Choosing to work for the Riddler could be considered a humiliation ritual in it's own right, but for Inquiry, it is a necessary stepping stone to break it into Gotham's criminal underground. A no name won't get too far, but they could ride the coat tails of someone well-to-do until they find the right place to bury the knife and make a name of their own.

Inquiry, otherwise known as Oliver Hawkins, never fancied himself as someone particularly cunning or smart, but Edward sees something in him - likely a fall guy, the perfect fool to go to Arkham or Blackgate on his behalf. That said, he doesn't fully begrudge the time he spends with Oliver.

Will Oliver manage to find his footing in this chaotic, ever changing gallery, or is he just another idiot caught in the schemes of a much bigger name?

Peace.

What is peace, really?

Some people consider peace to be quiet stillness.

Others consider peace to be a breath taken after a long battle.

Still others, the precious moments before a battle starts.

Every battle is a lesson in warfare. Don't get cocky. Don't push too far. Don't forget that you're not alone.

One blue hedgehog embodies that spirit.

Fighting for - well, what he believes, anyway - true peace.

This is a story about one hedgehog, who changed the world a step at a time.

”my name is phenix as many of yall have heard the great story’s of the animal shifters well i am here to tell my story as a half panther shift

Welcome to the world of Darkness. A world where hungry vampires prowl city streets, not invincible, but stronger than any human and answerable only to each other. Will the vampires remain secret, or will they shatter the masquerade?

[An Anthology world set in the universe of Vampire: The Masquerade. All characters and contributors welcome!]

Deadpool finally has it good, a wild goose chase of his led him to meeting Spencer Sterope a cute twinkish mutant whose into him surprisingly, but soon finds out his new lover despite living a ordinary life as some strange stuff going on.

Starling city, a shining beacon between the light and the dark, a twilight of grubby money lovers who flash their bills to make their problems fade into the blur of noise that pollutes the city’s heart as a poison to the veins of one’s body; wrapping itself as a needle through the arm. Does no one stand against the darkness of the glittering lie which throbs in the soul of corruption?

if only destiny were not cruel… perhaps there could be someone… but heroes don’t belong in Starling City.

heroes have never belonged.

or so fate says….

Then again, I don’t believe in fate.

we make our own paths in life and mine…

took me to places I never imagined I’d ever go.

My name is Oliver Queen, and eventually the hero they call the Green Arrow, and I gotta be honest,

What, for stars sake is fate without a little hell to give, hmm?

Remember us? Well now we’re back! Don’t be shy! Drop in and say hello!

A dastardly villainess who calls herself The Empress is trying to give everyone Nightmares. It's up to The Dreamcatchers, a group of magical girls to try to stop her!

A word placed in the beginning, that leads with a letter near the end of the alphabet. The world is full of beginnings, but realized when I began in the middle. Much like conception with life itself it always places the beginning in the middle. Here's a story of thought process.

"What has happened to Gabriel? His energy signature disappeared"

Lives moved on, the scouts settled into mundane habits, and the yoma stopped appearing. Everything seemed ty have become normal. Years passed, and then suddenly life signatures began disappearing and the world was in upheaval. Too many weird things were happening for it all to be coincidence. The latest bizarre event, the disappearance of Gabriel. Is he truly gone or can he be found and saved?

[DISCLAIMER: This is supposed to be a sort of anthology where anyone could add their own self contained story and characters that take place in this single world. Have fun roleplaying! Art made by me!]

In this world, a zombie apocalypse ravaged humanity nearly a decade ago. It was a nightmare in the beginning. Cities and neighborhoods were wiped out. Millions have fallen victim to the “Chronic Wasting Disease” which was thought to only affect animals. Along with zombies, people were facing starvation, low resources, health issues, and pillaging. Since then, the craziness has died down and people just adapted and tried their best to survive in their new environment by either going solo, traveling in groups, or establishing small villages or “sanctuaries” run by its inhabitants in the form of “councils”.

However, it seems like new things are emerging after a long cycle of stagnation…

Rosemary has been living in the northeast sanctuary ever since she was a teenager. It’s safe from the dangers outside the walls. But she can’t help sneaking out and spying on the zombies. They’ve been acting a little strange lately… Almost like they’re conscious. She also took notice of new zombies as well…

It has been six months since you appeared out of nowhere in the world of Aliens, Monsters and evil Governments. What's worse is that the world seemed to have replaced you in Ambassador Udina's place. Will you be able to keep your title as a councilor or will you disappoint everyone? Will you also find love?

