archivaltm @archivaltm - Tumblr Blog

INDEPENDENT, PRIVATE, & SELECTIVE MULTI-MUSE. LOW ACTIVITY / SLOW REPLY. ICONLESS AS OF 11/14/21.

established. 8/29/2021 | tracking. archival™ | written by. alex, 30+, pst.

featuring muses from dc & marvel comics, dune, the raven cycle, prison break, criminal minds, dark angel, tvd / the originals, & original characters. can also be found at @atreidestm

C A R R D ( under co. )

#* ( pinned )

futureadapted

you can keep rearranging the deck chairs of the titanic if it makes you feel better. but the fact remains that we are too late. it’s over. we failed. #futureadapted — ind. priv. sel. five hargreeves. penned by alex.

#idk what my self promo tag was here #but this is where i can be found #*smooches ur heads*

‘ do’t make me lie to you. please. ’ / quinn to ellis

there’s a gruff growl ellis latches onto and notches behind his teeth, leaning his weight back, tipping the chair he was in to balance on two wooden legs. he wants to spit, wants to curse, wants rile quinn up until he submits to reason and comes back to the shores of sanity. ❝ — no need for your lies or your games, ❞ he finally sees fit to reply, eyes refusing to see anything but the sign hanging over the bar. EVERYONE DESERVES ANOTHER SHOT. the lord above sure did have a twisted sense of humor. it was a good thing the clock had chimed well past 3 a.m. and even the barkeep had seen himself to bed, leaving them with the rest of an nondescript brown bottle. in one jerky and aggravated motion he sweeps the dingy lowball glass filled with cheap whiskey from the table and empties it between chapped lips. they’d only been back on civilized soil for a fortnight and already quin couldn’t keep from plots and schemes. ❝ if you’re gonna go, then go! i already told y’ i ain’t wastin’ my time with any o’ it. ❞

@bladedglory // prison break starters

#bladedglory #* ( answered )#* ( bladedglory: ellis / tristan ) if we learn our love is the hurting kind; i’ll let it devour me.

primasolaris:

It’s neither the call nor the caller that Declan’s expecting. Or, more correctly, he’d not been expecting any calls today, not on this phone anyway. Normally when there are buyers he knows about them ahead of time. And there’s no fairy markets coming up, not on his calendar anyway, and they would be on his calendar. He eyes the phone and lets it ring before picking up. Normally he’d start with a curt, ‘Lynch.’ But normally he’d recognize the caller’s number. Best not to play his cards too early. After a moment the person finally speaks.

It takes him a moment to piece it together. Friend of my father. He’d saved most of the old contacts and kept the old number when he transferred Niall’s business to his name—unofficially, of course, none of this business was above the table—but there were those he’d let escape into the ether. Either numbers he himself didn’t recognize or those presumed dead or otherwise inactive they’d not been heard from in so long. Or those that Niall simply, for one reason or another, purposefully hadn’t included Declan in business with. Niall was an asshole like that. It was that sort of sneaky behavior that got him killed and might get his sons killed. Not that Declan intended to go down easily. He wonders which of the contacts this callers father would have fallen under. But, if Declan knows anything about reading tone—as emotionless as his brother might accuse him of being—he thinks he knows where this is going.

“If you’re calling for Niall,” Declan says, at length, voice carefully neutral, “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news in return. You’ve reached his son.” There is a juxtaposition to this. This other person has not even identified themselves and here Declan is throwing his father’s name around. But if this person were a threat, they’d know about Niall and his subsequent fate already. “To whom am I speaking?”

there’s something in the response that rings vaguely familiar, the dance of tone and arrangement nearly striking a melodic note of memory. but the truth hovers just outside of k’s ability to pin it down, and there were so many people that could have picked up the phone. his dad had no shortage of friends, and his influence was impressive — especially from his plastic throne of nowhere henrietta. he closes his eyes as he listens to the reply, the sunspots turning to words dripping white paint on the black canvass behind his eyelids. niall. the name again beats at that familiar drum, like he oughta know something and he’s missing it. what’s not lost on him is the parallel of a son answering in place of his father, just a rippling echo of someone else’s legacy. left to dust up the place and wash the blood out of the carpets. how much of history had been rewritten by sons scrubbing out the sins staining their family name? ❝ what happened to your old man? ❞ kavinsky fires back with a passive and dull curiosity in his voice. ❝ he piss somebody off? ❞ could have been something natural, but what kind of guy is the sole, unnamed contact in a criminal’s burner? all assumptions aside, k couldn’t help wondering how other people dealt with dead dads. he has to think that some parents get along with their kids well enough, the world can’t be completely populated by fucked up assholes. ❝ sorry, that was kinda shitty... my pops got himself offed a few days ago. ❞

