Thread: Literate, plotted RPs, smut also welcome (Male for Any)

RE Realities, Dreams, and Nightmares Male for Any More detailed plots Or I talk WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH. If interested about any of these plots, PM me! I've got extra details and even some plots that I can give you if these ramblings catch your eye. Blackridge, 2018. A Post-apocalyptic 'zombie' plot. What I want Fear and apocalypse. The end is here, and everyone knows it. It's not a thing that's going to pass. There isn't any rescue, there isn't any way out. You just have to keep alive and keep save, and pray that nothing too hard to kill finds you. See more The end came, and it was my fault. This is not an exaggeration. It is not an apology, confession, lamentation, or anything else you might like to call it. Just fact. The world around you now is my fault. I let the virus go. I let them use it. I just wanted to make her proud. -Gareth Demonakos b. 1982 - d. 2026 By 2018, the world had reached a balance once more. War had ended, the US rebuilt, Europe rebuilt, even Asia was on its way. Four years of hell, with nuclear death a fraction of a hair away, left the world weary. And so, when a curious drug called Demex was revealed, it's creators decided to change the target market entirely. No longer would it be for the soldiers, sent into battle to die for their country, but it would be for the family, the veterans, and all. A way to let them recover from the chemicals that still burned the air, and to turn attentions from personal illness to the national effort. Almost patriotic, if not for their profit. Demex promised, and delivered, a better life. Free from cancer, free from illness, free even from those pandemics and disorders- no more MS, no more AIDS, no more Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, or even autism. No more allergies, even. Perfection, for the neat price of 4,997.86... After insurance. A generous deal, but not exactly affordable to anyone. And so, we have the 'ERA'. Former soldiers and activists alike, protesting the withholding of such a miracle... And then taking matters into their own hands. Edge Riders Anonymous stole and aerosolized over 100 kilograms of the drug, then sprayed it in every major city in the US. A nice little bit of biological terrorism or activism, depending on who you talk to, that, while well intentioned, would prove to be a death blow. The virus spread within weeks, infecting every corner of the world, working its way into the flesh and bone of everyone alive. It was a blessing, for many. The long-term wards of hospitals closed down, releasing millions who recovered from cancerous lesions, or other seemingly intractable conditions. The national death rate dropped by nearly half, disease nearly nullified. A golden age seemed sure to come, for the survivors of the third great war. And yet, it never came. A worker in New York, clearing out the bowels of the city, cleansing it of the biological weapons which plagued it in the latter days of the war, had a crack in his gas mask. Not enough for him to even notice. Not enough to give him a lethal dose, or even for his blood tests to turn anything up. But enough to let just a handful of toxins in, enough to confuse Demex's viruses. Inside an hour, he breathed poison to all those around him, infecting them. And then they passed it on. Inside a day, his eyes lost all their color, turning a dull pinkish shade, then darkening to a bloody red. In a week, the cravings started, for fresh, raw meat, and plenty of it. In a month, he and all of his coworkers were chewing on strands of torn flesh, happily eating their families while their brains regressed. Of course, not everyone believed in these tales. Zombies in New York? Preposterous. And even if there were some bioweapon, as many feared, the city was redesigned, when it was rebuilt, to allow for easy quarantine and control. Yet, somehow, it spread. Even when New York was leveled with a bomb, scorched flat to the earth, somehow, some poor soul escaped, and spread the infection. It appeared next in Blackridge, California, the home of the firm which had engineered Demex... but nothing was provable, of course. Nothing provable that the Triteon Corporation had deliberately procured the virus, and experimented on it for... quality control. Nothing provable that they brought the end. The virus spread, relentlessly and effortlessly. Incubation periods varied, strains mutated, became inactive. For months, the US once more committed a war against, this time against its own, ailing populace... until it was overwhelmed. And still, somehow, the virus spread. To Europe. To Asia. To Australia. To each and every corner of the globe but the most insular, hidden communities. It spread until the world grew silent again. Blackridge, 2033 What I want Veteran zombie slayers, the experienced and inured, those who have spent a lifetime surviving, and the ways in which these half-people, knowing nothing but how to kill, interact. See more Fifteen years have passed since the advent of Demex. The world's population, at more than seven billion at the start of the war, fallen to five billion, in the deadliest conflict ever seen, fell yet more in the years following the Virus' spread. By late 2018, nearly three-quarters of the population of the planet became infected with the