#archetypes wip

[solivagantingrebel]

*breaks into your askbox*

Huh, nice place. Nap time

💭💭💭 soap breaking someone's nose bc they were talking about Ghost 💭💭💭

OHHHH,,, OH EL.

I just imagined Werewolf Soap decking someone in for shit talking about Ghost to him, thinking that he - as a wolf - will understand.

Spoiler alert: that's his soulmate (doesn't fucking know it yet. but he feels it) and only he can shit-talk Ghost, anyone else gets the five knuckle shuffle if they open their trap about him.

[stfu-im-thinking-abt-blorbo]

Some more TDROTI redesigns for fun. Cameron was done several months ago, but I didn't have to energy nor memory to post him lol. So he gets to be posted alongside Jo and Dawn.

[educatedinyellow]

Thanks for tagging me, @sanguinarysanguinity! My current WIP must still remain Confidential, but here's seven sentences from my other WIP, the Vimes/Vetinari one. For context: at the end of the book Men At Arms, we stumble upon the fact that Carrot carries a sword which is rather remarkable. Unbeknownst to him, it has the hallmarks of Ankh-Morpork's old royal family, and is a clue that Carrot is the Lost Heir To The Throne. Both Vimes and Vetinari notice this at the same time. In my fic, Vimes picks up the sword from where Carrot has left it and gives Vetinari a patented You Wanna Make Somethin' Of It look, like, 'You wanna mess with this kid? You got a problem with him? Then you got a problem with me, don'cha? What do you think you're lookin' at, anyway, punk?' Meanwhile, from Vetinari's perspective:

What he was looking at, his Lordship began to suspect, was a weapon of mythic dimensions. Scuffed and battered, but underneath still sterling, and sharp, and unforeseen. Now that his attention had been drawn, Vetinari could just make out the shadow of an archetype here, a force that might one day compel belief. A threat, certainly. An opportunity, perhaps. A gigantic headache, either way.

What he was not looking at, as it happened, was the sword.

I have lost track of who's writing WIPs at the moment, but I know @thetimemoves is, and also @herebesherlocks, so I'll tag them and anyone else who wants to play!

[tatter-demalion]

Lolori but as a pathfinder halfling barbarian! I'll be playing her sometime and her name in pf2e will be Katori. Just so Pf2e!Lolori can evolve and be different from my WoL!Lolori, who is also different from my RP!Lolori. It gets a bit confusing!

[void-botanist]

Rose's Kiss Week Day 5: Lonely

OCs: Marcus Asalun (aka Anchesh Pabat) and Gren Orech-Pabat

Words: 1335

Content warnings: mentions of family health issues

Notes: this takes place six months after Anchesh married his last spouse, human himbo Gren.

At the other end of the sofa, Gren sighed for the tenth time in as many minutes.  He was staring off at the other end of the room, chin propped up in one big hand, and more than likely didn’t even realize he sounded so despondent.  

“How are you doing?” Anchesh asked.

“I’m fine.  It’s just lonely without Yera.”

Probably it was best not to talk too much about Yera, because Gren would only get sadder if he started thinking about why Yera was out of town and how stressed she must be.  Instead Anchesh put aside his knitting.  

“I’m probably not as good at cuddling as Yera,” he said, moving to the cushion next to Gren, “but I’m here.”

Gren instantly pivoted and deflated into his lap, settling one cheek against his thigh and a hand over his knee.  Today Gren’s hair was held in a bunlike fold with just an alligator clip, which Anchesh gently pulled out and set on the open cushion beside him.  Then he combed his fingers back through Gren’s loose locks.

“I feel bad being lonely,” Gren murmured.  “Her family needs her way more than I do, and I’m not alone here.”

“You’re her family too,” Anchesh answered in the same low tone.  “And it doesn’t feel the same, not having her here.”

“Yeah.”  Gren squeezed his leg a little, like he needed something to cling to.  

Anchesh let Gren’s hair slip through his fingers over and over, massaging Gren’s scalp with each draw.  Truth be told, he was worried about Yera too.  She would be fine, unless her father got worse.  He probably wouldn’t die, not yet, but the wondering and waiting felt unsettling enough for him at home—it must be awful for her.  She was right to have the rest of them stay behind, except Hossan, because sooner or later they’d all be at loose ends and end up making her feel worse.  But he still wished he could be there to hold her and talk to her, probably just the same as Gren.  

“Maybe I don’t spend enough time with the rest of you,” Gren said suddenly.  “Especially you.”

“I don’t mind how much time you spend with Yera and Hossan,” Anchesh answered.

