#arketypes

[afterdecay]

you are not the villain. you once held my hand. sarah aarden -> john murphy

@arketypes : ㅤREGRET & RESENTMENT AND THINGS THAT FALL IN BETWEEN.

he's messed up so much. just a guy who doesn't feel like he belongs or is understood, so he messes shit up in the name of self preservation. only this time, it all backfired. he thought he could trick the grounders, get them away from here safe and sound. but they easily read through his lies and now he finds himself locked behind the bars of some makeshift cell with sarah and a few others. 

❝ i guess this is what i get for trying to play the bad guy, ❞ he murmurs, his back to the bars. (doesn't want to see them watching their captives so he faces the wall instead. to his surprise, sarah's words had caught him off guard. brows furrow and john's gaze leaves the wall long enough to catch a side-glance of her. true as it may be – that at one time she needed help and he offered a hand, he knows who he is. all about himself at the end of the day. ❝ no … i am. i am the villain. don't you realize, i would have traded you all for a chance to get away? ❞ well, maybe not her. she's been the only one who at least treated him somewhat like a human. the others, he'd wipe his conscience clean of.

[hemoth-archived]

it's   sudden,   a   sharp   shift   in   the   way   that   he   moves.      he   veers   off   the   sidewalk   without   warning,   almost   as   though   something   had   physically   yanked   him   sideways.      but   then,   as   quickly   as   it   had   happened,   he   catches   himself.      practically   darting   back   to   the   sidewalk,   a   quiet   swear   falling   beneath   his   breath.   

❝         sorry,         ❞         he   starts,   nose   scrunching   as   he   stares   at   the   ground.         ❝         sometimes…   uh,   places   call.         ❞         it   is   vague.      not   intentionally   so.      he   doesn't   aim   to   be   mysterious,   weird,   or   deeply   lonely.      no,      it   happens   because   he's   scared.      terrified   that   his   weirdness   will   push   everyone   away.      so,   he   does   it   for   them.      that   way   he's   less   hurt   when   they   walk   away.   

eyes   shift,      the   alley   he'd   stepped   towards   calling   him   again.         ❝         we   don't   have   to   go   that   way.      actually,   we   probably   shouldn't.      but…         ❞         another,   lingering   gaze,   before   the   cryptid   takes   a   step   forward.      towards   the   direction   they'd   originally   been   heading   in.      away   from   the   alley,   and   whatever   tragedy   awaited   him   at   the   other   end. / @arketypes (for luca!!!!)

[fantasywritten]

@arketypes asked: " wait , hush , did you hear that ? " - sarah aarden ⟢ john murphy

THE FAINT RUSTLING OF THE TREES. Murphy had thought it was just the wind, but come to think of it, it HAD progressively gotten louder, and… were those FOOTSTEPS?

“Grounders,” he mumbled, eyes darting around, first at the ground and then up, because everyone knew that Grounders used the trees. He didn’t SEE them, but that didn’t meant they weren’t there. “We should go. C’mon.”

He didn’t even turn around to see if she was following him; he just turned around and hurried off back towards the camp.

[chancestook]

“ WHAT DO YOU think, @arketypes? too tacky or just tacky enough? i have a very specific look i'm going for here & if i fuck it up even a litte, the entire thing falls apart. ” gwen holds out the garment for the other to look at, awaiting an opinion. how often did the young woman ask others for fashion advice? this was a rare moment in history! / sc.

[forestgr4ve]

@arketypes / cont.  from  here  !

it's  not  hard  to  spot  a  thief  when  you  know  what  to  look  for.  she  herself  has  used  quick  fingers  and  feet  to  live  before.  but  in  a  city  of  thieves,  it's  important  to  always  be  better  than  the  ones  looking.  perhaps  that's  why  she  says  something  -  to  help.  honor  among  thieves.  (she's  been  accused  of  having  a  bleeding  heart  before  and  this,  unfortunately,  proves  it.)  there's  a  small  saunter  as  she  steps  around  the  other  and  in  front.  as  they  speak,  she  recognizes  the  word  as  orlesian  but  the  accent  doesn't  seem  quite  right. 

“  you're  very  good.  maybe  not  a  professional,  but  good.  ”  she  ignores  his attempt  at  ignorance,  she  has  neither  the  time  nor  the  patience  to  entertain  it.  “  but  unfortunately,  this  is  lowtown.  everyone  here  is  good.  ”  helena  shrugs  casually  and  places  her  hands  in  the  pockets  of  her  skirts.  it's  true.  everyone  in  lowtown  has  to  steal  and  everyone  has  to  be  good  at  it,  but  only  the  best  never  get  caught.  and  at  his  rate,  pilfering  from  pockets  is  a  one  way  ticket  to  a  meeting  with  the  guards.  “  perhaps  you  would  like  to  be  better?  what  say  you?  ”