PITCH BLACK: THE ARCHIVIST OF FEAR

This is an independent ask blog / roleplay blog for Pitch Black, retired Guardian of Caution, currently in human disguise. Please read the links for Rules and Verses before starting threads.

[sylphidine]

It’s that time again. Time to break out the pumpkin dress.

.

[sylphidine]

Slowly coming out of a depression slough that ate up most of my week due to a change in routine, on top of the approaching anniversary of losing J. [29 July 1995]. 

I have stories I want to write and posts I want to reblog.  Please bear with me.

[pitchblackthearchivist]

Mun reblogging.

[sylphidine]

The feeling when you want to tag a mutual in a post that would be perfect for their blog and then you realize that they’re the one who posted it in the first place

[pitchblackthearchivist]

Note from Mun

16 July 2021 through 18 July 2021

Hello all, I will be elsewhere online for much of this weekend due to the virtual version of NECON, the horror writers conference I attend regularly. I can be reached via private message either here on Tumblr, or on Twitter or Discord.

I will catch up on drafts and active RPs after the weekend. 

Talk to everyone at more length on Monday.

[pitchblackthearchivist]

2. Frustratingly attempting to read.

It was VERY hard, sometimes, to be a responsible caretaker, when there was a new book calling his name. The Archivist had come across Catherine Crowe's THE NIGHT-SIDE OF NATURE and was itching to read it.

But first there had been window frames to repair, and flowerbeds to weed, and rosebushes to trim back, and wild grapes to pick, and a plethora of other summer tasks.

Now there was a storm coming, and the horses had sensed it, turning skittish and making it more difficult to herd them into the stables. Finally, though, Pitch had settled them and had taken one last circuit of the Crean Deorcha property for the night before the rain came down.

Now he was seated in the study of the Little House, three pages into his reading, when he sensed rather than heard someone on the porch.

[askladypitchiner]

Ebony liked storms, but she did not like being caught outside in them. She would rather be inside her own warm house, with a warm cup of beverage in her hands and maybe with a good book, while hearing the rain falling against the windows outside.

This time however, she had not been in as much luck. She had been out gathering herbs for her kitchen, and had thought that perhaps she would have a few more hours before the storm let loose.

And it let loose, alright. Right on top of her, with the kind of rain that came hard and fast, and drenched you to the bones in seconds. 

So she had run, running to find cover somewhere (it would be impossible for the wind to carry her anywhere, and with thunder also rumbling, she didn’t dare take a chance.)

But then she saw lights, coming from small windows in what looked like a side house to a large mansion. 

“Please let someone be home.” She muttered, “and let them be of the kind who don’t mind giving cover to strangers.”

If nothing else, the porch could give her cover for a bit, even if the owner rejected her. 

Deciding she had nothing to lose, Ebony knocked on the door.

[pitchblackthearchivist]

At the sound of the knock, Pitch let out a disgruntled sigh, but he laid his book aside nonetheless.  The wind and rain were now rattling the windowpanes with a vengeance, and he couldn‘t just leave anyone unfortunate enough to get caught out in this weather to *STAY* out there.  His Jack would have his head, metaphorically speaking, if he were to do so.

Pitch got up and crossed the carpeted floor in three quick strides to open the porch door for the stranger.

[stylestasher]

[pitchblackthearchivist]

{{working on drafts today, will post this afternoon or evening}}

[askladypitchiner]

❛ do not judge my story by the chapter you walked in on. ❜ [starter]

"What right would I have to do that?" The Muse replied, before she lets out a harsh bark of a laugh.

"My own story is as twisted and gnarled as they come. A fairy tale to some, a cautionary tale to others. What right have I to judge?"

[pitchblackthearchivist]

“Hmmmm,” murmured the Archivist as he turned to view his immortal guest.

“Something that could be said of us all. Forgive me if I seemed harsh, I was feeling a bit... sorry for myself. I’m sure there are chapters you regret.”

[askladypitchiner]

The Muse sighed, settling into a chair herself.

“Enough to fill out several chapter books.” She said, looking exhausted. “But sometimes I am told that I have no right to complain. After all-” she waved her hand as if to mimic the speech pattern of someone else. “‘I’m healthy, I have my good looks and I’m still alive.’“ She scoffed, resting her head on her hand.

“For all the good that does me.”

[pitchblackthearchivist]

The Archivist actually grinned at that, amused by her air quotes; he could almost *hear* the supercilious person the Muse was mocking.

“Isn’t it funny how so many will feel free to complain, themselves, but resent hearing it from other people? If only we could all be like Scath here, who only worries about ‘now now now’.”

He reached down to pet the silky ears of his shadow puppy who lay blissfully sprawled on the rug at his feet. “But that might make for a dull world. Let’s tell one another some of these ‘cautionary tales’ and pass the time.”

[pitchblackthearchivist]

3. Pacing back and forth

[Modern 'verse] https://pitchblackthearchivist.tumblr.com/verses

His bootheels made a clicking sound on the cobblestones. Chris was not late; Pitch was early... ridiculously early, this time. The days where he stood people up for no good reason were, he hoped, long past him.

