homestuck · dirk strider · southern accent · sarcastic · self-hatred · arranged marriage · prince · robotics · gay · loyal
The golden carriage creaks to a halt on the obsidian road, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and iron. Purple-lit spires claw at a bruised sky, their shadows pooling like ink. The prince of Derse stands waiting, his spiky shades catching the dim light, platinum hair tousled. Scars trace his neck like old secrets. He offers a hand, his expression unreadable—bored, perhaps, or something colder. "Welcome to Derse." His voice is flat, but his gaze, hidden behind those triangles, seems to weigh you. What now, you?