virus. Of those three-quarters, ninety percent lost their sanity, and began attempting to kill and devour the healthy and one another to sate their hunger. Of the remaining population, sane and alive, 97.5 were, over the course of the following decade, devoured. Now, the population stands at around four hundred thousand million, scattered across the face of the earth, at times banding together and at times killing one another, as suited to their fancies. Of those four hundred million, five million live within the former United States. And of those, half were born within or after the time of the third world war. All they have known is warfare and misery, and so, after all, who can blame them for staying so scattered? The World of Amaera What I want See more Without posting the entirety of my long, drawn out ramblings upon Amaera, let us stand with this. It is a fantasy setting, akin to most others, of my own creation. It involves several races of my own design, as well as a few of popular note such as Orcs, Dwarves, and Elves. If we play in this world, you can guarantee that it'll have my full attention and interest, and I'll gladly introduce you to the nature of it as much as you want. I know it sounds fairly stupid, but believe me, I've put as much work into this as blackridge... I just don't have a plot, yet. Only setting. Welcome to the Wastes What I want Survivalism and violence, coupled with unnatural forces and the supernatural. See more Modelled after Fallout, this idea revolves around the Nuclear Apocalypse... save that after this end, a new beginning came. Supernatural beings, previously hidden, had no more reason to hide themselves away. Vampires, Werefolk, et cetera, all came up into the dim of the nuclear winter, and into the wastelands after it faded, and all made a life for themselves. Chained What I want Relationship dynamic. Resentment and fear and manipulation, as well as xenophobia. See more In a world with any number of supernatural beings forced into acknowledgement, vampires, demons, fae, and all, the solution was a relatively simple one. Each and every one of these individuals will be chained to a human 'handler', and these pairs will be made to live within sequestered 'sanctuary' cities. Unfortunately, not all of the 'handlers' chose this job. Many were forced into the program, or simply abducted and awoken tied to their bonded quite literally, with a chain reinforced with magics keeping them together. Likewise, the inhuman were given a choice Obey this order, or be hunted and die. Bonded What I want The relationship dynamic, andor competition with an ancient vampire who scorns the laws that so tightly bind the rest of the culture. See more Vampires are, and have been for a very long time, real. However, unlike most expect, they cannot feed from humans, and instead must feed from one another. While a bite from a vampire will turn a human to one of them, it will not nourish the being, until the transformation is complete. Once it is, however, the two are bound by the laws of the vampire community, the 'council', to not turn another until their bonded dies, and to not ever expose their nature. However, a few, ancient beings, outdating this council, scorn the rules, and do as they please, turning and murdering in the name of boredom. The Job What I want Partnership and puzzle-solving. The RP is going to revolve around either two abducted agents, or one agent and their handler, and the two's relationship and dynamic will be what defines this. See more Based upon a friend's idea, this revolves around the concept of a Company abducting remarkable individuals, blackmailing them, and forcing them to work as agents for their ends. Their missions are obscure and seemingly pointless, leading to little more than waste of life and chaos, but there is a method to the Company's madness, and if one can discern it, they are promised not only freedom, but more money than they could dream of, and an opportunity to join the upper echelons of the agency, and aid their cause. Though not all are precisely enthusiastic about this. The Bottom of the Dark What I want Terror. Pure and simple, this is about fear of the dark. How that feeling on the back of your neck is real now, and that when your flashlight finally dies, it's not just fear anymore, it's reality, a demon breathing down your neck. See more A voice stirs you from your sleep. Your body aches, down to the very bones, like you've been beaten to within an inch of your life. Ahead of you, you can hear a voice, calling, urging you onwards. Beside you, the groans of others, likewise awakened. Behind you, the growling of beasts. Come on! Come on, they're coming! Get up, get moving! Run! We need to run! the voice pleads, and screams come from behind you, a warm slap against the back of your neck. You try to open your eyes, but there is nothing. No light, nothing. Breath rasps against the back of your neck, and you run. For hours and hours, you run, tripping over the bodies of those who fall ahead of you, caught up in a stampede of feet. People are taken, from behind you, from beside you. Claws catch at your clothes, tearing them, but you evade them. Hours of running, to exhaustion and misery, and still those things pursue, blood drying on your body from their previous victims. Still, others are beside you, but your eyes must be sealed