#macmillanminer

[macmillanminer]

Is this you?

what is that and what is it doing.

[la-entite]

I no I was the first and was and am still disobedient but why do you hate me so god damn much

I make a singul misstake and you decide that oh yeah Evan needs more hooks in his body. Eldritch abombination holding a grudge or what ever. fuck you.

Also can you fix my eyes please.

- @macmillanminer

The black fog swirled around Eve the silhouette of a woman appeared behind and placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Oh Even, I wouldn’t say I hate you my pet. Like you said you were my first and you hold a spot in my nonexistent heart.”

The fog swirled again the silhouette disappearing from behind him and reappearing in front of him.

“But pets who misbehave get punished.”

The silhouette hands reached up and held his face. Her thumbs rubbed under the eye holes of his mask Evan’s eyes became a little bit better.

“I’ve fixed your eyes but for the name calling you will get another hook.”

[mikhailtalfan]

Hroo you suck and I hope you fall into a ditch and die

- E.M ⚙️

YOU ALWAYS KNOW HOW TO FLATTER ME, EVAN.

[macmillanminer]

// comes back to life for 2 seconds, drops Evan art, disappears for another month

here you go

I believe I might've improved

bye bye now

[macmillanminer]

Hard diss agree

[macmillanminer]

Hey

//ooc: his drawing style is so much more realistic than this but I can't do that for shit and I'm not gonna steal someone else's work sooooo you never get a real Evan drawing, loser

[macmillanminer]

// Updated version of Evan's face and mask

He looks more expressive maskless because it makes him nervy

I want to squeeze him in my hands

He'd crack like old clay and turn to dust

Also his pre-Entity self

Cutiepie

[macmillanminer]

⚙︎ // Starter for @facelessfacadefairfield. Divider by @/cursed-carmine

THE BLACK BANQUET

Evan had been angry lately.

Sure, he was always angry, when he felt much of anything at all, but he'd been especially angry these past few days, with this new event. It was meant to something grand and special to commemorate what was apparently ten years - felt like far more, if you'd've asked him - in The Fog.

But it was really just a load of horseshit. For him, anyway.

Trials were a load of horseshit for him normally, but this was particularly bad. Survivors could turn invisible, be invincible, sprint faster than he could ever hope of going...

Though the last one didn't matter. As he always said, he didn't need to be fast, since they were just speeding right into his traps anyways. But it was still another bruise to his ego. As was every survivor that escaped. Every pallet stun. Every flashlight save. Every time he stepped in his own traps like an utter boob.

And with this event? It was happening so much more often. And the only thing he got to counteract the survivors' new abilities were... poison bottles. Like fucking Kenneth's. How insulting was that?

And he did understand. He understood that the survivors got these abilities to boost morale, give them some small shreds of hope so they don't go completely numb and Void themselves, but with this shit? Evan seriously wondered how the fuck he hadn't been voided yet.

His anger, like the kind gradually growing inside him as he went through these trials - back-to-back ones - was probably the answer.

With every failure, his blood boiled in his veins, until he was sure he had to be hot even to the touch. He started to get more aggressive, less patient, spending less time setting up and more time carving flesh with a rusted cleaver and feeling the familiar heat of blood spatter across his crusted skin.

Whenever someone got caught in his trap, he didn't just lift them out like he normally did - he instead ripped them out, the meat of their ankle sliding off of the bone as the serrated teeth dug in and tore. Their screams were satisfying sounds, as was the squelch of flesh as he carelessly tossed them onto the hooks.

He didn't get many kills that way either, but it was at least cathartic.

But even his anger didn't carry him very far. Not anymore. And especially not when The Entity was just throwing him into trial after trial after trial. He'd come out of one just to get tossed into another. Hours after hours spent walking around, spilling blood, with no moment to just rest. He hadn't stopped moving in what felt like forever.

He was starting to get worn down, exhaustion wearing at his already fucked bones. Jesus H. Christ, can't he just sit down for a moment? Murder is taxing, you know.

It did know.

So, eventually, it decided he'd finally done enough, and when the Fog enveloped him after one trial, he braced to be dumped into another, but wasn't. It looked the same as every fucking thing, just another forest, but he could feel that this wasn't a trial anymore.

Evan let out a loud groan, head tipping back in weary relief. A hand still drenched in blood rose to his face and dragged tiredly down the new horned mask he'd been given, along with a whole new outfit, for the event. He wasn't sure if the blood he'd just smeared on it was even visible, blood-red as it already was.

He wasn't quite sure what to think of said new outfit - it was very flashy compared to his usual - but he did like the mask, even if it wasn't his typical style.

But that didn't matter right now. What did matter was sitting the fuck down.

Lumbering through the muggy woods until he found a good, thick tree to rest by, he lowered himself to the dirt, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees, setting his cleaver in the grass beside him. He leaned forward so his back didn't really touch the tree, because having things touch the hooks and rebar embedded in the skin of his back and shoulders was very much not fun, he'd learned.

Raising a hand to prop his chin up, he let out a deep, heavy sigh, and shut his eyes - just sitting there, enjoying the rare quiet, and the gentle brush of a soft, cool breeze against his bared skin.

Finally, he could breathe.

As much as his fucked up, coal dust lined lungs allowed, anyway.