#entiity

[justanotherutdrfan]

I created them when I had a mental breakdown cuz my friends were ignoring me.

they represent all the "bad" things that exists. anything that is on the "evil" thing.

but, they, themselves, are not a bad... entity. just a chill nice... thing. it doesnt think, just... moves around. doing something.

really nice, eh?

[kindredbond-blog]

[Arachnophobia]

   @entiity

"Well, at least we won’t starve to death tonight. We'll survive on stubbornness and anxiety! And maybe some of the mushrooms I didn't already eat. Don't get your hopes up though because I may have eaten a lot of them. Don't tell Meg though, she still thinks it was Jake."

   The Entity never really followed the survivors back to the campfire before. It was strange, sitting by warmth of the crackling wood rather than observing them from above. Lilith was spacing out as she gazed at the flames, all the while the Entity tended to its needs elsewhere while it contemplated on how its puppet could slip away from the group. Thankfully it could multitask, even if having a conscious open to Lilith was distracting. There seemed to be no good option to take her away without alerting them, but if it needed to, it could abandon her for the time being as though she was asleep. Unfortunately, her pulse would be nonexistent if they checked on her. That would be suspicious. It would be suspicious if she just faded away into the fog, too. What a bother.

    His voice grabbing its attention, Lilith turned her head to him and tilted it to the side. Ah,Dwight, he was such a silly one. Certainly one of the most unusual mortals that have been drawn into its realm, and there had been many.

    At his rambling, Lilith let out a quiet chuckle. Although a smile was on her face, there was no hiding those cold, dead eyes. The Entity would never be able to fabricate a living being to perfection. She only briefly held eye contact before her gaze returned to the fire.

    “Right, it was Jake… Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  When it comes to the distinction between perfect perception and absolute obliviousness, Dwight couldn’t comfortably claim either focus. Sure, he could detect the unease settling over the camp like a miasma, and he could tell his teammates were more tense than they usually were while crowded around the comforts their campfire had to offer after yet another night of horrors narrowly avoided, but when it comes to identifying the cause of the subtle change in the air, he’s at a loss for logic--locked into a stalemate between the obvious and what his eyes inevitably relay to his senses. Perhaps it’s her? A new face often ruffled the feathers of his flock; Nea’s had. Arguably, their new Swedish companion still managed to ruffle his formal-wear feathers, but he’s come to the conclusion that it’s partially his own fault for letting her push him around and lead him out of lockers by the nose after she’d squared off with the others and found them less inclined to listen to her uncouth style of reasoning complete with both of her shoes slung at the back of his head. Compared to Nea’s crass integration, the woman settled by their fire had done little than nursing a chilly disposition, and if that meant she had more to answer for than what her fair features entailed, then Dwight would have to pull a public display of jazz hands in Jake’s direction just to illustrate the differences in temperament temperatures between all of them as individuals. That’s fair enough, right? His relaxed opinion on the stranger’s frosty stare has little to do with him finding her...natural assets naturally unalarming, right?

  Flinching as she twists her head to not meet his gaze, but drill through it--as if she were looking through him, Dwight offers the newcomer a hesitant smile. It’s not like he isn’t used to people completely tuning out his presence; usually, he even wanted them to if it meant avoiding a confrontation that could very well end with him forcibly crammed into an office cabinet for the sake of bets placed with lifesaver mints in his old job’s communal candy dish. Not so long ago, he’d probably stuff himself into the cabinet to avoid confronting a face like hers on the basis he knew little of holding conversations with a Goddess once trapped in the glossy cover of a Glamour magazine. When had he washed his hands in the creek, exactly? Oh wait, they’re only soaked in his sweat.

  “Gee, thanks. Besides Claudette, I think that makes you the only other person here who wouldn’t sell me out in a heartbeat.” He can’t trust Meg or Nea as far as they can throw him, and Jake...well--Jake seemed to derive a passive pleasure from sticking his leg out in the way of a sensitive issue just to watch everyone stumble over it and into each other. Dwight breathes a sigh of relief as he manages to join her on the log without tripping over it into the fire. Pausing to judge their stock of firewood from a safe distance, he plops an even safer distance from his company for the night and gives his cheek a sheepish scratch--mostly to hide the furtive glances he sends her. “Sorry if everyone seems a bit--uh...inhospitable tonight? Sometimes it takes them a while to adjust. I know it might feel like you’re part of the problem, but...as the real problem around here, I can guarantee you aren’t.”

