, even if her social life came first most times. She got a degree in fashion merchandising, wanting to open an online store when she graduated. She moved back to South Park after college, wanting to save up enough money to get a nice apartment as she ran her online boutique out of her bedroom, mostly focusing on reselling items as she got her footing.

Bebe originally didn’t believe in the news coming out about the zombies, and it took people around her getting sick for her to take it seriously, but by that time it was a little too late, and Bebe found herself trapped in a caravan in the woods, having been chased there by a zombie, and having to make makeshift weapons out of things she found around. She’s out of shoes, hangers, and other basic cooking utensils, but she does have great aim now, and is left relatively alone if she doesn’t make enough noise. She’s ventured out of the caravan a few times, managing to find a nonworking radio on her last trek out.

`5 or more HeadCanons:`

❤️ Bebe found it scarily freeing to not have to worry so much about her appearance once the apocalypse started. Without any (living) boys around her, there wasn’t any need to be as glamorous as she would normally be. She does still try to look cute, but it’s mostly for herself, and no one else. You can’t fight zombies if your hair is all gross and in your face.

❤️ Bebe always thought that someone would go looking for her at some point, whether it was Clyde, or Wendy, or her parents, but no one really did, and with her cell phone no longer working, she assumed most people were just ignoring her calls.

❤️ Bebe took to killing zombies with relative ease, becoming pretty good with an array of weapons. She can climb to the top of the caravan, and scout from the windows.

❤️Bebe talks to herself. A lot. She;s always been chatty, but now with no one around, she’s the only audience she has. Not too loudly to attract other zombies, but definitely when she’s safe in her little caravan. She makes up stories about where all her childhood friends are, and how they probably survived, along with poor imitations of their voices.

❤️Bebe got in trouble a lot as a kid for being violent. She ended up going to juvie once, and since then, has seemed to straighten out. She still has a rage inside of her, and beat up a boy in college for saying something degrading to her friend. He ended up not telling anyone, so Bebe got off scot free. Bebe has always had rage inside of her, especially when it concerns her female friends. She believes that most guys are pigs unless proven otherwise, and tends to be less trusting of them.

❤️Bebe is pretty deep and introspective, and incredibly emotionally intelligent, though most just write her off for being a dumb, pretty blonde. She can read people pretty easily, and is great at giving advice, especially with relationships. She’s a huge Taylor Swift fan for this exact reason, and if you hear humming over the radio, it’s probably her

❤️(These are extra depending on the muns) Bebe had an on again, off again relationship with Clyde all throughout High School, and ended up with them breaking up when they went to separate colleges. To Bebe, she doesn’t know if it was her first and only love, or an obligation brought on by being head cheerleader. She thinks Clyde is a bit too childish, and a bit too much of a flirt. She’s dated some other boys in South Park, but nothing as seriously, or as long, as Clyde.

`RP Example:` “Oh fuck this.” Bebe muttered to herself. Throwing the radio down in frustration as she crossed her arms over her favorite hoodie. This hoodie in particular had been dubbed ‘her clean hoodie’ and was solely allowed for occasions where she wasn’t kicking zombie ass, and it was safe from getting splattered in zombie guts. The radio, now on the floor in front of her, was found in her last expedition outside of her makeshift shelter, but the issue was making it connect to the outside world. It was plucked off of some poor, unsuspecting r girl, who, to be polite and not gross, didn’t really need it anymore. The girl’s outfit was also unflattering and did nothing for her figure and undertones, but that's besides the point. An apocalypse wasn’t a good reason to look gross. Bebe was in the same apocalypse, and her jeans were both cute, and allowed her to kick over her head.

