pluvian_penguin
Lurker
Hey, it's Penguin! I'm in my late twenties and use they/them pronouns. The best way to reach me is PM, or I'm also watching this thread. I'm onsite only for both OOC and IC.
I post between once a day and once a week. If it's been longer than two weeks, your reply probably slipped by me, and I'd appreciate a nudge! My posts are usually in the range of 300-500 words and I have some writing samples at the end. As far as limits go, suicide, sexual assault, self-harm, and child abuse are all a hard no from me, even as backstory elements or vague mentions.
The main thing I'm looking for in a partner is someone who can match my post length and speed. I'm not gonna be a hardass about it, but I don't mesh well with people whose replies are significantly shorter or slower than mine. Present or past tense is fine, but third person only. No self-inserts or AI-generated content. I prefer partners over 18 and only do platonic plots with anyone younger.
Plotting and worldbuilding are a lot of fun for me, and I would like a partner who contributes equally. I'm happy to adjust to your preferences about other kinds of OOC chatter. If you want to talk a lot about our characters and trade moodboards and headcanons, I'll hop on pinterest! If small talk isn't your thing, no worries, I'll let you be - but please respond if I have a question about the plot.
My favourite genres are sci-fi, fantasy, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic, and alternate history like River of Teeth. I'll try any genre if the plot intrigues me! Action plots with room for character development are catnip to me, and I'm also a sucker for domestic slice-of-life with romantic plots. I'm a huge fan of anything involving robots, mechs, dinosaurs, or dragons.
Fandoms and crossovers are welcome. Some of my favourite fandoms are Star Wars, Transformers, Alien/AVP, Jurassic Park, Bioshock, and Lord of the Rings.
I only play characters over 18, and will play semi/non-humans and anthros. I tend toward characters with some sort of powers or abilities, from mutants to werewolves to Percy Jackson-style demigods. Romantic plots can be any gender and oc x oc, oc x canon, or canon x canon. I'm not interested in my characters facing bigotry, even in historical settings, but I love throwing all kinds of other problems at them. Face claims can be realistic, drawn, or not used at all. I don't double right off the bat, but I'm open to discussing it after a few months.
I post between once a day and once a week. If it's been longer than two weeks, your reply probably slipped by me, and I'd appreciate a nudge! My posts are usually in the range of 300-500 words and I have some writing samples at the end. As far as limits go, suicide, sexual assault, self-harm, and child abuse are all a hard no from me, even as backstory elements or vague mentions.
The main thing I'm looking for in a partner is someone who can match my post length and speed. I'm not gonna be a hardass about it, but I don't mesh well with people whose replies are significantly shorter or slower than mine. Present or past tense is fine, but third person only. No self-inserts or AI-generated content. I prefer partners over 18 and only do platonic plots with anyone younger.
Plotting and worldbuilding are a lot of fun for me, and I would like a partner who contributes equally. I'm happy to adjust to your preferences about other kinds of OOC chatter. If you want to talk a lot about our characters and trade moodboards and headcanons, I'll hop on pinterest! If small talk isn't your thing, no worries, I'll let you be - but please respond if I have a question about the plot.
My favourite genres are sci-fi, fantasy, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic, and alternate history like River of Teeth. I'll try any genre if the plot intrigues me! Action plots with room for character development are catnip to me, and I'm also a sucker for domestic slice-of-life with romantic plots. I'm a huge fan of anything involving robots, mechs, dinosaurs, or dragons.
Fandoms and crossovers are welcome. Some of my favourite fandoms are Star Wars, Transformers, Alien/AVP, Jurassic Park, Bioshock, and Lord of the Rings.
I only play characters over 18, and will play semi/non-humans and anthros. I tend toward characters with some sort of powers or abilities, from mutants to werewolves to Percy Jackson-style demigods. Romantic plots can be any gender and oc x oc, oc x canon, or canon x canon. I'm not interested in my characters facing bigotry, even in historical settings, but I love throwing all kinds of other problems at them. Face claims can be realistic, drawn, or not used at all. I don't double right off the bat, but I'm open to discussing it after a few months.