[brutalstrength-blog1]

[Arachnophobia]

   @entiity

   It was only a matter of time until the thing Evan had come to know--not by name, but by the dark branches in its voice whipping along his back to drive him forward through the endless loop of moonlit landscape, decided the unseen tendrils of its influence that it had fastened firm around his throat no better than a leash,  needed physical form--a reminder of his unassuming allegiance to the strange realm in which he hunted. Although a leash isn’t exactly what he’d call the strange carving of a face those pale puppet hands produce in front of him. If anything, the mask seems more on par with a muzzle the delectable darkness and its humane host means to slip over his head before he can think to sink his teeth into the real question he needs to maul before the opportunity passes him by. 

   “Whatcha got?” He grunts, not particularly enthused with the offering; although it’s quite the task to tell if he’s enthused at all these days under the scars that dragged his face down into a constant appearance of disapproval. The ashen wood looks imbued in the same bright aura augmenting the chill of Autumn’s first frost, and his face twists at the thought of pressing the heat his skin harbors from the past explosion still ringing in his ears even after all the cumbersome years he’s spent prowling the imagined ruins of the Macmillan Estate. Temptation to prowl past the slim fingers as they beckon him to bow closer flares faintly in his hackles as he considers the crooked angles coaxing him closer.  He’s no fool to this new illusion the patient arachnid had spun with its newly-annexed power. The lure of dainty fingers wouldn’t distract him from the dark talons he knew they harbored behind their feminine facade; sure he was built like an ox, but he wasn’t brainless. Otherwise he would have already leaned down like a well-beaten horse ready for a harness.

   Humiliating, the beast thinks. He decides to humor his god as it croons for him to take a look for himself. Bumping his forehead against the inside of the mask--just for a sniff, really, he immediately recoils from the chilled swarm of shadows that rise from the sides of the offering as if each charred tendril sought to sew the wood over his grimed flesh forever. After the initial shock of the surprise numbs, he casts a quizzical eye at the woman. Perhaps he owed his life to this ancient evil in the same way a mutt owed its allegiance to whomever fished its paw out of a railroad track, but personal pet or not, did that mean he had to play dress-up of the damned? Evan Macmillan might have been a servant to the incarnate of nasty thoughts, but he’s no poodle for it to pamper with bizarre blessings.

               “...Kinky.”

[brutalstrength-blog1]

[Arachnophobia]

@entiity

He really doesn't feel like babysitting a bird who's just going to perch on his shoulder and parrot about it's hunger. Polly want a sacrifice? Polly should consider the amount of vacancies left in hell. Thankfully, Nurse is keeping the kids entertained tonight, and already on his way out of the hunting grounds, Trapper stuffs the chattering crow into the little bird cage atop one of her hooks. "Can't help you with that. I'm on break." 

    Being grabbed certainly took the Entity by surprise, and as it was stuffed into a bird cage, squawks of outrage came from the bird before it disappeared with a rather comedic ‘poof’.

    ( EVAN MACMILLAN YOU ARE GROUNDED. )

  He’s not sure which he prefers--the chattering crow playing cock of the walk along his shoulder line, or the screeching talons tearing through his mind the moment he tries to trod away from the demonic deity he’d carelessly dropped into the bird prison decorating the tops of the Nurse’s fancy-smancy hooks. Both are fairly irritating phenomena, to say the least, but at least he could swat a bird off its roost with a warning swipe from his cleaver; there’s no shooing away a voice in his head... certainly not with a cleaver. Although, he’s starting to consider clonking himself over the head just to see if a blow will take the edge off the shrill reverberations erupting across his minefield of a mind. Tipping his face back in a hasty effort to buck off the yolk of the Entity’s displeasure, he  shoots the stretch of burning sky his typical toothy smile that so often betrayed the range of volatile moods shifting beneath his wooden expression.    So   much   for   his   break .

  “Cram me in there and we'll call it even.” He jerks his thumb at the abandoned bird cage. The roof of the contraption was ripped off with wires sharp and sticking out. Needless to say, it’s going to feel fantastic if he has to sit on that damned hook just to smooth down the Entity’s ruffled feathers.

[askthehookhangers]

“ I V E G O T N O S T R I N G S A T T A C H E D”

A drawing of mine and @entiity‘s... well entity designs!!!

both very deadly

[serratedjaws-blog]

▽ @entiity

        ❝ Three were sacrificed, one escaped, ❞  the beast told his ‘master’ quite regretfully. A fail. Another fail. The Trapper wasn’t one who failed too much fail too much, but the few times he had failed it was enough to drive his ego crazy.         Trapper had no need to think of his father anymore. He hated him, yet.. Still wished to be him. Archie was a great man who didn’t fail. Not even the incident was a fail, but only a lethal mistake that drove Evan into madness, then straight into the Entity’s arms. This was all so pathetic. This damned ego had been past down from each unbalanced, yet successful generation. And now here he was.  Stuck.  Unlike any of them, he had made no  TRUE  success in life other than his killing spree’s here in the Entity’s Realm. It wasn’t enough to feed that ravenous ego, so it put him on edge. And other than the bits of metal that had impaled his flesh and muscle, the monster was perturbed that all this ‘success’ really didn’t matter.

