Festive

Festive's 1x1 Search

how dare you wait until i'm in five rps to post this

@TokyoPewPew

It won't be going anywhere LOL

Festive's 1x1 Search

Bump [Original idea section updated: Three new stories added, ranging from southern gothic, historical fantasy, and dark academia]

Agents of H.E.L.P. - Per Angusta Ad Augusta

“You know, my brothers and sisters?”

A voice bellowed out, soft but loud, projecting across the room over the ever-persistent hum of the now-yellow fluorescent bar lights that hung from the roof, and pops and cracks of the coffee machine running just off yonder in the corner. Before the crowd of unevenly lined plastic foldable chairs occupied with those from all over, stood a man behind a worn wooden podium whose hair, once golden, now cluttered with streaks of grays and dulled yellows, dressed in a garb of white frilled with Purple. Eyes of stark green glared across the hall, decorated with flags of the same colors he wore, banners of stripes and crosses lined the walls within his gaze. The air was permeated with the aroma of days-old coffee and the stench of stagnant air from years of disuse as a smile grew upon the speaker's old lips before speaking again.

“Last night, I spent the whole damn evenin’ rackin’ my mind about what I was gonna say tonight. Thinkin’ about exactly what our naturally ordained position in this world is, despite how painfully obvious it may be. Where exactly do we fall in the almighty’s godly order?”

Near the back corner of the hall, one of the many people standing in the crowd due to the underwhelming amount of chairs was a man whose face looked so much like the speaker before them all. Yellow locks were slicked back on his head with arms crossed, slightly covering the name tag with Lucius written in sloppy Sharpie. Yet Lucius was still in jail. With him locked up in one of the few specialized hype facilities in the South, the man who stood among the ranks of the congregation was naught but an impostor who wore the skin of one of their people.

And such was an art Dominique had grown prideful of. To become another, to embrace them and all their tics and idiosyncrasies, was more than simply copying a face or body; such was but the easy part. While copying the minutiae of his facial features and figure only took hours, becoming Lucius took long months in an office watching and rewinding clips of interviews to see exactly what made the man tick, how he thought, how he moved in a room – every facet of his personality. Many a lone night slumped over a desk whose surface was obscured by federal case files strewn about, having been combed through to memorize the small details of his life. All those hours led to this day: the knighting.

“Well, to know this, we must look at who we are. We are a people, who at every chance have been hindered by the goddamn tyrannical grip of this government we call a ‘democracy.’ We are the people who have been left destitute by false kings who have no heavenly merit. We are the ones who have been left in chains. We are those who have been shackled by the powers that be, who just can’t handle the purity of our folk. My people, we are those who have been intoxicated by a cocktail of snake oils to destroy our gifts. The gifts given to us by God. By which, through his heavenly providence, we have become his chosen few. We are the ones ordained to inherit this Earth, yet upon these lands, they treat us as lesser. They call us freaks in the streets. Our young are collared and leashed for what is simply their divine right.”

Dominique leaned their weight against the wall behind them, taking a sip of the dark brew of coffee that was in their hand. It hadn’t been easy infiltrating the Knights of the True Testament despite the identity he had absorbed. Lucius Johnston, the man whom Dominique played, was the cousin of the orator who spouted a false creed to the crowd: Robert Johnston. Originally brought in on several counts of aggravated battery, Lucius was soon “released” after Dominique had taken his place in a joint operation between the FBI and HELP. Dominique, at this point, had been around the group for months, feeding information to the Feds as they watched the group’s rhetoric spread like wildfire in the fringes of the South. And tonight? Tonight was the time they’d finally be trusted as a knight. The time they finally began to gain the power that they would use to burn the group down to naught but ashes.

“And I’ll confess to y'all, for you are my kin, I was once a man who saw color. Who looked only upon the shell of a man to determine his purity. I was a man whose eyes hadn’t yet been awakened to God’s truth, and I thought what made us pure and supreme was marked only by one’s skin, his blood, and the heritage of his people. But now? Now I know I was wrong. Now I know that I was looking at the wrong things. We aren’t pure because of those facts; we aren’t pure because of our genes. We aren’t pure because of our blood. We are pure because of the power that is coursing through our goddamn viens, people! We are pure, through the divinity god struck into us all on that very night! We are pure though that flame in our very being ignited by the blessings from above. Our power is the proof of our purity!”

As the last line fell from Robert’s lips with three successive bangs of his fist against the wooden podium, a cacophony of woos, cheers, and clapping erupted. With the peak to this sickening melody of hate, Dominique kept their face from twisting as they continued to observe the crowd. The K.T.T. twisted the reality of what their powers really were, twisted the view of who hyperhumans really were into something hateful. They preach like false prophets, spinning a tale of faux divinity to the masses. They fought against oppression, but in the same vein, fought for it.

“And I’ll be damned if I let these heathens dictate how we live. For those untouched by God’s power are below us. We are his kin, we are his people, we are pure! There is no black, there is no white, there is no nation, there is no flag by which we are bound, there is only the pure and the impure. The divine and the discarded. And I know if anyone on this Earth will be cleansed, it will not be us. As God made us his soldiers, and it is our time to reclaim what is truly ours.”

The clapping continued yet the disgust burned a pit in Dominique’s mind. It was a shame to see how easily so many people were brought into hate.

“Y’all are too kind, I am just tellin’ our people’s truth. Thank you, thank you. Now y’all will see my face back up here in a little bit for the knighting. Mingle around for a little bit while we get everything prepared now.”

And with Robert left from the stage, the vitriol he spat now heralded and reinforced in the mind of the congregation as “God’s word.” Dominique exhaled a soft sigh as they once again brought the coffee up to their lips. This was not going to be the last of the long nights.

Yet before long, the black pager they held was tucked beneath their shirt began to vibrate.

911*86*60*401773

“What the fuck..?” They uttered softly, almost as but a whisper, as Dominique began to head to the nearest exit. The heart in their chest started to beat ever harder as they left out into the darkness of the Mississippi night. The soft breeze nipped at Dominique’s skin as the coverage of trees swayed overhead. There was not a single payphone for miles as Dominique’s eyes scanned out tree line. And in but an instant, they heard it. That sound which was unmistakable, the grip of dirt and loose stone under tire, the soft roar of an engine as it sped up the only road which led onto the property. Before they could get a word out, federal agents, equipped with gear as dark as the night sky they were beneath, swarmed the surrounding area, with the squad of HELP agents who accompanied them quickly ushering Dominique away.

Dominique’s back fell into roughly cushioned seating that lined the back of the van be had been brought into.

“What the fuck was that, Kane? I’ve spent more than half a year with these bastards you fucking pull me out like that? The Feds, too? You just destroyed my cover.”

“Lower your tone, Dominique. Do you believe I wanted it to go this way?” Kane wiped the sweat from his forehead as his eyes shifted away from the surveillance screen. “Straight from the top, we only got the call a few hours ago, you’re getting pulled to a different team.”

“Are you serious?” A scoff fell from Dominique's lips as he stared at Kane.

“Yup. Hell, this is just as much of a shock to us; this could’ve gone on for way longer. The Bureau decided to move forward with the arrest of Roberts; it’s beyond our jurisdiction now. We offered them a replacement agent but you can probably guess what they said about that.”

“You know, them arresting Roberts isn’t going to make anything better, right?” Dominique sighed.

“I do, and I am sure some people in the Bureau do as well. There is nothing either you or I can do about it. There’ll be a plane waiting for you tomorrow to take you back to Alpha Base. We still have some loose ends to tie up here. But in the meantime, let's get you back to the hotel.”