“I just had to take theater in high school, and not like engineering. Lot of good theater is serving me now. Engineering, I would have like, had a whole set up. Maybe get this caravan rolling..” Bebe sighed. She picked the radio up once more, flipping open the control panel to poke at the wires. It wasn’t that the radio wasn’t turning on, but it wasn’t tuned to an outside channel, but some weird inter-group one, which was now silent. .Bebe turned the dial on the top again, flipping through silent stations, talking to herself, “Hello? Anyone out there that isn’t a rotting corpse? A heartbeat? Maybe nice arms and fat ass.” Bebe said, frowning a bit as a bit of sound escaped one of the channels as she was moving it back and forth during her speech. The radio often made weird sounds, static humming or swells, but never really human speech. She quickly started turning the dial back, searching for the sound again, pausing on each click of the dial to listen for a few seconds, before finding one where people were talking. Bebe didn’t recognize their voices, either the 4 years of zombie fighting really took a toll on everyone’s vocal chords, or she just couldn’t associate the poor sound quality with a face. They were going on and on about something, but Bebe was quick to interrupt. “Hey that sounds, so interesting and all, but I would super appreciate some help. I’ve been trapped in wilds for like, ever. I don’t even care who comes and saves me at this point.” Bebe said, pausing in her speech to take a short breath. “And I promise I'm like super cute, and would really appreciate some kind of organized effort.” Bebe stopped to listen in, hearing no response. "Those motherfuckers.” Bebe whispered to herself, after hearing no response.

#submission #Application

Welcome Clyde Donovan!

ABOUT THE MUSE: `Name:` Clyde Donovan `Age:` 24 `Gender:` Cis Male `Pronouns:` He/him `Sexuality:` like 98% heterosexual (he would kiss his homies) `Height:` 5’8 `Location:` South Park Shelter `Occupation:` Guard / Patrol / Scavenger `Brief History:` During the first week of the outbreak, Clyde’s father was infected and as a result, turned and attacked Clyde. To protect himself, Clyde had to make the tough call to end his father’s life. This event and the Outbreak as a whole rattled Clyde emotionally, leaving him quite unstable at times. He has not traveled far from South Park since the Outbreak, having a deep mistrust of the government and the QZs they occupied. He much rather be in a small self governed group with those he trusts most, which is where he is now. He spends most of him time guarding the South Park Shelter and looking for supplies for those living there. While his first kill was brutal, he has since grown used to the world in which he lives. Clyde can and will end someone’s life if it means protecting himself or anyone he cares about. He also doesn’t have trouble going up against army scavenger if in desperate need of supplies. However due to his proximity to close friends, he stays rather positive and isn’t afraid to shoot the shit like old times. `5 or more HeadCanons:` * Clyde’s most prized possession is his father’s old pistol, which he acquired after his father passed at the beginning of the outbreak. The pistol remains his main weapon. * Despite it being incredibly impractical, Clyde prefers to wear the ugliest Hawaiian button downs he can find. Usually open over top a white tank top. During the colder months, he wears his signature red letterman jacket. * The bastard is a conservative through and through. He has an incredible amount of distrust for any government entity, refuses to even enter a QZ, and refuses to take Zombrex. * Clyde is incredibly emotional unstable. He easily flips between crying hysterically to being incredibly unhinged and violent (trigger happy) to cracking jokes with his friends. These switches between emotional states can be caused by the slightest inconvenience. * Despite the world ending apocalypse, Clyde remains a horny fuckboy. He can’t keep himself from flirting with the nearest attractive woman. Sex is the preferred distraction for him. However, he refuses to sleep with anyone taking Zombrex. * He misses playing Minecraft the most `RP Example:` “I’m just saying, this is our world now, we need to start thinking of shit no one has thought of!” Clyde rambled to Craig, his best friend and always the first person he’d run to when an idea crossed his mind. Usually Craig would gently turn the idea down or ‘gentle parent’ Clyde to a better, less stupid idea. “Think about it, what’s something we haven’t seen anyone do?” Clyde stepped in front of Craig, stopping them both in their tracks. “Not the government, not other gangs…” He paused for effect, even biting his lip and raising his brows. Clyde shifted, the dirt crunching under his red canvas shoes. A terrible choice of shoe but Clyde was known for his shit sense of style. The big reveal was coming. “We start using *the infected*!” Clyde had the biggest smile on his face as he waited for Craig rejoice in his idea. Naturally, when the later didn’t smile nor humor him, Clyde started to ramble off the rest of his thoughts. “Dude, no, seriously, like what if we gather a bunch of infected and like trap them in rooms or specific parts of town, they would be like— boobytraps! We could tie ‘em up and like set them on people who try stealing from us! Come on, dude, this is fucking genius! Gimme something, man!” Clyde huffed, watching Craig walk forward without much of a reaction. Clyde drug a hand through his messy brown hair before finally following. “Okay, fine, but when I work out the details we’ve got a bitchin’ plan! You’ll be on board!”

