mcneater-blog

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THE BLACK GOAT OF THE WOODS WAS PLEASED TO RECEIVE AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

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❈ Grim Aesthetics ❈

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H P . L O V E C R A F T . S E N T E N C E . S T A R T E R S .

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear.”

”And the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.”

”The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind.”

”Ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and freighted with the memories and the dreams of time.”

”Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.”

”I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.”

”Blue, green, grey, white, or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.”

”From even the greatest of horrors irony is seldom absent.“ 

“The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination.”

“But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean.”

“Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness.“ 

“We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.”

“I have looked upon all the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me.”

“Very few minds are strictly normal, and all religious fanatics are marked with abnormalities of various sorts.”

“ It is a mistake to fancy that horror is associated inextricably with darkness, silence, and solitude.”

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What happened that made her want to run away from home?

time to open this can o worms

The curtains are pulled back from the window to wake her from her dreams, a quieter yet more intrusive alarm clock. Sunlight streams in, the light bouncing off dust moats disturbed off the fine heavy brocade, the unmistakable sound of metal rings against thick ornate rods merely more than routine now.

She remains in bed even though she’s awake now until the last window is thrust open, the one directly in front of her. There is an uncharacteristic noise of distaste at the sudden intrusion of morning sunlight in her face, pulling a pillow over her head to try and block out the world. 

Nearly fourteen years of this and unfortunately, the staff knows exactly how to handle it. The pillow is yanked roughly away from her grasp, her unruly mane trying its hardest to follow it. The blankets are pulled away too, leaving her to try and roll over, only to be met with both the maids lifting the mattress at one end to drop her on the carpet next to the bed. An unfitting place for one of the Duchesses, certainly. But when you refuse your routine for so long, even that becomes routine.

She’s barely awake enough to formulate much of anything more than a groan, hauled up on her feet and ushered off to the bathroom. They have a schedule to keep and she is wanted in the dining hall within the next hour.

ToiletBathDressDetails

She’s barely woken up enough to think when she is ushered out the door of her bedroom. Down the hall; descend the stairs; don’t step on the skirt hem; I’ll fix that while you eat, My Lady; around the back way; down more stairs; down more halls; passed that one creepy tapestry in the second floor corridor between Mother’s den and the meeting hall of St. George and the Dragon; through the foyer. Curtsy to the visiting representative of the Prime Ministry who is staying with them a couple days for business; to the dining hall; to the seat; hear Mother scold as usual to her tardiness first and then her torn skirt hem.

Routine.

Keep reading

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GUESS WHO SURVIVED ANOTHER SEMESTER it’s me right? is it me?

IT’S ME!

will be taking a few days to myself to recalibrate to the feeling of FREEDOM before I get back here and answer some rps.

Feel free to drop me a line on Skype, Discord, or ask me for either or [or both] if you wanna chatter.

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Hohenzollern Castle, Bisingen, Germany

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@ofomniiscience

First week of the month was always a little bit hectic. It was that time of the month where the bills were handled. Not that she would complain too much; now that she had a handle on things, paying bills and making sure her stocks and larders were full was anything more than routine tedium. A pleasant tedium, one she was in control of.

A quick check over morning coffee of her balances and accounts was made, transferring and moving funds around to the one she used strictly for bills. With breakfast out of the way, a shower was taken, the beast stirring into existence about halfway through. 

It made a particularly uncharacteristic whining fuss about how it was more interested in hunting that day instead of doing such mundane human things as making sure the utilities were still running and the mail was got from the post-office box. It did this for the last half of the shower and dressing afterward. She managed to get it quieted enough to think straight in time to swirl the long-coat over her shoulders and leave, reminding it that this was also a food-run. It seemed pleased with the answer, or as seemingly pleased as a famine spirit could be.

Making sure the house was locked up, she made her way to the car in the garage, leaving the yard slowly to avoid hitting any of her eight-legged tree-dwellers should they decide to cross the driveway. Once she was a fair way from the house, she sped to a fair pace to take the winding path down to the main road and into town. Finding a parking space anywhere was a chore, but it gave her a chance to smoke one of her cloves before having to enter anywhere public.

After a few circles around downtown, a spot finally opened. It wasn’t open for long. She sat a moment in silence after shutting the engine off, finishing the cigarette before getting out to start the day proper.

First stop was the city building. She liked having water where she was, and electricity was a part of making a living. She couldn’t get work done, after all, if her computer wouldn’t turn on and power wasn’t fed into the modem. The line was of average size for a Monday at the beginning of the month. In only so many words, the beast was not happy with it. And its antsy self being stuck amid another crowd of people it was not allowed to torment or eat [or preferably both] reflected in its host. Most of the wait was spent fidgeting in some way. A tapping leg, a twirl of a pen in slender fingers, the occasional throaty noise of idle. It was only too happy to see the end and immediately rescinded its idling control to allow a smooth transaction between its host and the cashier on the other side of the glass.

With basic utilities paid off and receipt in-hand to add to her taxes folders at home, she was off again, this time to handle the cable bill. Internet and the landline phone were attached to it, so she reminded the beast when it threw a right angry little fit and attempted briefly to wrest control from her. Without those two, work could not be had, she explained internally for the seemingly millionth time. Without work, money was not received for her to spend on food. 

Money is necessary for that trail mix and those snack cakes you like so much.

Her repeated explanation received a grumbling huff, and she noted with some sad amusement that this was a broken record every month. A routine that would seem almost empty if it ever changed. Contrary to even her own belief, she was growing sort of fond of that parasitic monstrosity.

