Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
theworst
Excelsior!
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2024
- Location
- Jean Grey School for Higher Learning
Hi, I'm Johnny Knoxville, and this is The Roleplay Advert.
Writing these intros is so hard, I feel like you've read a hundred of these at this point, and they all sound the same. I'll keep it short.
I'm looking for a Marvel/MCU roleplayer. Comics, cartoons, and live action media are all game. The universe and its infinite possibilities provide ample escapism. Escapism being the key word. Don't yuck my yum: I like Canon x OC.
I am one of those weirdos who enjoys doubling. When the two sides interconnect over the larger plot, it gives me my jollies. It sparks my joy. Any combination of OC and canon is welcome. I'm willing to try almost any Marvel-based hero or villain, I just think these characters are fun and like getting to explore them.
I enjoy having a story or a set-up. The plot can range from one of those horrible world-ending catastrophes to life in the Tower. I have an incredibly self-indulgent AU that serves as a pretext to make unlikely pairings come together. Big on wish fulfillment over here. It can be frivolous. It can be serious. World's our oyster.
I would like to play a female OC again a male character. If you think we'd vibe, I'm open to a plethora of characters barring Spider-Man. (Sorry, Spidey. I'll play him for you, though!) I genuinely like doubling, so if you've been having a yen for canon x canon, or f x f, or m x m, let me know. I think in a superhero story, you need lots of heroes or villains to make the ensemble.
I'm not too fussed about length, write what you need. I would prefer shorter responses at this time, if I'm being honest.
Like everyone else in the world, I am busy. Response times can drag. Sometimes I can back-and-forth, sometimes it’ll take a week. Or uh, two.
Below, I've included some writing samples, as proof that I use words good:
I am open to just about any plot in the extended comic universe. It can be serious. It can be smutty. World's our oyster. That said-- I have an obnoxious plot that has been rattling around my brain, it takes place in some unholy universe were the MCU and 616 intersect. Without further ado:
By no means do we have to use this plot. I've got apocalyptic flavors, I've got general heroics, I've got daily life in Avengers Tower...Big on wish fulfillment 'round these parts.
If you think we'd tell a fun story together, reach out!
Writing these intros is so hard, I feel like you've read a hundred of these at this point, and they all sound the same. I'll keep it short.
I'm looking for a Marvel/MCU roleplayer. Comics, cartoons, and live action media are all game. The universe and its infinite possibilities provide ample escapism. Escapism being the key word. Don't yuck my yum: I like Canon x OC.
I am one of those weirdos who enjoys doubling. When the two sides interconnect over the larger plot, it gives me my jollies. It sparks my joy. Any combination of OC and canon is welcome. I'm willing to try almost any Marvel-based hero or villain, I just think these characters are fun and like getting to explore them.
I enjoy having a story or a set-up. The plot can range from one of those horrible world-ending catastrophes to life in the Tower. I have an incredibly self-indulgent AU that serves as a pretext to make unlikely pairings come together. Big on wish fulfillment over here. It can be frivolous. It can be serious. World's our oyster.
I would like to play a female OC again a male character. If you think we'd vibe, I'm open to a plethora of characters barring Spider-Man. (Sorry, Spidey. I'll play him for you, though!) I genuinely like doubling, so if you've been having a yen for canon x canon, or f x f, or m x m, let me know. I think in a superhero story, you need lots of heroes or villains to make the ensemble.
I'm not too fussed about length, write what you need. I would prefer shorter responses at this time, if I'm being honest.
Like everyone else in the world, I am busy. Response times can drag. Sometimes I can back-and-forth, sometimes it’ll take a week. Or uh, two.
Below, I've included some writing samples, as proof that I use words good:
It started with a hammering heartbeat and a tightness in the throat. Wavering vision. An episode of syncopation. Since March, a steady trickle filled beds at all the major metropolitan hospitals. If the patient was lucky, they never woke out of their faint. While the SHIELD doctor's patient lilt dressed it up in medical terms, it sounded, were they to ask Remy, like the plagues of old. The kind of catastrophe alluded to in the ancient texts of the Thieves Guild, brought on to mankind for yet another one of their follies. But if he still adhered to the all-for-one mentality of the Guild, he wouldn't have found himself being jargoned at by the likes of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.