Welcome Marjorine Stotch!

𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 : Marjorine Stotch 𝙖𝙜𝙚 : 24 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 : Transwoman 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙨 : She/Her 𝙨𝙚𝙭𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 : Bisexual 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 : 5'10" 𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 : Denver QZ 𝙤𝙘𝙘𝙪𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 : Preschool Teacher [10:04 PM]

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[10:05 PM] 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 : (For the sake of backstory, I’ll use the name Butters and he/him pronouns up until Marjorine’s official transition.)

When he was younger, Butters considered the notion of complete autonomy to be a fate entirely out of the question. He stayed inside more often than not in high school, in fear of getting in trouble for matters outside of his control; in his partially self-inflicted reclusivity, the four walls of his bedroom became the scale of the entire Earth, with South Park as the solar system, and anything outside of it harboring an unpredictability and vastness akin to the entire universe. The only places he could be found were school and work, which may have sparked his uninhibited work ethic, but simultaneously made him more dependent on the structure that had been curated for him at home. His parents dutifully upheld this standard, expecting exceptional grades and perfect obedience from their son.

Butters may have maintained his gullible and innocent nature, allowing for his parents to take full advantage of his incapability to take control over his own life, if not for his access to the internet. While perusing potential life paths during his senior year, the quality of his life came under necessary scrutiny; his potential was being diluted, both at work and at home, by people desperate to hold power over him. The slow realization sparked justified indignation in his heart, and after reflecting on the idea of taking on a role of leadership later in life, he decided to pursue a degree in business.

Following eighteen long years of being confined to his home as the rest of the world passed him by, he was more than eager to leave South Park behind the moment he graduated high school. [10:05 PM] An ambitious attempt to prove his capabilities (to his parents, and to himself), he got a job as a live-in nanny up in Denver that began in the summer before her freshman year of college, freeing him from the restraints of his overbearing parents, and shedding the stress of dorming for the duration of his college career. Without any sort of parental involvement, by the time the first semester began, she had started presenting femininely and going by Marjorine, but would put on a more masculine front when going down to visit over holidays. However, thanks to her job that required her to be around a majority of the time, she had a good excuse to limit her visits home, and keep her family at bay. During her college years, the mother Marjorine worked for taught her a multitude of lessons; the importance and necessity of financial and social independence, how to navigate and excel in a male dominated field, how to be her own source of empowerment, and of course, offered her some much needed fashion advice.

Upon the outbreak, Marjorine was a year shy of earning her degree, and was promptly left to her own devices upon the respective infections of those she shared a home with. As the world began to decay around her, she discovered an oddly comforting sense of familiarity in being confined to the city, punished for something entirely outside of her control (much like being grounded in her youth). Well-versed in finding ways to flourish under an oppressive, domineering regime, she felt safer within the barriers of the QZ than she could have anywhere else, even back home in her appointed solar system of South Park. Or, at least, it helped to convince herself it was partially her choice.

By the time society was revived and the cogs of the working machine began to turn again, Marjorine promptly realized just how useless her field of study had become. [10:05 PM] With such little experience in other necessary roles, she called upon her recently acquired skill of childcare, and was employed as a teacher’s aid for preschool, and eventually promoted as a preschool teacher herself due to insufficient staff. Though she demonstrated an inherent empathy for the kids, a part of her still felt entirely dissatisfied with her job; she had been prepared for board meetings and spreadsheets, not issuing nap times or reading storybooks from the dreary selection of approved literature. It was an unfulfilling line of work without the consequences, but allowing innocent children to slip through her fingers, marching in single file into kindergarten with the phantoms of rifles on their backs and helmets on their heads, made Marjorine sick to her stomach. She’d often walked past schools on her way to work with glassy eyes.

