#an-archaic-archivist

[arsonistbunny]

How do you feel that Glitchtrap might be fucking dead and might not play a role in the story anymore? Do you think they could have done more with him? What would you have done with him and his character?

Well, he was always gonna be defeated anyway. I just feel like Steelwool is too scared to commit and they might be aiming to copy old-school fnaf mystery, but the thing is, the first fnafs did commit to some points with a lot left to interpretation. Everything in Security Breach is up to interpretation and it feels like a puzzle with missing pieces and also other puzzle pieces have been thrown in.

About Glitchtrap, I just wish he appeared more in Security Breach, being the main villain. This circles back to the whole "I wish we saw more Vanny!" because Vanny is literally Glitchtrap taking control of Vanessa. The Vanny/Glitchtrap problem in Security Breach is what differentiates them from the animatronics? On a threat level, they're the same. Or if I dare say saw, Roxy and Monty were more of a threat to me than Vanny. Vanny was easy too to escape for a character that was so hyped. The same thing goes with the Burntrap ending: my biggest threat was Roxy because I did not understand I was supposed to use Chica's voicebox with Freddy. Actually, the only thing Burntrap does is sending animatronics after you and trying to possess Freddy (that's two things!). Which, I get is like ooh scary he's powerful enough to send everyone after you but the thing is he's not powerful enough to walk down the hallway and kick my ass. I could just hit him with a metal bar in the knee and he would not get up.

I'm kind of disappointed that they hyped Glitchtrap up in HW2 with his face and corruptions on the games only to hit us with a secret ending (obtained with tasks that have little do to with said ending) that is just to tell us something we already knew: that Vanessa beat Glitchtrap and freed herself.

It's sad because they actually nailed HW1, with his almost constant presence next to you, watching you, leaving you to wonder who he is and what does he wants and he is going to be a threat in my game selection menu or am I ok there? His level was one of my favourites, it gave me old fnaf mystery vibes actually. It reminded me of reading fanfics at 1am and felt like actually playing the fanfic - if that makes sense.

All that being said, is he really gone tho?

In Ruins, we have a "new" villain coming from nowhere (no the books aren't an answer I'm sorry but if it's not stated in the games it is not in the games that's how storytelling works. and I am not buying and reading fucking books to understand what's going on in the game I already paid a lot for) that mimics others. Glitchtrap's whole thing was to mimic William. To me, they're obviously linked and even if it's not Glitchtrap himself, the Mimic still holds Glitchtrap's legacy.

Plus it's been discarded but can we talk about the fact that it's been pointed out multiple times that Vanessa isn't Glitchtrap's only possessed victim? You have yourself, the player in Help Wanted 1 who ends up being possessed and locked away. But then we never mention this again?

And then you have that one note in Security Breach, about how Vanessa was hired by someone in the hierarchy despite her not being qualified for the job. Which doesn't mean anything by itself, for all we know she could've been hired by family as well. But this could also mean it wasn't family and it could have been someone also possessed? Or were they blackmailed?

This is just a detail but this is one of the many details that they didn't commit to giving us an answer and all adding up we barely got an answer for anything and that is one of Security Breach's weakest points.

[atlasllm]

I know you're blog title is probably exaggerating, but I wanna know exactly what moments and what about them made you cry. Hold nothing back. I'm willing to read a Bible's worth of this stuff. I love hearing about how people emotionally connect to pieces of fiction in a positive way, especially if it's something near and dear to me like Sonic.

nope i am not exaggerating in the slightest lol, i've kept count for the past year

That being said, I don't remember ALL of each moments that made me cry, but I answered a similar question a year ago (back then the count was only 6 times)

I cried because Sonic reminds me of a very obscure comfort character of mine and one of the 2 people I talk to who know about this character confirm that he is exactly like him, which hits deep because they both are optimistic punk guitarists who would definitely fit My Chemical Romance's "Danger Days" album due to their life philosophies

I made a new friend recently One of my friends has been a Sonic fan longer than I've been alive, and since I got into Sonic post-Forces they said that they were glad the first game I can experience be released is Sonic Frontiers because of how massively amazing it is in comparison to how the franchise has been for the past decade

Catching up with a friend since they're working and I'm in college and they allowed me to infodump on Discord call about Sonic Frontiers... I forget WHY exactly it made me cry at the moment but like, god this game was so good and I was only WATCHING gameplay

I think more recent ones I remember have been:

Outright crying because it took me so many hours to finally beat the Master King Koco Trial (I have video of this but I don't think I'm ready to use vids of me crying for internet clout yet LMAO)

Hearing I'm Here (Revisited) for the first time and hearing the instrumental + Kellin Quinn's vocals as Eggman aims the rifle, seeing Sonic grow so powerful he defeats The End in one shot, floats through space unconscious, and lands back down onto the planet okay and finally able to be with his friends again

I'm not 100% sure about these ones, but I guarantee-ish moments I have cried were:

Watching Penny "Snapcube" Parker play Sonic Frontiers (like I've said, this is the first Sonic game I've actively followed coming out + would have just watched let's plays before realizing it looked so fun to play that I wanted it for Christmas) and her playing the entire Chaos Island storyline where Sonic admits Tails is basically his little brother and he'll miss him when he goes out on his own adventure

Sage's sacrifice + hearing Dear Father

That shot in the original ending (Penny played Hard Mode so it was getting me antsy enough to see what the ending would be after the bullet hell section) where it's just Sonic flying through the air like a shooting star; the shot of Sonic being a literal star coupled with the specific part of I'm With You that plays just looked so incredibly beautiful

While once again I'm not sure if I can name specific moments, but Sonic Frontiers is genuinely one of the best experiences I've had. For the longest time I've only played free-to-play MMOs like Wizard101 and Toontown (and also Minecraft Bedrock edition), and while I have yet to catch up to Wizard101, I've never really gotten attatched to triple A games.

