#behld

[janeaustenwasmybezziemate-arch]

                       AN EXCERPT FROM 10  ▇▇▇  2018 . AUDIO RECORDING   FEATURING THE ARCHIVIST, ▇▇▇  ▇▇▇▇ , AND ONE CLARA OSWALD.

ARCHIVIST: (FURIOUS, VOICE IMBUED WITH A HOLLOW STATIC, A SHRIEK SLOWLY FILLING A CATHEDRAL) THAT’S MY WIFE! 

[ ▇▇▇ CAN HARDLY MAKE A SOUND PAST A LOW, WET GURGLE, ALMOST AS IF ITS THROAT AND CHEST ARE COMPRESSING IN AN UNNATURAL FASHION. IT CHOKES AS THE RINGING IN THE AIR GETS LOUDER. DRIPS OF SOMETHING LIQUID CAN BE HEARD HITTING THE GROUND AND SIZZLING ON IMPACT. A STRANGLED ATTEMPT AT A SCREAM DROWNS OUT ALMOST AS QUICKLY AS IT BEGINS. EVENTUALLY, ALL THAT REMAINS IS THE ARCHIVIST’S HEAVY, STATICKY BREATHING, NEARLY IN SYNC WITH CLARA’S. ]

CLARA: (QUIETLY AND STRAINED, EITHER VERY AFRAID OR MILDLY EXCITED--MORE LIKELY THAN NOT, BOTH) Dear Lord.

                                            [ TAPE CLICKS OFF ]

                                              [ TAPE CLICKS ON ]

ARCHIVIST: (GENTLE) Clara?

CLARA: Yeah?

ARCHIVIST: Are you alright?

CLARA: (AFTER A PAUSE) I think so. I mean, I’ve got a hole in my stomach and I just watched my boyfriend tear a woman apart with his mind, but other than that. You know.

ARCHIVIST: That’s... fair, I suppose.

[ THINGS GO SILENT FOR A WHILE, THE ONLY SOUNDS BEING THE RUSTLING OF BODIES SHIFTING ON A COUCH AND THE DULL, DRY TUG OF A MUG BEING PICKED UP. THE QUIETNESS REMAINS FOR ANOTHER SEVERAL, LONG SECONDS BEFORE-- ]

CLARA: So...

ARCHIVIST: (CONCERNED) Yes?

CLARA: (ALMOST CUTTING HIM OFF) “Wife”?

ARCHIVIST: (OBVIOUSLY AND EXTREMELY EMBARRASSED) Oh, uh, it, er, It slipped out, I--I’m sorry.

CLARA: (CLEARLY AMUSED, NOT GIVING HIM A CHANCE TO RECOVER) “Slipped out”—does that mean you have it on your mind a lot?

ARCHIVIST: No? I-- Yes? I don't know what the right answer is here, it just--it felt like the thing to say, i mean, there was a lot going on--

CLARA: (GRIN IN THEIR VOICE) The right answer is the truth, Jonathan.

ARCHIVIST: (PAUSING, BEFORE SIGHING) Not a lot, but I have--I mean, I have thought about the concept.

CLARA: Your thoughts being...?

ARCHIVIST: ... That it might be nice. Someday, I mean--not now, that's, uh, a bit quick, I think, and everything is going on but. At some point we could? Maybe?

[ THERE’S A BIT OF SHUFFLING, ONE OF THEM MOVING CLOSER TO THE OTHER AND LEANING ACROSS THE COUCH. A KISS IS PRESSED TO A CERTAIN ARCHIVIST’S CHEEK. ] 

CLARA: At some point. (THE GRIN IN THEIR VOICE BECOMES EVIDENT ONCE MORE) Sooner rather than later though, yeah? I’d like callin’ you my husband--oh, or Mr. Oswald maybe, Mr. Jonathan Oswald--

[ THE SHUFFLING HAPPENS AGAIN, AND CLARA’S LOVING LAUGH AND JESTS QUIET AS A COOL HAND TOUCHES AND HOLDS A NEAR-SIZZLING JAW. THERE IS NO NOISE FOR A MOMENT; AND THEN, AT ONCE, THEY ARE PULLED INTO A KISS BY THE ARCHIVIST. IT LASTS SEVERAL SECONDS AND AUDIBLY DEEPENS BEFORE THE ARCHIVIST PULLS BACK. THE SOUND OF TWO FOREHEADS RESTING AGAINST EACH OTHER FOLLOWS, AND THE ARCHIVIST HUMS LIGHTLY. ]

[ THERE IS A SOFT SMILE IN HIS VOICE, AND A SURENESS AS WELL. HE MEANS WHAT HE IS SAYING. ]

ARCHIVIST: I think I would like that.