Remy stretched his long legs out in front of him, the material of the SHIELD-issued body suit conturing to the bulge of his calf muscle like a second skin. Focusing back on the projected image of Earth's mightiest heroes in their respective quarantines, a finely arched eyebrow raised, saying all that he couldn't.
'Y'ask us t'risk our lives, but you don't even show up in person?' he had griped as he had been lead into the meeting. As if there had ever been a question of whether or not he would help. Logan asked him to come. That'd be enough, especially for a relatively newly-minted member of the X-Men. (edited)
It wasn't precisely the safety precautions that grated him. Even he could acknowledge the worldwide panic the death of an Avenger would bring. It was the utter lack of concern they seemed to display for the mutant team. Like it was a given they would hop-to and go hurtling through the timeline just to maintain the status quo. Again, duty meant they would do that, but a 'please' would have been nice.
A flicker of amusement took over his handsome features. Despite the severity of the situation the thought of demanding gratitude from a goverment agency almost made him laugh out loud. After all, he was pretty sure his sense levity was half the reason Logan invited him on this little excursion. That, and his proven ability to work well with others. Especially when they had a smile like a private joke and clever, dark. eyes. The SHIELD agent began speaking again.
"So far, the source of the viroid has been traced to specifically infected items. While we have the ability to detect and destroy these items in the present day, the technology is relatively new--within the last twenty years. SHIELD intercepted a transmission last week with the same RNA code as the viroid. The receipt date was July 4th...eighteen sixty-seven. We can't say if they we successful at leaving an infected item in the past, but we're operating under that assumption." Graciela reached the final slide in the presentation, turning back to her fellow teammates.
A skeleton crew ran briefings these days. In the early days of infection, SHIELD had been among the first to respond. They untangled the mystery of the Chitauri-born illness. Their decontamination protocol was beyond reproach. The entire department assumed it would be more of the same. Days turned into weeks, and more of her co-workers fell ill. The sickness tore through the science officers like a wildfire, until Acting Director Hill had no choice but to ask for help.
As Dr. Banner elaborated on the modifications he made to the Avengers' device, Graciela carded a hand over her face. Normally, she had to be dragged out of the medical wing for missions; a break from watching her fellow agents waste away was more than welcome.
"You'll be able to control the jumps from the wristbands SHIELD will distribute. They only work if you're all within proximity of each other. So uh, it goes without saying, that means you need to be be very careful with them. I take it you've all read the paper I wrote on time paradoxes?" Bruce's verdant features scanned the small team from the screen, looking concerned. Graciela tried very hard to ignore Remy's blank expression. It would be fine. They were mutants; the viroid couldn't find a hold in their corrupted DNA.
"Logan, I'll let you elaborate on the parameters of the first mission. And just in case it hasn't be said yet…thank you for handling this."
"Enfin..." she heard LeBeau mutter under his breath.
Remy stretched his long legs out in front of him, the material of the SHIELD-issued body suit conturing to the bulge of his calf muscle like a second skin. Focusing back on the projected image of Earth's mightiest heroes in their respective quarantines, a finely arched eyebrow raised, saying all that he couldn't.
'Y'ask us t'risk our lives, but you don't even show up in person?' he had griped as he had been lead into the meeting. As if there had ever been a question of whether or not he would help. Logan asked him to come. That'd be enough, especially for a relatively newly-minted member of the X-Men. (edited)
It wasn't precisely the safety precautions that grated him. Even he could acknowledge the worldwide panic the death of an Avenger would bring. It was the utter lack of concern they seemed to display for the mutant team. Like it was a given they would hop-to and go hurtling through the timeline just to maintain the status quo. Again, duty meant they would do that, but a 'please' would have been nice.