Watching Penny play Sonic Frontiers, after ages of hearing that "oh this old Sonic game is the best" "eugh these past few Sonic games are terrible" and seeing a human just genuinely enjoy this fresh new game, especially as the first Sonic game that I as a newer fan was seeing experience in real time, just filled me with so much joy. Seeing each update come out to make it better and better, and seeing Frontiers completely blow itself out of the water and put Sonic on-par with other triple A games instead of being seen as a joke 24/7, it made the experience of Sonic Frontiers being my first real Sonic game so much more sweeter. And heck, it's incredibly accessible! Wizard101 is basically a card game simulator and even I with a keyboard was able to 100% it, play hard mode, and complete the DLC!

I think that in itself, seeing Frontiers as my first Sonic game and seeing how good it is, just makes the entire experience really emotional for me. How so many of my friends who've been fans longer than me are excited I get to experience the same joy they felt when they first became Sonic fans. It's like seeing an old friend that you haven't seen for a long time mixed with the sheer joy of waking up on Christmas morning during your childhood.

I have a lot of feelings about this game ;w;

EDIT: OH OH that part where Sonic grabs the giant sword and slashes Knight in half coupled with the ending of Find Your Flame 100% made me cry too

[botboots]

Saw that your requests were open so what about TFP cons with an adorkable teen human reader? A really close friend (the emotional support bundle of joy™) that is really artistic, kind, understanding and just a pure cinnamon roll, what would be the bots reaction to the lil' human? Optimus, Ratchet,Bulkhead, Arcee, BB, and if you do the kids then the kids. If not the other bots, stay safe!

im back!! so sorry for the long ass wait, had so much going on in my life recently (graduating, going back home, etc.) but hopefully i'll be back to posting somewhat regularly! tysm for the continuous support :] love seeing the notifs pop up every day this is one of the first asks in my inbox (and i completely forgot that the prompt said reader was part of the cons... whoops) and i've wanted to get it done for a while now! have so many more to get through but will get them done eventually - this isn't the best but its cute <3 and you can 100% tell who my favs are lmao warnings: none word count: 939 (GN reader)

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Optimus:

he finds your outlook on things is a nice change of pace compared to the more pessimistic views that some members of the team can have at times

values your compassion greatly, often turning to you as a confidant over the time you’ve gotten to know each other. a mission went wrong and he’s putting all the blame on himself? you’re there to reassure him in a heartbeat, reminding him that he did his best and there’s always another chance; you keep him grounded

has an innate interest in art and writing - he used to be an archivist, after all

so he enjoys watching you indulge in your hobby, your excitement about it reminds him of his younger years of being a clerk at iacon when he would become giddy over a newfound archaic text

he’s very fond of you and makes sure you know it, taking note of the small things you like and getting you whatever little gift he can manage to find - genuinely thinks you’re cute and likes seeing you happy :] 

Ratchet:

while it may have taken him a little longer than the others to warm up to you fully, he grew to start looking forward to your company (despite his his best efforts to hide it)

he appreciates your quiet company; you’re much less rambunctious than both the other humans and his own team - you complain a lot less too, probably one of his favorite qualities about you

like optimus, your bubbly attitude gives him a much needed break from the dreary duties that come with being the autobot medic

you often find yourselves working in tandem, with you sitting on the couch working on your newest project while he stands at his terminal typing away. occasionally you’ll walk over with a nervous smile, and with a roll of his optics he’ll lower a servo for you to climb into and lift you up onto the corner of the console, huffing when you chirp a thank you before the both of you quietly return to your tasks (he enjoys it, really)

while he’s not one to vent his frustrations to you, he’ll always be open to listen to you vent about yours. even if he doesn’t respond with much, he’ll offer logical solutions and observations for whatever issue you’re having

Bulkhead:

the big guy loves art, having been exposed to his fair share of it by miko, and is very encouraging when it comes to your projects

he might not get some of the nuances or meanings of the things you make, but he tries - oftentimes making you laugh a bit at the sheer amount he misses. it’s endearing though, and you appreciate the effort

too fidgety to sit and watch you do anything for too long, but he’ll offer to drive you to a vista for some inspiration while he does his usual scouting routes, miko tagging along of course. she’ll probably bring her sketchbook with her and sit next to you and draw, chattering the entire time while blasting some music from her ipod, offering you one of her earbuds

Arcee:

similar to ratchet she takes a while to get used to you, a little cold at first to your attempts at friendliness

she notices how happy you seem to make everyone else and eventually makes a legitimate pass at being friendly despite how awkward it feels

but with how eagerly you accept it she doesn’t feel as bad, sighing in relief as you immediately start filling her in on how much you’ve enjoyed your time with the autobots

she’s not much of a conversationalist (especially when it comes to humans) so your chattiness is almost a relief - not having to keep up fake interest and energy with someone puts her in a more comfortable position; especially since you’re not one to comment on it like others tend to

will sit and watch you work on whatever your newest project is, a comfortable silence shared between the two of you

rambles about random stuff from her past sometimes - you turn out to be one of the few people she trusts enough to mindlessly dump her thoughts to, both good and bad

Bumblebee:

one of the first to get to know you, overly excited about having a fresh face around

super curious when he sees you working on something, a barrage of questions translated from mechanical chirps and whirrs with the help (and annoyance) of ratchet

he’ll actually try and mimic some of your art on the walls of hidden ditches where he and rafael hang out, excitedly bringing you along to show off his latest work and buzzing happily when you praise it

will eventually, with your encouragement, try and make something original - he ends up finding it pretty soothing and an easier way to feel understood; communicating his feelings without words can be unsurprisingly helpful for someone who can’t use any of his own

you’ll spend hours hanging out and working on your stuff - he likes when you help him with his own art, adding your own brushstrokes to the concrete wall

he’ll let you sit up on his shoulder just to watch him make whatever he feels like making, or even just taking you on joyrides in the desert where he doesnt need to worry about anything going wrong

while it’s usually you, him and raf hanging out he does enjoy spending solo time with you - usually in silence or one-sided conversations, but you understand each other well enough without words

will also figure out what your favorite songs are and surprise you with them; he loves when you get all giddy about literally anything

[natequarter]

the time lords are traditionally associated with the strictures of advanced Science and like, that's not wrong, but what about the humanities? or most often, history? the winners define the narrative. they built history. the telling of history, the shaping of written texts, as the foundation of their corruption, their decadence, their festering cruelty. art can inspire; it can also impose. their great works may be awesome, but in the archaic sense of the word - they inspire awe. (they are just as much awful.) romana was an archivist, when she was young; now she's the one being archived.

once, the time lords dictated and censored every foundational text. now they're just a footnote.

[unironicallytes]

WIP Wednesday Again, Garfie Baby!!!

Tagged by: @dirty-bosmer ty ty!

Tagging: @miliabyntite @unrepentant-heliocentrism @areggo @orfeoarte @ulanxxxs @thegrunkiest @touyadraxon

I don't have a WIP for my next chapter because it's still in its skeletal form. HOWEVER!!! I remain in my Night Mother Insanity Era due to being possessed, so I'll share pieces of another Familial Padomaist fable which I started months ago.

Now mostly lost to Brotherhood archivists in-universe, this is a fable which explains the esoteric origins of the Night Mother and her children in more detail. Only pieces of the story are unaltered within current scripture, whereas details such as her original name or connection with Mephala are gone. As with Domitius' Vow, a lot of what's in this piece is intended to be baked into Dear Brother, because although its details are lost to current members, its themes persist as cult ideals which Lucien and Zath's brains have been pickling in for years. These twisted morals inform many of their decisions.

Specific pieces of the WIP are collected below! Complete with me agonizing over archaic grammar

The Webspinner communed with Rēmu thusly: “Champion Rēmu, thou art Honorable, Obedient, Secret, Disciplined, and Steadfast; within endless tangled thread of mine, I see thee. As is proper, thy flame shall kindle my wick: thou shalt Mantle secrets of spider's silk, for I have always been thee, and thou hast always been me. Thy test is twofold. First, thou shalt devote thyself to Death in boundless love; second, thou shalt devote thyself to Death in unrelenting grief. My web affords no place for failure.”

“O Lord Sithis,” Champion Rēmu called. “If I am to wear Mantle of spidersilk, I am to devote myself to thee in boundless love and unrelenting grief. Pray tell, whatever doth my Lady mean for me to do?” Sithis’ Dream spoke like the lonely echo of an empty well. “Dost thou love me, my Lady?” He asked. “Of course I love thee, Lord Sithis, for thine embrace is inevitable, and knowing such certainty gives me strength.” “Then thou shalt be my bride. Thou shalt bring forth my kin, and thou may know love as thy web decrees.” Sithis’ Dream drew close and offered a kiss born of Champion Rēmu's fealty. And then He was gone, for a dream is but a fleeting thing.

Then, on the eve after her childrens' Fifth year, Mother Rēmu woke to find they had fallen ill. Their minds unraveled into Nothingness, their flesh frayed amidst lesions of Void, and their souls shuddered with agonizing Dread. Rēmu washed their wounds and prayed over them, but it was no use. She could do nothing to heal that which was inevitable. In desperation, she called out to her husband, bringing forth another Dream. “O Lord Sithis,” Mother Rēmu lamented. “The Five given unto me - they have fallen ill, and their pain is too great for me to ease! Pray tell, whatever am I meant to do?” Sithis' Dream spoke like the harsh rattle of a desert snake. “Dost thou love them, my Lady?” He asked. “Of course I love them, Lord Sithis, for they are my children, and knowing such warmth gives me truest joy.” “Then thou shalt be their mercy. Thou shalt return my kin, and thou may know grief as thy web decrees.” Sithis’ Dream drew close and offered a blade born of Mother Rēmu's woe. And then He was gone, for a dream is but a fleeting thing.

[bodybeyondstories]

Just ignore it - 1

David is teaching a course on identifying and managing magical anomalies, and begins to suspect there may be a reality-warper in class. Largely because everyone's butt looks too good to believe.

2 (Next)

ass expansion // growth

2526 words

(btw this is inspired by one of my favorite TF stories)

---

“Now the point of these journals is to start recognizing energetic and temporal anomalies, better attuning yourselves to…”

I paused mid-sentence, feeling that something was off, taking a beat before I continued with the lecture. I was hoping to have some time to settle into the Fall semester before having to deal with an inevitable minor metaphysical crisis, but a reality warper a few weeks in was not what I saw coming.

Having a job that includes resolving paranormal wrinkles in spacetime seems exciting until you realize that somehow they’ve found a way to turn it into yet another 9 to 5. People often expect some sort of imposing mansion or gothic structure whenever they hear “Center of Supernatural Sciences,” but it’s actually a squat concrete block cobbled together by a regional college in the 70s. The scariest thing for visitors is figuring out how to connect to the WiFi, though if you’re rude to Seema at the front desk, she will put a hex on you and that’s just your own fault. It’s been a mainstay on this campus for decades, but for how much longer was unclear, as administration has been defunding us relentlessly for as long as I’ve been here. The university doesn’t see our value in light of its own investments in mass surveillance technology and a more ‘hard science’ study of spookiness, but the work we do is still important. Supernatural phenomena are much more common than a lot of people realize–it’s just a matter of actually paying attention–and our work is split between teaching, research, and service, addressing issues locally and regionally as they arise.

And no, we’re not magic cops. We’re not out to punish or control, fist bumping each other as we shoot silver bullets first and ask questions later. That’s archaic. We investigate, mitigate, and remediate, stepping in whenever the fabric of reality gets a little too bunched or frayed and mending as best we can.

I teach a class called “Investigating Supernatural Threats” almost every semester, which is a title that I absolutely despise–I think it’s an insult to our more than human neighbors–but the department is worried that if we change it we’ll end up losing funding to the criminal justice program, and it’s a hill I’m only willing to get bruised on. But it’s a survey of identifying and responding to paranormal, metaphysical, and magical shenanigans, so it tends to get all kinds. It’s usually a relatively small group, a smattering of grad students from occult history to crypto-zoology, museum curators and archivists needing a refresher on what to be cautious of, and often–which I’m personally delighted by–new forest rangers sent by the state’s Department of Natural Resources who are doing overnights for the first time.

But back to the issue at hand. It’s my job to stay observant across multiple temporal and dimensional planes, so I’m known for picking up on minor phenomena and patterns that at first glance may not seem significant. So around week 3, I couldn’t help but notice that most, if not all, of the men in the class had near perfect, juicy butts, yet all unique in their own ways. I was used to commanding attention with a round booty sitting pretty on my 6’1” frame, looking downright disproportionate against my lean swimmer’s build–a blessing and a curse, really–but some of them were giving me a run for my money. Which isn’t really an issue, squats are en vogue and there are plenty of male leg day enthusiasts thanks to social media trends, not that I’m complaining, but in week 4, I picked up on the fact that all of their pants fit so well. Too well. Like not just fitted but custom made for each of their unique and sizeable proportions, as if carefully crafted to emphasize and display their bubble butts. A telltale sign.

During class, I kept my extrasensory eyes and ears open, seeing if I could pick up on any novel energetic shifts. And I felt something odd. Something deep and subsonic, pressing tentatively against the borders of our reality, like a sperm whale floating up to a kayak without making a sound. I could feel an energy seeping into local space, something building to some sort of threshold, before, with a submerged *pop* that I could ‘hear’ elsewhere, it was gone. It was like nothing had happened. In fact, nothing had happened. I turned to the board to continue writing something that I had forgotten, only realizing after class had ended that I had been writing about two inches above where I had left off. I did a somatic check, quickly scanning my body from toes to head to fingertips. I felt fine, had all ten fingers, only two eyes, an ass that could stop traffic, still a strapping 6’3”. But had that been true an hour ago? Doubt was setting in.

As someone who teaches the detection and mitigation of magical fuckery, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with a potential situation like this. You’d be surprised how often some horny gay warlock has a little too much fun and needs to be reined in, or someone’s chaos magic manifests without them realizing–even worse, with them fully realizing. If you’ve ever had to neutralize an entire college dorm (and a frat house to boot) you would understand why we need more funding and support in magical education, but this isn’t the time for my soap box. A mystery’s afoot.

My most important piece of advice: Just ignore it. The thing is, a reality warper is a serious matter. If you call someone out, you better come correct and prepared for anything. Even just them knowing that you know–or that you’re on the hunt–can get real messy real fast. So you have to act casual. Don’t let them know you’re on to them, and don’t let them know that you know that something is seriously off. This is why I always introduce an extended project around tracking anomalies in the fabric of spacetime, having my students keep journals of anything weird, unusual, or metaphysically wobbly. Don’t react in real time, just on paper and in private, keeping a record of things as they happen. But it seemed like whoever this was was influencing the passage of time in very subtle ways and everyone’s memories, for the most part, were adjusting accordingly. Which is why no one in class has batted an eye at the fact that the asses in this room look like they were expertly morphed to near-comical proportions. After all, what else is new? So I took a different strategy and laid a trap.

The donk on my 6’4” frame (Hmm…) was a sight to behold. All muscle with a healthy layer of padding ballooning out from my otherwise lithe form. It was leaps and bounds my best feature, had been for as long as I could remember. I was used to men staring dumbfounded in public as my cheeks swished back and forth, including my own students whenever I turned to the blackboard, pushing it out ever so slightly as I leaned forward to write, the globes of my ass encased in one of many perfectly tailored pairs of tweed slacks. I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, seeing as any pants off the rack would either be way to loose in the waist or way too tight in the glutes, risking catastrophic failure. So I got my pants carefully fitted, but the thing was, so did everyone else. All the men in the class, from muscle butts to perky, round ones, to jiggly booties and wide hips, always had expertly fitted pants without fail. So we know what the focus of the shifts was, but it seemed like it was an expert reworking of time, and with that, memory. The phenomenon of unusually juicy asses in class pinged on my paranormal radar, but mine had always been this way. Right?

The thing is, the fit of everyone’s pants wasn’t just good, it was too good. Perfect, even. Yes, I had memories of having all my slacks tailored but they fit like they had been hand sewn on a lifelike model of my bulbous glutes with millimeter scale precision, not too little and not too much. So I found a pair that I didn’t much care for and took a razor to the back seam to weaken it just so. I squeezed into my form fitting pants and made my way to campus, careful not to stress the stitches too much and too fast, waddling into the room early and looking forward to this ordeal being over. Before anyone showed up, I cast a spell of detection around the space. Not detection of magical activities, which would’ve risked tripping any alarms that my possible warper may have already had in place, not to mention the possibility of interfering chaotically with their own spell whose function I was still unsure of. It was more of an emotional and energetic heat map, tipping me off to any sudden shifts in people’s auras.

Class began like normal as I offered some further thoughts inspired by the previous week’s discussion of AI programs as a potential tool of revealing and visualizing temporal anomalies. The discipline, in order to stay relevant, had been getting into the implications of digital technologies and new media for magical phenomena, so I figured we should spend a little more time on the topic. Also I was genuinely interested in hearing people’s thoughts, albeit distracted by the ticking time bomb of my basketball buns putting catastrophic pressure on my pants as I sometimes too excitedly paced across the front of the room. 

Per usual, I could feel the crescendo of strange, unfamiliar power rubbing almost playfully along the barrier between worlds, but everyone’s auras seemed fine. There was no corresponding wave of connected energy from any one person, beyond the general simmer of erotic activation (i.e. horniness) that spiked every time I turned my back to the class. I had become familiar with the exact threshold that this power would hit before it seemingly reset everything to a new, slightly more enhanced normal, and I was counting on the regularity of that threshold with the timing of this next move.

The previous, and now continuing discussion of new media had led me to realize that the enhanced asses in the room really did look like expertly done morphs and the perfect fit of every pair of pants, no matter the material, was simply improbable. Whoever this was, whatever this was, was operating along the edges of possibility, letting fantasy seep into what we generally regard as the real (or what we think is the real). So I figured, why not use one of my favorite tropes and see what happens.

My tweed slacks were impeccable but not indestructible and as the energetic threshold was reached I just happened to drop my chalk, quickly bending down to retrieve it. The spike in erotic attention from the view of my ballooning backside paled in comparison to what followed, as the seam of my pants finally gave way, my cheeks spilling into view along with a pair of pink and purple polka dotted bikini briefs that did nothing to cover the shelf of my ass.

I played it off with my expert acting skills (this wasn’t the first time I had to feign surprise from some magical mishap), performing a practiced mixture of embarrassment and humor that I assumed the reality-shifter would expect. From the men in class was a mix of nodding in understanding and whispers of It’s even bigger than I thought and How did those pants even fit. I felt a wave of erotic energy move through the room, but there was a spike of something else in the back corner. Something sharper, a tendril of fantastical power peeking into our dimension, concentrated around Logan, who I found staring directly at me with a look of surprise and mild confusion.

I knew of Logan, he was an archivist based in the college’s paranormal artifacts collection, and I think he had signed up for my class as a refresher for methods and safety when investigating and collecting potentially powerful and chaotic objects. He was skinny all around, topping out at no more than 5’7”, his thick, hexagonal rimmed glasses sitting below a mop of bouncy curls with an undercut. He usually came in wearing a pair of loose, flowy drop crotch pants, a surprisingly bohemian look with his otherwise reserved demeanor and sensible button downs. He was demur and unassuming, not seeming like the kind of person to cause this kind of trouble. But at this point he was the only dude in class that didn’t have an absolute dump truck.

The following week, I wondered why I had even hatched that plan in the first place, seeing as I always wear a skirt over tasteful leggings. I had given up on wearing pants years ago because it was just too much of a hassle, opting instead to let the globes of my ass bounce back and forth with more freeform bottomwear. Slacks were constricting enough in the back, but I was also tired of my donkey dick being suffocated in the crotch. A blessing and a curse. It looked like a couple of the guys in class had followed suit, perched on their round glutes as they let some thick bulges snake down leggings or compression shorts.

No wonder those pants ripped, I thought. I probably haven’t worn those in–

Ah ha. Another bread crumb. And an added wrinkle. Time hadn’t been totally rewritten and my memory hadn’t been totally wiped, just altered in the most efficient way in that moment. In fact, I was still mentally very much on the case and making progress. It wasn’t the sort of loose thread that a reality warper this competent would leave, and by now they must realize that I of all people would be on to them. I began to surmise that Logan wasn’t the one pulling the strings, but was actually some sort of conduit. Maybe for a bored trickster god playing an erotic prank–which, frankly, happens much more often than you’d think.

That week, through irony or serendipity, we actually were discussing strategies for navigating the psychological and emotional games that tricksters love to play, but as the supernatural energy began building on schedule, that previous playfulness had hints of… irritation? The power was a little discordant and I could feel it somatically in a way that I hadn’t before; it seemed everyone else could too. We continued on like normal as my leggings felt fuller and tighter in the glutes, my shoes feeling uncomfortably snug as more of my ankles revealed themselves, my dick inexorably snaking its way towards my hip while staying totally soft.

This was new.  And potentially a game changer. But I, along with my students, followed the central mantra of my profession: Note it. Track it. But until you have a plan in place, just ignore it.

[not-souleaterpost]

Well, finally the end, for real this time. "Spoiler" after the cut

So yeah, with that me spaming the tags with this has finally come to an end, as has this weird experiment, even if it may not worked out - still glad that I did it and think some things were cool, so maybe somebody else feels the same? But other wise, wanna thank @an-archaic-archivist for rebloging my stuff, even when it got unhinged, I appreciate it, even if may be hard to believe. And in general, even if I probably am too different to most online communities to really "belong" or not turn to contrarianism, I'm thankfull for all the people that said or wrote interesting stuff, and I'm sorry if parts of the videos were probably assholish - in the end thats the struggle of trying to interact with people one is really different from, while thinking if the mask is not more hurtfull and dishonest than any word or oppinion - eh hard to say what I mean. So for real this time, sorry for anybody I bothered or annoyned, but I think instead of groveling I'm just gonna do my thing with the mindset expressed in the video, of being positve and not fucking with people for no reason yet still saying what I think even if that could "jeopardize my meager audience" lol Anyways, guess with that this Blog specifically is mostly done - well not really, prolly gonna post stuff like another playlist, a compilation of all the parts, other videos that aren't related to the iceberg, or even to soul eater, etc - but still it is what it is.

But yeah, also finally going get back to the comic, so for the -38billion of you - get ready...

Oh also, here is the full iceberg - the empty space is to insert your own positive revelations that you got from soul eater:

Anyways, enough of the "yeah sorrys", gonna end with my other stolen catchphrase: God Bless, and, Love Everybody, even people that don't vote lol.

[greatwyrmgold]

We don't know much about the new Hololive members except their names, but those names...sure do say something.

"Nerissa" is a nymph from a Shakespeare play, and "Ravencroft" sounds like someone was trying to make as emo a name as possible without going full Dark'ness. So Nerissa Ravencroft is probably a theater kid.

Fuwafuwa Abyssgard and Mococo Abyssguard. "Fuwafuwa" means "fluffy" in Japanese; it's a word you hear if you watch enough of the right kind of anime. On the other hand, Mococo seems to be an abbreviation used by several companies but probably doesn't mean anything itself? Honestly, the interesting thing here is that between their shared surname and similar designs, they're probably related (at least in the kefabe).

"Koseki" apparently means "census," but that might just be a name. "Bijou" is an archaic word for a jewel or trinket, and can also mean "small". (Of course, the PV calls Koseki Bijou "The Jewel of Emotions" and drew attention to how smol she is, so nothing novel there.)

Speaking of Novel, Shiori Novella sure does have a last name.* And "Shiori" can mean many things depending on the kanji (she's EN, so there aren't any kanji in the PV), but two potential meanings are "bookmark" and "poem". (I have been informed that it can also mean "guide," "history," or "weave".) Also, she's called the Archivist. Bibliophile.

*EDIT: For those who don't know, "novella" in English means a fiction book shorter than a full novel. I had assumed that most people would know that, but I may be wrong.

Meaningful names are hardly unheard of for Hololive, but between Ravencroft, Fuwafuwa, and f*king Novella, it definitely feels like Cover wants to make sure the Americans in the audience realize the names aren't just names.

[souleaterpostanime]

Small Hiatus incoming

So, with the posting of the last chapter of the little Patty side adventure arc (which took as long as the whole "Amber Chamber" lol, just imagine that it's a movie) it's time to conduct my plan: Basically, I wanted to get rid of "distractions" or better said, just try to unscatter my brain, by not focusing on twenty projects at once - so I can finally put all my brain power to the promised iceberg (which will get updates on @not-souleaterpost But, as delegating a whole account to it shows, this is not the time to talk about some stupid youtube video that will get taken down to copyright infringment - but the comic.

So do I have more to say? Well a bit - basically, I think the time off will help me also restructure some thoughts, and actually decide more exact placements of events in future chapters. Cause I'm not making this shit as I go along, I got many plans, but just haven't decided on the exact details.

So let's spice it up with a poll. Do you (the two people reading) prefer that a charachter gets a whole storyline for themselves all at once, or should I just cut to somebody for one chapter regularly, so it's allways gets switched up and if one doesn't care for a charachter, they don't have to endure 7 chapters of meandering (as I fear some people felt with this arc lol)

Anyways, thanks for the support, especially for @an-archaic-archivist, who somehow liked the latest chapter 10 seconds after me publishing it lol, but to everyone else, even if you just read it with disgust, I ain't picky with my audience lol. So yeah, as a preview expect some slice of life chapters to chill out and show the main cast again, Crona and Soul making a shitty bandcamp album, an evil crow and maybe even what Kim and the other runaways are up to...

[thecrimsonthrone]

Journal Entry 41 — Crimson Throne Archives

Date: 2201.07.11 Title: On the Revelation of the Ferellian Guardians

In the shadow of newly raised starforts and beneath the illumination of distant suns, an unexpected transmission reached the Throne. The Ferellian Guardians, an ancient and slumbering power, have stirred. Their emissary, garbed in archaic regalia and veiled pronouncements, proclaimed us a "child" — another supplicant in a galaxy their faith claims as sanctified.

Their tone was both a warning and a covenant: respect the holy sites they claim as divine, and the wrath of their forbears shall not awaken.

Minister of State Iraleth Mor addressed the chamber in a closed session, stating:

"We stand at the boundary of memory and myth, facing an order not born of ambition but of conviction. They are not conquerors, but custodians of a doctrine we do not yet grasp. We must not provoke what we do not understand."

For now, our response will be one of reverence, cloaked in diplomacy. We will not kneel — but we will not challenge.

Let the record show that on this day, the Crimson Throne acknowledged the Ferellian claim to sanctity — not in surrender, but in patience.

Filed under the Sigil of the Crimson Flame by Royal Archivist Caldus Theron. Witnessed and approved for sealed transmission by the Voice of the Throne.

[autumnrainwrites]

The Watchers of the Shrouded City

Scholars among those who wait in the dark.

Deep in the Labyrinth there is a vast hollow, a cavernous chamber of shallow grey water under a sky of strange stars. In this gloomy sub-realm, at the center of the ghost-haunted sea, there sits a tall, circular island bounded by concentric rings of stone terraces. Upon these terraces are battlements and hollow houses, libraries and tombs, and gardens of strange underworldly plants. Ghosts dwell in this city as well, but they are not its masters nor its sole inhabitants. It is the Shrouded City, and it is ruled by the Watchers.

The Watchers of the Shrouded City are an order of militant scholars who train in combat, spellwork, ancient lore, science, and various esoteric fields. They divide themselves into four sub-orders based upon their field of expertise according to an archaic system of divination. From the Shrouded City, they have access to various shortcuts through the Labyrinth and the Deep, allowing them to reach the worlds of the Material by paths unknown to others. There, they gather information and meddle in affairs in order to progress their own interests.

The four orders of the Watchers are the Ordo Gardnier, the Ordo Archivist, the Ordo Castellan, and the Ordo Mortician. Each represents a different view of the city, and corresponds to a stage in the cosmic cycle.

The Ordo Gardnier, first in the cycle, is concerned with beginnings, springtime, the creation of life, the potency of blood, birth and rebirth, healing, and discovery of the self and others. It is seen as the most romantic of the orders, the most likely to pursue its own goals. Its uniform is a rich, slightly dark green.

The Ordo Archivist is concerned most purely with knowledge, with summer, and with illuminating the way. That which can be known can be controlled, so the archivists also focus on control of knowledge. It is seen as the purest of the orders, the most dedicated to the Watchers’ cause. Its uniform is a navy blue.

The Ordo Castellan is concerned with the study of war, tragedy, conflict, politics, and such dismal topics, as well as the autumn. It is seen as the most practical of the orders, for the castellans work to ensure the security not just of the Shrouded City itself but also of the Watchers’ many other holdings. Its uniform is a bloody red.

The Ordo Mortician, last in the cycle, is concerned with endings, death, wintertide, secrets, old bones, and ghosts. It is seen as the most isolated of the orders, for even more so than other Watchers, the duties of a mortician often necessitate much time in solitude. Its uniform is a stark white.

For all four orders, the uniform consists of a greatcoat and a chain of office marking rank, along with trousers or a skirt with stockings, a blouse or shirt, a leather belt, boots or shoes, optional gloves, and a sword. They are, after all, militant scholars, and many of their traditions are rooted in ancient aristocratic norms. As such, a modicum of proficiency with the blade is required of any Watcher physically capable of such. Mostly they prefer one-handed blades, of various makes and heft as the individual sees fit, including rapiers, broadswords, smallswords, side swords, spadroons, saifs, sabres, fleurets, foils, epees, and more.

Students of the Watchers wear grey uniforms and lack a chain of office until their final initiation ceremony, which is only reached after months of rigorous tests of mind, body, and spirit. The initiation requires a sponsor and two other Watchers. The student passes between the blades of the other Watchers, then kneels before their sponsor and pledges loyalty to the Shrouded City, their chosen order, and the pursuit of knowledge itself. Most students come from one of two backgrounds. They may be scholars of note in their own right, with an inquisitive hunger for lore. Alternatively, the Watchers frequently abduct promising children and raise them either in the Shrouded City’s boarding school or else out in one world or another as an apprentice to a senior Watcher.

Ultimately, the goal of the Watchers is knowledge, and the power that it brings. They seek absolute knowledge of all things, and thus power over those things. They are at times ruthless or cruel, yet not without reason or purpose.

Author’s Note: A part of my ongoing Onward Everyday worldbuilding project, an attempt to get an unruly, overgrown fantasy universe into writing. This was written on the 3rd, but it took me a couple days to get it posted.

[wurds-fur-nurds]

Micropostilloniclonization (noun) /ˌmaɪkroʊˌpoʊˈstɪl.ə.niˌklɒn.əˈzeɪ.ʃən/

The meticulous process by which minuscule particles, often symbolic or representative, are systematically distributed or relayed, typically through indirect or archaic means, as if by the methodical action of a postillion guiding a carriage.

A theoretical phenomenon in which minuscule, repetitive actions or influences ("clons") accrue over time to subtly direct the course of events, akin to the guidance of a larger entity by a seemingly insignificant force.

The precise act of breaking down abstract or complex systems into micronized, traceable segments for the purpose of navigation or control, often within historical or logistical frameworks.

Example: The archivist referred to the diffusion of cultural motifs across centuries as a form of micropostilloniclonization, each fragment a tiny marker of larger shifts.

[v0ideyed]

you'll believe me? you promise? (For Jonathan Sims!)

BELIEF   —   AN   INTERESTING    CONCEPT    TO  PRESENT  WITHIN  THE  IVORY  TOWER  OF  THE  INSTITUTE;  though, one Jon  was  presented  with  time  and  time  again.  His gut instinct was annoyance. Though, perhaps it wasn't the plea for trust that annoyed him — but the fact that most people wrote their statements for Jon to record later. 

In   any   case,   the  plea  of  belief  often  preceeded  the  giving  of  a  statement.     Believe me, trust me, do you think I'm crazy?    These were   —   often difficult answers for the archivist to voice. 

( So  very  often,  those  that  came  to  the  Magnus  Institute  with  the  intention  of  giving  a  statement  were  troubled  in  their  own  right   —   whether  by  the  truly  paranormal  or  by  the  duress  of  their  own  mind   [  or both  ].   He'd  had  his  own  fair  share  of  strange,  somewhat  alarming  run-ins. In any case, he's gotten a bit more sensitive when approaching matters such as these ). 

With that in mind, Jon leans back in his chair.  Whatever  annoyance  he  might  have  felt  is  just  barely  visible  in  the  dark  furrow  of  his  brow, mouth drawn thin and thoughtful. The archaic tape recorder at his cluttered desk whirrs as long fingers tent at his chest. 

❛   I  can't  answer  that  yet.   ❛   Jon  replies  in  a  way  that  might  have  been  brusque.    ❛   You'll  have  to  give  me  your  statement,  first.    ❛ @burnlikeme

[xasha777]

In the shadowed corners of the library of Temenus, a planet known for its archives of interstellar histories and ancient technologies, sat Mariana. She was draped in the traditional garb of her ancestors, a rich green velvet dress trimmed with lace, which was considered archaic back on Earth but was a symbol of respect and tradition here. Mariana was no ordinary archivist; she had a secret that could shift the power dynamics of the entire galaxy.

The typewriter in front of her was a relic from Earth, seemingly out of place amidst the advanced holographic data stacks and AI-driven catalogs. However, this typewriter was more than what met the eye; it was a sophisticated encryption device disguised as an antique. Mariana was typing a message, her fingers carefully selecting each letter with purpose.

The library was silent except for the rhythmic clacking of the typewriter keys, but suddenly, the air shimmered near Mariana as a figure appeared. It was an apparition formed by nanobots, a common communication method on Temenus. The figure solidified into the form of General Vardis, the military leader of the nearby Andromeda system.

"Mariana," the general's voice echoed slightly, "have you secured the information?"

"Yes, General," she replied, her voice calm despite the gravity of their conversation. "I have the schematics and the location of the lost fleet. Once decoded, this message will lead our forces directly to them."

Vardis nodded, his holographic form flickering. "And the decryption key?"

"It will self-destruct after I leave. No one else can access it."

As Mariana continued to type, the intricate patterns of her typing were not just random; they were a coded language known only to a few high-ranking members of the interstellar alliance. This code could potentially lead their forces to a ghost fleet of starships lost centuries ago during the Galactic Void Wars, a fleet rumored to possess technology far beyond current advancements.

Just as Mariana finished the message, the library's lights flickered. She knew she was being watched. The Council of Temenus, a secretive group of scholars and technocrats, had grown suspicious of her frequent visits to the archives. She quickly ejected the typewriter's ribbon, where the encrypted message was imprinted, and placed it into a small metallic cylinder.

With the cylinder secure in her lace cuff, Mariana stood and prepared to leave. The stakes were high, and she knew that the balance of power in the galaxy could depend on her next moves. As she stepped out of the library, the lights returned to normal, and the air filled with the usual hum of data processing. Little did the Council know, the key to the galaxy's future had just walked out their doors, hidden in plain sight on the wrist of a seemingly unassuming archivist.

[darthpastry]

Yooooo! I’ll bring Uno and The Emperor’s New Groove so we can play a game and watch a movie— oh! And a deck of regular playing cards

@greg-jar-mp3 @marbledew @queencringefangirl @missrayofsunshine @yourfavoritecuntist

@bonsai-maze @uvanuva @oceaniddoesstuff @seagull-michael-again @nanochittle

@tessajames-elliot @violetjedisylveon @the-silly-words-on-your-screen @michoislost @mimir-anoshe @mimikyu-oli

@netherator @anonymouscringe @skyblueartt @gradifizz @cobalt-axolotl

@earthyumgiggles @an-archaic-archivist @ladycuntsandra @connectionterminated13 @bbeeew

@your-average-sentient-suit @honkybonkybambi @send-me-a-puffalope @weepingzombievoid

and I have more but I think that’s all I can tag so if we’re moots but I didn’t mention you I’m really sorry I just scrolled through the list of people following me, added moots, and added people off the top of my head so if we’re moots you’re still invited

Moot Sleepover Starting Now

@a-fucking-tornado

@silentlydying

@fairyb0ii

@tori-spring12

@survivingmyownlife

@spir4nts-lun4r

@back-totheoldhouse

@aloserwholikesheartstopper

@moomoomwahaha

@xoxonxo

[bluescalearchivist]

dEMON. —  Does your muse have any inner demons? GRIFFIN. —  In what way is your muse virtuous?

Anyone else might find it illogical, strange, perhaps even threatening: inquisitive notes from the nether? Why would you answer them? Why are you receiving them? Viragosa didn't know...but if she could wield magic, why couldn't there be other curiosities in the world?

It wasn't like her answers went anywhere beyond the journals she kept to answer them. Picking up the pen, Viragosa drew ink to answer the one in front of her.

Dearest Investigator, Your inquiries as always lead me to consideration and turn the eye inward. Outward of course I seem - relatively simple. Uncomplicated. Focused on the library, the archives, the studies, the magic. Reliable, after a fashion, where and when you could find me. Why you would find me anywhere else, at any given time. I should admit to fault, to you, at this time. My inner demons lie still, deep, and dormant: but they do lie there, ever a threat to others - and to myself. Of course, reliably, it should be obvious to any with a wit and an eye to the past that my thirst for knowledge could land me in quite the trouble with the wrong authority, depending on who is protecting that knowledge! Oh the things I would do for the right tome, the wrong scroll, or that evasive piece of ken or deepest experience that would bring me to new heights in my own pursuit of knowing all... There are such demons written of who make such contracts. I shall not even think their names. Unreliably...I suppose that depends. Would you possibly consider lineage, at it's whole, a failure? A fault? Some inner turmoil that can stain one's future through no fault of one's own...? Men believe it so. No...not just men. Mortals have this fear, that what came before can destroy them through the product the past has made. I do not know that I believe it. So. Let us settle on my pursuit of knowledge - and therefore all I would do to manage it - as my innermost demon for the time. Truths, tales, and knowledge can all evolve...until I do? This is the worst of me. (Believe me, though - is it not a small thing.) On to that rare bird of virtue! Winged, gliding in the skies above all else - despite my own flight capability, I must admit, I have never had the opportunity to consider myself personally virtuous in any regard. I had to remind myself of the definition to even consider it! (An archivist, referencing a dictionary? Hah! How do you think we sound so confident and intelligent dearest investigator? Always use your tools.) Our options, as accepted, are high moral standards, and of the archaic understanding chastity. I am neither particularly promiscuous or chaste, but nor am I a figure of law and the upholding of. It is a mystery to me, the answer to your inquiry! However, you have asked, and so I endeavor to answer... In such a light, I must settle for the moment, on being virtuous in defense of knowledge. There is so much to say... but even truth is not so reliable as knowledge. Time moves, things change, biological creatures evolve, things that once were - will not always be...knowledge, even if it no longer is truth, was still once known, and that I will always hold to a high standard. Yes. Virtuous in the defense of knowledge, and ever fastidious in its keeping. Well! That was as surprising to me, as I hope it was to you. Thank you, dear investigator. May knowledge uplift you, Viragosa

[Thank you, Birkenzeisig! 💙 I appreciate the ask so much.]