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Realistic or Modern CS - CLOAKS

(Realistic faceclaim or written description)
Age: (21+)
Alias: (Any name the public will know you by)
Ability: (Unless you're playing a Celeb-Cloak, leave this blank as TBA and private message me your ability. As Celeb-Cloaks are public figures, what they can do is known to the public and, therefore, the roleplayers. If your character isn't public, their ability wouldn't be either)
Additional Information:
Writing Sample: (Write a short scene with your character. It can be anything. It can be as minor as grocery shopping or as major as stopping a Crook. Surprise me. Spelling and grammar is essential!)

- Use the template. No need for biographies as the bare bones of your character, including their origins, will be fleshed out in the story
- Before making a character, be aware they can be permanently taken out of the story in situations beyond your control, e.g. dying. In these cases, roleplayers will have to make a new character to rejoin the story
- Default formatting only
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Name: Brody Gray
Gender: Male
Age: 32
Alias: Brain Bane
Ability: Telepathy
Additional Information: Married. Has two children. Has a very cheesy slogan: No Crook Shall Reign, For I Am The Bane. Was criticised for discussing the ethics of using abilities to brainwash Crooks into becoming good people.
Writing Sample:


Junior Member


  • VillainousFrightenedIrrawaddydolphin-max-1mb.gifName:
    Leroy Flanagan


    Male, He/Him


    Light Manipulation and Flight, as he is a winged being.

    Additional Information:
    He does his best to keep his personal life hidden from reporters. He's one of the few Celeb-Cloaks who seems a bit uncomfortable with the public knowing every aspect of his life, even though this seems ironic since his power is literally to fly high and shine bright.

    tumblr_p47ym5Rvdq1tijwyho2_540.jpgAm copy-pasting an older writing sample for another character, as I have a work shift coming soon:

    Marie Auguste-Johnson had been living by herself for quite some time now. It wasn’t luxurious, nor was it particularly safe, but when you were on the run from child protective services and too hesitant to implore others for assistance, that was the only route available for you. Because of this she was currently hiding out in the woods, with the aid of a survivalist guide to sustaining oneself that she had “borrowed” from the public library, slipping it underneath her shirt so no adult would ask for a book card. She truly did intend on returning it, but it would seem fishy if she had no address, phone number, or social security number to give them. Its pages had proved a truly great resource for her, as each chapter carefully detailed how to gather essential supplies such as wood, water, and shelter. Using bits of sharp, long grass under the snow and utilizing her power to make them hot and stiff, she tied together sizable amounts of sticks until she had formed a roof, then copied that step five times and soon found herself in the possession of a makeshift hut. It was just big enough to fit her whole body if she hung her head between her shoulders and didn’t stretch her legs too much, but even though it was rather small, she loved it with all her heart. Who else could say they had made their own house? Not many people, that was for sure.

    However, while she could gather water and fire easily enough by raising the amount of heat near her hands, finding food was turning out to be much more difficult. Most church charity groups were most active in the winter, and since summer was quickly marching forwards the small town’s already tiny amount of food donors went off on trips to other countries, leaving Marie without anyone to turn too. While for the first few days she had been able to win out against the hunger pangs of her stomach, after two weeks passed she was desperate to find something, anything, edible; her instincts going wild when seeing the first clumps of berries start to appear, and almost snatching up mushrooms and trying to eat them as well. When she had stopped herself in mid-bite from eating suspicious vegetation for the seventh time that night, Marie decided that she had no other choice but to turn to the cabin folks. Yes, it might be humiliating, but swallowing her pride would be a brighter alternative then swallowing down poisonous berries. As soon as she had realized this fact, and after several pacing sessions and frustrated kicks at a nearby tree, she picked up a blazing ember from her little fire and began to walk in that general direction. The tongues of light from her makeshift torch cast shadows onto the young girl’s hands and face, illuminating the tangled black strands of hair hanging skewnly around her shoulders along with several scratches and red bumps caused by bugs in the night. Her white t-shirt was hanging even more loosely from her small frame than usual, it’s bright color muddied by lack of proper care along with her ankle-length blue skirt. Her shoes had been worn away a long time ago, leaving her with nothing but pads of cloth she’d tied around her socks.

    She knew full-well that she wasn’t looking the best, but who cared about societal standards of appearance anyway!? If she wanted to live with such a primitive lifestyle, who were adults to judge? They were barely better, from what she had seen on TV and in past experiences with the inane creatures. As she struggled to climb the uphill slope, she often leaned against trees, thick roots, and boulders to keep herself upright. She felt weak, much weaker than ever before, and every step felt more heavy and laborious. The snow which filled her with so much wonder in the past had become a harrowing obstacle, making her legs walk in slow motion up, down, up and down, up, up, down. Sweat dripped down her bangs and onto her forehead, making her feel clammy and sick…but no, she couldn’t stop to rest, not until she’d reached her destination. She felt her eyelids start to lower right as she crossed the threshold of the forest’s edge, and nearly collapsed in exhaustion. Why was her head aching, and where was this pounding noise coming from; all the pained sensations flooding through her were overwhelming, and she stumbled forward until she hit an outer wall. Alright, as long as she moved forward by leaning against this solid presence, she should be fine. Slowly stretching out her arm across each space, she managed to make contact with a window before stopping for a break. Before she could continue, a loud thud and then several crashing sounds made the wall shake and caused her to lose balance. Gasping out of shock, she fell face forward onto the ground and only with trepidation began to raise her head, seeing an…angel fighting a skeleton? Raising herself into a sitting position, she rubbed her eyes, dubious that she had really seen this…but no, there was still a golden-winged being attacking another who was entirely comprised of bones. She remained frozen in awe, wondering how to react when faced with such a spectacle.




Generic Person
Marvin “Marv” Forrester

Age: 22
Gender: Male

Alias: []
Ability: []
Additional Info: Marv does his best to stay away from the cloaked world and tries to keep to himself, the nature of his abilities may or may not cause a desire for solitude. Mourning does that sort of thing. Though now Marv is attempting to move past his previous transgressions, despite how awful he actually is at trying to.

(Quick warning, the sample does contain a preview for Marv’s abilities.)
The smell of cement followed the dust that coated the air, curling within the dark room and cutting across the few rays of moon light that streamed through the gaping hole in the wall. Tired and unnatural gasps rang throughout the eerie calm that had previously settled. A barely recognizable man lay covered in rubble, sporting long gashes about his chest and his body beaten to a near pulp. The man wasn’t breathing. A knife clattered to the broken floor of the wrecked shop as the man’s limp hand could no longer hold the weight. The ragged breaths hitched as a shadow was cast over the body. The shadow began to shrink as its deep green scales shifted to a pale pink while its teeth and claws receded to nearly human standards. The breaths sped up as the hulking beast slowly shifted into a human figure, wearing only pants turned shorts that loosely hung onto his hips with a large hole in the back. The dust that swirled around the figures’ nostrils became intermixed with the scent of blood as he inhaled, and then the figure stopped. His gaze shifting to the broken man under the rubble, regret soon filled him to the brim as one thought crossed his mind: ‘Oh f*ck.’

Marv hated this, the feeling of blood that wasn’t his, coating hands that were; the sweat that dripped from his hair despite only walking a few feet, and a pang from a stab wound in his abdomen whenever he moved. It happened again, and here he though he could have at least lasted one year without an accident. Frowning at the soulless body in front of him, Marv figured there was nothing to do to even try and help before carefully stepping through the hole in the wall. It was raining, because of course it was, when he stepped out into the dark alleyway. Cars whizzed by on the road, their lights casting shadows upon Marv and the bodies that had also tried to mug him. He stood there for a few moments, mouth slightly agape as he watched the sewer collect both water and blood alike.
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Name: María Moreno
Gender: Female
Age: 27
Alias: Martinet María, La Chica María, Moreno, Brown-Hair
Ability: Metal Manipulation
Additional Information: Girl next door from the ghetto. Likes short walks to the bank because she didn't have much (if anything at all) growing up. Has been a Celeb-Cloak since the age of eighteen, but older brother's hospitalisation has made her lose herself to vigilante justice, bitter caipirinhas and meaningless sex. Struggling with what remains of her career. Can't get bookings.
Writing Sample: She locked up and, lumbering out of her apartment complex, went for a walk. A morning walk to clear her head. She wore a San Francisco Giants baseball cap, but she wasn't one for the team. The cap was only for shrinking away from paparazzi lights and mud-slinging bloggers. Nothing more, nothing less. They were difficult to deal with, was all, but a breakfast of three lime tequilas and the acid burn in her stomach kept her going, firing her up for the day. There were three photographers waiting for her, but, with backstreet shortcuts and alleyway cutoffs, she managed to lose them.

They said it wasn't safe here in Bedford-Stuyvesant, but here Maria Moreno was. That was the story of her life. Chapter I: Being Where She Had No Business Being. She smoked a cigarette and smouldered the tobacco tip. The smoke was another mask. "I should quit," Maria whispered, inhaling, "I really should." Exhaling. Walking. By the time Maria was done with her cigarette, she was near East River. When she looked at her reflection, she shrunk away again, not looking herself in the eye. She couldn't bear to.

Taking one last drag, the Cuban cast the cigarette into the water. The waves brought it back to the seafront with salt-eroded stones and straggly seaweed (and, of course, more emotional baggage). "Mateo," she whispered. Her voice trembled with the name. Her brother's name.

"Come back to me."

Rosa Kane

Friendly Neighborhood Trickster Spirit
She is albino and utterly hairless, although that is more a consequence of burning what little hair she ever grows most every time she uses her powers. Her hair is white, when it’s there. She has managed to get a flame retardant cloak-work outfit, but hair is a little harder to keep intact. She is about six foot three and leanly muscled. Her eyes are ice blue, and she can’t see well in darkness along with being farsighted. Her face is sharply angular, and generally fairly closed.

Name: Adane

Gender: Female she/her

Age: 19

Alias: Firestorm, or if you are among slightly more fanatical fans, AngelFlame.

Ability: She keeps the exact nature of her ability close to her chest, but what is known is that she is functionally immune to extreme heat and fire, and can generate and control it. It is fairly simple, but powerful in that simplicity, and the amount of fire she can wield is considerable.

Additional Information: She is an odd figure in the Cloak scene. If she chased it she would be a Celeb-cloak, but technically she isn't even properly registered. She has nonetheless made a name for herself by fire-fighting, with occasional forays into proper hero work when called in as a heavy hitter. She doesn't do much standard cloak-work, just because of the nature of her powers. She is however well regarded, mostly because she has saved a lot of lives by putting out fires, and it helps that her powers are flashy and effective when she uses them that way.

Writing Sample:
Her mantra as she full-out ran forward was simple, I can do this, over and over in her head, something between a prayer and desperate confidence. For a moment her mind flashed back to when she had first come into her powers. She still vividly remembered the building burning down around her, surviving the collapsing structure by luck, and the rest by her awakened power. Her family had not been so lucky. In the end she dropped her mantra and bared her teeth as she summoned her power and blasted into the sky. Fuck trying, fuck attempting, fuck anything but keeping that from happening to anyone else.

As she broke over the smoke cloud generated by the wildfire she watched it spread out before her for miles into the night. She thought of the town behind her and threw herself forward, reaching her power out into the heart of the fire and pulling all of its energy with her. She ripped into a spiral as she shot across the fire, taking everything away with her. She felt herself control and contain as much energy as she ever had before, almost after she felt herself blow past that point. So soon after she hit a point where she wasn’t in control anymore, she was just riding a wave of furious, barely controlled energy. So she rode the bull, dragging it into line until she hit the point she had been waiting for, the end of the pull. The fire on the ground was barely there at all save for embers now, the burned-out area the wildfire had come from.

She turned into the sky and just let go, finally looking through her eyes again as an immense whirlwind of fire blasted into the empty air. It was an awe-inspiring pillar of destruction, and then it was gone, burned out harmlessly in the sky with nothing left to feed its fury. As Adane fell from the sky she looked down at the ashes of the forest, all the raging energy of the fire stripped from it. Then she pulled from the embers of her own energy and managed to pull enough force to not smash into the ground, throwing herself towards the town. When she got close to the town she used the last bits of her power to fall as slowly and gently as possible, which was admittedly not all that gentle when you are traveling by uncontrolled jetpack. She did at the least manage to not break any bones, which she was grateful for as she limped away from the forest and towards the town. Seven minutes after she ran towards the fire, after three minutes of firefighting, she barely had enough energy to crawl into the seat of her truck and drink the nutrient shake she had left uncapped. There wasn’t an adoring crowd here, just sooty air and exhaustion. The fire had started suddenly overnight, and spread fast. The town had had six hours of warning to evacuate, and the fire had been maybe a half an hour from the town when she had pulled it. Her last thought before she passed out in her truck was was that she was going to have trouble avoiding the public eye now.
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Socially Anxious Chocolate Addict

basic information

Name: Eunmi Che
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Alias: Whisp
Additional: Pansexual

underneath the surface


Eunmi may be short, but she's feisty when it matters. She's stubborn yet oblivious. Her cluelessness hurts her most in conversations, but she's gotten used to it to the point where she can make small talk without coming off as weird or antisocial. She's anxious and doesn't handle pressure too well depending on the situation. Those who know her best call her sweet. She really tries to take care of everyone even when she's not capable enough. Everyone is important to her, even the people she doesn't like, hence her gullibility.

her story







There wasn’t a word to describe the way Yoongi felt when he was told about the meeting.

The demons weren’t like the other supernatural races. Unlike most urban legends, they preferred to stay out of external affairs. They didn’t care what the other species did so long as it didn’t impact them. Of course, they enjoyed their fair share of trouble, too, but that wasn’t even close to being as important.

Often, Yoongi’s father would ramble on and on about the way demons lived ages ago. “We were the sole reason for war back then, son,” he had told him, chest puffed out proudly and smile wicked. “It was our job to torment every living soul, and we did it well. But this kingdom has grown soft, too soft for comfort.”

It was true—demons were viewed as the single source of misery for hundreds of generations. Their methods were an integral part of the natural balance. Now, though, there’s no reason for their interference. People found reason enough among themselves to fight, to drive themselves to despair. In a sense, they no longer needed demons to pull the strings.

So, Yoongi grew up fascinated with other species. He spent his days locked up in the royal library, reading any books he could get his hands on. Spells were learned, histories were unraveled, and human nature was scrutinized. Even when his father insisted that there was no need for him to study such things, he persisted. The old ways fascinated him beyond measure. Besides, there wasn’t much for him to do in the kingdom anyway.
When news arrived that he was going to attend a meeting with fellow princes, his initial emotion was elation. To think, after spending years reading about the other supernatural races, he’d finally be able to meet some. If things went well, perhaps the Demon Kingdom could finally reopen their borders and resume their former traditions.

What came after was fear. Not fear for himself, per se, but fear for what he could cause. He didn’t know a thing about being politically correct or how to handle negotiations. A part of him hated that his father had been right; he should’ve learned more about how to be a successful prince (and soon-to-be king) than anything else.

Hands shaking, Yoongi fastened the last button of his tailcoat. It was a rich red in color, akin to the hue his eyes became when spellcasting. He looked like some old-fashioned, gothic human, and that thought made him chuckle. His black hair had been combed for once, the locks being too stubborn for him to bother with for any other occassion.

Chest heavy, he stared down upon the crown a servant was handing to him. It had his father’s idea, the old king no doubt wanting Yoongi to show off, to prove that demons weren’t to be ignored. Sighing, he took it, setting it upon his head. No, now he just looked ridiculous.

The crown was returned to the servant, who bowed and gestured for Yoongi to follow. He complied, heading through the twists and turns of the castle’s halls before arriving outside.

Carriages made his neck ache, but the king had wanted him to arrive at the meeting site fashionably. The black horses stomped impatiently, the carriage behind them decorated with more gold than Yoongi had in his entire bedroom.

Wanting to waste no more time, he entered, sitting himself down and trying to get comfortable. His father hadn’t even come to see him off, he noted. Yoongi pursed his lips as the carriage began to move. “Please, let this be over with soon,” he mumbled, wanting nothing more than to be in his library with his books right now.
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saturday shorts

its about the yearning
Name: Keaton Green

Gender: Male he/him

Age: 21

Alias: Chameleon

Ability: Turning invisible

Additional Information: He's eternally grateful for the fact that he doesn't have to strip in order to be invisible.

Writing Sample: "Ugh fuck." Keaton let out a groan as he let go of his invisibility, his guts swirling back into shape like a key unwinding in a music box. Coming back to being corporeal was more of an effort than he liked to admit. While he'd like it to be more of a snap-quick process as people believed, it was really more of a particularly finicky water tap that was very very sticky some days, and just leaked constantly on others. He couldn't really decide what was worse, having his powers stutter in the middle of a fight or just have his fingers go invisible on him out of nowhere.

Pins and needles broke out over his arms and legs as colour swirled back into them, painting his skin back on in messy strokes. Rolling his shoulders, he heard his spine crack, and sighed in satisfaction. He was currently crouched in front of an aisle of cereal, hoping to god that the photographers that had come into the store were now gone. Keaton wasn't about to complain about being famous, but he wouldn't lie and say that he wasn't grateful for his power being invisibility in these moments. Honestly, if any journalist thought they were going to catch him not looking his best, they had another thing coming. Keaton was about as uptight on having a clean media presence as he was on actual crimefighting. Which is to say, fairly neurotic. Turning up on a webpage somewhere in a hastily thrown on sweatshirt and a frankly grotty pair of jeans was something he definitely didn't want.

His knees crackled protestingly as he straightened up, and peaked around the corner. Being a superhero was definitely not good for his joints.

A store clerk was facing the items in the next aisle over and shot him a thumbs up. "I told them they weren't allowed to film in here, so you should be fine mate."

"Thank god," Keaton cracked a smile and leaned over to pick up his abandoned shopping basket. "I mean you'd think they'd have something better to report on than the fact that I like boxed cake mix."


let's go fill moomin valley with crime!
Name: Sebastian Parrino
Gender: Male
Age: 29
Alias: Wednesday
Ability: TBA
Additional Information: Works for the mob, as one does.

Writing Sample:
It was five past two, am, and Bas had just found his mark.
The Fairlady screamed for a challenger, with her spoiler, her gold rims, her candy apple red coat, tinted windows. Chase me, chase me, catch me if you can!
Bas' M3 rumbled back: easy.
The '88 M3 didn't have the Fairlady's boy racer flair, but her driver met Bas' nod at the red light with a grin and a rev. The Datsun's engine hit a lovely, snarling note that told Bas that her driver had poured as much money under the hood as he had the outside. Bas smiled back and reved his own engine, and his smile sharpened at the waver on the boy racer's face.
The old M3 only looked stock.
Across the intersection, Bas caught the other light flash from green to yellow. He rolled the gearshift around in his palm.
Yellow to red.
This handful of seconds, poised and promising, were his everything.
Their light flashed green.
Everything flew.
Gearshift, gas, clutch, the movements to throw the M3 into gear, into higher gears as fast as he could, the engine growling as he urged it to speed. The Fairlady was faster off the line, but they had road and road yet to go.
Catch me if you can! the Fairlady taunted.
And the M3 purred back: easy.
He was drawing even with the Fairlady when the sirens went off.
Bas looked back in the rear view and grinned. He flung the car into reverse, making the squad car swerve and squeal. The Fairlady pulled hard and vanished down a side street, and Bas gave the boy racer a little salute that he knew wouldn't be seen.
The only thing better than a street race was a car chase.
Bas kept his eye on the cop car in his rear view mirror as he pulled the M3 forward.
And this time his engine was the one taunting.
Catch me if you can.


New Member
NAME: Ben Phan
AGE: 16
ALIAS: Red Panda
ABILITY: Instant teleportation
ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: The sidekick of the Spiral, an older Cloak. His introduction to the world of Cloaks was a publicity stunt (the Spiral being notoriously attention-hungry), but he didn't die off as soon as expected and ended up tagging along for a few years - since the age of thirteen. Recently, the Spiral has been staying out of the limelight, with paparazzi having gathered he's put on a beer gut, but little else. Red Panda is spending more and more time working on his own, and refuses to comment on his mentor's situation.
"So, Red - I can call you Red, right?" She's all wide smiles and clasped hands and piercing eyes, and doesn't wait for him to answer before continuing. "How did you get into this lifestyle, all those years ago? I mean, you looked pretty young."

An entitled old guy told me it would make me famous, Ben thinks to himself, but the words, as they always do, fizzle out and die on his lips. He's on camera; tiny under the gaze hundreds of thousands around the world, so he straightens his posture and spouts the same age-old crap that he always does. "I wanted to help people, and Spiral offered me a way to do that. When you have abilities like my own...I mean, I'd have to selfish to sit back and not do anything." His laugh is forced, but no one will notice on the other side of the screen.

The interviewer laughs with him, her lips stretched thing under the weight of her smile. "That's so brave of you!" She addresses the camera. "You hear that kids! Not everyone can be as brave as little Red here. Which reminds me, why the name? Red Panda; that doesn't have much to do with your powers."

"It was Spiral's idea." Ben answers easily. "He did a lot for me in those early years."

"But why?" She presses.

He wanted to cash in his diversity points. "He wanted to celebrate my cultural roots." I'm Vietnamese for god's sake. "It was great of him, really."

She leans forward, the telltale glint in her eyes telling him she's about to ask something he won't like, and he bites back a sigh. "And where is Spiral?"

"I've said this already-"

"I know, I know." She puts her hands up in mock surrender. "You've got nothing to say. That's great, sweetie. But maybe, just for me, you could give us a little something?"

Ben knows his smile isn't reaching his eyes, but honestly can't be bothered to fix it. They won't see it anyway. "I'm sorry Linda, but my loyalties are firm." I'm not a kid, I'm not gonna roll over cause you called me sweetie.

She doesn't look happy, but relents. "Of course." She says. "We've all got our loyalties."
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Junior Member

Name: Kazimierz Wojcik
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Alias: Diehard
Ability: []
Additional Information: []
Writing Sample: PM'ed

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