A flicker of amusement took over his handsome features. Despite the severity of the situation the thought of demanding gratitude from a goverment agency almost made him laugh out loud. After all, he was pretty sure his sense levity was half the reason Logan invited him on this little excursion. That, and his proven ability to work well with others. Especially when they had a smile like a private joke and clever, dark. eyes. The SHIELD agent began speaking again.
"So far, the source of the viroid has been traced to specifically infected items. While we have the ability to detect and destroy these items in the present day, the technology is relatively new--within the last twenty years. SHIELD intercepted a transmission last week with the same RNA code as the viroid. The receipt date was July 4th...eighteen sixty-seven. We can't say if they we successful at leaving an infected item in the past, but we're operating under that assumption." Graciela reached the final slide in the presentation, turning back to her fellow teammates.
A skeleton crew ran briefings these days. In the early days of infection, SHIELD had been among the first to respond. They untangled the mystery of the Chitauri-born illness. Their decontamination protocol was beyond reproach. The entire department assumed it would be more of the same. Days turned into weeks, and more of her co-workers fell ill. The sickness tore through the science officers like a wildfire, until Acting Director Hill had no choice but to ask for help.
As Dr. Banner elaborated on the modifications he made to the Avengers' device, Graciela carded a hand over her face. Normally, she had to be dragged out of the medical wing for missions; a break from watching her fellow agents waste away was more than welcome.
"You'll be able to control the jumps from the wristbands SHIELD will distribute. They only work if you're all within proximity of each other. So uh, it goes without saying, that means you need to be be very careful with them. I take it you've all read the paper I wrote on time paradoxes?" Bruce's verdant features scanned the small team from the screen, looking concerned. Graciela tried very hard to ignore Remy's blank expression. It would be fine. They were mutants; the viroid couldn't find a hold in their corrupted DNA.
"Logan, I'll let you elaborate on the parameters of the first mission. And just in case it hasn't be said yet…thank you for handling this."
"Enfin..." she heard LeBeau mutter under his breath.
"Are you receiving signal?" Nastaha examined herself in the rearview mirror, her slender fingers adjusting the gemstone of her necklace.
"Affirmative, Agent Romanoff. Raise the chain one more inch--perfect. It will vibrate once if it picks up the kind of heat signature a weapon would give off. Coulson's in place as well."
"Just super. I'll talk to you when I'm out."
One of Natasha's well-manicured hands went to silence the communicator. On her missions, she loathed having another person in her ear. SHIELD had long recognized she did her finest work alone, New York notwithstanding. In the console of her BMW, she dropped the the silenced comm, the other accoutrements of her life as a spy following soon after. The false bottom swung back into place. A swipe of frosted gloss on her pouty lips and she looked just like all the other floozies looking for their next husband that flocked to places like this.
With her hair tousled artfully and her dress practically painted on, a few heavy gazes found her, lust radiating over the tops of their Manhattans. They lingered, particularly, as they watched her from behind as she retreated into the lounge area.
Leather loveseats and dimlighting turned the lounge into the kind of place where a hand might slip up a hemline, a handshake could send a million dollars into an off-shore account--the kind of place where people didn't talk about what they saw a regular doing.
And her target was a regular, certainly. All sorts of characters liked to join him for a drink, but the kind of character with multiple heads met him, more alarmingly, where he worked. Potentially, HYDRA's subterfuge had conned another--plenty of people had fallen for their lies. But a clever man like that, not asking questions? The Widow had her doubts.
Natasha let a slow smile spread across her face, her full bottom lip scrapping against her top teeth. Target aquired.
She dropped down into the seat nearest him, her long legs crossed at the ankle, her posture sprawled back. The short, short skirt she picked out just to catch his eye creeped further up a creamy thigh. Natasha turned herself into an invitation, just with her body language.
"Nice night, isn't it? Tell me, what's good here?" She never had much time for pretext, anyway. Answers were her currency, and she planned to work them out of Rodriguez however she needed.
"Affirmative, Agent Romanoff. Raise the chain one more inch--perfect. It will vibrate once if it picks up the kind of heat signature a weapon would give off. Coulson's in place as well."
"Just super. I'll talk to you when I'm out."