#primasolaris #* ( kavinsky: record i. primasolaris / declan )#* ( kavinsky: cv i. primasolaris / declan )#this is fun and charming subject matter :|

feral-ballad

the feminine urge to rip everything to fucking pieces

#* ( kyra: character study )#* ( illyana: character study )#* ( gem: character study )#* ( queue )

uncannyparrish

My friends and I, we got a lot of problems

#* ( kavinsky: aesthetic )#* ( kavinsky: character study )#i love my trash can child

blue-eyes-never-lie

#* ( ellis: aesthetic )#* ( queue )

dulciesgf

#reignthem #* ( dynamic: lois / sam )#* ( reignthem: lois / sam ) i wasn’t careful and before i knew it i’d fallen in love.#it's the hip pull for me

zaritarazi

#rao i wish that were me

#* ( feyd-rautha: reflection )#essenceofhispenance #* ( dynamic: feyd / chani )#* ( essenceofhispenance: feyd / chani ) hope is the thing with feathers.#the way she pulls on his jacket #:weary:#so them tho

essenceofhispenance:

There is an alertness at the sound of water pouring, her focus fully formed around the sensation. The blue-within-blue of her eyes focus on the glass in his hands. Against the dim light of the suspensor lamp they looked like the depths of space, the reflection of the light illuminated like stars.

It was as if the universe rested in those eyes.

She does not speak, merely staring at the glass and its implications. She isn’t sure if he understands what he is offering. She already wore his counters ( counters that had belonged to Muad’Dib before him). the Tahaddi Challenge had been fought and the forms had been met. But this, this ,was different.

They weren’t even children anymore. They were no longer in the stages of the marriage of youth. or even exiting them. There was no need for such a peaceful custom.

This does not stop a flush from coming to her cheeks.

She cannot comprehend how casually he held the cup, especially so openly as if such a thing was so easy to come by. He offers the water in the way that all young men do to win their wives. as if to say “ I give you my life”.

“I am your wife.” she responds all at once, her eyes finding it difficult to leave the water. it is with careful and gentle hands, worn smooth from the desert sand, that the takes the cup, hoping he understood the tradition and implications that came with such an action.

“what does that make you to me?”

they’d woven a telling conversation between the push and pull of challenges and barbs. feyd had watched chani through it all, studying her as he’d been taught. learning a person was an invaluable skill and he’d not had ample opportunity with the shifting sands of power and responsibility. it hadn’t helped that she’d been resolutely silent until he’d finally found his way beneath her guard. now he’d seen a spectrum of her emotions and had a taste of her speed and physical prowess. in everything said and shared, and even in those lingering spaces between words where things went unstated, he hadn’t seen the particular look that captures her visage at the sight of the water goblet he extends toward her. before he’s aware of the motion his head cants to the side with weighted curiosity unveiled in his gaze. want was not something foreign to him, desire a common companion, but the way the fremen regarded water was something more akin to gratitude for a divine gift. he finds himself caught in the current of a moment he knows he doesn’t fully comprehend, but inferring enough to know this exchange has roots in tradition. there’s such delicate care taken as she lifts the cup from his grasp, it would be impossible not to realize the effect of the gesture he’d made in the offering. ❝ i am capable of being many things to you, ❞ he’s purposeful with the composition of his words, the placement and tone treading with more care than he’s shown in the span of their conversation. ❝ — naib as you said. husband in the eyes of your people. ❞ ( baron, duke, and if the vain screaming of his blood was any indication perhaps even future emperor ). he’d goaded her, requested her truth, demanded her honesty, and now he offered her the same. ❝ i’ve no desire to be cruel, ❞ not with her, not after tonight. ❝ if you could make a request of me and see it granted, what would you ask for? ❞

#essenceofhispenance #* ( feyd-rautha: record i. essenceofhispenance )#* ( feyd-rautha: cv i. essenceofhispenance )#i reread this whole thread and it's gold

reignthem

@archivaltm said: “ who’s after you? ” // ( lois lane )

DARKER THRILLING PROMPTS

the voice ( familiar, sharp with enterprise but lacking its habitual bladed derision for their encounters ) launches a JOLT beneath the glyph newly plastered across her breast. sam’s chin tips over the billow of her cape sprawling out behind her to see lois lane. & sam is … exposed, dark eyes & full face on display without the wiry rims of her glasses.

she waits for the moment of recognition when her identity will be revealed, struggles not to anticipate the fallout when her face splashes across the daily planet & ruby arias is no longer protected because her mother’s costumed crusades as SUPERWOMAN will be presented for the whole world to see.

it thunders up the rapid drum of her heart more than any scorching adrenaline that should couple with the meteoric spray of detritus hurtling down from the sky.