“Yeah, but—” Gren rose from his lap, slowly enough that he didn’t pull his own hair in Anchesh’s hands.  With his hair pushed behind his ears, he said, “I’m your husband too.  And you don’t get tired of me like Pali does.  I would leave you alone if you wanted me to but you’ve never told me to do that.”

Anchesh handed him the alligator clip.  “I mean, I’m happy to spend more time with you.  I just don’t want you to worry too much about it.”

Gren stared at nothing while he smoothed his hair back into a ponytail and clipped it there.  Then he continued looking at some spot further down the sofa.  “Anchesh...do you love me?”

It was a serious question that deserved a serious answer, but Anchesh was distracted by the plaintiveness of Gren’s voice.  Had this been worrying him for the last six months?  

Gren waited two seconds before adding, “Not like you love Yera or Umedes, but...”

He took Gren’s hand from his lap, and Gren looked up.  “I do love you, Gren.  You’re my friend.  And my husband.  And I’m glad I married you.”

“Really?”  He didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“Really.  I would have married you just for Yera and Hossan, but I like having you around too.  You’re so bright, and lovely, and you always make sure we have what we need.  And—”

“I think Pali does that.”

“Pali doesn’t keep everyone upbeat,” Anchesh said.  “And she’s definitely not good at making sure we all rest, especially not herself.  I think she’s gotten more sleep in the six months you’ve been here than she has since I married her.”  Gren didn’t say anything, so he kept going.  “We need someone who’s as thoughtful as you are.  I need someone who is.”  An almost melancholy gratitude welled up in him, and he tried to figure out how to put words to it.  He wasn’t sure that Gren understood how much he made life more bearable.  He wasn’t sure any of his spouses did, even though he didn’t know where he’d be without them.  He loved all of them, and he needed all of them, and on some level he needed Gren, the only one who wasn’t at least a little wrapped up in politics and particularities, most of all.  He put his other hand over Gren’s.  “You mean a lot to me, Gren.”

“Do you think you could say that more?  Not that, but like, ‘I love you’?”

When was the last time he’d told Gren he loved him?  Even if he didn’t remember exactly, he had a feeling it had been days, or weeks.  He’d decided without thinking about it that Gren didn’t really need to hear it, and he definitely didn’t need to hear it from him, arguably Gren’s least favorite spouse aside from Pali.  

“Of course I can,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of Gren’s hand.  “I’m sorry I haven’t said it very much.”

“It’s okay.”  Gren put his other hand on top of Anchesh’s.  Then he dropped his cheek against Anchesh’s shoulder.  

“You know you can always tell me about your feelings,” Anchesh said.

“You don’t tell me about yours,” Gren said.  “Except in bed, kinda.”

“Do you want to know about my feelings?”

“Yes!”  Gren lifted his head and his face was all exasperation.  “I know I don’t understand all of the things you do but I can understand how you feel!”

“Most of my feelings aren’t good.”  And it would be cruel to burden someone like Gren with them.

“I still want to know,” Gren said.  “I just want to be there for you, but I never know what’s going on with you.”

He’d given up on being there for Gren because it was obvious Gren didn’t need him, and he couldn’t keep track of the constantly shifting world he lived in with Yera and Hossan.  “While Yera and Hossan are gone, maybe we should focus on that.  Being there for each other.”

“I’d like that.”  Gren’s eyes fell to their hands, and Anchesh thought he could see a blush rising in his cheeks.  “I’d also like to kiss you more.”

“You can kiss me whenever you want.”  He felt like he meant that the most of anything he’d said so far.  Gren raised his head and went straight to softly touching his lips to Anchesh’s, his mustache tickling at Anchesh’s smooth-shaven upper lip.

On the next kiss his hand caressed the curve of Anchesh’s neck, and then he untangled his other hand from Anchesh’s and threw both arms around his neck, and when that apparently wasn’t enough he broke the kiss and fully straddled Anchesh’s thighs, hunching a little to reach his lips.  Anchesh tilted his head further back in turn, feeling the pleasant tension of his horns pressing against the back of the sofa.  Despite his position, Gren didn’t seem like he was trying to be seductive.  He kissed Anchesh to savor him, like he was fresh water on Gren’s parched tongue, a tongue carefully exploring the contours of Anchesh’s.  He was in no rush, and his skin was warm against Anchesh’s where they touched, Gren’s feet pressed against his knees, hands along the edge of his neckline, soft lips drinking him in.  Anchesh let his hands run back over Gren’s thighs, his hips, to the bare, fuzzy skin at his midriff, and held on there.  

When Gren pulled back at long last, his breath was edged with gasps, and so was Anchesh’s.

“I love you, Anchesh.  I love you so much.”