One of Natasha's well-manicured hands went to silence the communicator. On her missions, she loathed having another person in her ear. SHIELD had long recognized she did her finest work alone, New York notwithstanding. In the console of her BMW, she dropped the the silenced comm, the other accoutrements of her life as a spy following soon after. The false bottom swung back into place. A swipe of frosted gloss on her pouty lips and she looked just like all the other floozies looking for their next husband that flocked to places like this.
With her hair tousled artfully and her dress practically painted on, a few heavy gazes found her, lust radiating over the tops of their Manhattans. They lingered, particularly, as they watched her from behind as she retreated into the lounge area.
Leather loveseats and dimlighting turned the lounge into the kind of place where a hand might slip up a hemline, a handshake could send a million dollars into an off-shore account--the kind of place where people didn't talk about what they saw a regular doing.
And her target was a regular, certainly. All sorts of characters liked to join him for a drink, but the kind of character with multiple heads met him, more alarmingly, where he worked. Potentially, HYDRA's subterfuge had conned another--plenty of people had fallen for their lies. But a clever man like that, not asking questions? The Widow had her doubts.
Natasha let a slow smile spread across her face, her full bottom lip scrapping against her top teeth. Target aquired.
She dropped down into the seat nearest him, her long legs crossed at the ankle, her posture sprawled back. The short, short skirt she picked out just to catch his eye creeped further up a creamy thigh. Natasha turned herself into an invitation, just with her body language.
"Nice night, isn't it? Tell me, what's good here?" She never had much time for pretext, anyway. Answers were her currency, and she planned to work them out of Rodriguez however she needed.
"Yeah. Yeah. Pepperoni. Extra cheese. Perfect, Mauricio, see you in thirty to forty-five." One hand carded through his damp hair, pushing it back off his forehead while the other tossed his phone on to the couch. He planned to join it soon. The stolen moments of downtime between missions were some of his favorite. The ache in his shoulders and calves reminded him of a mission successfully completed and whatever dumb show captivated his attention would lull him into a pizza-and-beer induced deep slumber right there on the couch.
Perfection.
Well, almost. A little company might have been nice. Spontaneously asking to see Natasha the moment he landed back in New York made him pause, not because he didn't want to see her but because it worried him to push the bounds of their relationship like that. Their friendship. Relationship?
Walking a little stiffly thanks to a botched landing to a jump across a rooftop, he crossed the room to his dresser. Tugging on a pair of gray sweat pants, he patted around in his drawer for a t-shirt when the pounding on his door began. Already? Mauricio did seems to have a sixth sense for knowing when the craving would strike Clint... Lucky began whimpering at the door, smacking the wood insistently.
"Alright, alright! Be right there--" He hissed as took the stairs, his calves protesting each slow step. "Back up, pal." He threw the door open, his handsome face immediately relaxing into a grin as they landed on Natasha's lovely face. He should have known; Lucky only made a fuss like that for her. It disappeared just as rapidly as his eyes scanned over her peaked features and registered the bright red blood staining her front.
"Jeez, beautiful, what have you done to yourself?" Immediately he crouched, tucking an arm under her knees and putting a palm flat to her back as he lifted her easily into his bare chest. "Nat, what happened?" Pain forgotten, her hurried her over to the couch, laying her out. His hands traversed her stomach, in a way he had done countless times before. Didn't normally leave his hand stained with blood, however. This time, he was searching for a wound.
Did he cause this? Did one of his enemies guess at his emotional attatchment for he could even verbalize it and do this to her?
"We gotta get you to a hospital--" Would she make it there? "Can you keep pressure on it for me, angel? Where else are you bleeding? What happened?"
Perfection.
Well, almost. A little company might have been nice. Spontaneously asking to see Natasha the moment he landed back in New York made him pause, not because he didn't want to see her but because it worried him to push the bounds of their relationship like that. Their friendship. Relationship?
Walking a little stiffly thanks to a botched landing to a jump across a rooftop, he crossed the room to his dresser. Tugging on a pair of gray sweat pants, he patted around in his drawer for a t-shirt when the pounding on his door began. Already? Mauricio did seems to have a sixth sense for knowing when the craving would strike Clint... Lucky began whimpering at the door, smacking the wood insistently.