_{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Canadian Air Space}

Times of Trouble #1.007: Faceless

_{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Interaction(s): Nil}

Previously: Nil

And there, upon that plane, had possibly been the most comfortable Dominique had been across these long months. The method of the K.T.T. hiding among the rural towns long abandoned by most after decades of economic strife and decline, overgrown farmland, and forests that dotted the Mississippi countryside meant forgoing that common luxury of comfortable bedding. Yet it wasn’t the first time Dominique had lived like such, and it wouldn’t be the last. Their body conformed to the seat as they lay back fully into it. Their hand delving into the reachers of the inner pocket of their jacket to retrieve the wallet they rarely carried beyond their off hours. As they unfolded the wallet and flipped up the flap in the middle, their two IDs shone beneath the soft light above their plane seat.

It had been a little bit since they had worn such faces, although the way to construct them was like a blueprint seared in their mind. They were faces as old as they could remember, the ones they had always clung to as their own. But always, that lingering thought that such faces were only constructs created on half-guesses and estimates pervaded their mind like a weed on a clear field. You can only remove them if you cut them at the root, yet this one was buried so deeply that Dominique had not even fragments of a mental image of who they originally were. It was a forlorn dream. To find such a face lost to time, such a body lost to time.

Dominique tapped their fingers in a cascading motion against the seat flip-up table as they settled on a face to take, softly releasing the wallet down onto the table as they decided. And in but an instant, a heat grew across Dominique’s body. It was a soft burn they had come to know all too well. Like small tacks being poked against every inch of their skin, dulled sharp pain brought forth those once yellow locks of hair upon their head into longer streaks of black that fell upon their shoulders. The hue of their eyes had deepened into the darkest of browns, as the mass upon their body shifted with the change of stature. The clothes Dominique wore upon their body now felt sizes bigger as the heat slowly dissipated. No matter the time between each transformation, it was a sensation that could never be forgotten.

Dominique held their fingers up to their face, slimmer they appeared and smaller than the size they were only minutes ago. HELP would only let them on base in one of those two forms, yet there were still days when they had gotten past in the skin of another.

Dominique laid their head back into the chair, eyes slowly slipping into darkness under the weight of all the time they had spent in the field. All that had now been lost. All the time in which they had struggled to play a man so utterly different from themself was now gone, as they had to shift back into their normal self. A scorn was still held in Dominique’s heart, yet such professions of anger would have to wait until they landed. Their flight still had hours left.

And in the quiet hum of the plane’s engine, Dominique found himself alone in the darkness of their own mind. For now, there was no more part to play, no more voice to copy, no more other life to live besides their own, and although it was only but a fleeting moment of solitude, this was when Dominique felt whole.

Agents of H.E.L.P. - Per Angusta Ad Augusta

D O M I N I Q U E N G Ô
D O M I N I Q U E N G Ô

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^{_{Are you sure you know the face you're looking at?}}

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P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N ________________________________________________________________________________________ NAME: | Dominique Ngô _______________________________________________________________________ STATUS: | Active _______________________________________________________________________ INDEX DATE: | 1990-9-23 _______________________________________________________________________ DATE OF BIRTH: | 1965-12-21 _______________________________________________________________________ ALIAS(ES): | John (Alternatively Jane) Doe _______________________________________________________________________ RESIDENCE: | Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada _______________________________________________________________________ CITIZENSHIP: | Vietnamese, Canadian _______________________________________________________________________ CLEARANCE LEVEL: | Special Agent B A C K G R O U N D B A C K G R O U N D ________________________________________________________________________________________ Vietnam. A land cursed by a war in which no man won, where no man left its fields without but many scars laden across themselves. And a member of the citizenry, Dominique Ngô was a person who hadn’t been one of the few to escape its trials. Born the bastard child of a French academic and a Vietnamese farmer, only but a few miles north of Hue, the world in which they emerged into was not one that should not have been faced by a child but so pure. With a loss of their mother after birth whose face they had never been given a chance to see, for but most of this short time within their life, that is only remembered in clouded fragments of half memories, it was only two within the household they live; a lone father and the child in which they bore responsibility. They lived in a landscape of napalm fires that burned the fields in which their father tilled, but till his back gave out. They hid within the compartments, tucked away in hidden spots from soldiers of both sides' war that waved either the red or yellow banner depending on who passed. As the years passed and the war only continued to rage on in the Vietnamese countryside, it was not long before Dominique’s father had decided to flee the country. As the North made its final push in the year of ‘75, Dominique had been placed upon a boat of refugees headed to Canada. Alone, they stood in their voyage across the sea, as there had only been but one spot available upon the rickety ship which ferried those across the ocean to a land where they would find a new life. It was a journey not for the faint, the waves were unforgiving to those aboard as it tossed and turned their vessel, not made for such a journey in the first place. Dominique was a child, alone in a vessel so unfamiliar, surrounded by faces so unfamiliar, heading for a land so utterly foreign from all they had lived till this moment. And in but only a few days into their trip, they felt a change. Their body went hot as they sat in the darkness of the cabin, their stomach groaning as something shifted. Skin twisting and turning and molding into something so unfamiliar, hair grew into long locks upon their face, as even those small intricate patterns that marked one's hand were contorted into a different pattern. Dominique left the boat a different person than when they had boarded it. With a face so different not even they recognize it as their own. Wearing a skin that wasn’t theirs, in a land so new that nobody but themself even knew it was so. For Dominique, their life had held no clear path forward, no light guiding their trek, not a hint of the north star in the night sky. The young child learned through the trials of homelessness the art of survival, the path hidden in the grime to make little out of nothing. To scavenge for scraps to feed the ever-growing pit within their stomach was a task often hard to accomplish. To learn the tongue of this new land which their father sent them to for opportunities greater than those they would’ve had back home. As the days passed, the pursuit of more aided Dominique to learn their ability. To shackle the dragon that terrorized their life, and to master its control were endeavors that took years of their life to even begin to start. By the age of sixteen, Dominique, after a stint of several petty robberies using their abilities, was picked up by the likes of H.E.L.P., who had received a tip about a young local hype. After being taken under the wing of the organization, Dominique was enrolled in specialized schooling to continue on the rest of their adolescent life under the watchful eye of H.E.L.P., who assisted them in gaining mastery over their ability. R E C R U I T M E N T R E C R U I T M E N T ________________________________________________________________________________________ Following their graduation from secondary schooling in Canada, Dominique continued their education at the University of British Columbia, graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology before attending the John Jay College of Criminal Justice and achieving a master of Arts in Criminal Justice. And throughout such time, continually improving upon their control over the ability that first stood as a confusing hex upon their life. Eventually, returning to the organization that helped pull them out of the struggle initially, Dominique applied and was accepted as a probationary. C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U ________________________________________________________________________________________ Dominique’s career within the ranks of H.E.L.P. has been one that was dwarfed compared to the likes of their comrades. Quick on their feet, sharp in the mind, and familiar with the workings of the organization, Dominique quickly moved on from their days as a probationary agent. Since their formal induction to the rank of special agent only two years prior, the brevity of their career does not define the accomplishments they have made in such a short time. The pinnacle of undercover investigation within their division, Dominique has contributed heavily to the case in which they are assigned, for who is better at surveillance than who has no set face, no set voice. For when a case gets hot, there is no better disguise than that of the people searching for you. Dominique is an agent mostly known only by name and the light-hearted tricks they play upon their comrades. A career laden with an often tense relationship with authority and a stubbornness unmoved by its will. Despite their problems with those of higher rank, the effectiveness of their ability and performance on the field has been an undeniable factor in their tenure.