Without a word, they pulled each other close, Anchesh wrapping his arms around Gren’s back as he leaned forward to press his cheek against Gren’s shoulder.

“I love you too, Gren.”

RKW taglist: @vacantgodling @jezifster @kk7-rbs

[six-of-ravens]

this is pure procrastination, but I kinda want to make a database of all my WIPs with like, a short synopsis, the characters, the setting, and the vibe.

[revelisms]

I've stared too long at pictures of the Basilica Cistern, and now am thinking about the Ministry having an ancient reservoir deep beneath the grounds, used strictly for ritual purposes.

So, naturally, the next fic idea that's hit me is...another ritual.

(There's a theme here, isn't there?)

Long story short: The waters are believed to be sacred, fed from the River Passage at the roots of the mountain, and are the holding place for several rites of purification (along with the storage of the priests' unblessed waters). Only the high priestesses maintain the reservoir and conduct such rites, though select members of the clergy and those within the Papal seat have special permissions to use it.

Prior to their Ascension, the Papa-elect must enter the reservoir for one of the older rites of purification: a renouncing of one's old Life, and a rebirth under their new titles, bound now to no other.

It's not always a peaceful transition. The Ascension can be a coronation as much as a shackling of one's soul to death's waiting hand; the cistern, an old god's hall as much as the final seal for a doomed fate.

The priestesses sense that, some nights. Know that they aren't just a vehicle for their Order's magick—but a white-robed Charon, tasked with leading those souls Beyond.

Even if those souls dread it. Need to feel human, for a moment; let the tears fall; mourn a life that never was, and will now always be.

A particularly harsh reality for one without a clean retirement.

A king dethroned before the crown was even set.

[raitrolling]

my brain is still percolating the forensic pathologist/cosplayer idea...

tho i had an idea for the way they look and i was like. hm what if they had a kinda messyish fringe with long strands on the sides and one of those tiny fluffy high ponytails. maybe they should wear a long white coat as well- goddammit fuck thats just glasya again. shit.

[unlicensedinvestigator]

wip

featuring post and pre divorce arc

[curi0uscreature]

* A dubious little creature….getting up to mischief…..

[lucky-clover-gazette]

fern forrester’s angst is like 70% because she fell in love with a girl and the girl didn’t love her enough to stay. also because she sucks

[brasideios]

My Sunshine Jimmy

So, along with My Boy Charlie, another archetypal character I write is Jimmy - though just like Charlie, he's taken on many forms, including appearing [without my say so] in my Ancient Greek OC Antidas (with some variation to fit context, of course).

These archetypes aren't gender specific by the way; in my current project, Arity is also in many ways a Jimmy; and as I shared on Sunday, they do get into a relationship together, so they're a lot sometimes.

Jimmy originally came into being in my (published, now unpublished) pair of novellas titled 'Double White Lines'.

In the first of these, Freeway, he's introduced through the eyes of Gracie [another of my archetypes who will also be in the novel I'm writing now, so more on her soon.]

So, Jimmy and Gracie from Freeway:

Original Jimmy

It was sunny outside, and quiet except for the distant hum of traffic on the freeway behind the house, where it ran west towards Langarrin. Gracie sat on the brick letterbox, kicking her heels against one side, waiting for Jimmy to come pick her up. He was her best friend – they’d known each other since early childhood. Besides her sister, Lou, he was the only person that she had any real attachment to.

She didn’t have long to wait. He pulled up in the Rex, shorthand for the WRX, a rally car that was fashionable amongst a certain type of guy. She jumped into the passenger’s seat. 

‘I’m glad you dressed for the occasion,’ he said, hazel eyes sparkling with humour. ‘Those are your best trackies, I s’pose?’

She returned the favour, looking him up and down, pointedly eyeballing his tight pink shirt and skinny jeans, and scoffed.

‘Where’s the metrosexual convention?’

He chuckled and turned his attention to pulling the Rex out into the street. 

Once they were on their way, he said, ‘Got some news - don’t go getting all heartbroken on me, though...’

‘A posting?’ He was in the Navy. Postings were a fact of life. 

He nodded. ‘Melbourne. I leave in a couple of weeks.’

‘How long?’

‘Nine months probably. It might get extended.’

She just nodded, taking a moment to adjust to the news.

She felt thrown of balance each time he went away. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, she thought he wouldn’t come back; and it was true in a certain way. The longer postings always returned some new variation of the Jimmy she’d known before.

It would’ve been easier if they’d been any good at keeping in touch – but Gracie never knew what to say, and Jimmy was always so busy – sometimes totally uncontactable for months at a time, and sometimes just taken up with whatever friends he was mixing with at the time.