However, in the wake of a new career, courses from college had not been completely discarded from Marjorine’s judgment; though the economy had been gutted and turned inside out, she could vaguely identify the direction in which it was mutating, the new means of currency only amplifying the inherent flaws in the market before society’s downfall. With any fresh advancements came blatant loopholes that were protected by majorly unqualified oversight, making discrepancies ripe for extortion. Over the past year or so of Marjorine’s life, she’d been desperately trying to get her foot in the door of the operation, hoping that any day now, she could exploit the corrupted economy to provide not only for the children coming from less fortunate families, but herself as well. [10:05 PM]

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[10:05 PM] 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 : ・.・★ Butters? I hardly know ‘er! If someone from South Park tries to confront her about knowing her from childhood, she will ardently deny ever knowing them at all (think the attitude of Victor Chaos). This reaction partially comes from wanting to leave her old identity behind for good, afraid of how she may be perceived if the information ever came out, but it also stems from the fear of her parents finding out about her transition. Basically: gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. ・.・★ Wink! Monocular vision; has to wear eyeglasses with a balance lens, and has a scar over her right eye. ・.・★ Proverbs 23:81. Despite the obvious, glaring issues with organized religion, ever since the outbreak, Marjorine has partially turned back to her Catholic roots, seeking comfort in scripture to guide her through such tumultuous times. She doesn’t speak much about her religion to anyone, but does wear a cross necklace wherever she goes. ・.・★ What, these old things? Speaking of jewelry, in college, she liked to make her own earrings. Silly ones that dangle. The children she worked with liked them a lot, but the younger ones would incessantly reach to tug on them, so she had to start wearing studs to work instead. ・.・★ Whistle a happy tune! Still carries the habit from childhood of singing to herself at any given opportunity, either song she makes up to fit the situation she’s wound up in, or whatever pops into her head. One her way to and from work, when she is unaccompanied, she will hum to herself as a means of asserting confidence and comfort in an otherwise dangerous journey. However, if silence is safer, she will instead nod her head to a tune better kept in her mind. In my brain she sounds like a young Dolly Parton, with the use of head voice, slight nasal quality, squashed S’s, etc. Definitely not as good of a singer as Dolly, just similar in tonality.

Welcome Stan Marsh!

Name: Stan Marsh Age: 24 Gender: cis male Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: bi-sexaul Height: 6’0 Location: Denver QZ Occupation: QZ Soldier, Civilian Affairs Specialist. FC: Deaken Bluman Art Cred: emilyartstudio-s.tumblr.com [8:17 PM]

[8:17 PM] Brief History: It seemed everyone had it all figured out, and Stan was the only one floundering. Of course he had a good head on his shoulders, he had high morals and strong will towards the things to be believed in, but Stan found it hard to be passionate about something obtainable for him. Stan always believed himself too smart to be talented, but too dumb to do anything worthwhile. Despite this, Stan did well in school. Throughout middle school he maintained good grades and was a major player on various sports teams, such as baseball (which he continued after being on a local softball team throughout grade school), football (which he did through middle school but opted to not try out for once reaching high school), and later hockey.

Sophomore year of high school is where things within his family dynamic got shaken up. His parents were known to fight, that was just normal for the Marsh household and Stan had made some peace with that, but after his older sister Shelley went off to college, it was as if his parents took a sigh of relief and finally decided to stop pretending things were fine. They filed for divorce, this time for good, and Stan was left to feel the emotional strain of that decision.

Part of him expected it to be like the last time when he was 10, when they separated for a few months to allow his dad to explore whatever it is he had to do, but things were serious this time. Stan pulled between two households and put in the middle of his parents' fights (sometimes he thinks their fighting was the only thing they missed about each other), and tried to make sense of it all. His grades saw a brief decline, as well as his sudden absence from baseball practice as his anxiety and depression started to gain more control over him. Despite that though, he later found any excuse not to be home, and enrolls in multiple after-school activities (which he ends up dropping out of most of them to instead spend more time with friends), and drops from the baseball team to put all his focus into Hockey. (edited) [8:18 PM] When the time came to start thinking about college, the idea of his future left him queasy. He knew that he did not have a flawless academic record, nor did he have any idea of what he wanted to study. He had spent so much time dipping his toes into a little bit of everything, that when he really thought about it, he was not truly passionate about anything. He loved animals but did not have interest in being a vet, wanted to see a change in the world but did not have a heart for politics, and he loved music but did not want to live his life chasing foolish dreams like his father had before. So, being a misguided, lost and unsure teen who didn’t want to be at home any longer but didn’t exactly have a heart for school, there was a simple solution to this. Stan joined the military.