[hurtbywhisperedmuses]

Chris opened the door of the dark car as it pulled up to the curbside. She saw Pitch standing outside of the brightly glowing windows, pacing slightly as he waited for her. She glanced down at her watch. Chris wasn’t late, but she also had to remember Pitch beat her almost every place they went as he was always early.

“Hey!” She practically yelled with a smile in her voice, as she walked up to him. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

[pitchblackthearchivist]

“No worries,” Pitch replied, striding over to her and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “So what first... food, drink, bookshop?”

[pitchblackthearchivist]

3. Pacing back and forth

[Modern 'verse] https://pitchblackthearchivist.tumblr.com/verses

His bootheels made a clicking sound on the cobblestones. Chris was not late; Pitch was early... ridiculously early, this time. The days where he stood people up for no good reason were, he hoped, long past him.

[askladypitchiner]

❛ do not judge my story by the chapter you walked in on. ❜ [starter]

"What right would I have to do that?" The Muse replied, before she lets out a harsh bark of a laugh.

"My own story is as twisted and gnarled as they come. A fairy tale to some, a cautionary tale to others. What right have I to judge?"

[pitchblackthearchivist]

“Hmmmm,” murmured the Archivist as he turned to view his immortal guest.

“Something that could be said of us all. Forgive me if I seemed harsh, I was feeling a bit... sorry for myself. I’m sure there are chapters you regret.”

[pitchblackthearchivist]

2. Frustratingly attempting to read.

It was VERY hard, sometimes, to be a responsible caretaker, when there was a new book calling his name. The Archivist had come across Catherine Crowe's THE NIGHT-SIDE OF NATURE and was itching to read it.

But first there had been window frames to repair, and flowerbeds to weed, and rosebushes to trim back, and wild grapes to pick, and a plethora of other summer tasks.

Now there was a storm coming, and the horses had sensed it, turning skittish and making it more difficult to herd them into the stables. Finally, though, Pitch had settled them and had taken one last circuit of the Crean Deorcha property for the night before the rain came down.

Now he was seated in the study of the Little House, three pages into his reading, when he sensed rather than heard someone on the porch.

[justmorerpmemes]

Non-Verbal Venting Starters

Send me a number to find my muse trying to vent some emotions on their own. Send Reverse + a Number to have my muse find yours in such a state:

Angrily sparring alone.

Frustratingly attempting to read.

Pacing back and forth.

Going for an incredibly late night walk.

Failing at being productive.

Tossing an object at a wall repeatedly.

Sitting alone, head down on a desk.

Attempting the same task over and over to no avail.

Scribbling furiously on a piece of paper.

Tapping against a table.

Ignoring the problems with a scowl on their face.

Exercising with intensity.

Hitting an inanimate object over and over.

Trying not to cry.

Working on an assignment for the last few hours without a break.

Looking like they need someone to listen.

Yelling into the sky thinking no one is around.

Staring at their phone, hovering over an unsent message.

Listening to music in a quiet space.

Finding them in a secluded, out of the way place.

[monsterbrush]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Adopted is being retold!

[adoptedfearling-blog]

Oh wow look at that, I’m still alive. Anyway, Adopted is being retold from every perspective BUT the fearling. Fun stuff. Go read it if you liked the first one.

[pitchblackthearchivist]

I hope your Papa is well, little one.

[nxghtlight]

Starter: “Moodiness has been detected.”

‘You have a Sad Feeling? No! I will fight it.’

[pitchblackthearchivist]

The Archivist smiles ruefully at his glowing friend. “Not sad, so much as... a little lost? The house and grounds have been very quiet, and that always gives me a bit of melancholy.”

[nxghtlight]

Hm.

Nightlight-- the Knight--  the Apprentice-- whichever one was preferred, these days, in the age of so many names it has become hard for him to keep track, tips his head back as if to sniff the air, noting indeed the Lack of Things.

As it always was, in the lull of Between.

Though he hasn’t any words to offer, he can at least be a warm companion at the Archivist’s side, tucking himself beneath the older figure’s arm with a soft hum.

‘Pumpkins soon, you will see.’

[pitchblackthearchivist]

“Pumpkins, yes.” Pitch gave Nightlight a squeeze in appreciation of his company. “And apples, too, and cider.  And cider doughnuts, which I am sure you’ll enjoy.”  He leaned back against the corral post fence and moved the book off his knee to the grass beside him.

The sun was warm, and so was Nightlight.  The Archivist felt himself relaxing, although he kept an ear out for the horses grazing behind him.  Some had been very nervous these days with the constantly changing weather.  

[nxghtlight]

Starter: “Moodiness has been detected.”

‘You have a Sad Feeling? No! I will fight it.’

[pitchblackthearchivist]

The Archivist smiles ruefully at his glowing friend. “Not sad, so much as... a little lost? The house and grounds have been very quiet, and that always gives me a bit of melancholy.”

[pitchblackthearchivist]

The Archivist taking in some summer weather.