It was understandable that their relationship got put on ice, she thought, all things considered; but it was still hard to be left behind and not take it to heart.

They arrived at the Henley Maccas a few minutes later and went in.

Once they had their food, they took a table near the window, looking out on the shabby carpark.

Gracie slowly drank her shake as he told her about his plans, in between scoffing down two burgers and fries. He always ate like he was ravenous.

During a lull in his monologue, she said, ‘It’s been a while since you’ve been to Melbourne, right?’

‘Yeah, a few years.’

‘Guess you’re about due to check in with your Melbourne wife, then. Visit the kids.’ It was a long running joke between them – the classic, about sailors having a family in every port.

‘What did we call the last one? Joseph?’

‘Joe. He was a pizza baby.’

He snorted. ‘That’s right. I’m really looking forward to having Papa Joe’s again. Best pizza I’ve ever eaten.’

A couple of girls walked into the fast-food joint. They caught Jimmy’s attention. 

‘Who’s that with Jude?’ he asked Gracie, gesturing with his chin.

Gracie looked over her shoulder. He was talking about a small, dark-haired girl who was probably around twenty-five, maybe Italian or something like that, dark-haired and pretty.

‘That’s Kirsten’s younger sister, Rosie.’

‘Good-lookin’.’

Gracie rolled her eyes. ‘You’d shag anything, honestly.’

‘Not anything,’ he said, with some dignity. ‘I wouldn’t touch Lou with a ten-foot pole.’

She grinned. ‘Just as well. She’d shank you if you tried.’

He laughed, but he managed to catch Jude’s eye, and the two girls came over.

‘Hey, Jimmy.’

‘Jude. What’s goin’ on?’

‘Just chillin’.’

‘Nice.’ He looked at Rosie. ‘You’re Kirsten’s sister, aren’t ya?’

Gracie smothered a smile. She found it amusing the way he broadened his accent to flirt; inexplicably, it seemed to work more often than not. It was working on Rosie, anyway; she smiled artfully, sizing him up. 

‘And you’re Jimmy. You used to date Kirsten’s bestie.’

‘Nah - I wouldn’t say date. We used to be friends, though.’

‘Friends, huh?’ she said, in a playful way.

‘What’re ya getting’ at?’ he said, leaning forward a little, echoing her tone.

‘Oh, nothing. I’ve just heard of you.’

‘And my reputation?’

She smiled, all traces of pretended shyness gone.

‘You might say that.’

Gracie saw Jimmy relax. He knew at that exact moment that she was keen. 

‘What’re ya doing tonight?’

‘Nothing much. Why?’

‘You should come down the Pipes.’

‘I might,’ Rosie said, mustering a hint of implied resistance. ‘I’ll see.’

‘Sweet,’ he said, standing up. ‘Carn, Gracie. Let’s beat it.’

She followed him out, saying bye to the two girls as she passed. They pretended not to hear her.  

