Literate Rp - Blog Posts

No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the German army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down. A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness—they have lived a sheltered life by always giving in.

—C.S. Lewis

Athena - Teacher - Homosexual

Purpose

To learn more about where she came from, as well as what else is out there. She’s fascinated by the prospect of the existence of a whole other world of beings, as well as the fact that she can possibly help preserve that world.

History

Trigger Warnings: homophobia, transphobia

Tovah - assigned male and given the name Thomas at birth - spent her early years in a group home in Manhattan, after her biological father left her at a hospital under a save-haven law. Growing up, she seemed more mature and intellectual than many of her peers, and rarely engaged in disputes with them. She often stood up for other children who were being picked on. Because she was seen as a boy, her even temper and clear-headed ability to avoid being riled up was seen as curious by the caretakers who worked at the group home: most boys living there had emotional issues, particularly when it came to anger, but not Tovah. It worked in her favor in the end, because she was taken in by a foster family when she was only five, and they adopted her a year later.

The Silverstein family raised Tovah to observe their Jewish faith, and became worried when she started exhibiting feminine mannerisms and mimicking the behaviors of her older sisters, the Silversteins’ two biological daughters Rebecca and Abigail. They had her speak to their rabbi, to whom she confessed that she felt more like a girl than a boy. Rabbi Abramowitz told the Silversteins that Tovah was “probably gay” and required some sort of intervention to prevent his from happening. Said intervention involved not only Tovah’s family and the rabbi, but the parents of some of her friends from Hebrew school, as well as a few other members of their synagogue. She was eight years old when this took place, and the stress triggered a tonic-clonic seizure: the first of many in the years to come.

As a result of the seizure, which was eventually diagnosed as epileptic, the so-called “intervention” was never mentioned or attempted again. The Silversteins saw it as a sign from God that they were in the wrong, and did their best to try and accept Tovah as she was, even though the prospect of their “son” being gay still made them uncomfortable. Tovah maintained a good relationship with her parents as she got older, but as she reached her teens, she became curious about her biological parents. The fact that she had been adopted was never a secret, since she vaguely remembered the group home from her early childhood, but no one she asked could tell her anything about where she’d come from. Eventually, she was able to track down the nurse with whom her biological father had left her; the nurse remembered, since Tovah was the first safe-haven surrender she’d ever managed firsthand.

Dead-end after dead-end left her frustrated and depressed. She loved her parents, absolutely, but there was something about her bio-father that haunted her. It kept nagging at the back of her mind, like a word on the tip of her tongue, but eventually, she put the matter to rest.

When she was twenty-four and in grad school to become a teacher, she met him purely by chance when a fall from her bike triggered a seizure. A man saw her and called 911 - a man who so happened to be her biological father. The man, Chad Farmer, visited her in the hospital when she regained consciousness, and told her the story of her conception. Farmer told her that, when he was in college, he met a woman with entrancing grey eyes and a mysterious smile. The attraction was immediate, and the two of them spent a single night together; he never saw the woman again, or even learned her name. Then, ten months later, she returned with a baby: she told Farmer that the baby was his. Farmer panicked and left baby Tovah at the hospital.

Once Tovah was discharged, she didn’t hear from Chad Farmer again, until she saw on the news that he’d been killed in a hit-and-run two years later. She attended his funeral, but the entire time, felt as if she was being watched. After the end of the service, she noticed a young girl with brown hair and abnormally large eyes, wearing a feathered coat, watching her. The girl told Tovah to follow her, if she was interested in learning about her biological mother. In her emotional state, Tovah was unable to resist such an offer, and followed the large-eyed girl out into the woods. The story that followed was even more strange than the vague tale Farmer had told her two years prior.

The girl informed her that her mother was a goddess: specifically, the goddess Athena. Tovah, being level-headed and logical, dismissed this right away as the ravings of a mentally-ill homeless person, but the girl in the feathered coat shut her up by transforming, right in front of her very eyes, into an owl and then back again. When Tovah returned home, she went to bed and dreamt of a grey-eyed woman with an owl perched on her shoulder. The next day, Tovah’s roommate remarked that she hadn’t known Tovah had a tattoo. Confused, because she didn’t have a tattoo, she asked her roommate to snap a photo: in it, there was a stark black image of an owl on the small of her back.

The owl-girl kept cropping up, simply watching Tovah from a distance, not approaching her, until the day she graduated from grad school. She was needed, the owl-girl informed her; there was a job waiting for her at a place where there were many others like her: the children of gods and goddesses. Tovah’s curiosity overwhelmed her common sense, and she accepted the offer. Recently, Tovah has started becoming aware of strange abilities, including an affinity for birds (especially owls, which are symbols of wisdom and beloved of her mother), as well as the ability to inspire those around her. Likewise, her calmness in adversity seems almost supernatural; she’s never been known to lose her temper at anything.