Thankfully, the cable company’s payment lines were fairly small. She recounted with a small inward chuckle that it was likely because everyone was still stuck in city utilities. it wasn’t hard to guess, considering that the town of Gravity Falls was one such size where everyone knew everyone else after a while and the only new faces were the summer tourists.

With cable handled, there was a small stop at the one mobile provider in town to pay for her cell phone before she moved from there and slightly diagonally down the street toward the post office. It was an older building, one of the original ones, and she hated it with a seething passion. It never seemed to be active at any time of the day and it always felt like there was someone or something watching from those empty corridors.

One last stop here and we’ll go food shopping, she told the beast, receiving an accepting noise for it.

It was already early afternoon, much of the beginning of the day spent in the city building, that of which she was happy was behind her. There were a few murmurs here and there, but slight abuse of the beast’s hearing abilities allowed her to listen in just enough to hear the latest gossip about a lady who lived down the street from the pair whispering. She left it be, ascending the stairs and entering the post office.

As usual, it felt like another dimension, walking through those doors. There was no line for the package counters, the light sconces along the walls were flickering both at the counter and down where the boxes were. The sound of the antique sorting machinery in the back could be heard rumbling along, permeating the space with no voices or steps or really much of anything besides the machinery. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the building ran itself.

She turned toward the post office boxes, counting down the halls as she went and ignoring that awful feeling she knew was likely a residual instinct created by the humming in the floor and walls. Ah. Here was her turn off... Down the short hall toward the banks of mailboxes at the end, pulling her keys out to retrieve the one to her box.

A grumble from the beast, more of a warning than a complaint, unintentionally set her on edge. Though its caution was not unfounded. The post office felt ... more unsettling today than it usually did...

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“Seek the old blood”  Line art commission for Vica

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found an old picture of Winter Flash leading to a mid-feeding.

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A Wendigo wakes up in the modern era and discovers not all things are eatable.

As a friend said, ‘sometimes you’re the maneater, sometimes you’re the bike tire’.

Petrol has woken up from its ages-long sleep to a world of modern innovation. While maneating is at the top of its list to fulfill, the needs to fill its bottomless stomach cause it to crave … well … everything. In the befuddlement of getting used to this new world, it discovers that (much to its dismay) the strange round thing it has captured is not as delicious as it thought.

This ravenous butthead has a space in my RedBubble store!

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I have torn my claws into your body and I will do it again if you come back 

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deepwoodsanthropophagist --> mcneater

decided to change to something shorter and more straightforward. i track this one now! otherwise, it’s still just me.

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dapperdorito:

He is almost in awe of what surrounds him. He’s been in countless minds in his time (one has to pass a trillion years somehow), and he has still never seen a mindscape half as gruesome as this one. Hell, it makes his own former crumbling dimension look downright spiffy.

This place is a wreck, and Bill has a feeling that this might be easier than he’d thought. If someone’s brain is this fucking twisted, if there’s been this much wrought by… something, then it couldn’t be too hard to coax the poor owner into, well, anything. In theory, at least - and Bill is more than happy to work on a theory. Isn’t that the origin of chaos, after all? (Or is he? Or is chaos the origin of him?)

…Well, there’ll be time for existentialism later. He came here with a job to do, after all. 

“HELLO?” Place seems almost empty, but he knows that the woman (or her creature) must be around here someplace. “YOOHOO? FAE?” He wishes, briefly, absurdly, that he knew the creature’s name. Do they even have names? Fuck, he misses near-omnipotence. “I HAVE A PROSPECT FOR YOU…. JUST COME ON OUT, AND WE CAN TALK…”

Okay, where the hell is she? This place is desolate, and though he considers himself above such pathetic emotions, it kinda… gives him the willies.

Why is she here?

She never comes here of her own free will, so the beast must have something planned. It seems to be the only one who can drag her consciousness back to her mental self like this. And then she hears it. A new voice. And she is suddenly aware, suddenly knows why she’s here now.

It’s laying its claim on her. Using her as a reminder, this creature born of blood and earth, temptation and instinct.

She can see him, the intruder. If it wasn’t for the grog of her current position, she may have found a talking triangle sporting a singular eye utterly absurd. As it stands, though, all she can do is stare. Her jaw flutters a moment, an attempt to speak, but it comes out as a stuttering breath of air around the stake through her throat.

The triangular demon moving about is allowed to come closer. The beast is doing this, wanting the unfortunate newcomer to be in range properly before it establishes itself.

Wendigo rarely have names, only those given them from those they have possessed. This one has none, outside the insulting names dropped by her and likely countless others. Nothing that defines who it is though. Only what. Names are, as all those who know understand, very powerful things. Seals, individuality, wards. Ancient magick writ in the ways the mouth moves and the tongue flaps. No one peoples or culture can take credit for it, it exists in all and none.

Therefore, it is only natural that even with any form or semblance of omnipotence, no name could come that defines who the beast is or was.

He is nearing the base of the summit upon which her post rests. As it stands, so too rests the beast.

“yOu Do NoT bElOnG hErE...”

The words echo in the space, encompassing even above the whispering wind. Consuming. A mix of her voice and something else. Something stuttered, unnatural. It wobbles, almost, a twisting labyrinth of high-pitched tones.

It’s using her voice as an overtone. Like it uses it to sing and speak in the waking world. A lure, warped and twisted to reveal the puppeteer in the In-Between, the mindscape.

The post beneath her is disturbed, a pair of massive white dots suddenly appearing from the darkness to cast the purest form of judgement on the intruding triangle; to eat or not to eat? It won’t come forward any more than it has to at this point. This is the process of an apex stealth predator, and that is what controls the space now.

And Wendigo are notoriously territorial.