P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N _________________________________________________________ [STANDARD FORM ONE] _________________________________________________________ [STANDARD FORM TWO] _________________________________________________________ P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N _________________________________________________________ RACE: | Vietnamese _________________________________________________________________ SEX: | Interchangable _________________________________________________________________ HEIGHT: | Variable [STAN. FORM ONE] 5'11" | [STAN. FORM TWO] 5'7" _________________________________________________________________ WEIGHT: | Variable [STAN. FORM ONE] 164lbs | [STAN. FORM TWO] 142lbs _________________________________________________________________ HAIR COLOUR: | Variable [STAN. FORM] Brown _________________________________________________________________ HAIR LENGTH: | Variable [STAN. FORM] Short _________________________________________________________________ EYE COLOUR: | Variable [STAN. FORM] Brown _________________________________________________________________ HANDEDNESS: | Right A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T S, & W E A K N E S S E S A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T S, & W E A K N E S S E S _________________________________________________________ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || S O M A T I C A T O M I C R E C O N F I G U R A T I O N __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Esoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Dynamic __POWER SCALE || 02 __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Σ Dominique Ngô is a hyperhuman who presents the ability of Somatic Atomic Reconfiguration, commonly referred to as shapeshifting. This ability, as documented through the observations of one [REDACTED], allows the user to reconfigure the molecular structure that composes their body, allowing Ngô to manipulate all facets of the human appearance, including but not limited to through current observation: hair (and its facets), eye color, skin color, body shape, height, weight, and other bodily features. The process by which Ngô can reconfigure the atoms in their body involves the use of the stored HZE ions concentrated within. These special particles attach to the body's atoms, breaking the chemical bonds that hold them together to allow movement of them into different orders, as well as being the spark that recreates these bonds to produce different combinations in order to achieve Ngô’s desired change. And if the body does not possess enough mass to produce the desired changes, it will use energy to extend the HZE ions to pull the elements that the human body is constructed of out of the environment to compensate for the deficit. L I M I T A T I O N S & W E A K N E S S E S || E T E R N A L V O R A C I T Y & O V E R H E A T I N G The process of using their ability requires a vast amount of energy from Ngô to complete any such rearrangement. The amount of energy needed is not uniform, however, it is based upon the amount of change to the molecular structure, which has occurred under their direction, scaling exponentially as Ngô requires surrounding atoms to add more mass to their body or remove mass from their body. The consequences of this facet of their power ignite their metabolism into overdrive, requiring copious amounts of sustenance in order to gain the required amount of energy to complete a transformation successfully. However, the amount of food required heavily relies on the amount of changes to their atomic structure performed as mentioned prior. The reconfiguration and building of bonds of the atoms within their body are exothermic reactions. In light of such a fact, the changing of appearance by Ngô continually heats up their body, with the amount of heat built up depending on how big the changes are. The heat produced is usually negligible for transformations which occur in distant intervals from each other, but in situations in which Ngô manipulates their atom structure multiple times within a short time period this heat will build to levels which become detrimental, spurring symptoms of sickness and, on rare occasions, even heatstroke.

Agents of H.E.L.P. - Per Angusta Ad Augusta

Dominique Ngô

D O M I N I Q U E N G Ô
D O M I N I Q U E N G Ô

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^{_{Are you sure you know the face you're looking at?}}

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P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N ________________________________________________________________________________________ NAME: | Dominique Ngô _______________________________________________________________________ STATUS: | Active _______________________________________________________________________ INDEX DATE: | 1990-9-23 _______________________________________________________________________ DATE OF BIRTH: | 1965-12-21 _______________________________________________________________________ ALIAS(ES): | John (Alternatively Jane) Doe _______________________________________________________________________ RESIDENCE: | Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada _______________________________________________________________________ CITIZENSHIP: | Vietnamese, Canadian _______________________________________________________________________ CLEARANCE LEVEL: | Special Agent B A C K G R O U N D B A C K G R O U N D ________________________________________________________________________________________ Vietnam. A land cursed by a war in which no man won, where no man left its fields without but many scars laden across themselves. And a member of the citizenry, Dominique Ngô was a person who hadn’t been one of the few to escape its trials. Born the bastard child of a French academic and a Vietnamese farmer, only but a few miles north of Hue, the world in which they emerged into was not one that should not have been faced by a child but so pure. With a loss of their mother after birth whose face they had never been given a chance to see, for but most of this short time within their life, that is only remembered in clouded fragments of half memories, it was only two within the household they live; a lone father and the child in which they bore responsibility. They lived in a landscape of napalm fires that burned the fields in which their father tilled, but till his back gave out. They hid within the compartments, tucked away in hidden spots from soldiers of both sides' war that waved either the red or yellow banner depending on who passed. As the years passed and the war only continued to rage on in the Vietnamese countryside, it was not long before Dominique’s father had decided to flee the country. As the North made its final push in the year of ‘75, Dominique had been placed upon a boat of refugees headed to Canada. Alone, they stood in their voyage across the sea, as there had only been but one spot available upon the rickety ship which ferried those across the ocean to a land where they would find a new life. It was a journey not for the faint, the waves were unforgiving to those aboard as it tossed and turned their vessel, not made for such a journey in the first place. Dominique was a child, alone in a vessel so unfamiliar, surrounded by faces so unfamiliar, heading for a land so utterly foreign from all they had lived till this moment. And in but only a few days into their trip, they felt a change. Their body went hot as they sat in the darkness of the cabin, their stomach groaning as something shifted. Skin twisting and turning and molding into something so unfamiliar, hair grew into long locks upon their face, as even those small intricate patterns that marked one's hand were contorted into a different pattern. Dominique left the boat a different person than when they had boarded it. With a face so different not even they recognize it as their own. Wearing a skin that wasn’t theirs, in a land so new that nobody but themself even knew it was so. For Dominique, their life had held no clear path forward, no light guiding their trek, not a hint of the north star in the night sky. The young child learned through the trials of homelessness the art of survival, the path hidden in the grime to make little out of nothing. To scavenge for scraps to feed the ever-growing pit within their stomach was a task often hard to accomplish. To learn the tongue of this new land which their father sent them to for opportunities greater than those they would’ve had back home. As the days passed, the pursuit of more aided Dominique to learn their ability. To shackle the dragon that terrorized their life, and to master its control were endeavors that took years of their life to even begin to start. By the age of sixteen, Dominique, after a stint of several petty robberies using their abilities, was picked up by the likes of H.E.L.P., who had received a tip about a young local hype. After being taken under the wing of the organization, Dominique was enrolled in specialized schooling to continue on the rest of their adolescent life under the watchful eye of H.E.L.P., who assisted them in gaining mastery over their ability. R E C R U I T M E N T R E C R U I T M E N T ________________________________________________________________________________________ Following their graduation from secondary schooling in Canada, Dominique continued their education at the University of British Columbia, graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology before attending the John Jay College of Criminal Justice and achieving a master of Arts in Criminal Justice. And throughout such time, continually improving upon their control over the ability that first stood as a confusing hex upon their life. Eventually, returning to the organization that helped pull them out of the struggle initially, Dominique applied and was accepted as a probationary. C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U ________________________________________________________________________________________ Dominique’s career within the ranks of H.E.L.P. has been one that was dwarfed compared to the likes of their comrades. Quick on their feet, sharp in the mind, and familiar with the workings of the organization, Dominique quickly moved on from their days as a probationary agent. Since their formal induction to the rank of special agent only two years prior, the brevity of their career does not define the accomplishments they have made in such a short time. The pinnacle of undercover investigation within their division, Dominique has contributed heavily to the case in which they are assigned, for who is better at surveillance than who has no set face, no set voice. For when a case gets hot, there is no better disguise than that of the people searching for you. Dominique is an agent mostly known only by name and the light-hearted tricks they play upon their comrades. A career laden with an often tense relationship with authority and a stubbornness unmoved by its will. Despite their problems with those of higher rank, the effectiveness of their ability and performance on the field has been an undeniable factor in their tenure.