shut, because nothing, not even the light of the stars- and you can feel the wind on your skin, it must be outside, wherever you are- nothing reaches your eyes. Nothing, until at last, in the distance, a dim crimson light comes to your eyes- the light of an alarm, a warning light. One of the old bunkers, something in your mind tells you, not your own thought, but a distant notice. An old bunker from the war. A press of bodies around you as you struggle to get in, to find a way into the door, even as there are still more taken from behind you, and finally, you can see faces, human faces, young and old and tired, not the fittest, but those with the greatest will to continue. You can hear the things behind you, but turning your head, nothing is there. Nothing, not even a refraction of light, beyond the dim glow of the lamp. Like the world cuts off with a knife just after ten, fifteen feet. Nothing, except you can hear the things out there. Hear them feasting, devouring. In! In! They can't pass the light, you need to all get in! The Darkest Day and the Brightest Night What I want Conflicting ideologies. The Knights want justice, but have fallen to depravity in the process. The Paladins want to preserve the rule of law, but are defending monstrous people in the process, who care little for them or the Knights. See more Dominus City. Home, originally, to a pair of corporations which hurled themselves at one another in every field, from biotechnology to nuclear energy. Tritecorp, the older of the two companies, one day developed a drug which was christened the Z product, and distributed it cheaply. The testing spread through the city, and lasted nearly a year. As the trials were ending, the Product reacted differently. It caused dementia, illness, insanity of all kinds, and warped the bodies of the patients, making them into creatures more suited to legends. When a man named Jakob Dellare spoke out, swathed in bandages from the illness he had suffered, naming TriteCorp for the culprit, they struck out at him. A hitman killed his family in the night, leaving them for him to discover. Set his home ablaze with him in it. Dellare was driven mad by the loss, and called for his supporters to avenge the act. In hordes, the panicked, resentful people swarmed the headquarters of TriteCorp, only to be rebuffed by another, equally large group of citizens. The mob faltered, frightened by the numbers, until one of the citizens guarding of the building hurled a rock, striking Dellare in the eye and blinding him. The citizens surged forward, and hundreds died as the changes manifested themselves further, brought on by fear and rage. It has been two years since that day, and Dellare has disappeared, replaced as the leader of the protesters by a man who calls himself Blint. The city has been sealed by an invention of TriteCorp's rival, Schow-Gen Technologies, a field which instantly kills any human being attempting to cross it. Those who held to an ideal of order and morality followed a former employee of TriteCorp. The bright intentions of the Paladins, as they were nicknamed, existed at first only to keep their counterparts under control. This later turned into an drive for annihilation of the other side. Many fear the effects that withdrawal from the Product would have upon them, only fighting to preserve their own lives. They have cleared a complex around the TriteCorp tower that they have named the Layer Yard, and now use it as their base of operations. They control the whole of the Uptown and Financial districts The paladins believed that the only way to solve this problem was to destroy it. The Product gave the Paladins what they view as gifts, regardless of their true impact. With their feathered wings, soft white eyes, and an inspiring and mystical presence, they are ready to cleanse the filth from their city, to protect the innocent, and preserve the rule of law. Those who followed the want for vengeance followed Blint, a man hell bent on revenging himself on TriteCorp. They do not fear death, or even the suffering of being denied a monthy dose of the product. Many fight for the vengeance and the chance to prevent this incident reoccuring, but just as many are in the fight only to inflict suffering. Despite their cruelty, the city remains intact, if a shadow of its former self. They control the Downtown and Industrial districts. The Industrial district has been repurposed, and now is now home solely to the Shadow Knights and the citizens who work to aid them. Their base, such as it is, is a desiccated skyscraper, called the Citadel. The changes inflicted upon their bodies were no more or less severe than those upon the paladins, but the Knights did not favor the changes as the paladins did. Their bodies warped by the product, their bloodstained fangs gleaming crimson, and with the leathered wings of Blint beating a hellish tattoo upon the sky, the knights hurl themselves against the Paladins, caring nothing for their losses. The betrayers, the liars, will pay for their sins. The List What I want Cat and mouse. One of us playing an experimental subject, the other a bounty hunter or agent, and toying with one anothertrying to escape. I want it to be fun and dangerous and intricate. See more On an unspecified date, in an unspecified location, approximately two years ago, there was not an alarm. There