#archivaltm

[reignthem]

@archivaltm​​ said: “  i was hoping you’d put up a fight. ”  (  lois  )

DARKER THRILLING PROMPTS

sam is used to the kind of acid bath, over-sweetened, superiority that oozes from the pores of every paul, john,  &  frank who marches their way across the threshold of l-corp’s executive floor.  handling that brand of patronizing machismo comes with its own triumphant satisfaction.  she’s come to RELISH the challenge, welcome the opportunity to flex financial acumen at the tips of four-inch heels without so much as a drift tagged into her smile. 

this, however ... 

sam’s spine locks, ramrod straight  ;  there’s a gear that clicks into place to tip her jaw forward.  

metropolis’ reporters don’t take the same rosy tone when it comes to l-corp as they do in national city.  lex’s legacy is too violent, too recent,  &  it’s heaped down with the atlas weight of his villainous baggage.  

(  sam  &  the daily planet’s star reporter are not on good terms  ). 

“  i  was hoping that you’d finally take a journalist’s objectivity to heart,  ”  sam’s response is meted with grit,  &  the tip of her thumb clicking against her pen is strong enough to crack the plastic.  “  you really had some nerve posting that article about our subsidiary holdings without having the decency to run it by me first for accuracy.  ” 

[essenceofhispenance]

I LOST THE MEME

@archivaltm​  asked:  ‘  you are a wild  ,  unkempt thing ‘ (FEYD)

                                       “ I could say the same of you.”

The response is quick and cold in nature, but laced with the sharpness of desert nature. The Fremen were nothing more than animals to be hunted for sport by the Harkonnen.  She could have easily pointed out the countless reasons they could easily perceive one another as  inhuman. The nature in which vendetta is born is born out of the innate stillness in which hate festers.

The difference lied simply in life style and circumstance. Compared to the glamor and refined nature of the imperium, the Fremen were a simple superstitious people. Tradition meant survival- the continuation of progeny- the very nature of their basic religion dictated the very core of their lives.

What could the Harkonnen beast know of the foundation of her society? They possessed their fripperies and fobs, glittered and water-fat with a slow mannered nature that only a cheat could muster. Chani could argue her honesty and loyalty. She could make a physical argument for purpose in life, for her place in the wellbeing of the tribe.

But this boy-child parading around in a man’s skin  was akin to  that of an island amid the oasis. the isolationist nature of this sensibility stifled personhood and with that, stifled the society that kept such personhood alive.

He was a wild thing, tangled up in a menagerie to fit the dance of the imperium. She could hardly say the same of herself.

 “The only wildness I see in myself is the manner in which I spit back. I have no desire to be subdued and trod upon.”

[fractalchaos]

    once upon a time, being stranded on a (nearly) deserted island was a dream come true. now that dr. sara tancredi is staring down the barrel of 38 days, she has lost any hope of finding time to relax. it was a hard first day and shaping up to be an ever harder night. it took longer than expected to build a somewhat decent shelter to sleep in for the night (communication breakdown), and a fight broke out when two natural born leaders disagreed on how to best make a fire. 

         how could she have expected anything different from the legendary SURVIVOR? 

      she’s settled now by the fire, curiosity and firelight sparkle as she observes the young man carefully tending its flames. michael. there is a rush of heat to her cheeks when his eyes lock onto hers –caught. she finds anywhere else to rest her gaze, the corner of her mouth curving into a half smile.           “you know any good campfire stories?”

@archivaltm || survivor au

[musedtm]

archivaltm asked: "she’s gonna have a pretty messed up view of death coming out of this no matter what." —  jack @ hayley

the words feel like a weight in her gut, a reminder that she can’t protect hope from everything that’s coming their way.  her daughter, her lifeblood, her everything — all wrapped up with blood, and death, because of her last name & now because of her connection to the pack.  the nobility of being a wolf, the promise she made when hope was born ( that hope would know everything about being a wolf ) all feels distant now.  jackson’s words don’t bring her comfort the way they should, the way she’s used to from him.  his honesty is a quality she’s grown fond of, and she wants to wrap herself up in in most of the time — but not today.  today, she wants placating promises that they can protect hope from everything.  a shaky breath leaves her lips, and she runs her hands through her hair in frustration.  ❝ i know, jack.  but she’s my — ❞ hesitation lingers in the air between them, and she’s thankful that right now hope is napping & at peace.  she doesn’t know what’s happening outside of the walls of their home.  she doesn’t know that a member of their pack, someone she saw as family, won’t be there anymore.   ❝ she’s our daughter. ❞ hope is a mikaelson, but she’s also jack’s family.  even if he didn’t ask for it, he got them both when they got married.  the needed emphasis, a reminder that hope isn’t just hers.   ❝ i don’t want her to be surrounded by death.  i want better for her. ❞ // @archivaltm​

[xstrange]

@archivaltm​ asked: "I had no idea you could be so… sensitive." from illyana

"      yeah,      yeah..      "      he'd   all   but   mutter,      turning   away   and   pointedly   grabbing   his   robe.      she   had   caught   him   during   a   NIGHTMARE      —      something   he   had   worked   to   prevent,      up   until   now.   