        In the presence of the Entity he attempted to keep his gaze through each peep hole on his mask directed at it.. But lately he felt himself slipping. No. This isn’t good. Obey or you’ll be punished. Pay your respects. You could be  DEAD.                                                                        It saved you.         The beast remained silent. He was awaiting punishment.

[brutalstrength-blog1]

Entity: Are you flirting with my servant? Gross.

Nea: I flirt with everyone.

Nea: Except you. I don't know how to flirt with spiders.

Bill: Gotta say something like...

Bill: ...awful nice pincers you got there.

Evan: Back that thorax up.

Bill: Love the carapace.

Evan: Inject me with your love and fill me with your poison.

Nea: OK, Katy Perry.

Bill, Evan, and Entity: Who?

Nea: Fuckin' old shits.

[brutalstrength-blog1]

[Arachnophobia]

   @entiity

"Don't care." The crackling lights strung along the smoldering branches could berate him all they liked, but he wasn't about to budge from his post, stubborn man that he was. A hook in his shoulder feels at home among the other barbs he'd yet to dig out and unlike the usual quarry that would dangle over the ground with their eyes downcast from their doom, he keeps both feet planted firmly on the ground with his guarded gaze tipped back. He couldn't afford to let it go hungry again. "Y'need it." 

    And he was right — it did. The survivors were adapting when the Entity was not prepared for it. Plenty of mortals in the past had broken, but these ones would not. Time and time again they continued to escape. Perhaps it was noticeable that it was starving as its night sky was littered with sparks, its world slowly crumbling. It was struggling and its power continued to wither, its servants knew, and maybe the survivors knew if they deciphered it.

    It was tired. The exhaustion it felt was conveyed on Lilith’s face as she stood there in front of him. More than anything right now, it felt guilt. How troublesome it was that it became so weak that it grew scared of the nothingness that would greet it, and for Evan to go that far to keep it alive, it could not understand. His soul could not have nearly enough to even moderately help. Still, those spider limbs began to take shape atop the hook, for although his stubborn decision brought deep regret, it was desperate.

    “Don’t you hate me, Evan? After all I have done.”

   How often had he promised the preening arachnid that its empty stomach of a world would inevitably arrive at this unpromising plateau that painted their ever-dark skies in the scattered shades of sparks he’d only seen a smelting furnace belch before breaking down? Whether it liked to acknowledge the fact or not, the Entity could do little to deny that its realm was but an obstacle course for its prized collection of predator and prey alike. The Trapper could have trampled across every twisting trail both marked and unmarked to know the favored footpaths of each of his marks by their shoe sizes alone, but that did little to stop them from picking up on his tracking patterns and altering their behaviors unlike any other group of survivors he’d stalked. Usually they were selfish, eager to leave one another behind in one of his traps for him to drag away in the hopes it bought them enough time to save their own skins from the butcher block in the basement. Although the Entity thrived on the hope of its wards, Trapper suspected that without a selfish stain among them, harvesting that hope became exceedingly difficult than it had ever been. If the survivors never surrendered one of their own, surviving as a precious pack instead of the five frantic-eyed fools who’d fallen just as hard into the Bloodweb as all the others before them, then it was no wonder that sacrifices were far too few in between to saturate the fading edges of the Entity’s expanded realm.

  Would the world weaver have the energy to sustain them all should the current feeding schedule continue as abysmally as it was currently? Until they could integrate some fresh and self-centered faces into the rotting realm and somehow disrupt the family values that kept their current prey too prickly for picking, Evan would substitute the missing meals as much as he could—as much as he knew how. Even if the impact was too minimal to muster a laugh towards, he wouldn’t watch the Entity fade defenseless before him as Archie had. “I hate everything right about now.” Coming from the carved grin that somehow colored his monotone in jest, he tenses for the chuckle that never washes over him; then he remembers the Entity’s never had much of a sense of humor—if any. Damn, there goes his hooking humor--right down the drain with the blood shed from his shoulder's newest piercing. With any luck, the Entity would lift him off into its lair sooner rather than later so he wouldn't have to stare down the attempt spilled across the dry dirt under his feet for much longer. If it even had the strength to strain itself with his monstrous weight, that was. Spying the first dark talons as they struggle to unfurl around him, he snorts and leans forward and bumps his mask against the nearest lethargic leg, letting the wood linger longer than his words do. “Don’t assume you’re special.”