P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N _________________________________________________________ [STANDARD FORM ONE] _________________________________________________________ [STANDARD FORM TWO] _________________________________________________________ P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N _________________________________________________________ RACE: | Vietnamese _________________________________________________________________ SEX: | Interchangable _________________________________________________________________ HEIGHT: | Variable [STAN. FORM ONE] 5'11" | [STAN. FORM TWO] 5'7" _________________________________________________________________ WEIGHT: | Variable [STAN. FORM ONE] 164lbs | [STAN. FORM TWO] 142lbs _________________________________________________________________ HAIR COLOUR: | Variable [STAN. FORM] Brown _________________________________________________________________ HAIR LENGTH: | Variable [STAN. FORM] Short _________________________________________________________________ EYE COLOUR: | Variable [STAN. FORM] Brown _________________________________________________________________ HANDEDNESS: | Right A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T S, & W E A K N E S S E S A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T S, & W E A K N E S S E S _________________________________________________________ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || S O M A T I C A T O M I C R E C O N F I G U R A T I O N __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Esoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Dynamic __POWER SCALE || TBD __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || TBD Dominique Ngô is a hyperhuman who presents the ability of Somatic Atomic Reconfiguration, commonly referred to as shapeshifting. This ability, as documented through the observations of one [REDACTED], allows the user to reconfigure the molecular structure that composes their body, allowing Ngô to manipulate all facets of the human appearance, including but not limited to through current observation: hair (and its facets), eye color, skin color, body shape, height, weight, and other bodily features. The process by which Ngô can reconfigure the atoms in their body involves the use of the stored HZE ions concentrated within. These special particles attach to the body's atoms, breaking the chemical bonds that hold them together to allow movement of them into different orders, as well as being the spark that recreates these bonds to produce different combinations in order to achieve Ngô’s desired change. And if the body does not possess enough mass to produce the desired changes, it will use energy to extend the HZE ions to pull the elements that the human body is constructed of out of the environment to compensate for the deficit. L I M I T A T I O N S & W E A K N E S S E S || E T E R N A L V O R A C I T Y & O V E R H E A T I N G The process of using their ability requires a vast amount of energy from Ngô to complete any such rearrangement. The amount of energy needed is not uniform, however, it is based upon the amount of change to the molecular structure, which has occurred under their direction, scaling exponentially as Ngô requires surrounding atoms to add more mass to their body or remove mass from their body. The consequences of this facet of their power ignite their metabolism into overdrive, requiring copious amounts of sustenance in order to gain the required amount of energy to complete a transformation successfully. However, the amount of food required heavily relies on the amount of changes to their atomic structure performed as mentioned prior. The reconfiguration and building of bonds of the atoms within their body are exothermic reactions. In light of such a fact, the changing of appearance by Ngô continually heats up their body, with the amount of heat built up depending on how big the changes are. The heat produced is usually negligible for transformations which occur in distant intervals from each other, but in situations in which Ngô manipulates their atom structure multiple times within a short time period this heat will build to levels which become detrimental, spurring symptoms of sickness and, on rare occasions, even heatstroke.

Festive's 1x1 Search

Good luck to this. Our tastes couldn't be more different but the OP's posts in the group RP that we've been in together have been superb.

@TokyoPewPew

Thank you, TPP! They do seem a bit different, lol, yet this post is a bit rough, so there will be more to come!

Festive's 1x1 Search

W E L C O M E T O A W O R L D O F P U R E I M A G I N A T I O N . . .
W E L C O M E T O A W O R L D O F P U R E I M A G I N A T I O N . . .

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T H E 1 x 1 S E A R C H
T H E 1 x 1 S E A R C H

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<sub>"Laughter is timeless, imagination has no age, and dreams are forever."

- Walt Disney</sub>
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"If you can dream it, you can do it."

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________________________ . I N T R O D U C T I O N I N T R O D U C T I O N ________________________ . . . . . . . . . . . . P L O T S & I D E A S P L O T S & I D E A S ________________________

____________________________________________________________________________________ . . . . Hello people! I've had some of these ideas for a bit now and have been wanting to put them out there to play, and here it is. As for some key info: I am in my 20s and would like to play only with people over the age of 18. My timezone is EST, and I am a college student, so my schedule may be a bit hectic sometimes, but I will always communicate. I am a multi-paragraph writer, usually with a minimum of 500 words but around 700-1000 on average. I also prefer to write in the third person past tense. I would prefer for my partner to be around that level for a smoother story and more for me to work with as well. I generally love to world-build and would love to hear any and all recommendations you have for the story or world, it creates the best experience for the both of us. _________________________________________________________ .

O R I G I N A L
O R I G I N A L

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The Red Cape Scare: Detatchment Y {Superhuman Military Action}

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_____________________________________ _____________________________________ O ' S A Y C A N Y O U S E E . . . O ' S A Y C A N Y O U S E E . . . ___________________________________ Ⓓ ⓔ ⓣ ⓐ ⓣ ⓒ ⓗ ⓜ ⓔ ⓝ ⓣ Ⓨ Ⓓ ⓔ ⓣ ⓐ ⓣ ⓒ ⓗ ⓜ ⓔ ⓝ ⓣ Ⓨ ___________________________________ 1 S T S P E C I A L F O R C E S 1 S T S P E C I A L F O R C E S O P E R A T I O N A L O P E R A T I O N A L D E T A T C H M E N T – U P S I L O N D E T A T C H M E N T – U P S I L O N T H E R E D C A P E S C A R E: T H E R E D C A P E S C A R E: D E T A C H M E N T Y D E T A C H M E N T Y ___________________________________ ___________________________________ ___________________________________ _____________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ C O N C E P T C O N C E P T ________________________ Viral. Traitor. Commie. Liar. The world hasn't been the same since the Hanselmann Infection. Welcome to the burning 50s. Since about the 1870s, humanity has lived among a sub-species of itself: Homo S. Infectum; commonly known as the Viral. These humans are ones who through the parentage of those infected with the Hanselmann virus inherited DNA that expresses supernatural powers. This emergence of something new, something powerful, something different, has thrust humanity into a new period of hate, of fear. In the present, the world cowers as the Red Scare blankets the globe with its talons dug into the mind of each and every politician within the countries deemed as superpowers. Proxy wars spread like a plague across every continent, supported by the powers that be as they toy with the lives of its citizenry for that of economic ideological differences. Korea and the war that decimated its peninsula have brought forth the world into a new era of hate, one which pounced further on the ever-feared viral population. The “Red Cape Scare” as new outlets had slapped the title upon it after the world had come face to face with the destruction brought upon by the North Koreans’ use, for the first time in war history, of widespread all-viral unit, the soldiers being ones who brandished a signature red cape. But for the world, the clock only seems to tick closer to doomsday. The tensions, upon the shores of Korea, burn hotter with the passing days. Trees are uprooted, bases blown asunder, and forest fires rage as the North Korean army ships more viral squadrons out to the field. As the years pass hundreds of virals fight and die upon Korean soil as the war rages on. The damage inflicted upon these lands is evident as the landscape was warped and twisted by powers the mind couldn’t rationalize. As the numbers pile up more virals and normal soldiers are sent to take their place. This is the reality of the 50s. The future has never looked so dim. _________________________________________________________ P R E M I S E P R E M I S E ________________________ “You must have been one special soldier, huh?” Welcome to the newly created Detachment Y. You’re either one special bastard or have some friends in high places. As the premier all-viral saber squadron of 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment–Upsilon, or Detatchment Y, your existence is almost unknown. Likened to a surgical knife slicing through an operation obscured like a phantom of the night, only few will ever wear the patch in which you will. War has always been one dirty game after another. As soldiers fight under the vast openness of the day’s sky, you have been assigned to clandestine jobs that go bump in the night. You will do the work only whispered about in backroom meetings. As the first group of Virals allowed to work within the special forces, you’ve been assigned to handle the most treacherous assignments of the government that no normal soldier could tackle. You green operators never have it easy; Korea will be a hell you’ve never experienced before. May your powers save you, as the government certainly won't. _________________________________________________________ P O S T S C R I P T U M P O S T S C R I P T U M ________________________ Who doesn't love a good superhero roleplay? This is a story I've had in this world sitting on the back burner for a little bit, and I saw this IC as a good way to put it out there. As for characters, that can be discussed more in DMs. Although, briefly, I am not looking for a set character type, gender, etc; any character you conjure up can work, although Detachment Y selects only the strong. This story is subject to a larger world, as mentioned above, and if you would like more details about certain aspects, please let me know. I'd be glad to answer! _______________________________________________________________________

Trouble on the Bluegrass Hills {Supernatural Southern Gothic}

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𝔇𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨?
𝔇𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨?

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___________________________________ =================================== T H E S I N S O F T H E F A T H E R . . . =================================== Trouble On The Trouble On The 𝔅𝔩𝔲𝔢𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔰𝔰 ℌ𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔅𝔩𝔲𝔢𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔰𝔰 ℌ𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 =================================== . . . S H A N ' T B E H E L D A G A I N S T T H E S O N “𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔊𝔬𝔡.” =================================== =================================== =================================== ===================================

_______________________________________________________________________ =============================================================== P R E M I S E P R E M I S E ________________________ ℌ𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢𝔫. 𝔖𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰. 𝔊𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔪𝔢𝔫. 𝔄𝔫𝔡, 𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰. But like many good times, the prideful roar of the 20s has been snuffed out with yet only a whimper. A piteous cry sounded off, likened to a ripple across the country, as stocks fell to the nadir of their value and the market being left torn asunder to all those involved. Such brought forth an era of loss, one of suffering under the cruel grip of poverty, for but only that of the common folk, the one's whose hands toil in the dirt to bring value to such stocks, whose bodies lay laden in sweat to bring forth profit for little gain of their own. And for those who lay their heads 'neath the star-speckled sky of rich violets, blacks, and blues, in weary bluegrass mountains of inner Appalachia, experience naught but the brunt of the consequences for such a time. And as mines crumbled under the burden of but little demand and many workers, they are shut down as operations come to but a standstill, and the loggers who once ruled the area leave for thicker forests, an economy is left in collapse, a people are left in ruin; a destitute mountain range, with but little left but tales. Appalachia is naught if not a region of stories and tales. Folktales told around the burning glow of a pit fire, of a moth the size of man. Stories of those who come knocking in the wee hours of the night, in the skin of those that you know or but a stranger seeking entrance into your abode. For in these morsels whose souls stay upon this plane their eyes glow with but the deepest of reds, as vermillion as blood, and teeth as sharp as a blade. Any yet for all their power, you are the determiner of your fate. As your momma once said, don't answer the door to strangers; you never know if they bite. ========================================================= P R E F A C E P R E F A C E ________________________ “𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖘 '𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖎𝖓'𝖙 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖇𝖑𝖚𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖐, 𝖓𝖔𝖜. 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖑𝖚𝖊𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖘𝖘, 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖎𝖈 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑.” Saddled betwixted the rolling mounts of Pike county, Kentucky, which pierce the horizon for but as long as the eye can see, and thickets of fir and spruce whose trucks extend to but width of three men in a line, stands the town of North Havan. A remnant of old money lost in the purge of the depression, which cast down upon the town, likened to that of holy fire descending from a force beyond but what anyone could comprehend. The mines which but brought Havan into prominence had lost the spark which the fuel they dug from the Earth fed. The logging mills, which once defined South Havan lost in the great fire of 1929, which made that whole side of town naught but ashen ruins. It is a town marked by it's divide of the rich and poor, and high and the low. And as well as one in which stories of heralded dangers abound in but every nook and cranny. It is but a town bearing the nickname of the society in the "blind spot of God." Where the Klan hides and rules in the woods. And where sometimes, you may even meet a soul that shouldn't be on this plane, that shouldn't be at your door. 𝖄𝖆 𝖇𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝕲𝖔𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖆 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙, 𝖇𝖔𝖞. '𝕮𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊. ========================================================= P O S T S C R I P T U M P O S T S C R I P T U M ________________________ Ever since I had first seen the movie "Sinners," I have been struck with inspiration to play a story based around a similar supernatural Southern gothic story. And I thought such a concept would fit amazingly with the region of Appalachia, one rich in its supernatural folklore and cryptids which go bump in the night. Currently, however, it is a decently rough idea of a world I would love to build out with someone else and explore the complexities of this era of US history, especially in the area destroyed by the depression with that angle of supernatural forces at play. ===============================================================

Blood Upon The Crown {1910s-esque Historical-Fantasy}

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_____________________________________ ───────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎─────────── A N D A S T H E S U L F E R A N D A S T H E S U L F E R H U N G I N T H E A I R H U N G I N T H E A I R ──────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎────────── 𝙱 𝙻 𝙾 𝙾 𝙳 𝚄 𝙿 𝙾 𝙽 𝙱 𝙻 𝙾 𝙾 𝙳 𝚄 𝙿 𝙾 𝙽 𝔗 ℌ 𝔈 ℭ ℜ 𝔒 𝔚 𝔑 𝔗 ℌ 𝔈 ℭ ℜ 𝔒 𝔚 𝔑 ──────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎────────── T H E Y H E A R L D E D I T A S T H E T H E Y H E A R L D E D I T A S T H E " W A R T O E N D W A R S" " W A R T O E N D W A R S" ───────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎─────────── ───────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎─────────── ───────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎─────────── ───────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎───────────

_______________________________________________________________________ ────────────────────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎──────────────────────── C O N C E P T C O N C E P T ───────────────────༒︎༻ Aalegra was an old land, wherein mountains weathered and eroded to that of the stature of hills stood, where the ground was wrought by agriculturalists of days past, fed and watched as men rose into kings, and kings rose into emperors, and as empires fell into republics. Such was a land that had seen the shattering of bone and the ripping sinew, whereupon flint-tipped spears had evolved into swords which fell with the import of a strange power that brought only more blood upon Aalegra's shores. It was but a land of many firsts, yet many lasts. For within Aalegra’s lands, peace was only but a rarity as man raged on. For centuries, it burned. Like a constant draft upon a flame, it flared and sparked. Brother had slain brother, father had fought son; those who stood as the same people were pitted against each other in a battle of greed for even but the smallest piece of fertile land. Yet, in the now, the flame has laid dormant as yet another pile of coals. With the turn of the century, peace found its place, and with the turn of the year, it will mark a decade of prosperity. Though like many flames, even the smallest of sparks can turn into an inferno. As machines capable of killing from above are released into the skies, and vehicles with the strength of boulders are retrieved fresh off the assembly line, deaths smoking signal has never been so clear. Once again, blood has stained the crown. ───────────────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎─────────────────── P R E M I S E P R E M I S E ───────────────────༒︎༻ “Dear Recipient: You have been cordially invited by the imperial family of Caezenov to the 5th semi-annual turn of the year ball.” Peace upon Aalegra is a brittle one, held together by a loosely woven web of loophole-riddled treaties and alliances hidden behind closed doors. The ball hosted by the Caezenov Empire every other year stands as a testament to this peace upon the land, one where the rulers scattered across Aalegra can come together in celebration of this period of growth. This year, in particular, is a special one: it is the first turn of the decade, 10 years since the start of this new century. Given such a monument year has arrived, almost all families of prominence have been afforded an invitation to the celebrations, including those in lands the Caezenave had once shattered. As Kings, Dukes, Prime Ministers, consuls, and more arrive, other forces lurk in the back. Rumors which has been disregarded as hearsay of reactionaries on the prowl spread in the back alleys of the city as more and more aristocracy flood within. For on such a grand night of peace, who would dare to spark the fire? ───────────────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎─────────────────── P O S T S C R I P T U M P O S T S C R I P T U M ───────────────────༒︎༻ Ah, historical fantasy, don't you just love it? The setting of this story will be around a European-esque continent on the brink of its own First World War. Caezenov Empire is a relatively new power upon the lands, yet in their strides to consolidate their aggressive expansion has continued to pile beyond it's limits. Like a burgeoning mass, it presses against the thin layer of film that holds the flimsy peace in place. Doscen hide in wait in Caezenov lands as they sniped and fragmented what used to be their homeland, as their new rulers bend the knee to the emperor. The Conderation still keeps a watchful eye on the Caezenovs despite the rot that is consuming them from the inside. It is a period similar to that of the 1910s, radios and cars are breaking into prominent use, and gone are the days of swords and shields, as now planes rule the air and tanks roam the land. Electrification grows as the world inches closer to modernization. The idea is that at the ball, the family of the emperor is to be slain, which will send him down a war path that his country may not survive. It is a setting that I see can be played out in many ways; that of us playing nobility from the Doscen region, who are now are the forefront of the emperor's fury and must band together in a seemingly futile attempt to save their lands from an attack they had not initiated, or the we could play as the rebels fighting against a power that burned their towns and forced out their people, or even as figures within the empire itself, navigating the political landscape that was brought on by the war and the emperor who has fallen into a mad state. There are a myriad of directions to explore, even those outside the empire itself and in the confederation and its allies against the empire. I would love to build out this world with someone and explore the potential nuances of such a setting. Let me know, thank you! ────────────────────────༒︎༻♱༺༒︎────────────────────────

The Red Cape Scare: US Military Academy - Camp Hozlt {Superhuman Dark Academia

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_____________________________________ ___________________________________ D U T Y , H O N O R , C O U N T R Y. . . D U T Y , H O N O R , C O U N T R Y. . . ___________________________________ Ⓒ Ⓐ Ⓜ Ⓟ Ⓗ Ⓞ Ⓩ Ⓛ Ⓣ Ⓒ Ⓐ Ⓜ Ⓟ Ⓗ Ⓞ Ⓩ Ⓛ Ⓣ ___________________________________ U N I T E D S T A T E S M I L I T A R Y U N I T E D S T A T E S M I L I T A R Y A C A D E M Y - H O Z L T , A C A D E M Y - H O Z L T , W Y O M I N G W Y O M I N G T H E R E D C A P E S C A R E: T H E R E D C A P E S C A R E: C A M P H O Z L T C A M P H O Z L T ___________________________________ ___________________________________ ___________________________________ ___________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ C O N C E P T C O N C E P T ________________________ "This we'll defend" The history of the United States military is not one that can be reframed through rose-tinted glasses. From the days of soldiers wearing patchwork uniforms and sporting weapons that failed half the time to the modern era of weapons that fire at rates unimaginable and uniforms pristine and professional, it has always been a standing force of ruthlessness. An army that made use of every weapon at its disposal, from the shotguns in the trenches of World War I, to the nuclear bomb upon the cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, to now with their very own viral population. It was the 1950s that saw the construction of full brigades of viral soldiers, trained specifically for their specialties. And it was the same year that saw the first commission of a viral NCO into the rank of an officer. Yet even now, as the military stands integrated, virals are still sectioned off to their own units for "operational security." The world will forever fear a power it hasn't mastered, and thus sets the standard for the virals who but only seek to serve the land they were born upon. _________________________________________________________ P R E M I S E P R E M I S E ________________________ “Ask not what your country can do for you...” But few know what to expect when they pass through the brick and mortar walls which line Camp Hozlt. Hozlt, Wyoming, wherein lies an institution which has freshly opened its doors to the inaugural viral class of 1960; Welcome, Cadets, your time won't be easy. Originally founded as a military base in 1890, Camp Hozlt has undergone recent renovations for its conversion into the military school that stands there today. As an offshoot of the original military academy in West Point, Camp Hozlt is a school specifically catered to virals who wish to serve our country. A school wherein viral's are provided a space to master and train the abilities that they have been provided at birth. Yet, the conditions that the cadets are shackled with are ones that go beyond the restrictions seen within West Point. The jurisdiction of freedom does not extend into Camp Hozlt. For but as you are under the military's hand, you shan't escape. As but the only time a cadet is allowed to leave the town of Hozlt is at the end of their 4 year stint. Godspeed, Cadet, because every once in a while, a cadet will disappear. And in this day and age, nobody cares about a missing viral. "...Ask what you can do for your country." _________________________________________________________ P O S T S C R I P T U M P O S T S C R I P T U M ________________________ Here is a little bit of a twist from the same world as last time! I've always loved the genre of dark academia, and mixing it with that of superpowered individuals sounds even more intriguing to me. A dog-eat-dog school of college-aged students all competing with each other to show simply how they stand above the rest in a world that seems to hold them down at every opportunity, with a background of disappearing students and certainly unethical military research in the background. I would love to delve deeper into the story of two students enrolled in such a school. Let me know! _________________________________________________________

F A N D O M
F A N D O M

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The G.C.P.D.: Major Crime Division {M4A}

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_____________________________________ _____________________________________ T O S E R V E A N D P R O T E C T . . . T O S E R V E A N D P R O T E C T . . . ___________________________________ ___________________________________ M A J O R C R I M E S M A J O R C R I M E S D I V I S I O N D I V I S I O N ___________________________________ ___________________________________ ___________________________________ _____________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ C O N C E P T C O N C E P T ________________________ "Gotham city, the home of one of the richest families in the world yet there is still the homeless around every street corner." But every American knows the Gotham city; the dazzling jewel of the North East. As a cultural monolith for both the state of New Jersey and the country at large, it's escaped no one's purview. Thousands of tourists travel the strips sporting their "I <3 Gotham" wear while students face the hustle and bustle of the never-ending Gotham traffic trying to make it to classes. Buildings that pierce the white vissage of the sky with jutting weathered gothic facades extend further than the eye can see, casting but a light shade upon most of the streets of the city. It is one where the tourists caught in the "traps" of the citizenry's Gotham merchandise would hearld as a "City of wonder," one where the opportunities are as vast as the population that floods the street during rush hour. Yet, it's own people will tell you a very different story A story of dirt, grime, and decay. One where behind the fake perstine tourist attractions lies in a city whose homeless population is the highest in the country. One whose rent rates are so low due to the curse of crime, which holds certain neighborhoods in a deathgrip. One where area gangs fight the mafia in the streets. A city of bullet holes in windows. A metropolis of crime and poverty, where the upper few sit upon their laid-brick tower with a view of the sidelines. For now, it's a city with few heroes but many, many villains. And while it may have that new up-and-coming boy in black, how long he'll survive on the streets is unknown. Currently, for Gotham, its savior is its police department. Yet, despite being the protectors of the city, it is trapped in its own corruption. The mafia holds several ties with the street cops and higher ranking members How long will Gotham last under this new surge of crime? Well, that is something to be determined. _________________________________________________________ P R E M I S E P R E M I S E ________________________ “Congrats on your promotions! Remember, serve and protect.” The Major Crime Division, Gotham Police Department's Detective Bureau's largest and most premier unit. Besides the population of cops who work on the streets of Gotham, it is also the one with the largest risk of death. These detectives get into the mud, they sort through the sea of people who live within the city for the spill of evil within its waves. They take on the cases of the worst of the worst. By whatever force placed these detectives into their position, it is but a commitment one mustn't take lightly. Their lives hang in the balance, as does the justice for the people they hope to bring it to. For but as long as the Falcone family runs unabated, their woes will run Gotham into the ground. And for as long as the "penguin" hides in the shadows, his victims shall see no justice. And for as long the GPDC stays corrupt, none shall see the prevailing arm of the law. This is for you to change. For you to help fix your city. Stay on your toes, don't get killed out there, detective. _________________________________________________________ P O S T S C R I P T U M P O S T S C R I P T U M ________________________ Ahh, good ol' Gotham city. The home to the billionaire play boy philanthropist Bruce Wayne, and several villians who are practically terrorists. Gotta love this city, don't ya? This story, however, is one that takes a step back from the named heroes of Gotham, and will take a look at the unnamed one: the detectives. The men and women who prowl in the day in the pursuit of justice, those who aren't hidden behind a cape or cowl. The general idea of this story is that it will follow to detectives in the GCPD Major Crime Unit before both the rise of Batman or Jim Gordan into complete prominence; something in a similar vein to the show "Gotham" or the comic "Gotham Central." A police procedural drama, if you will. I have pretty rough ideas for a story and it is something I would absolutely love to craft with another person. _______________________________________________________________________