Ever since she learned about her origins, Tovah has struggled with her faith. She was raised Jewish, and therefore to believe that there was only one God. The years of being involved in her religious community are at stark odds with what she now knows to be the truth. However, because she is unwilling to seek help, she feels lost and adrift, even as she does her best to guide others.

Personality

Like her mother Athena, Tovah is a rational, calm, level-headed woman. She does not act out of impulse or spite, and can often see the big picture when others get tripped up on the details. Unfortunately, this also makes her a bit withdrawn, and people tend to assume she doesn’t care about things that would get a normal person riled up. Even in moments of stress, she rarely shows what she’s feeling: she bottles everything up, rather than seeking the assistance of others. She tries to take care of things herself, and believes that she is in control of matters even when she really isn’t. Tovah is a defender and mediator, and has no patience or tolerance for bullies of any kind.

Ptah - Mechanic/Owner of Cut Out That Ratchet - Bisexual

Purpose

Kennard is trying to find himself, and who his father is.

History

Kennard always thought he was the son of Draven and Julia Avrett. He was happily raised amongst their two other children, although he was always the ‘dumb’ kid. Words never seemed to stay in the same order when he read them, but out in the country school wasn’t all that important. Kids were often pulled out during harvest season, or to help out around the farm. Ken was no exception, Draven often pulling him out to help repair neighbour’s farm machines. He always had a knack for mechanisms, spent his childhood making clockwork toys. As a teenager this accumulated in him restoring old cars and motorcycles with Draven, selling them and splitting the profit. It was a happy childhood, and when he scraped through and finished highschool he found no hurry to leave home.

Tragedy struck when Ken was twenty. Draven got leukemia, needed a bone marrow transplant. He tried to discourage Kennard from donating, but Ken ordered a test for compatibility behind his back. The results showed no blood relation. Half of his DNA markers were unseen before. Without her knowledge Kennard took hair from Julia’s brush, organised for a private testing. She he was related to, but as a nephew to an aunt.

One of his ‘siblings’ turned out to be a match, and after a shaky eighteen months Draven went into remission. Kennard didn’t let on the fact that he knew about the adoption, spent his spare time restoring cars, getting money to pay for Draven’s treatment and saved the rest. He requested his birth certificate, found out the name of his birth mother; Marcia Ravera. The blank space in place of his father’s name haunted Ken for nights on end.

Once his adoptive father recovered, Ken took a restored Harley Davidson, left a note to his adoptive parents on the counter and roared off into the night. Before he could return to them and accept them as his parents, he had to find out who he was without them, as his own person. He spent a year on the road to LA, the last known address of Marcia. On the way he dabbled into his savings as little as possible, picking up any skill he could to get a roof to sleep under for the night. He learnt plumbing, carpentry, gardening; all with ease. When the thought occurred to him he sent postcards back home, his writing scrawled on the back of an Texan, Arizonan, Californian landscape.

A few nights he spent in a warm bed, company in a small town that he’d soon leave behind in a dust trail. One girl stood out. He thought her crazy, talking about ancient gods alive in the real world. Talking about a utopia called Cure. It didn’t sound bad from what she had to say about it, but then again, the truck stop town she came from would have made Detroit sound nice. He left her behind in the sunset without much thought.

It was raining in LA when he arrived. He found Marcia’s last known address, knocked on the door with a trembling fist. The elderly woman who answered sadly shook her head at his tale, handed him a box that had been left in the attic, gave him directions to where he could find Marcia. He pulled up at a cemetery, found her in plot F56. He sat in front of her grave stone, plainly engraved with her name, date of birth and death, and went through the box she had left.

Inside was a diary, photos showed snap shots of her life, pressed flowers, ribbon and a spare glove. Remnants of a mother he had never known. She was obsessed with the Egyptian gods. A list in her diary, scrawled in a spider like script it took him hours to decode circled various male gods. Underlined at the bottom: which one? For the first time in months he remembered the girl with black hair in a sleepy, dusty town, dreaming of a perfect town.

With nothing left to lose, Ken set his sights on Cure. If his mother was to be an enigma, maybe he could find something about his father. He drifted into the town, used up his savings to purchase Cut Out That Ratchet. While he struggles to adjust to a non-transient life, Kennard hopes to get into some contact with his father, whoever he is.