Josiah stared at the ship-killing storm on the other side of the porthole, wondering if there would be any point deploying if the lightning hit them. The Wayfarer had been steadily deteriorating since long before he was born. And with their long-range communications system a pile of slag for over fifty years, there would be no calling for help. Even if anyone was left, they wouldn't brave the hurricane for strangers. No. No, if they went down... Well, everyone else would feel as alone as he did.
The Haverton boys had never been very far from each other, growing up. Never have to worry about telling them apart, their mother teased, because they're always in the same trouble. She got cancer when he was fourteen, and that had stopped teasing from everyone. And then two years after she died, Theo got caught smuggling weapons from the surface, and they'd locked him up before Josiah had any chance to say goodbye.
Since then, Theo hadn't spoken to anyone outside the brig. And Josiah had tried, over and over again, so many times that he'd been threatened with imprisonment, himself. He backed down after that. As much as he loved his brother, he loved his freedom more. It bothered him ever since. Stuck in the back of his mind, like a jagged pebble in his boot, coming back with every step along the Wayfarer's scuffed metal halls.
I left him there, I left him there, I left him there.
The ship shuddered, and he froze for a moment. No matter what they said, everyone on the ship was nervous when she jolted like she was about to fall out of the sky. The escape pods had been scrapped for parts long ago, their berths empty, when they weren't full of storage crates. It would take a Helldivers' parachute to get safely to the surface.
He tucked his thumbs under the straps of his pack, making sure it laid as flat against his chest as before. Perfect. Always perfect. The only thing Theo ever seemed to take seriously was their gear checks. Nobody wanted to see their teammate die from something stupid. Deaths would happen, they did every time, but in Josiah's opinion? Getting eaten by mutants was a much better fate than always being known as 'that idiot who didn't know how a parachute worked'.
The PA speaker above the porthole crackled and buzzed, the message lost beneath the static. It didn't matter. Only one message came to the Helldivers' bay at a time like this.
"Everyone ready?" he called. Why he was trusted with leadership, he didn't know, but then again, there weren't many divers left. At twenty-five, with eight dives under his belt, he was one of the most experienced ones. There weren't many people signing up for the job.
A collection of affirmative responses came, and he took a deep breath before turning from the porthole, blinking spots from the latest lightning flash out of his eyes.
The doors to the launch bay squeaked open, drawing the attention of all of them.
"Commander Benson," Josiah said, puzzled. The head of the Helldivers division was rarely seen by anyone, and Josiah didn't think to salute his superior officer until the commander's own hand was raised. "What are you doing here, sir?"
"Last-minute change to your team roster."
Must be someone special if they were brought here by the commander. As long as they weren't stealing his spot, he wouldn't care. He couldn't say a break would be unwelcome, but his teammates' lives were in his hands. He took that pretty seriously. Any leader would. And whoever this was... well, he wasn't exactly convinced they were up to the task.
Rather than saying that, he tucked his helmet under one arm, and held out a hand to shake.
"What's your name, diver?"
The Haverton boys had never been very far from each other, growing up. Never have to worry about telling them apart, their mother teased, because they're always in the same trouble. She got cancer when he was fourteen, and that had stopped teasing from everyone. And then two years after she died, Theo got caught smuggling weapons from the surface, and they'd locked him up before Josiah had any chance to say goodbye.
Since then, Theo hadn't spoken to anyone outside the brig. And Josiah had tried, over and over again, so many times that he'd been threatened with imprisonment, himself. He backed down after that. As much as he loved his brother, he loved his freedom more. It bothered him ever since. Stuck in the back of his mind, like a jagged pebble in his boot, coming back with every step along the Wayfarer's scuffed metal halls.
I left him there, I left him there, I left him there.
The ship shuddered, and he froze for a moment. No matter what they said, everyone on the ship was nervous when she jolted like she was about to fall out of the sky. The escape pods had been scrapped for parts long ago, their berths empty, when they weren't full of storage crates. It would take a Helldivers' parachute to get safely to the surface.
He tucked his thumbs under the straps of his pack, making sure it laid as flat against his chest as before. Perfect. Always perfect. The only thing Theo ever seemed to take seriously was their gear checks. Nobody wanted to see their teammate die from something stupid. Deaths would happen, they did every time, but in Josiah's opinion? Getting eaten by mutants was a much better fate than always being known as 'that idiot who didn't know how a parachute worked'.