[portraiyal]

       moving to the flat together was one of the last things sasha ever suspected she would be doing when she was first promoted to the archives, but at the same time, she should have seen it coming sooner. they were all friends, they all liked each other well enough, and they could all save a lot of money if they moved in together and carpooled together. and it was cozy.

         she had woken up late at night, for no reason in particular, and while she was awake she decided to tiptoe to the kitchen for a glass of water. the floorboards creaked slightly underneath her socks, but she didn’t hear the sound of anyone stir. at least, not until she got to the end of the hall where jon’s bedroom was. she didn’t mean to listen in, but she could hear the sound of blankets rustling and sniffling. he’d never said it out loud, but they all had nightmares. it wouldn’t shock her if he had them too.

          after a moment of indecision, she knocked on the door gently before poking her head in with a sheepish look. ‘ um, jon, i heard you were up. do you want a glass of water or... tea? ‘

@behld / starter call.

[prodigil]

@behld​

THIS  MAN  ISN’T  HUMAN.  but  then  again--is  sam,  really?  all  that  thick,  viscous  demon  blood  flooding  through  his  veins,  the  mark  of  the  devil  burned  into  the  underside  of  his  throat  beneath  his  skin  (minemineminemine,  a  very  special  child,  better  than  mothers  milk,  you’re  my  favorite),  head  full  of  poppy  and  dreams  that  dissolved  into  twisted,  nightmarish  predictions  of  the  future,  of  someones  future--did  he  have  the  right  to  judge?  thats  where  things  started  to  get  muddy.  if  dean  were  here,  he’d  slap  him  in  the  back  and  tell  him  that  they  were  all  monster...  except  him.  but  sam  saw  his  wary  eyes.  

he  practically  blinds  jon  with  his  flashlight,  and  the  gleam  of  the  flood  reveals  sam’s  carrying  a  packed-and-loaded  shotgun--the  right  way,  too.  trained.   ‘  step  back.  who  are  you?  ‘

[consequntial-archive]

we love clara and @behld in this house

[realitv]

behld replied to your post: any supernaturally inclined character: i dont like...

jon handshake emoji media too many eyes

media meeting someone with as many eyes as them. 2020. colourised. 

[eyesolate]

@behld & martin.        ‘   we stay safe together.   ’

martin feels a determination out of place with the acrid stench of death and nightmares in the air     ;     for someone who grew into fear like a hand-me-down jumper or hereditary illness,      he can’t quite say when it was that time made a lion out of him.

“    together.     ”     he repeats   ,    searches for jon’s hand and squeezes it.    martin thinks he’d have found their way out of there sooner or later, whether jon was ready or not , though he doesn’t say it out loud   ---   doesn’t really think he has to anymore   ;   with jon, unsaid and unknown are not synonymous.

maybe he’d felt it too  ,   without knowing as jon does ,  as they decayed there in that cottage. with knitted blankets muffling the world’s corroding remains beyond , the quiet almost-comfort of their hideaway too reminiscent of the remote contentedness of the lonely.

they’ve been beyond the gnarled wooden bones of their shelter for only moments and martin can already feel terror ,  like frost , growing in the corners of his heart   ,   he doesn’t let it shake his step however ,  breathes through it.  allows himself to be in spite of it.   if he has to shoulder the belief that they can fix this for the both of them  ,  martin will.

(    jon can see everything now    ,   and in turn  ,   martin will see him   ;   bear witness to their breaking and unbreaking of the world.    and it’s enough , it’s enough , they’re enough.    they have to be.  )

“    well  ,  we’d better start walking ,  i suppose.   ”

[portraiyal]

@behld​ sent: sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them. 

         ‘ you’re worried about mike. ‘ she didn’t need to be able to read jon’s mind to know who he was talking about. it had been on her mind from time to time since they’d come back from the quest and found that note that he’d joined kronos. it had filled her with anger, especially when they had to face him afterwards. her gray eyes remained focused on jon’s face to see if she could make out any signs of what he was feeling.

          ‘ jon, i think you already know that it’s probably going to come down to you against kronos and we won’t be able to help you. ‘ she clenched her fist, taking a deep breath. ‘ i need to know now if you’ll be able to face mike if it comes down to it. because if you can’t, people are going to die. i’m sorry we couldn’t convince him to come back. ‘

[skyaches-aa]

@behld​

this violence can’t last. @ tim !

All that can be seen in the dark corner of the Archives is Tim’s eyes. He’s curled , arms wrapped around his knees , trying to slow his ragged breathing. Only a few minutes ago he had been walking back from lunch with Jon when he had felt an URGE. It was the Hunt , he knew. Maybe it sensed something from the Stranger nearby. Maybe it was just fucking with him. It felt like it was just fucking with him because he had found nothing and had nowhere to expend the energy his accidental patron had given him.

It gave him life when he would have certainly died but that didn’t mean everything about it was good. Like the violence that overwhelmed him to the point where he had hidden himself away until the feelings had passed.

Of course Jon had followed him. Tim didn’t want him to but... as he sits , focused on his friend’s face , knowing he COULD NOT hurt him. The urge to Hunt fades after a few minutes. He feels dizzy and exhausted , and he reaches ( carefully ) towards the archivist for help standing.

❝ This shit SUCKS , Jon. ❞ He considers him for a moment. ❝ Do you ever feel... overwhelmed by... your stuff ? Like , do you ever feel like you HAVE to do whatever it tells you to do ? ❞