I have a very heavy comforter on my bed made of velvet that is embroidered.

No, you did. I was simply making a point.

Don’t tangle with a monster if you cannot handle being spooked.

Someone else romantically inclined toward me. How charming. Thank you, I will give Chef your support.

Look up the meaning and make sure it fits, because naming is the only type of magic.

All writing implements tend to be counter to my actual fasciitis with my hands. I’ve never been exactly fond of writing. I preferred typing. I prefer pens that have a thicker line. Quills annoyed me. Fountain pens are fluid but also annoying. These days it’s a cheap ball point or gel with a thick tip. And while I enjoy stationary, I don’t currently have any. I have high quality paper. No stationary.

Firstly, never write a letter to a predator and think a false name will hide anything. Never, if you don’t feel safe enough to use your own name, include your mailing address. Never give affection or attention to anyone who frightens you enough to cause you to hide your name.

Predators are clever. I am clever, though I am also kind. Better that I teach Gwen to be safe by frightening her a little, than for her to make those mistakes with someone who is not so retrained in their habits.

There is something about my character which has grown accustomed to the mystery, I think. Whenever someone thinks they have me pegged, know me well, I like to show them a little more, just in case. Don’t write to me of affection or attraction or esteem, if you cannot tolerate me calling you inexplicably or using my trickster talents to surprise you.

Does that sum it up for you?

Generally lazing about and warming various things and body parts.

He’ll find that comforting, I’ll wager.

kyraneko:

neurophilosophaster:

funereal-disease:

dagny-hashtaggart:

Basically what I’m saying is “thing that moves like a distorted gif, but in meatspace” works much better than “thing with tons of tentacles” as a visual representation of cosmic horror, IMHO.

Nowadays, sure, but human depictions of cosmic ineffability are always informed by time and place. In the early days of deep-sea exploration, “thing with tons of tentacles” was the very pinnacle of “holy shit what is that”; it’s just that the symbol has aged in a way that the substance has not.

CEPHALOPODS IN 1918: horrors from the unknowable depths of blackness only made only the more horrific by animate motions suggesting a flicker of intelligence within their shapeless, fleshy coils

CEPHALOPODS IN 2018: squashy frends 🐙😍 

The Uncanny Valley migrates …