"Alright, alright! Be right there--" He hissed as took the stairs, his calves protesting each slow step. "Back up, pal." He threw the door open, his handsome face immediately relaxing into a grin as they landed on Natasha's lovely face. He should have known; Lucky only made a fuss like that for her. It disappeared just as rapidly as his eyes scanned over her peaked features and registered the bright red blood staining her front.
"Jeez, beautiful, what have you done to yourself?" Immediately he crouched, tucking an arm under her knees and putting a palm flat to her back as he lifted her easily into his bare chest. "Nat, what happened?" Pain forgotten, her hurried her over to the couch, laying her out. His hands traversed her stomach, in a way he had done countless times before. Didn't normally leave his hand stained with blood, however. This time, he was searching for a wound.
Did he cause this? Did one of his enemies guess at his emotional attatchment for he could even verbalize it and do this to her?
"We gotta get you to a hospital--" Would she make it there? "Can you keep pressure on it for me, angel? Where else are you bleeding? What happened?"
The stink of a hospital ward —a toxic swirl of lemon disinfectant, filtered air and human secretions— could make a person flinch just from the mere memory. After Graciela's depressing hiatus in research, it exhilarated her. Each patient represented a problem to be solved, a puzzle to be finished. At the very least, their symptoms were a question that had an answer, even if she didn't find it in time.
She told Doom the problem. In Latveria, looking right into his mask. Almost word for word, the phrase printed across the official pairing letter echoed her words: 'If drastic measures are not taken to increase the birthrate, humanity will perish.' When he asked her how to fix it, she verbally shrugged, demurring that it was beyond the scope of her expertise. Lots of species succumbed to extinction. Homo sapien and superior had a good run. She returned home gratefully; better to deal with the remaining living than to stare futility in the face. Besides, the castle was drafty. She couldn't have guessed how Victor von Doom would solve the unsolvable. It wasn't supposed to be her problem.
Yet, it followed her. The problem chased her right into Grand rounds. Her first since returning, actually.
She smoothed a hand down the front of her pencil skirt, shifting her weight to her left hip as she began to present. "Agent Marwan Syed, 41. First presented with elevated white blood cell count, elevated kidney enzymes. In 2012, he came into contact with a piece of Kree debris from the Battle of New York. Through new Asgardian techniques, we have been able to restrict the infection to his right kidney, but in 2016, it began to spread even after removal. Patient is a prime candidate for transplant but only if we act fast in order to get the cleanest margins." Silence greeted her presentation.
Bizarre. In a room full of doctors accustomed to dealing with traumatic injuries, a complex medical procedure like this should have them like sharks in the water. Marwan's broad grin spanned at least three feet wide in the projected image, his sienna colored hands dotted with henna and laced with his husband's. Projected in front of the gathering of SHIELD surgeons, she had been certain it would elicit the appropriate amount of pathos for the SHIELD scientist. "When is the earliest time the council can convene to discuss his position on the waitlist?"
"There aren't any."
"Council members?" Even with the increase in skirmishes between what remained of HYDRA and what remained of SHIELD, that didn't seem correct.
"Kidneys. Anti-rejection drugs. Doctors to harvest the kidney. Medi-flights. Take your pick, Dr. Cortez. Even for SHIELD, that's a tall ask nowadays. What would be the next most appropriate course of action for an extraterrestrial-contaminated body part?" The question served as her dismissal, her peers jostling to list therapies that already failed.
"Dialysis!"
"Yes, followed by?"
"Palliative care." Graciela answered from the back. Marwan's face blipped off the screen, replaced by the patient of the next doctor.
The sterile reek of the medical ward clawed at her throat and she slipped out the backdoor of the auditorium. She blindly stumbled for an exit, turning down new hallways until she was spit out on to the rooftop concourse the science building shared with the rest of the the SHIELD departments. From up there, she could see Times Square, the pathetic scattering of tourists yet another reminder of the problem.