Travelers: The Future's Last Hope {M4A}

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_____________________________________ _____________________________________ W E L C O M E T O T H E 2 1 S T . . . W E L C O M E T O T H E 2 1 S T . . . ___________________________________ Ⓣ Ⓡ Ⓐ Ⓥ Ⓐ Ⓛ Ⓔ Ⓡ Ⓣ Ⓡ Ⓐ Ⓥ Ⓐ Ⓛ Ⓔ Ⓡ ___________________________________ T H E F U T U R E T H E F U T U R E I S I N Y O U R H A N D S I S I N Y O U R H A N D S T H E F U T U R E ' S L A S T H O P E T H E F U T U R E ' S L A S T H O P E ___________________________________ ___________________________________ ___________________________________ _____________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ C O N C E P T C O N C E P T ________________________ LOAD SEQ: TRAV. PROGRAM: VER ONE . . . BEGIN The year is 2016; Lyon, a city in part older than the country of France itself, is the third-largest city in the country. By the year 2022, Lyon and its neighboring cities will be uninhabitable. Nuclear waste and material will have been spread throughout the majority of southeast France, northwest Italy, and West Switzerland; this critical event will end the lives of hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of civilians, destroying vital infrastructure systems and the environment in the process. The catastrophe will cripple and subsequently end the nuclear power movement in the European Union. Legislation will be passed to place harsh restrictions on the industry, and public outcry will demand the total phaseout of nuclear power. Europe will once again become heavily reliant on the dwindling supply of fossil fuels, causing the European energy crisis when all supplies of fossil fuels are exhausted in the next one hundred years. The perpetrator of this atrocity? Pierre-Henri Druveau, a multi-billionaire magnate in control of the largest natural gas and oil companies based in France. Druveau has recently become the head of Europe’s largest trust of fossil fuel suppliers in Europe, and underground coalition of companies led by but one man who’s connections form a web throughout the length of Europe. Druveau is a man primarily driven by money. His greed knows no bounds as he corners the energy market. Yet with the rise of nuclear power across Europe the power and wealth has been slowly slipping from his hand. Through dark channels with even darker sources, Druveau has worked to propagate several demeaning and outright false information about the industry across the country. After substantial bribes to high-level officials in the Autorité de Sûreté Nucléaire, Druveau has even begun using the cracks of corruption in the French government to help tear the industry apart. Yet as regulation failed to crumble the industry and as nuclear went on the rise in France and throughout Europe over the years, Druveau sank himself deeper into the underworld. Throughout the year of 2016, several cyberattacks have plagued nuclear power plants across Europe, dampening their security services and causing leaks across southern France in particular. At the turn of the year, a train carrying several tons of nuclear waste from power plants across Southern France unknowingly leaked the vast majority of it into the environment. This sole event, which changed the tide of history, was caused by eco-terrorists hired by Druveau. _________________________________________________________ P R E M I S E P R E M I S E ________________________ “Welcome to the 21st, Traveler” This is where you come into the timeline. You and your time will be traveled back in time to Lyon, where Druveau is currently stationed under the guise of a business trip to discuss plans with his fellow magnates. Your job is to assassinate Druveau and to assist in the sabotage and exposure of the corruption across France. Good luck, Traveler. _________________________________________________________ P O S T S C R I P T U M P O S T S C R I P T U M ________________________ This is certain a doozy. Travelers has been a favorite show of mine for years, ever since I first saw it on Netflix. In fact, my first actual roleplay upon this site was a Traveler-themed one I dreamed up, relatively the same as this one, yet less refined. I would totally recommend the show to anyone; certainly a top tier of sci-fi fiction. However, my discussion over my love for such a show can continue later. This roleplay requires you to have at least a brief understanding of the often confusing world at points from the original show to run smoothly. Below, I will leave a lore dump regarding it, though if you find yourself having any questions, please DM me or ask them in the following replies to this thread. Brief Lore of The World "Travelers" is a 2016 television sci-fi show based on the premise of time travelers returning to the early 21st century to curb events that ultimately led to a future where humans are on the brink of extinction. The show utilizes the plot device of a highly advanced AI supercomputer located in the future, that uses a compiled archive of all the available information during the 21st century to locate events that are required to be stopped for the betterment of the future. In this universe, time travel occurs through a process by which a future consciousness is uploaded, sent through space-time, and downloaded within the brain of a candidate; replacing that candidate's mind with the one of a traveler. The AI, also known as the Director, is programmed not to take a life, forcing this process to require an event known as a T.E.L.L. (Time, Elevation, Latitude, and Longitude). T.E.L.L.s are accurate information that records the known point of historical death for a time travel candidate, thus allowing the Director to transfer the consciousness of a traveler into a host's brain moments before their recorded death. Traveler teams usually consist of 5 members: the team leader, historian, tactician, medic, and engineer. Each of these roles serves a different purpose; the historian raised since birth to retain large amounts of information pertaining to 21st-century events, including investments, T.E.L.L.s, etc, the engineer creates technology for the team from the future which is needed for missions, the tactician is trained in a wide range of combat/military techniques and serves as the tactical planner for the team, the team leader (the role which I will assume) and medic roles are rather self-explanatory. These traveler teams are expected to follow and stay loyal to the Grand Plan, the Director's plan to fix the future; the missions the travelers receive from the future on the deep web. Along with the Grand Plan, the Travelers are expected to follow 6 protocols: Protocol 1: The mission comes first. Protocol 2: Never jeopardize your cover. Protocol 3: Don’t take a life; don’t save a life, unless otherwise directed. Do not interfere. Protocol 4: Do not reproduce. Protocol 5: In the absence of direction, maintain your host’s life. Protocol 6: No inter-team/deep web communication except in extreme emergencies or when sanctioned. However, these protocols are often broken to advance the character developed and your personal character's story. There are a few extra protocols such as Protocol Alpha which requires all Travelers to do whatever it takes to resolve the issue at hand, and Protocol Omega the Director will no longer be intervening in this timeline (either the team has successes or the future can not be saved). Messengers are a vital part of the story, they serve as temporary hosts for the Director for the quick delivery of messages outside of the deep web. Adults cannot be used as messengers in the story; a fully developed adult brain is not able to withstand the shock of having a consciousness temporarily embedded into it, ultimately ending in the death of the messenger. The Director will typically use children as messengers, as their brains are malleable enough to be able to withstand the shock. _______________________________________________________________________

G E N E R A L I D E A S
G E N E R A L I D E A S

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Settings and pairings

OC x OC
The Last of US

OC x OC
SAO-inspired game, where players are trapped and must clear the game to leave it

OC x OC
Another game set in The Red Cape Scare world like "Detachment Y," yet instead of military action, it's a poltical drama and intrigue
(I have a bit of this planned out; DM me if you are interested.)

OC x OC
A Harry Potter world Ilvermorny game or a general exploration of the American wizarding world. For this one, I would like to completely change up a lot of the lore regarding wizarding in America because, by all means, it isn't the best written...