Personality

Kennard in a word is independent. He is incredibly self-sufficient, able to support himself and others with ease. This also makes it hard for him to admit when he needs help, a stubborn streak edging on arrogance. While he likes people he doesn’t exactly crave deep and meaningful relationships; he is perfectly happy becoming friends with anyone and everyone. Maybe more than just friends. Romantically, this never bodes well for long-term relationships.

Charismatic, it’s hard not to like the man, especially since he’s an excellent listener and genuinely enjoys helping people out. However, sometimes his blunt words come out more callously then he intends them. As a blue-collar worker, he does hold a little disdain for pencil pushers, especially when they take his work for granted. Like every artisan he is proud of hi

Vulcan - Blacksmith - Bisexual

Purpose

Lynchpin in Vulcan’s revenge, even if Rio doesn’t know that yet

History

In Munich as the last of a lineage, Rutger came into the world with a scream on his lips and his mother’s blood along his skin. The Arsen dynasty would live on in the body of a green eyed boy with toothy grins and grabby fingers. And life was splendid, for those first ten years, with old money in his family’s pockets and affection wherever he turned.

Ten years old and the world came to a sudden, screeching halt. A work party gone wrong, and his banker father found the thrill of narcotics and his socialite mother was introduced to the fluttering haze of pot and cocaine, starting a downward spiral that only pulled their young son down with them. Affection turned to neglect as the two would rather breathe in fumes from one another than care for their child, and when the money started to run thin from their developing drug habits, the neglect turned to abuse. Desperate, watchful as his parents did their best to destroy the family that had survived for generations, Rutger turned to selling the very drugs that his parents now thrived upon. If he couldn’t make them love him as he was, then he would make them need him.

One morning at fifteen, the shadowed symbol of an anvil appeared on his skin, pressed into the flesh of his lower abdomen, black against the rest of his skin. Hung over, he paid no real attention to the mark, misplacing it as a drunken tattoo. It wasn’t until a few days later that he began to take notice of things. A deal had become rocky, with the buyer less interested in his wares and more interested in what sort of services he thought Rutger could give him. Frustrated, disgusted, he staggered when the older man shoved him, only to watch as the lighter the man had been toying with became an inferno between clenched fingers.

It only grew from there, slowly, and he learned that if he focused hard enough, he could light the same fires with the aid of a lighter until they grew and flowed with his fingers for staggering seconds. This arrival of power was only over shadowed by his father’s death from a drug overdose and the news of his mother’s infidelity. Between the knowledge that he was not his father’s son and the fire that called to him, he stood by and watched as the woman pulled drugged herself to a slow death when he was twenty-two. Lonely, angry, and only trained by his own fascination, it was then that Vulcan came to him.

Easy to convince, desperate to please a father than would love him, Rutger reveled in the attention that the God gave him. He was special, or so the man said, with a fire like the forges that burned in the heavens, and the words were honeyed to the lonely young man. Over the next few years, his drug business dwindled, with Rutger set with nearly as much money as his parents had wasted from the Arsen name. He kept himself occupied until his father called him to the Cure, Vulcan saying that there was a home for his son now, and that he had a job to do. He adopted a new name for himself, answering to the moniker Rio as much as he did Rutger, and settled into his new home with the intent of making his father proud.

Personality

Just a little bit wounded and a bit cynical, Rio holds himself apart with a sharp eye and a sharper tongue. There is nothing wrong with adding insult to injury, not if it means he can make his father proud of him, if he can do something right for once. Impatient and short tempered, Rio is quick to point out faults in those around him, and while the young man excels at his training, his easily frustrated nature hinders him with his fire more than it helps. Petty and harsh, he is also loyal to a fault, and earnest with his affections. Good hearted and lonelier than he cares to admit, he’ll do anything just for someone to love him, even if it means he’ll be taken advantage of.

you have been on my mind for so long,

you have been my dream,

my first and last thought of a day,

and that's why

its so hard for me.

to let you go.

as if you never mattered.

Recruiting for Literate+ 1x1 Sefikura(Sephiroth x Cloud) Discord RPs!

Accepting multiple 1x1 slots

I'm looking for a partner to play as Cloud in a 1x1 Sefikura RP with me. On special occasions, I will be willing to roleplay as Cloud, but I am more accustomed to writing Sephiroth as he has been my muse for over 5 years, and he is my favorite character of all time.

Rules:

1. You must be 18 or older.

2. I am an advanced literate roleplayer. Thus, you must at least be a literate roleplayer with fluent English, even if it is not your first language. I do not roleplay with people who write in script or at the semi-literate rp level, and I do not rp in any other languages.

3. You must be okay with mature, darker themes, swearing and blood. This is not to be confused with ERP, though it is permitted if we both consent, and as long as that is not the sole purpose of the entire rp. I just enjoy more mature themes and when the rp is taken seriously.

4. You must be able to be active, and don't ghost me if you lose interest. If you cannot be active, don't message me at all. I do not want to be in an rp where I am left waiting for a reply for days, weeks, or months on end, as that is not fun at all. If you get busy, just let me know, and I will wait for you, but if it takes longer than 2 weeks for you to get back to me, I will leave.

5. You don't have to be perfect at roleplaying Cloud, but please have a thorough enough understanding of his character.

6. You must be able to help me develop a plot. This is a group effort, after all! While I do have many plot ideas, they are very vague and will need to be expanded on by both of us.

7. The roleplay will take place on Discord, but I will only be handing out my discord handle to people who have messaged me on here first, so be sure to dm me here if you're interested.

8. This can take place in canonverse or an AU. I do not mind either way as long as we can have fun.

9. Please be direct with me.

10. Know how to differentiate reality from fiction. If you are not okay with me roleplaying as a man despite being a woman, I do not suggest we roleplay. On another note, just because I may like to rp a specific topic, it does not mean I believe it is okay in reality.

If you are still interested after reading my rules, go ahead and message me with any rules & triggers you may have! Optionally, I would like to see an rp sample, too, but that is not required. I will send an rp sample upon request as well.

If we end up being compatible after talking a bit on here, I will send you my Discord handle and ask you to friend me on there so we can start roleplaying!

I hope to find some partners! Trust me, I'm not as intimidating as I may seem, so just reach out to me if you think we would make a good match! ♡

Is tumblr a good site to post RP ads? I'm an advanced literate roleplayer and I am desperately looking for good rp forums

Where does it begin? Every story has its origin. Of course, of course, nothing can not possibly exist without something. Of course! Okay, okay— here we go.

Angelina padded across her kitchen barefoot, eyes sleep filled, mind cloudy and her entire morning demeanor; groggy. Her warm body awoke to a chilling tile floor. The bare peaks of the sun were breaking their way into the kitchen, past the flimsy lace curtains. She kept her head low as if the sun was irritating her. She lived sometimes as if she was a roadie for Janis Joplin, setting up for three days of Woodstock. A far reach? Maybe. Although Angelina never considered herself to be too entertaining, she fought for certain roles, scripts in the entertainment industry. Angelina lived the “rockstar” life, but she never considered herself to be a rockstar. Far from it— but she partied like one. Always had. Everything Angelina wanted in life and everything she did was to access.

If she drank, she did that to free the chaotic terror of thoughts, that plagued her mind. She wasn't a looney bin case or anything; nothing clinical or diagnostic had ever been performed on her. But Angelina knew she was different. She had been in school, in acting classes, in auditions—she was different from her own brother. Hell, they didn't even share the same last name; of course they were different.

Standing with the fridge door open, the lanky brunette eyed her choices of the morning. A cold glass of water and...her head whipped toward the counter where she spotted the fresh bananas in the wooden bowl. Ah, Carolina, her every twice of month made must have gone shopping— a blessing.

That was settled then. Breakfast had been decided, now if only she could make the quick choices like that for the rest of her day. Or life. After pouring her glass of water, snatching a banana she shuffled downstairs to her bedroom. It was her seclusion bedroom.

Where she came to write, read, relax...and occasionally, do her extracurricular excessive activities. While Angelina's writing, attempted script and dialogue— talent was a kept seclusion secret. Her use of “recreational activity” i.e. drug use, was not. Almost everyone in her camp— knew she used drugs. And ‘used’ was a limp and loose term. Angelina had gone days, weeks, months, without using sometimes. Then like an uncharted gravitational pull, mustered up enough voltage energy and would pull her back in. And then, she'd be on the wagon. Tinfoil, spoons, baggies, would appear and disappear from her bag, bedroom, all areas of the places she'd go.

Angelina took a small bite of her banana and smirked to herself. How could she...work, agree to drug test, and yet...be an “addict?” But then again she couldn't really classify herself as an addict. In those almost paralytic, drug psychosis states... she'd vow for it to be the last time. And sometimes she'd mean it! Yeah, going months without even giving smack’ a second thought.

A half finished banana was tossed into the waist bin. Her lips disconnected from her glass of water as small dribbles of water, trickled down her chin. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Angelina shook off the impending heard of bison stampeding thoughts and prepared for the day. GIA was wrapping up, final scene changes, edits, cuts; the whole shebang. A nice hot shower, maybe a little coffee, and she'd be on her way.