Older, more mature (?) Jimmy

So in Arity, Jimmy is older, but he is still a clown. As I said above, Arity is also like him - and this is my first attempt at showing the chaos of a conversation between two idiots. I'm not sure I am happy with it, but this is where it's at right now :)

~~~

A minute later, a guy came in from outside, shutting the door behind himself. He looked at me and cheerfully said, ‘Good morning.’

I replied with a non-committal ‘Morning,’ and went on drinking my coffee.

He said humorously, ‘Not even a good morning? Hard to believe, when we live in this paradise.’ He gestured with an expansive, vaguely theatrical arm, indicating the Lodge and perhaps Langarrin as a whole.

'Living the dream,' I said, very dryly.

There was nothing else to pay attention to, so I found myself listening to him pouring cereal then milk into a bowl behind me, before making coffee. He was humming half under his breath as he did it – I couldn’t identify the song.

To my surprise, he came and sat opposite me. I looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

I was struck by his face – he had what I’ve always called a kind face, complete with dimples; though he was otherwise just an average looking guy – hazel eyed, dark-haired, tattooed, in his late twenties or early thirties. 

He said, ‘I’m Jimmy,’ and offered his hand over the table. 

‘I’m Arity.’

‘Like hilarity without the hill?’

I snorted. ‘Yes, just like that.’

‘Weird.’ He took a mouthful or cereal, then set his spoon down with a wrinkled nose. Reaching for the honey, he squeezed it all over the contents of the bowl. ‘Were your parents hippies?’

I shook my head. ‘Nah. It was the name of the street my dad grew up on.’ He looked at me quizzically, and I smiled. ‘You think you’re the first person to tell me it’s a weird name?’

He shook his head, then through a mouthful of food, he said, ‘I’m just glad you’re not a hippy, since we’re friends now.’

‘Are we?’ I said, chuckling at this approach. He was weird, and I appreciated that. ‘I’m not sure I agree. I need to know what you have against hippies first.’

‘They don’t shave their pits, of course.’ 

I hadn’t expected that answer, and I snorted.

‘What do you care about your friends’ armpits? Besides, do you shave your armpits?’

He twinkled at me – an expression that was at once mischievous and approving – of what, I wasn’t sure.

‘Maybe I do.’ He drank the last of the milk in his bowl then set it aside, before adding, ‘I do hang out at the gym. Gotta shave to really see that muscle definition.’

I looked him over pointedly. ‘What muscle?’

He looked at me as though I’d struck him a mortal blow – but the smile never left his eyes.

‘Really? Is this how you go about building friendships?’ He tutted, shaking his head, ‘Arity, Arity, Arity.’

Dryly, I said, ‘Observations of fact are worse that slandering an entire sub-culture’s grooming habits, now?’

He gave me a playfully dirty look, but didn’t answer as there was a beep from his pocket, and he took out his phone. He was quiet for a moment, tapping out a message.

I went back to staring at the french doors. I wondered suddenly why the textured glass had been put in. The room would’ve been nicer without it, looking out onto the garden.

He set the phone onto the table. ‘You know I don’t mean it, right?’

‘Don’t mean what?’

‘About the hippies.’

‘Oh,’ I said, taking another drink of my coffee before, looking at him from under my brows, I added, ‘I did, about the muscles.’

He was doing his best to suppress his laughter and said sternly, ‘You wait. That’ll change. I’ll be so built I’ll be able to pick you up and fling you across the room.’

I wide-eyed him, and said in a pitiful voice, ‘But why would you fling your brand-new friend around?’

He scoffed. ‘Why else does a man get strong?’

‘To fling his enemies?’

‘I have no enemies to fling.’

Dryly, I said, ‘You’ll have no friends, either, if you start treating them like that.’

The laughter at last bubbled up out of him, and he stood abruptly.

'Dammit, you’re too quick.’

I smiled. ‘Checkmate.’

He scowled at me without any seriousness at all; but there was the sound of voices from reception. One of them was Kristy’s.

Great.

‘That’s my cue to leave,’ he said, knocking the table twice with his knuckles. ‘Until tomorrow morning, Hilarity.’

~~~

So - that's an intro to Jimmy and Arity, I guess. Jimmy does have more depth than either of these descriptions really show. He's been through it, but he's one of those people who uses humour to deal with everything.

Hmm... Since it isn't published anymore, I can post the whole Freeway chapter about Gracie and Jimmy (which is functionally a short story, more or less) if anyone is interested in knowing more? It's the only part of the novella that I think is worth reading, to be honest, hence the unpublishing - even though it's far from perfect.

Anyway - I have no idea if this is insightful to anyone else, but it's super fun tracing this stuff from my end 😀 revisiting old work, dragging these fools from retirement to hang out here for all to see... Not that Jimmy minds - he's down for anything honestly 😂

[random-jot]

Uh oh guess who got a ✨ new story idea™️ ✨

This one’s about a vampire-themed rock band (but is it really just a theme? ooooooh)

OUT WHEN THE SUN’S DOWN are the hot new thing - a vampire-themed rock band on the cusp of breaking out big-time.

But things aren’t all smooth sailing for the band - numerous though their fans are, they seem to have twice as many people who want to tear them down.

And is their ‘never perform during daylight’ rule really just part of the gimmick? Or could it belie a dangerous secret…

[elshells]

Happy STS! If you were to design a deck of playing cards based on characters in your WIP, who would you assign to be the King? The Queen? The Jack? The Ace? And the Joker?

Happy STS, Nopal! This is an excellent question!! Here's where I stand <3

The King: Jade (mentally strong; complements the Queen)

The Queen: Harley (a rising leader; complements the King)

The Jack: Max (a source of good luck in times of misfortune)

The Ace: Sophia (I mean, come on! She's literally Agent Ace. This isn't even in question)

The Joker: Janus (the unpredictable wildcard)

[queenslayerbee]

a vague idea for a story about a magical boarding school is starting to take shape in my brain... I know, I know. I promise it wouldn't be as tired as it sounds xDD

[tielt]

the world moves under as Freckle watches

the shrapnel is embedded inside of Wound

on the optic nerve lives Aphrodite h(a/o)llowed

in the woods a Fae who doesn't speak communes

inside a shack a Hermit lives who pretends to know all

under every path a blind Turtle sleeps

are we all also make believe creatures?