“ there’s no time to explain, ” sam tries to steady her voice, shift the register to something stern. a timely plume of flame bellows down toward the ground. sam streaks toward lois with her arms scooping at the bends of her knees & they lift off the ground. “ —- you shouldn’t be out here. it isn’t safe, ” she says with the reporter cradled into her arms, spiraling beneath an awning to climb to above the clouds.

archivaltm

it’s not unlike lois lane to be somewhere she’s been advised not to go. or in this case, somewhere she was explicitly ordered to avoid. the whole warning had seemed a little heavy handed if she was being honest, and had only made her more curious. it’s not like they could have predicted the mess the day would turn into. the kind of disaster that someone in a cape was bound to be caught up in. what she expects to see and the person that lands in front of her are two things not easily reconciled. the shock of truth is white hot and punctures lois’ carefully constructed poise like a needle. she’s left shaking her head in disbelief as a shower of destruction spits across the sky. ( was she the worst investigative journalist on the planet, at the planet? ) all the times she’d spent thinking about the woman in the suit, and sam — a wholly more complicated thing, but something she’d begun to regard with some importance. now she was left feeling like one hell of a fool, it should have been so obvious. she’d kissed both of them! samantha arias was superwoman. suddenly, annoying pieces of an abstract puzzle start to come into focus. coincidence, happenstance, all the small excuses... now settled in the frame of memory in sharp relief. but before a response can be tossed down like a gauntlet, anger simmering at the lies and mistruths, sam is suddenly and quite literally sweeping her off of her feet. ❝ — i’m willing to table it, ❞ lois raises her voice to be heard above the whistling wind and not-so-distant explosions, a little breathless from the lift-off, but determined to speak her mind... even in mid-air. ❝ but i’m working a story, so if you could put me down, i’m a big girl and i can handle myself. ❞

#reignthem #* ( lois: record iv. reignthem )#* ( lois: cv i. reignthem )#drama yes

approvers

#* ( gem: aesthetic )#* ( gem: character study )#* ( queue )

ok i was futzing around with that ‘you write like’ app bc i was curious and i legit got a different result for each of the muses i wrote yesterday.

#* ( ooc )#idk it's cool #bc i know things change bc muse voice but #i didn't think it would be that distinct

roguedallas

𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐃 “𝐌𝐀𝐂” 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍, 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐘, 𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀-𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐂 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐌𝐀𝐍. 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐌-𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋.

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓-𝐁𝐔𝐓-𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐆𝐎 𝐒𝐎 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘; 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒. 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐘 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓, 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐍𝐎-𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑:

𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐌-𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃.

#* ( promotion )#well this is fucking rad

bladedglory:

there’s a gentle smile upon his face. he can’t remember the last time he felt so free despite being a man out of time. the culture and customs where a shock to get used to but even nik found himself slipping into a familiar routine after some time.

he skirts his hand over her shoulder and down her arm. she’s soft and warm in the midday sun, he wishes he had more artistic skills so he could sketch her like this. but all his knowledge lies between pages of books. he lets his fingers trail over her, mapping the dips and divots of her body. it makes him shudder, desire pooling hot in his stomach. but he doesn’t have any desire to do anything about it. nothing major.

nik leans down finally, when his hand finally rests on her hip, the other propping himself up in the grass next to her. “is that so?” he asks, voice soft, barely above a whisper. “i suppose it’s a good thing i feel the same way.” his smile grows, dimples forming on his face.

before he can chicken out nik dips down pressing his lips against hers. she’s soft just how he imagined. and he had imagined it, numerous times over the course of his stay. she was beautiful, she was fierce. who needed to worship a goddess when he had her.

sunshine kissed the valley, eliciting sweet perfume from the roses and lilies that scattered the grassy field. the shady grove offered respite that chilled alena’s exposed skin and welcomed the warmth of nik’s hands as she shifted forward to rest within his embrace. nerves and excitement kindle the same fire that has her teeth finding purchase in the pillow of her lower lip. the day hadn’t begun with thoughts turned toward confessions of love or declarations of desire. her mind had been occupied with what they might do next to see him properly re-aligned with his own place in time. it had been a while since he’d bridged the subject, but it was a shadow where her mind dwelled without recourse. what plea could she offer the goddess, what magic might she be able to harness to return what she’d so carelessly stolen? what would he do if now she selfishly refused what she’d promised? there’s an ache in her chest at the thought and the ghost of his touch exploring her body. she wanted nothing more than to keep him at her side. to make a life with him here in the quiet countryside. far from the echo of war drums and the horns of battle. the meeting of their lips in a soft kiss is a breathing hymn and a dream she never wants to wake from. when they part her head dips, her eyelashes brushing the plane of his cheek as she hides her eyes. knowing they would reveal too much of the inner betrayal she plotted. ❝ love it is then? ❞ her voice is a whisper that gets caught in the fabric of his shirt. ❝ — a curse it must be. to feel for you as i do now and know i’m bound to lose you. ❞

#bladedglory #* ( alena: record i. bladedglory / nikola )#* ( alena: cv i. bladedglory / nikola )