She told Doom the problem. In Latveria, looking right into his mask. Almost word for word, the phrase printed across the official pairing letter echoed her words: 'If drastic measures are not taken to increase the birthrate, humanity will perish.' When he asked her how to fix it, she verbally shrugged, demurring that it was beyond the scope of her expertise. Lots of species succumbed to extinction. Homo sapien and superior had a good run. She returned home gratefully; better to deal with the remaining living than to stare futility in the face. Besides, the castle was drafty. She couldn't have guessed how Victor von Doom would solve the unsolvable. It wasn't supposed to be her problem.
Yet, it followed her. The problem chased her right into Grand rounds. Her first since returning, actually.
She smoothed a hand down the front of her pencil skirt, shifting her weight to her left hip as she began to present. "Agent Marwan Syed, 41. First presented with elevated white blood cell count, elevated kidney enzymes. In 2012, he came into contact with a piece of Kree debris from the Battle of New York. Through new Asgardian techniques, we have been able to restrict the infection to his right kidney, but in 2016, it began to spread even after removal. Patient is a prime candidate for transplant but only if we act fast in order to get the cleanest margins." Silence greeted her presentation.
Bizarre. In a room full of doctors accustomed to dealing with traumatic injuries, a complex medical procedure like this should have them like sharks in the water. Marwan's broad grin spanned at least three feet wide in the projected image, his sienna colored hands dotted with henna and laced with his husband's. Projected in front of the gathering of SHIELD surgeons, she had been certain it would elicit the appropriate amount of pathos for the SHIELD scientist. "When is the earliest time the council can convene to discuss his position on the waitlist?"
"There aren't any."
"Council members?" Even with the increase in skirmishes between what remained of HYDRA and what remained of SHIELD, that didn't seem correct.
"Kidneys. Anti-rejection drugs. Doctors to harvest the kidney. Medi-flights. Take your pick, Dr. Cortez. Even for SHIELD, that's a tall ask nowadays. What would be the next most appropriate course of action for an extraterrestrial-contaminated body part?" The question served as her dismissal, her peers jostling to list therapies that already failed.
"Dialysis!"
"Yes, followed by?"
"Palliative care." Graciela answered from the back. Marwan's face blipped off the screen, replaced by the patient of the next doctor.
The sterile reek of the medical ward clawed at her throat and she slipped out the backdoor of the auditorium. She blindly stumbled for an exit, turning down new hallways until she was spit out on to the rooftop concourse the science building shared with the rest of the the SHIELD departments. From up there, she could see Times Square, the pathetic scattering of tourists yet another reminder of the problem.
I am open to just about any plot in the extended comic universe. It can be serious. It can be smutty. World's our oyster. That said-- I have an obnoxious plot that has been rattling around my brain, it takes place in some unholy universe were the MCU and 616 intersect. Without further ado:
The world post-Snap is a grim and bitter place. Like blood in the water, the wake Thanos left behind attracted every predator that wished to take advantage of Earth. With a population further decimated own to just a few strongholds across the globe, extinction seems nearer than ever for humanity. Until, at least the sovereign of Latveria says "no more" and begins to corral what is left into a force to be reckoned with. His actions bring unlikely allies together, all in the name of survival.
If more humans are needed to run the industries and armies that keep the planet safe, then they will simply make more. So Doom decrees it.
Paired off to increase the likelyhood of conception, the remainder of humanity is tasked with bringing about the next generation. Comply or die. Or comply and leave the society God Emperor Doom has so kindly crafted for the civilized few that remain, which is as good as death.
If more humans are needed to run the industries and armies that keep the planet safe, then they will simply make more. So Doom decrees it.
Paired off to increase the likelyhood of conception, the remainder of humanity is tasked with bringing about the next generation. Comply or die. Or comply and leave the society God Emperor Doom has so kindly crafted for the civilized few that remain, which is as good as death.
By no means do we have to use this plot. I've got apocalyptic flavors, I've got general heroics, I've got daily life in Avengers Tower...Big on wish fulfillment 'round these parts.
If you think we'd tell a fun story together, reach out!
Last edited: