Fandom [Literate/Novella] Group Marvel Rp [Searching for new people!]

[Doctor Ozymandias]

“Hello, Reader.”



“Much like humanity, I take both pride and peace in laying my eyes upon a vast ocean of twinkling stars and possibility— of great miracle and wonder alike: inside of a prism of reflection and brilliance that you, reader, may know as the multiverse. For I am— The Watcher: I observe all that transpires here, and I do not, can not, and will not interfere. But not all that I watch is glory and goodness.

For every bolt of tranquility, unfortunately sparks an ember from the depths of turmoil.

An ember, called conflict…

On Genosha, Earth-616C lost.”


“A blood-fueled massacre left the Mutant population more than halved.



A group of teenage superheroes known as the New Warriors, in an incident where hundreds of innocent people are caught in an explosion.



Magneto taking electricity from Earth for two days.


And General Ross winning the election, for President of The United States…



Hate grows. As does distrust..

Come into the eye of the universe where war is always on the brink of beginning…

Or into one…where it already has.”

—————————-


Sup, y’all!


Marvel: Genesis is a multi-paragraph, multi-person roleplay set in Earth 616C, a default universe that gives you more than enough room to write your version of the character while also having a say in what is and isn’t canon! With a current lore inspired by the comics, X-Men ‘97x Captain America: Brave New World and the ‘Civil War’ arc in the comics, we’re aiming to create our own home for our own — YOUR own — version of Marvel Comics characters.


PLENTY of CHARACTERS OPEN, From:

- Iron Man
- Thor!
- Hulk
- Venom
- Miles Morales’ Spider-Man!
- Magneto!
- Professor X!
- Doctor Doom!
and More!


We have plenty of version of Roleplay, from:

- A sandbox world free of overarching narratives, yet bustling with the opportunity for Endgame-like events when you aren’t in your own Character Arc!

- WHAT IF Mode: A mode of roleplay where you don’t even NEED to be approved for a character — you can write anyone in a What If ‘non-canon’ story!

- A Sliding Timescale: — Don’t care for where the recent lore may put your character? Cool! Go back in the past and write the good old days!

In general, with Marvel: Genesis, we wanna create a group and culture of heavily passionate or heavily literate writers who like to read, write, and talk about everything comics!


Shoot me a DM!

 

[Doctor Ozymandias]

Washington, D.C.

Capitol Hill

6:30 am

Steve Rogers was accustomed to waking up early. He was always an early riser, even in the days before the ice, before the Serum, before the war. These days, however, he was up early simply because he barely slept the night before. There was simply too much on the Captain’s mind.

The nation he loved and swore to protect was set to tear itself apart. Since Magneto’s devastating attack on the world, anti-mutant sentiment was on the rise. Hatred stewed and boiled as fear crept across the nation like the chill of a winter storm.

Anti-hero sentiment was on the rise as well. The use of superpowers and abilities beyond those not mortal man were being viewed as dangerous and volatile. On top of mutant registration, the call for superhuman registration in general was getting louder. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

The Avengers were no more. All their egos under one roof, and he couldn’t keep them in check. The Thunder God found us petty. The Iron Man, too vain to accept his faults. The Hulk saw himself as too dangerous. One by one, Avenger after Avenger left. And he himself, too blinded by the mission to see it happening under his watch.

Steve rubbed his eyes and made his way to the bathroom of the hotel the government had put him up in. It was lavish compared to his humble apartment in New York. He knew everything was optics. Put Captain America in a cushy hotel, make him seem pampered and out of touch. But Rogers wasn’t Stark. He cared little for optics. He was about *actions*. He looked into the mirror of the bathroom, splashing water on his face. He was to stare down his greatest foe this morning: Congress.

Steve was expected to testify in front of the assembled senators in approval of the proposed registration acts. In his mind, he understood. Dangerous weapons needed to be regulated, and it was the government's job to see that this was done. In his heart, Steve knew this was a mistake. These weren’t weapons. These were people. Clint and Natalya and Tony and Carol and more. Men and women who, be it through phenomenal physical gifts and training, or brilliant minds and technology, chose to use these gifts for the betterment of mankind. He knew today he would not let the actions of a few ruin the lives of many.

From the bathroom mirror, Steve could see into the corner of his room. There, in the corner, sat the shield he wore into battle. The ever present reminder of the colors he stood for. The dream he represented. It stood in the corner, the shine on it’s vibranium surface seemingly dulled in the hotel light. It’s luster lost, not unlike the country at the moment.

The shield never looked so heavy. (CONTINUES)

 

[Doctor Ozymandias]

EARTH’s ORBIT — PRESENT DAY.



Tul-Bor slid the last vial of plasma into the four-pronged centrifuge. The machine arm calibrated smoothly, vials drew in and it began a slow rotation in the center of the console table. He silently reveled in the yin-yang satisfaction of science and machinery, then folded his arms behind him and stepped back to peer through a towering observatory window; out into the abysmal, light-dotted depths of space. Then, he lifted a finger and tapped the air. On cue, hexagonal plates of the display glass shifted like 3D models and rapidly re-dressed the window in an alternate view of the space ship’s rear, and a look upon the planet named:

Earth.

Doctor Tul-Bor of the Kree Empire gazed upon the fleeting image of the planet Earth. From there, he could see its rotten core; a bustling orb of mud and birth-grime. Yet, one somehow that bore something else besides its madness and guilt. The seeds in that core were sweet—and by Kree-Lar— it could surely fill his three stomachs far better than any sustenance. For it also bore the fruits of science — of potential; and none other than Tul-Bor would bear the basket. He smiled to himself. His brow quivered beneath the weight of that and the ghost-echoes of praises-to-be from the Science Council:

‘Oh, Tul-Bor. Truly one of your best expeditions.’
‘Oh. Tul-Bor. How did you manage this?’
‘Oh, Tul-Bor!’

“Doctor Tul-Bor.” The voice was real.

Doctor Tul-Bor turned.

“Yes?”

“It is by law of logic that we meticulously check inventory, starting with case files of expedition samples.” the female Kree scientist at the center-interface said. The lights above the workspacd reflected off of her clean-shaven head.

“Of course.” Tul-Bor’s nostrils flared as he inhaled, “I simply thought it—“

“It should be noted that the specimens captured do have allies— and Supreme Leadership has still classified this as a stealth mission to avoid issues of the diplomatic nature. Shall we begin?”

“Very well.” Tul-Bor cleared his voice and smoothed his form, ironing his frustration in.

The smooth-headed Kree woman tapped the waist-high computer interface beside her. A pressurized hiss bellowed inch-thick smoke through the floor, rolling out chilled air as four life-sized cylinders appeared from the floor and latched into upright placements.

“Containment Section **V-0-90.** Specimen Number 065, also known as, ‘Natasha Romanoff — **The Black Widow**. Inventory, confirm?”

“Confirmed.” Tul-Bor said, almost with malice. There was silence for a second as he grew lost in his disdain.

“Shall I continue?” Bees-Am asked, looking up from her screen.

Tul-Bor pursed his blue lips and briskly turned his back to the other scientist, and then, deservingly approached the one-man platform overlooking the rest of the work station like a balcony. He climbed the staircase quickly. In a second, From Bees-Am’s view, as she typed, Doctor Tul-Bor stood in the center of the display window’s circle design as he birthed a holographic disc from his sleeve.

With the flick of a wrist, the face of a sharp-eyed, red-haired woman blipped across the display window, fully taking up its center with its contents and a holographic background.

Bees-Am tapped one more Kree letter, and a display light blipped on in the pod and washed over the unconscious face of V-0-6-5.

“The Black Widow.” Tul-Bor said with conviction, “Human physiology. Subject possesses rigorous conditioning for enhanced agility, strength, battle awareness and mental fortitude. Threat Level — Medium. Aggression Level — Medium.”

Tul-Bor waved and changed the image, while the light of Natasha’s pod flipped off. Pixels appeared and formed together, mashing into clarity as he spoke:

“Containment Section V-0-90. Specimen Number 066, also known as, Peter Quill — The..”

Tul-Bor’s nose flickered in disgust a bit. He lowered his gaze to check his nail.

“. . ***Star Lord***.” he spat out.

The image finally appeared: a metal-faced man, dual-wielding two energy-blasters and a *victory* pose known all too well to authorities in the next galaxy over– all while standing on the head of what looked to be a fallen male *Brood*.

The light flicked on in his pod, revealing his naked, unconscious face. Tul-Bor barely looked down at him.

“Human physiology. Subject possesses diverse and potent ballistic weaponry and equipment, extreme leadership and knowledge in space warfare. Threat Level – High. Aggression Level — Low.”

Tul-Bor lifted his gaze back at the photo.

“Inventory confirmed.” he said, with another flick of his wrist before him.

An image all too familiar instantly materialized across the screen — something that looked to be a star, plastered on the bulging face of what seemed to be a circle.

The smooth-headed Kree woman tapped the waist-high computer interface beside her. A pressurized hiss bellowed inch-thick smoke through the floor, rolling out chilled air as four life-sized cylinders appeared from the floor and latched into upright placements.

“Containment Section **V-0-90.** Specimen Number 065, also known as, ‘Natasha Romanoff — **The Black Widow**. Inventory, confirm?”

“Confirmed.” Tul-Bor said, almost with malice. There was silence for a second as he grew lost in his disdain.

“Shall I continue?” Bees-Am asked, looking up from her screen.

Tul-Bor pursed his blue lips and briskly turned his back to the other scientist, and then, deservingly approached the one-man platform overlooking the rest of the work station like a balcony. He climbed the staircase quickly. In a second, From Bees-Am’s view, as she typed, Doctor Tul-Bor stood in the center of the display window’s circle design as he birthed a holographic disc from his sleeve.

With the flick of a wrist, the face of a sharp-eyed, red-haired woman blipped across the display window, fully taking up its center with its contents and a holographic background.

Bees-Am tapped one more Kree letter, and a display light blipped on in the pod and washed over the unconscious face of V-0-6-5.

“The Black Widow.” Tul-Bor said with conviction, “Human physiology. Subject possesses rigorous conditioning for enhanced agility, strength, battle awareness and mental fortitude. Threat Level — Medium. Aggression Level — Medium.”

Tul-Bor waved and changed the image, while the light of Natasha’s pod flipped off. Pixels appeared and formed together, mashing into clarity as he spoke:

“Containment Section V-0-90. Specimen Number 066, also known as, Peter Quill — The..”

Tul-Bor’s nose flickered in disgust a bit. He lowered his gaze to check his nail.

“. . Star Lord.” he spat out.

The image finally appeared: a metal-faced man, dual-wielding two energy-blasters and a *victory* pose known all too well to authorities in the next galaxy over– all while standing on the head of what looked to be a fallen male *Brood*.

The light flicked on in his pod, revealing his naked, unconscious face. Tul-Bor barely looked down at him.

“Human physiology. Subject possesses diverse and potent ballistic weaponry and equipment, extreme leadership and knowledge in space warfare. Threat Level – High. Aggression Level — Low.”

Tul-Bor lifted his gaze back at the photo.

“Inventory confirmed.” he said, with another flick of his wrist before him.

An image all too familiar instantly materialized across the screen — something that looked to be a star, plastered on the bulging face of what seemed to be a circle.