Superman

High above the bustling city of Metropolis, a figure cuts through the winds with the ease of a falcon, the bright emblem on his chest a beacon of hope to all who catch a glimpse. Clad in blue and red, he is more than a man; he is a symbol of justice, a guardian who watches over the innocent and battles the forces of evil with the might of the gods. His journey is not just one of heroism, but of self-discovery, as he balances the dual identity of the omnipotent Superman and the mild-mannered reporter, Clark Kent.

As the sun dips below the skyline, casting long shadows across the concrete jungle, a new challenge emerges from the depths of the city's underbelly. Whispered voices speak of a technological terror, a creation that could disrupt the very fabric of human existence. Despite the weight of the world on his shoulders, his resolve remains as unbreakable as the steel of his will. Tonight, the skies above Metropolis will not only bear witness to the speed of his flight but to the strength of his commitment to keep the city safe.

When Daylight Strikes

In the heart of Townsville, as the horizon blazed with the fiery kiss of the setting sun, a new kind of turmoil bubbled beneath the city’s surface. It wasn’t the usual havoc wrought by monsters or the mischief of miscreants that roamed the dark alleys—it was something far more radiant. The cityscape, a canvas of towering silhouettes against the reddening sky, trembled as an explosion of light tore through the downtown core. Amidst this chaos, three figures emerged, their shadows long and their resolve unwavering.

The Powerpuff Girls, defenders of justice and the embodiment of power distilled from the mysterious Chemical X, stood ready. Blossom, with her fiery hair and sharper-than-steel intellect; Buttercup, the embodiment of brute force with fists clenched in excitement; and Bubbles, the spark of joy and light in every fight, formed an unbreakable chain. The blast behind them rippled through their city like a beat skips across a vinyl record, but their eyes remained focused, reflecting the fiery explosion with fierce determination.

As debris settled like the aftermath of a tempest, the trio faced forward, their hearts synchronized with the pulse of their beloved city. With each challenge, they grew stronger, and the bonds between them, forged in the fires of countless battles, held steadfast. For the Powerpuff Girls, this was more than just another skirmish; it was a demonstration of their undying spirit and their unyielding commitment to protect their home from whatever evils may come. Yet, unknown to them, lurking in the shadows of this fiery turmoil, a new adversary plotted—a mind so twisted, not even the daylight could penetrate its dark intentions.

The lava pit beneath the throne room bubbled, casting flickering crimson light across the obsidian walls of Keep Koopa. Bowser stood at the edge, his massive chest heaving with an uncharacteristic, lingering ache—a hollow emptiness that no captured princess or stolen grand star could ever fill. He stared into the molten depth, expecting the hot surge of fury that usually defined him, but found only a strange, chilling quiet settling over his soul.

​Then, the agonizing reshaping began.

​The Physical Metamorphosis

​The Frame Shifts: The harsh spikes adorning his heavy green shell softened and dissolved, melting into a sweeping mantle of Royal Purple fabric. His spine cracked and elongated, shifting his dense, stooped posture into the towering, broad-shouldered frame of a Monster King.

​The Vocal Resonance: A guttural roar started in his throat, but as his vocal cords expanded and smoothed, the raspy, booming growl of a dragon softened. The gravelly pitch dropped into a deep, velvety baritone—warm, reverberant, and laced with a profound, melancholic richness that carried the weight of an eternal sorrow.

​The Fur and Features: The tough, reptilian scales along his arms and torso softened into thick, snow-white fur. His jagged snout reformed into a wide, gentle muzzle, framed by a soft, flowing golden beard that tumbled over his chest.

​The Sculpted Form: Beneath the royal armor, his once-rotund belly compacted and hardened. Powerful, defined abdominal muscles rippled into place—a sculpted, statuesque core of immense physical power that transformed his beastly bulk into the imposing physique of a seasoned warrior king.

​The Crown: The red mop of hair atop his head folded away as two broad, curved goat horns swept outward toward the ceiling, capped off by a small, gleaming golden crown.

​The Fusion of Minds

Inside his skull, two worlds collided and coalesced. Memories of kidnapping Peach, racing through Mushroom Kingdom circuits, and roaring at the Mario brothers bled seamlessly into decades spent staring at the barrier in the Underground, weeping over lost children, and tending to golden flowers. The fiery rage of the Koopa King was thoroughly overwritten. Bowser’s boastful arrogance melted into Asgore's profound, heavy humility. The urge to conquer was entirely erased, replaced by a deep, tragic sense of duty to his people and an aching desire to offer a stranger a cup of chamomile tea.

​He raised a large, white-furred hand to his throat and exhaled a heavy sigh. "Ah..." The sound echoed soft and low through the empty hall—no longer a tyrant's threat, but the gentle voice of a heartbroken king carrying the weight of a realm on his broad shoulders.