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

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______________________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________________________ --> Who Are Your Gods Fear. Fear. Fear. What is that, though? From his body, he could tell it was one he had long since felt. Through the holes in the armor that lay upon his body, he felt the breeze. It is likened to a drop of rain upon one’s skin on a day in which winter had cursed cold. The hair which lined his legs and arms stood upon their ends as it rolled across his body, as shadow of the man, the thing, covered his own and permeated his body with a noir tint. Bumps across his skin rose as those feet which he had but so rashly moved were transfixed upon the spot he stood. As if his armor had locked upon his body, he couldn’t move but an inch as, within a flash, the being who wore the facade of a man revealed itself to be anything but. Wearing horns as dastardly as what he could only attribute to demons. He stood there for but a moment, his mind using all the will he could conjure through the cloudy visage that coated his mindscape to force movement through the shock. With only a measly step back, the creature vanished from his view in almost an instant. His head whipped as he heard the voice of the thing speak in a tone which lacked but all sense of peace “𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬.” ”Dishonor and demonry in but one man, if I sought to bring you harm the cover…sheath, of this weapon would not be one which stood on. Yet, please, continue your threat upon this person of which I can’t say I know anything of.” His grip grew only tighter upon the hand of the dagger as such a show of force was displayed. Yet, for a man who couldn’t tell you where he received it or how he even knew what such a thing was, there was but a sense of trust he felt he could place within it. But even as another voice entered the fray, his sight never left the creature off to his side. Meko, he learned, was the name of the accursed creature his eyes were bewitched to see. However, the words of the younger man were mostly lost as his heart increased in its speed. His body still held that feeling from the approach, that fire that lit his soul up in a display of sparks which only grew as the tension rose. Another voice followed the one the younger man, a woman, an old one. His view shifted away slightly as voice sounded off commands to the “black blood.” Power seeped from her being as she came fully into view; one would be but ignorant to ignore it. He could tell she was one who had lived but a long life; it was but the one thing he knew for certain that he had as well. Illium was the name of the town or city, he could not tell from the ruins which surrounded him on each side. And but as she finished, he couldn’t help but catch the last words. ”...𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬.” Gods? Who were the Gods? His head fully shifted to the view of the older woman as her speech finished, for in her words he had but just now become enraptured. You must end it. You must end it. You must end it. Too many voices, too many words. Too many ideas were expressed in short phrases and words that he had no clue what they meant. Too many languages which he did not know why he understood spouted forth in his mind at the register of her words. There were but too many utterances at once to parse through what the voices he was yet to know where they even came from were saying. ”You speak of knowledge in which I know little. For, as those who surround me, I have but no idea of even the name which I once held. I see the extent to which my blade has threatened your folk, yet I shall tell you that by no means will harm come to you by it. And as the man before, I wish to know of these Gods you speak of.” He utters, his body fully facing the older woman. ______________________________________________________________________________

______________________________ ______________________________ ______________________________ An unknown land, in an unknown time ______________________________ The group of out-of-time randoms ______________________________ ROAFGFT │ Who Are Your Gods ______________________________ ______________________________

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

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______________________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________________________ --> Requiem of a Forgotten God, a Forgotten Tribe "Why..." "Please stop!" "Oh why lord..." "Curse you all!" "Save us God..." "Why are you doing this..." "Oh ██████ please save us-" He didn't know what he was hearing. He didn't know who spoke the oh-so-familiar words within his mind. They were but a whisper among a sea of thoughts he couldn't understand. A myriad of voices which called to him from but the deepest reaches of a place he had no knowledge of. A cacophonous backdrop of his conscious that ever played as his eyes crept open. Raw, guttural voices with deep-seated malice utter their muted vitriol. Cries of the weak lamented in their sorrowful wails. Voices from a time lost. Voices from a time long ago in which he could not place within his thoughts. It stood as but a low call from something, a low call for some purpose, one lost in his current present. In fact, he couldn't place but a single thought. He couldn't find a name. He couldn't find an age. He couldn't place where he was. His mind did naught but rack as he felt pulled from the voices; placed back on steady ground as he came to reality. For but a land he knew naught the sight stood as both utterly foreign yet panged with familiarity. As he came to a knee and his eyes as dark as the dirt under the night sky fully opened, a glimpse of the sight before him came into full view. It was razed. However, a word he shouldn’t have known little about, he could tell it matched the sight. For to him, it all too resembled a land cursed by the might of an ember. Hazy in sight as formations of the darkest black and gray permeated what once were streets, what once were homes, what once where shops. Charred wood that once stood as building supports laid felled in the dirt. Sparks of the inferno that once ripped and tore through the air crackled away with its dying breath in depths of wood as dark as charcoal. It was a sight that was but disgusting. Vile. One that despite his lack of everything, his lack of his own history, had stoked his own fire. As his feet became firmly planted on the ground, his arm snagged against the armor which he wore. It was but now that he realized the condition. It was such a pair that he had felt but so familiar with that its tattered condition had only now registered. What once from the fragments of memory that still crossed his mind was a pristine steel suit not lay in scraps. A suit mutilated by the likes no sword could have done. Bursting holes divide the runes that were etched into the metal, in parts the steel that felt firm was aged, and rusted, while others were singed and malleable. For but a man who couldn’t remember his own name, plenty of shards of what were memories crossed his mind. Lives in different eras. Lives by which no normal man could live within the fleeting existence of the human lifespan. Inconsistent. That’s what they all were. A long life is but useless when you know not of who you are. His nails dug in upon the handle of the blade he had awoken with as his ears adjusted to the noise that spewed forth around him. Lost. Confused. Dazed. He knew not of where he was. He knew not of who these faces that surrounded him were. He knew not of anything. Yet the voices that chimed from the depths of his mind grew but a bit louder. His face grew a bit hotter. His grip grew a bit tighter. "Save yourself…" His feet moved without but a second thought. Past the man whose eyes he could not see. Past the woman who glowed but too brightly. Past the overly giddy laughs of a woman who appeared out of time. Almost innately, his grip equalized on the handle of the dagger. His feet were drawn to a stop as he stood before the shack which stood on its very foundation. "T̷̯͗̓͆͘͠ộ̶̟̻̘͔͉̺͕͔̮̑͌̃̿̏̎͘͝ ̵̯̰̱̜̞̜͓̱͌̈̆̀̈̈́̋̕͘y̵̢͕̥̘̻̭̅͝ộ̶̟̻̘͔͉̺͕͔̮̑͌̃̿̏̎͘͝u̴̴̧̡̩͈̮̙̻̻͔͎̠̫̾̅́́̏̀̎̾͐̒̒͊͐̾̂̂͠͝,̵̡̛̪̋̒̃͗̚ ̵̯̰̱̜̞̜͓̱͌̈̆̀̈̈́̋̕͘į̴͕͔̄ ̵̯̰̱̜̞̜͓̱͌̈̆̀̈̈́̋̕͘g̷̙̳̱̊͛̕ͅi̴̭͉͊́̅̕͜͝v̵̯͖͇̖̽ȩ̷̦͕͈̱͈̅̈́̌̒́̑́̕ͅ ̵̯̰̱̜̞̜͓̱͌̈̆̀̈̈́̋̕͘m̴̨̅̊̓̒̈̊̈́̓̏͠y̵̢͕̥̘̻̭̅͝ ̵̯̰̱̜̞̜͓̱͌̈̆̀̈̈́̋̕͘ş̴̓̓̅͑͐t̸̛͓͚͖͓̓ŗ̴̛̺͚̳͓̪͓͗̾̇̎͊̕ͅȩ̷̦͕͈̱͈̅̈́̌̒́̑́̕ͅṅ̸̼͎̖̠̦̻̍̂́͗͗̈́ͅg̷̙̳̱̊͛̕ͅt̸̛͓͚͖͓̓h̸̴̡̛͇̮̳̲͕͕̲̪͕̫̽̾̔̌́̿͂̒̒͊͐̾̂̂͠͝,̵̡̛̪̋̒̃͗̚ ̵̯̰̱̜̞̜͓̱͌̈̆̀̈̈́̋̕͘m̴̨̅̊̓̒̈̊̈́̓̏͠y̵̢͕̥̘̻̭̅͝ ̵̯̰̱̜̞̜͓̱͌̈̆̀̈̈́̋̕͘ş̴̓̓̅͑͐ộ̶̟̻̘͔͉̺͕͔̮̑͌̃̿̏̎͘͝ṅ̸̼͎̖̠̦̻̍̂́͗͗̈́ͅ" ”Reveal yourself from out of the shade. What is this land charred by the ember?” ______________________________________________________________________________

______________________________ ______________________________ ______________________________ An unknown land, in an unknown time ______________________________ The group of out-of-time randoms ______________________________ Nil │ Requiem of a Forgotten God, a Forgotten Tribe ______________________________ ______________________________

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

They might just be a little late to the party