The PA speaker above the porthole crackled and buzzed, the message lost beneath the static. It didn't matter. Only one message came to the Helldivers' bay at a time like this.
"Everyone ready?" he called. Why he was trusted with leadership, he didn't know, but then again, there weren't many divers left. At twenty-five, with eight dives under his belt, he was one of the most experienced ones. There weren't many people signing up for the job.
A collection of affirmative responses came, and he took a deep breath before turning from the porthole, blinking spots from the latest lightning flash out of his eyes.
The doors to the launch bay squeaked open, drawing the attention of all of them.
"Commander Benson," Josiah said, puzzled. The head of the Helldivers division was rarely seen by anyone, and Josiah didn't think to salute his superior officer until the commander's own hand was raised. "What are you doing here, sir?"
"Last-minute change to your team roster."
Must be someone special if they were brought here by the commander. As long as they weren't stealing his spot, he wouldn't care. He couldn't say a break would be unwelcome, but his teammates' lives were in his hands. He took that pretty seriously. Any leader would. And whoever this was... well, he wasn't exactly convinced they were up to the task.
Rather than saying that, he tucked his helmet under one arm, and held out a hand to shake.
"What's your name, diver?"
She'd been trying to centre herself in the Force for far too long. The clock on the wall had steadily changed numbers, the leaves of the plant in the windowsill had unfurled in the morning sun, and Myla... had accomplished nothing. Great. Another morning wasted!
"This would be easier if you would say something," she informed the plant. One leaf bobbed slightly as a bug nibbled at it, but otherwise there was no reply.
It wasn't like she'd expected one. When she finally stopped running after the clones' betrayal, she named it after her dead master. Tried to find a way to grieve them and move on. All she had to show for it was overdue rent and a lightsaber hilt with no kyber crystal to power it.
The thought of the hilt drew her hand to the data puck clipped to her belt. A touch from her finger, and it lit up with the same bounty from before. A Devaronian last seen on Ilum. Where she was supposed to go, until...
She tapped the puck closed and wondered if she should. The bounty hunters' guild had offered this to a guild member. Her theft wouldn't impress them, if it was discovered. With her too-big plastoid chestplate and rusty blaster, she didn't look much like a real bounty hunter. But she was another body to throw at the problem, and from what she knew of bounty hunters, that would be enough to get her foot in the door. She didn't want anything to do with the bounty, anyway. She just needed a way to get onto Ilum, a way that wouldn't involve going through customs or having to pay a smuggler.
Getting a crystal at a time like this was ridiculous. Her master would have sighed very deeply if they knew what she was thinking. But she needed to feel like something was normal. And if it was dangerous, well, so was every other part of her life now.
Of course, the sight of a five-foot-nothing nineteen-year-old was going to be met with some scepticism. So as soon as someone answered the door at the designated meeting point, she squared her shoulders and demanded,
"Take me with you to Ilum."
"This would be easier if you would say something," she informed the plant. One leaf bobbed slightly as a bug nibbled at it, but otherwise there was no reply.
It wasn't like she'd expected one. When she finally stopped running after the clones' betrayal, she named it after her dead master. Tried to find a way to grieve them and move on. All she had to show for it was overdue rent and a lightsaber hilt with no kyber crystal to power it.
The thought of the hilt drew her hand to the data puck clipped to her belt. A touch from her finger, and it lit up with the same bounty from before. A Devaronian last seen on Ilum. Where she was supposed to go, until...
She tapped the puck closed and wondered if she should. The bounty hunters' guild had offered this to a guild member. Her theft wouldn't impress them, if it was discovered. With her too-big plastoid chestplate and rusty blaster, she didn't look much like a real bounty hunter. But she was another body to throw at the problem, and from what she knew of bounty hunters, that would be enough to get her foot in the door. She didn't want anything to do with the bounty, anyway. She just needed a way to get onto Ilum, a way that wouldn't involve going through customs or having to pay a smuggler.
Getting a crystal at a time like this was ridiculous. Her master would have sighed very deeply if they knew what she was thinking. But she needed to feel like something was normal. And if it was dangerous, well, so was every other part of her life now.
Of course, the sight of a five-foot-nothing nineteen-year-old was going to be met with some scepticism. So as soon as someone answered the door at the designated meeting point, she squared her shoulders and demanded,
"Take me with you to Ilum."
