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|Name:||[Bloodswap!] Karkat Vantas|
your name is KARKAT VANTAS, and as should be ABUNDANTLY CLEAR to anyone who so much as GLANCES at your NOBLE FORM, you are a HATCHED LEADER.
Thanks to the TYRIAN PURPLE flowing freely through your BLADDER-BASED AQUATIC VASCULAR SYSTEM, you were born the HEIR APPARENT to the ALTERNIAN THRONE. As such, you've been ITCHING AND SCHEMING from the start to CRUSH the CURRENT EMPEROR and his TERRIFYINGLY SACCHARINE DOUBLE-LADLE REGIME beneath your WIDE-FIN, BEJEWELED ELEVATOR HEELS before growing up to DOMINATE THE COWERING UNIVERSE with your PINCER-TIGHT HATEFIST. Your ENTHUSIASM concerning your role has made you somewhat IMAGE CONSCIOUS, and has led you to act PERPETUALLY AND ALMOST EXCLUSIVELY ORNERY in some vain attempt to conceal your BUDDING NAPOLEON COMPLEX. You have a tendency to GLUB when you get riled, which is PRETTY MUCH ALL THE TIME. You personally regard the GLUBS as a bit of a SPEECH IMPEDIMENT. They EMBARRASS you, but you pretty much cover it up by SHOUTING A WHOLE LOT and DARING PEOPLE TO NOTICE.
You have a NUMBER OF INTERESTS AND NOTABLE HABITS including your APPALLING HORRIBLE FASHION SENSE, which reveals itself most plainly in your OPULENT JEWELRY, but, in short (and you are nothing if not SHORT), you REALLY LOVE CLOTHES.
GLUB, do you love CLOTHES.
If there were a planet of CAPES AND GOLD, you would probably try to SINGLEHANDEDLY OVERTAKE IT armed with only your SCATHING CHARISMA, and your DOUBLE SCYTHEKIND specibus or 2X6-9KIND. Not so much because you actually care about FASHION. (Although you DO.) You mostly just like RUBBING THE NOSES OF THE MASSES in on your OWNING THINGS which feed into the MASSIVE IMAGE of the kind of EMPEROR you want to become. As far as you're concerned, nothing says "TYRANNY" like a SEQUINED CAPE lined in GILDED HOOFBEAST LIVERFRAGMENTS. And CHAINS. Lots of GOLD CHAINS. You don't care what any of your FRIENDS say to the contrary, either, on account of them all being IGNORANT PEASANTS by comparison who wouldn't know the AVANT GARDE if it came up dressed in GOLDEN ARMOR like a true KNIGHT OF SASS, and knocked them FEET OVER FINS.
You are also completely obsessed with ROMANCE, considering yourself something of a BUDDING PHILOSOPHER-KING when it comes to QUADRANT THEORY. To you, the CHARACTER INSIGHTS into BASE TROLL NATURE afforded by your OBSESSIVELY HOARDED LIBRARY OF REALLY TERRIBLE ROMCOMS are an invaluable tool on the path to FUTURE RULE, not to mention, an accurate portrayal of the MUNDANE LAND-DWELLNG LIFE you find yourself inexplicably FASCINATED with. Most of your LARGELY LAND-DWELLING PEON FRIENDS, however, find it difficult to comprehend your lofty reasons for watching the FILMS you do concerning RAINBOW DRINKERS and TROLLS WHO INEXPLICABLY TRANSFORM INTO BEASTS questing for ROMANTIC FULFILLMENT for the SIXTEENTH TIME. They tend to assume your evenings of RELENTLESS MOVIE-GOING INSOMNIA are nothing more than a MASSIVELY SELF-INDULGENT WASTE OF TIME.
Most recently it has come to your attention that the MACHINATIONS of the CURRENT INFERIOR REGIME point to an ever-subtle HALF-BAKED FLAKY TAKEOVER of a planet full of PINK MONKEY CREATURES intended for SLAVES. Your EIGHT SWEEPS of ROMANTIC REBELLION, and the TRENCH-DEEP FATHOMS of your INTERPERSONAL GENIUS have at last found the ideal STRIKE POINT for your RISE FROM THE DEPTHS. Suitably distracted by CONVENIENTLY ORCHESTRATED UPRISINGS, the Emperor will NEVER SUSPECT his METEORESQUE DOWNFALL from the HEAVENS, as his UPPER CRUST CRUMBLES AWAY IN THE BURNING NIGHT, deflating faster than an UNDERWATER SOUFFLE-oh GOG, you hate BAKING PUNS. Why would you even SAY something like that? Why would ANYONE? Let alone EAT that kind of SWILL?
Anyway, you can hardly WAIT to unleash your ADORAGLUBTHIRSTY WRATH CANS from the SHACKLES OF THEIR BONDAGE FIZZ or SOME OTHER SUITABLY MIXED METAPHOR for CHOKING THE EMPEROR on the SWEET BUBBLING LIQUID OF HIS OWN FOOLISH BAKING.
Making. You meant MAKING.
Your trolltag is cantankerouslyCrowned[CC] and you tend to MAKE SURE ALL THOSE DIRT-SUCKING NOOK-FLAPPERS ARE AWARE OF YOUR GLUB-ING ROYAL LEADERSHIP AND PRESENCE RIGHT OFF THE GLUB. YOU MEAN BAT. FUCK. FLYING AERIAL MAMMALBEASTS WILL BE THE ONLY GLUB-ING TOPIC FREELY DISCUSSED WHALE PEASANT SONS OF GLUBBEACHES LIKE THESE MOCK THEIR FUTURE RULER. YOUR CLOSE REEF OF FRONDS MAY COME TO EELIZE IN TIDE THAT YOU USE SEA PUNS WHEN YOU'RE FLOTSAMED. FLUSTERED. YOU SAID FLUSTERED. OR WHEN YOU TRY TO LEVEL WITH THEM, FOR THAT MATTER.