[fractalchaos]

      it’s cold, wet, dark, and way too early to wake up to the shrill screams of his work cell. of course there is no complaining when you’re in john munch’s line of work --crime doesn’t sleep, why should he? clothes are donned and the microwaved day old coffee warms him up on his cab ride to the station. familiar faces of his team stand, unimpressed, as some suite with an air of superiority and explains to their captain exactly what his team needs as they begin to set up shop.       john takes his time to refill his travel mug, mixing too much cream and sugar into his coffee as keen eyes study the dark haired man now walking away from captain cragen. now’s his time to strike, caffeine fueled steps bring him until he’s standing face to face with the stern faced agent. a confident grin is offered, his left hand extends forward, “john munch, at your service.”

@archivaltm

[musedtm]

archivaltm asked: "so should we talk about your day or would you rather come to bed?" —  kol @ davina

he still manages to surprise her, and his words send a thrill down her spine.  she doesn’t know how long she’s been ranting about his family & their ridiculous plans, but apparently it’s long enough that he’s tired of listening to her, or he wants to distract her.  in all honesty, she’s tired of talking about them.  despite the fact that they’ll have to clean up the mess ( specifically, she’ll have to given that she’s strong enough to take them on ), she wants to focus on him being here.  it still feels as though she’s having a fever dream, and she worries every time she closes her eyes that she’s going to lose him again.  that some otherworldly force is going to take him away.  her arms cross over her chest as she raises a brow toward him, ❝ depends.  what’s waiting for me in bed? because i was in the middle of a really good rant. ❞  flirting with kol is as easy as breathing, and she wants to soak up their time together after being apart for so long.  // @archivaltm​

[reignthem]

@archivaltm​ said: “  are you watching me sleep?  ”  (  lois  )

MORNING AFTER STARTERS

“  what?  ”   watching implies some active, conscious effort at observation.  she isn’t watching lois,  &  even though the question tilted over her shoulder is blue like the shadows, sunk too far into the blanketed warmth  &  roughened by gasps  &  grasping, it still ticks some defensiveness to life.  sam spits out the kind of quick-spluttered scoff that comes across as half-guilty, maybe a little rosy-cheeked.  “  ---- no,  i’m not watching.  ” 

what she is, is twined too far around lois.  one long arm drapes the space where lois’ ribcage opens up into smooths kin  &  a gentle curve.  sam’s fingertips are settled where they finished strumming just high of the band of a rising hipbone.  they’re cozied together to the point where sam could measure the steady, sleepy inhale  &  exhale with a metronome if she wanted.  but up until now, sam has just been tucked into the crook of lois’ neck, the angle knocking the wire-rimmed glasses she stubbornly refused to remove up askew.  

now, though, with lois’ smirk turned away from her but still somehow slicing through the sluggish dregs of post-coital sleep, she moves to right them to the bridge of her nose to make like she has to squint to see through the dark.  

“  you don’t normally stay,  ”  is her lame rejoinder that is pitifully without any barb or sting.  sam’s heel is still tossed lazily over lois’ shin under the sheets.  the quiet, still-glittering sheen sticking to the base of lois’ spine  &  mussing her hair even in the stillness of the night-laden room is enough to catch sam’s eye  &  her interest  (  almost enough to ignore the pull yanking too low beneath her swallow to be anything other than emotion  ).  

this is usually the spot where lois, who is now looking up with an unreadably coy expression,  half-dashed with a smile, partially obscured from the curtain of dark, unruly strands, throws out some sort of neatly packaged insult.  sam, whose too-naked heart is suddenly in her throat, doesn’t want to hear it tonight.  

it’s less complicated to continue the discussion by leveraging the tangle of their limbs to roll lois onto her back.  it’s much easier to steal away whatever sarcasm might be brewing by kissing lois, by palming her hips,  &  smothering any discussions about what it is they’re doing with friction pressed into the mattress.