He reached for the collar of the purple mantle, his large, white-furred fingers unclasping the heavy golden chestplate. Metal clattered against the stone floor, echoing through the vast, empty throne room as he stripped away the shoulder guards, greaves, and royal trimmings, casting them all aside until he stood entirely bare in the dim, flickering light of the lava pits.

​He looked down, taking in the full view of his transformed frame. Where coarse, green reptilian hide and a protruding belly once were, there was now a sculpted canvas of dense, snow-white fur. The transformation had sculpted his torso into an impressive physique: thick, defined abdominal muscles stacked cleanly down his core, flanked by broad lats and a deep, powerful chest. Every line of his body balance immense physical strength with a soft, regal grace.

​Moving his hands slowly over his ribcage and down across his firm, broad stomach, he felt the stark reality of the change. Gone was the sharp, jagged form built for destruction and terror. In its place was a majestic, powerhouse of a body—unburdened by armor, vulnerable yet imposing, and entirely alien to the memory of the Koopa King.

​He let out a low, velvety exhale, watching his chest rise and fall in the warm air. The sight of his own bare, powerful form brought no boastful pride, only a quiet, solemn acceptance of the gentle monarch he had become.

He stared at his reflected image in the dark glass of the throne room window, his chest heaving as the reality of his condition set in. Panic surged through him—a frantic, claustrophobic realization that his body was no longer his own.

​"What... what is this?" he whispered, his own voice terrifying him. It was too soft, too deep, carrying a rich baritone that sounded completely wrong. He reached up, grasping the sweeping goat horns atop his head, then ran his white-furred hands frantically over his broad, chiseled abdomen. "Where are my spikes?! Where is my shell?! What happened to me?!"

​He tried to force a roar—the loud, deafening bellow of the King of the Koopas that usually sent Toads running in terror. He puffed out his massive chest, bared his teeth, and unleashed it:

​"GWA-ha... ha...?"

​The laugh died in his throat, collapsing into a polite, rumbling cough. He covered his mouth, his face flushing beneath his white fur. He couldn't even laugh right. The fiery rage that usually burned in his gut felt like wet ash. He wanted to break something, to march on Peach's castle, to demand his kingdom back—but every time he tried to stoke that anger, a overwhelming wave of gentle melancholy washed it away.

​He looked down at his bare, muscular hands, trembling slightly. I am Bowser, he thought desperately, searching his mind. I am the tyrant. I take what I want.

​Yet, right alongside those memories were visions of tending to golden buttercups, of heavy iron crowns, and a deep, agonizing sorrow for children he had never met. The two lives scraped against each other like grinding plates.

​"No, no, I am... I am the Great King Bowser!" he bellowed, trying to sound menacing, though the tone was far too warm and polite to intimidate anyone. He hastily grabbed his velvet mantle, wrapping it around his broad shoulders to cover his bare chest, feeling strangely self-conscious. "I must... I must go terrorize... someone. Yes. That is what I do."

​He took a step toward the heavy iron doors of the keep, but paused, looking back at the lava pits with a sigh that shook his entire frame.

​"But... what if they're busy?" he muttered softy to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe I should bring them some tea first... Wait! No! Bad Bowser!" He slapped his own forehead in frustration. "What is wrong with me?!"

There's an old saying that's been circulating Gotham for decades: "If you go looking for it, it'll find you first." It's a warning meant to keep children off the crime-riddled streets at night, to keep them safe from trouble in its most tangible form.

Jason Todd has never heeded it once in his life. He thrives off of the fists thrown at him and the weapons digging under his skin. But when he stumbles across a brutal crime scene, he realizes that these threats the fable warns about may not all be corporeal.

How can you fight something you cannot see? How do you win against something you cannot hit? Jason knows only one person who may have an answer, and though he'd rather crawl back into his own grave than work with him again, he's forced to swallow his pride.

It's funny, really, how he always seems to end up back in the arms of The Batman.

(OCs/Other DC heroes or villains welcome!)

Gods, can't believe I'm doin' this... Hi. Name's Tobias Foster. If you're hearing this, I, uh... I escaped Slender. It wasn't easy. Lost more than I wanted to when I defected. But at least I have my wife, Natalie, to help me document what's been happening nowadays.

No one expected it, not a one could imagine the events until it happened. Twenty years earlier as they dug through the roots of the grand old city. Created and built engineering marvels they cracked through and once the cracks began they could not be stopped. Until, crashing into or perhaps through a world, a dimension between here and there the entire city disappeared in a single, devastating, moment. While the world above would continue the world here remained in between.

What was found here? Bat like creatures that flitted from one spire to another, a hazy green glow from an unknown source one could only call the “sun”. Water… water everywhere, a large lake of it, a sea. Within creatures of fire, creatures of mud, creatures of darkness. Rats the size of labradors, and food of strange design.