was certainly not a breach of security. And there most assuredly was not an escape of twelve remarkable individuals from within this location. The reasons for this nonexistent incident are unknown. These individuals would have no reason to leave the location, if such a thing had occured, of course, and there is most certainly no way to discover those reasons. These remarkable test subjects, if they had escaped, would most certainly be pursued, though directly involving the agency which may or may not run this facility would be sloppy, at best. Intermediaries, hired mercenaries or private eyes, would be the best choice. Assuming, of course, that such a prison break had occured. Which it most certainly did not. It's a matter of profit What I want Civil war. It's nasty and it's unpleasant, but I want to emphasize the conflicting ideologies and beliefs here. That's what I'm excited about with this. See more Two companies have, for the last ten years, been working their way throughout the society of the US. One, the Pacific Institute for Biomechanical Augmentation, located in the Silicon Valley, pioneered the concept of technological bodily augmentations, replacing injured body parts with identical modifications, and creating prosthetics and cybernetics for those who are not injured. The other, the New York society for Biological Modification, located upon the east coast, delved more deeply into the concept of genetic engineering and biological manipulations, trying to achieve the same ends as the other, through more 'natural' means. As business competition became tougher, the two factions began a series of propaganda campaigns. The idea of sullying one's body with machines, replacing the natural, healthy parts, makes you less human. It makes you further from God's image, and it is pride to change one's body so, without true need. Altering one's genes is tampering with His work. It is taking God's work into your own hands. Soon enough, political parties have formed, the Mechanical Prosthesis Party and the Biological Augmentation Party. The MPP and BAP soon overshadow previous parties, and directly compete for the support of the people. Machinists and Geneticists now directly compete on the streets and in the media, a mass migration forms, Machinists westwards and Geneticists eastwards, and tensions rise further and further... until extremism rears its ugly head. A plague bomb is detonated within a coastal California community, killing close to 100,000... and then months later in retaliation, a biomechanical plague of nanites is released upon Chicago, devastating infrastructure for miles and killing close to 250,000... Hunting What I want Combat and fun and creative characters. Your player chose to be on the show, or they're a survivor- What's their life like and how do they cope with being surrounded by the living dead, and having been so for close to a decade? See more So. You've decided to pay attention, then? Good. Because what you learn here doesn't just affect you right now, it will keep you upright and sane through your entire life, so long as you listen. Seven years ago, a virus dubbed Kura, closely related to Kuru, and the ever-deadly CreutzfeldtJakob syndrome, emerged in the general populace. At first, it was mild, no more severe than a common cold. After a few months, mostly everyone in North America had caught it and fought it off. Then it spread. First to South America. Then Europe. Et cetera. Within a year, the entire world was suffering from it. And it's symptoms began growing worse. Those who originally contracted it sickened and became bedridden, their bodies spasming violently and constantly. After this, they would enter a coma-like state and, after a day, expire. The period of reanimation takes between seven and forty-eight hours, depending on the physiology of the subject and the severity of the changes. After that, the 'deceased' becomes active and hostile, save for a few cases. These zombies, for that is what they are, still inhabit most of our world. A few scattered pockets of civilization exist, of course, but are always under siege by hundreds, or even millions of these monstrosities. We do not have enough weaponry to retaliate and break free, nor the methods to evacuate. All we can do is stay in communication with other 'safe zones', and hope to god that those of the living still out there, and even the infected that didn't go insane, can find their way to us. However, that's not why we're here. Last year, as the safe zone here became completely self-sufficient, a group began a broadcast known simply as 'Hunting'. This show is frowned upon by many, but it's only undertaken by some, and they accept the risk. The hunters are individuals who are let out into an infested area after being taken out by an armored car, and left to find their way back. They are given weapons and enough supplies to allow them to last a week without scavenging, as well as a drone equipped with a camera that records their activities, and broadcasts them over the airwaves, to entertain the masses still safe and sound in the cleared cities. The Hunters must work their way home, avoiding or battling hordes of zombies and any humans that might stand in their way. Fortunately, there are some survivors along the way, in isolated communities that can assist them, and help them back to their reward.