He wants some sort of structure, structure he did not get at home and would not get from a normal college experience. He could see himself heading down a road he did not like, considering Stan was no stranger to alcohol and was already regularly drinking to get himself through the day, he thought that the army might help curb that crutch and honestly distract him enough that he wouldn’t be able to think too much. It did do that for him, maybe too well. Stan felt a strain in his relationships with people he use to be close with, didn’t talk to his parents much and started to talk less and less with the friends he thought he was going to have forever.

Stan did find some footing when it came to school, studying sociology as a very “generally I don’t care but I have to pick something” solution to the problem of deciding a major. It seemed broad enough to get his foot in the door somewhere at the end of this phase (being the army) of his life. Despite that, Stan would find his degree to be useful sooner rather than later. When the outbreak hit, Stan had only just earned his degree, and was being sent to Denver to aid in the securing of the Quarantine Zone. He had little idea of what was going on, given he had never had any social media he was not seeing any updates people were posting before everything got shut down, so he didn’t know what he was coming into.

Entering in with a knotted stomach, his unease only got worse when he was ordered to take an active part in the cleansing of the city contaminants. Killing what he had interpreted as infected innocents left him shocked, and after everything had been said and done, with their men lost, Stan was ordered to step up. He was the only one with any education on identifying critical requirements needed by civilians in such a critical situation as this, and also the only one stupid enough to accept such a big job.

So Stan was forced to step up into a task that was way over his head, beginning to coordinate, conduct and participate in the redevelopment of the QZ under military order. Designating supplies and setting up for medical staff, organizing the early distribution of food and supplies, and listening to the concerns of the civilians these soldiers were meant to protect for however long this outbreak lasted. Stan had a purpose now, and he was going to try to do his best to handle it all.

Over the years, as the city mutated into a phantom of the normalcy he had tried to uphold, Stan is trying to remain focused and sure that he is on the right side. However, in the face of the corruption of his peers and superiors, Stan is finding himself unsure of how much longer he can stand on such a crooked stage. (edited)

Crow || Stan — Today at 8:27 PM

[8:27 PM] 5 or more HeadCanons: • Stan has a difficult time picking which parent to spend holidays with after the divorce, actually spending the first Thanksgiving with the Broflovskis in order to keep the peace.

• Stan and Wendy broke up in sophomore year after Stan grew distant due to a stuff going on at home. The pair managed to grow close as friends however despite the breakup.

• Stan has a decent singing voice (that he had to work for) and can play the guitar rather well. He actually learned to play guitar from his dad during middle school, and Stan remembers it was one of the only times he and his dad actually got along. He managed to get ahold of an old guitar that he fixed up, and occasionally plays it when he’s alone in his apartment and can't sleep.

• Stan still deals with asthma, which is annoying to him because inhalers made before the breakout would be expired by now. He still manages to get ahold of one or two that he keeps for emergencies.

• Stan is always clean-shaven, he thinks facial hair makes him look too much like Randy, and he thinks it maintains him as looking professional (even if this far into the outbreak it wouldn’t even matter anymore).

• Stan is harder to bribe, unlike his fellow soldiers. Stan tries to maintain a moral high ground and not stoop to a certain level, however he finds himself sometimes being lenient on people he catches breaking rules (as long as no one else is around) and lets them off with warnings. He knows this is going to eventually bite him in the ass.

• Stan has a lot of quirks and tells to what he is thinking, Hands in his pockets, pinching his nose, and small vocal stims. His buddies in the army had dubbed these “Stanerisms”, and often teased him about it. Stan to some degree can brush these things off, except when things are pointed out to him that he recognizes is something he learned/picked up from his dad. Those mannerisms Stan internalizes and attempts to not do anymore (unsuccessfully) because he doesn't want to find himself being anything like his dad.

• Stan had cut his alcohol consumption while enlisted, and for the first year of his role in the Denver QZ he did not drink, however as the years passed Stan fell on old habits. He keeps a flask of whiskey on his person, and has a bottle or two stashed in his apartment. He does not get belligerently drunk, but feels like he needs to drink to deal with the general agony of existence in these trying times.

• For the first few months in Denver, due to his nerves Stan always felt queasy and threw up often after he and his mates cleared out hoards of infected.

Pip is reserved!

can i reserve bradley biggle?

You can only reserve characters when not asking as anon due to us not knowing who the reservation is under. Please ask again on a account!

#anon #asks

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