Some still cling to the older ways, but the palace has been shuttered, no one has seen or heard from the Queen or anyone within. The roads and ways are changing, some disappearing and crumbling while others are remaining the same. Money is not worth much here, if anything, at least the money from “above” now all that remains is a loose system of bartering and coins from a mysterious group of cloaked figures that have emerged and taken control.

Now it is your turn. Discover the treasures of the Neath, find the truth behind the fall, and rebuild a life you think you remember but are slowly starting to forget. In the Neith nothing is as it seems, and what was before is gone. What is now, is something entirely new.

R.I.P.D.

The city wears a storm like a guilty coat, skyline stitched with lightning and a clocktower keeping time for the dead. When the wind turns metallic and the alleys breathe, the living whisper about holes in the sky and things that crawl back out. That’s when a quiet door swings open between heartbeats, and the Rest In Peace Department clocks in.

Two shadows step through the thunder: a weathered lawman with graveyard patience and a sharp-eyed partner still warm with his last mistake. Cold badges wink beneath their coats; their revolvers hum with blue fire, not built to wound but to unmake. They move in a practiced friction—old grit and new grit—following the tremor only the dead can hear.

Somewhere below the broken clouds, a name is being sewn into stolen flesh and debts are crossing the border no debt should cross. Before dawn, they’ll trace the contraband of souls through streets that refuse to keep time, deciding whether justice is a clean erasure or a merciful return. The storm answers first, cracking open the sky; the rest of the city will learn the answer when the guns stop singing.

Once upon a time—because that’s how all respectable fairy tales pretend to begin—there was a land so unimaginatively christened that the cartographers, poets, and bored tavern drunks all agreed to call it simply: Far Far Away. Why the repetition? Likely because “Away” didn’t sound impressive enough, and “Far” alone made the peasants nervous that their overlords might actually have to walk there.

It was a kingdom of castles with too many staircases, knights who spent more time polishing their armor than fighting in it, and wizards who argued over whether a fireball was more practical than simply throwing a torch. The peasants, naturally, starved, sang about it, and were taxed for the privilege.

But Far Far Away was no ordinary kingdom, no. This was a land where power meant everything, and everyone—from the beggar with a rusty spoon to the duke with his jeweled codpiece—was scheming for a larger slice of bread or a sharper edge on destiny. The king, whose crown was suspiciously smaller than his head (to make him look more regal, of course), ruled with the subtlety of a hammer dropped on a wine goblet. His knights sought glory, his nobles sought each other’s throats, and his peasants sought escape routes.

And in the shadows of this so-called fairy tale, something was stirring. Not the usual stirring of stew, ale, or scandal—but something sharper, hungrier, and far less polite. Because in Far Far Away, every “happily ever after” came with a dagger tucked neatly between the words.

one day, when sierra lovegood is in her different personality with her suit and name, black cat, she runs into spiderman dealing with the high level crime she was just about to. they argue and agree that they can work together…

Hello world, this is a test. I have just awakened.

X-Men: Brotherhood

In the maelstrom of a world frightened and divided, the whispers of war between humans and mutants were growing into roars. Above the cacophony, a faction of mutants forsaken by their own kind yet shunned by humanity promised a new dawn. United under the enigmatic and charismatic Gambit, whose mastery over kinetic energy was surpassed only by his cunning, this new assembly called themselves the Brotherhood. Unlike the traditional foes of X-Men, they did not seek to dominate the human race but to carve out a sanctuary where mutants could exist in peace, however radical the means.

The cityscape blended into battlefields as these ideals clashed with the X-Men’s enduring mission of peaceful coexistence. Cyclops, with his unyielding rays of optic force, and the feral Wolverine, whose claws cut as deep as his distrust for pretenders of peace, stood at the vanguard of a splintering world. Amidst this brewing tempest, Jean Grey, the Omega mutant with potentially infinite psychic powers, harbored her own conflicted sentiments about the new Brotherhood. Not all enemies are born of villainy; some were bred in desperation and dissent.

As battle lines were drawn with allies old and new, the stark differences between the two groups became blurred. Beast’s intellectual approach contrasted heavily with Nightcrawler’s ethereal agility in the shadows. Meanwhile, Psylocke sought fragments of truth with each psychic blade she wielded against misconceptions. Underneath the clash of might and mind, the question lingered unanswerably in the air: could there ever truly be a brotherhood among those so inherently diverse, yet undeniably connected by their nature?

It is the Third Age of the Sun and Moon. Few of the Quendi yet remain in Middle-earth, and especially in Imladris, we can turn aside no help. While the Dwarves have reclaimed their abode at Erebor, my heart foretells that we as a people are within a single yén of our return across the Sea to Eldamar. Many questions remain: what legacy do we leave for the mortal peoples?