They won't be able to stay here for much longer. It's winter, now. The first frost lays sparkling across a carpet of autumn leaves, ground into a muddy brown paste by the tramp of survivors and zombies alike, and Amadu's breath puffs cloud-like in the air as he stamps his feet and blows on his fingers.
God, what he wouldn't give to be back at the county fair, wrinkling his nose against the livestock smell as he shared cotton candy with his daughter. He hasn't seen her since the town burned. Been looking for her since, of course he has, but the weather is going to start driving him south. The animals are all gone already, except a few rabbits and a lone fox. He hasn't seen deer tracks in three days.
"No reason to want a deer," he reminds himself. Without a town to help feed, and his pack full of other supplies, he'll waste most of the meat by leaving it on the carcass. Shifting from the mindset of a solo survivor to a team player had been hard. Going back to being on his own? He doesn't think it'll be hard at all.
Oscar's voice draws him from his thoughts, and he nods in agreement. Yeah. Yeah, they do need to follow the river. Fill their canteens, get a fish or two if they can, and take advantage of the undead's hate for running water. He runs through the reasons in his mind, trying to give himself more reasons to get moving.
He can't tell himself what he wants to hear the most. She might be there. It's true, technically, but if she had really escaped the fire of the town in the same direction as them... They would have seen some sign of her by now. They would have known that there was a reason for hope.
"Let's go." Saying it doesn't make it any more urgent, but it helps spur him into movement, all the same. Maybe today they'll get unbelievably lucky.
He kicks dirt over the fire and crouches to feel the top layer of his bedroll. Still damp from the frost. He sets it aside, damp side facing down, and rolls up the rest to tie it to the top of his pack. The first few hours of the morning exist in a strange, dusky, not-quite-twilight. The blanket has to dry out before he can roll it back up with the others. Probably fine by the time he stops for lunch.
For now, he wraps it over his pack and around his shoulders, seeking whatever warmth he can. He used to carry his rifle over his shoulder, but now he holds it in both hands as he moves. Whoever gets their gun up first is the one who dictates the terms of any meeting between survivors. Unshouldering his Browning takes a couple seconds at most, but in the quick-draw world he lives in now, that's still too long.
In an attempt to shake the thoughts from his mind, he asks,
"What did you hear during the night watch?"
God, what he wouldn't give to be back at the county fair, wrinkling his nose against the livestock smell as he shared cotton candy with his daughter. He hasn't seen her since the town burned. Been looking for her since, of course he has, but the weather is going to start driving him south. The animals are all gone already, except a few rabbits and a lone fox. He hasn't seen deer tracks in three days.
"No reason to want a deer," he reminds himself. Without a town to help feed, and his pack full of other supplies, he'll waste most of the meat by leaving it on the carcass. Shifting from the mindset of a solo survivor to a team player had been hard. Going back to being on his own? He doesn't think it'll be hard at all.
Oscar's voice draws him from his thoughts, and he nods in agreement. Yeah. Yeah, they do need to follow the river. Fill their canteens, get a fish or two if they can, and take advantage of the undead's hate for running water. He runs through the reasons in his mind, trying to give himself more reasons to get moving.
He can't tell himself what he wants to hear the most. She might be there. It's true, technically, but if she had really escaped the fire of the town in the same direction as them... They would have seen some sign of her by now. They would have known that there was a reason for hope.
"Let's go." Saying it doesn't make it any more urgent, but it helps spur him into movement, all the same. Maybe today they'll get unbelievably lucky.
He kicks dirt over the fire and crouches to feel the top layer of his bedroll. Still damp from the frost. He sets it aside, damp side facing down, and rolls up the rest to tie it to the top of his pack. The first few hours of the morning exist in a strange, dusky, not-quite-twilight. The blanket has to dry out before he can roll it back up with the others. Probably fine by the time he stops for lunch.
For now, he wraps it over his pack and around his shoulders, seeking whatever warmth he can. He used to carry his rifle over his shoulder, but now he holds it in both hands as he moves. Whoever gets their gun up first is the one who dictates the terms of any meeting between survivors. Unshouldering his Browning takes a couple seconds at most, but in the quick-draw world he lives in now, that's still too long.
In an attempt to shake the thoughts from his mind, he asks,
"What did you hear during the night watch?"
