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Idk How Else To Tag This - Blog Posts
Tomorrow's my birthday, let's pray that nothing strange or weird happens... oh boy I'm scared. Seriously what was the thing that gave me such INTENSE bad luck lately, was it Journal 3? Writing my own journal? Wanting to get Book of Bill? All of the above??
It's REALLY confusing me, maybe even scaring me a little bit, but I think I can push through! Happy early birthday to me! XP
HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAMELLIA Camellia belongs to: @xxspirit There I have it the bday boy, finally made an drawing in time, and I'm still working on killers one (I'm kinda lazy sorry). The colors kinda look weird, it looked better where I was drawing and for final I forgot to flip this thing. I had no idea of what to do with the background, and yes I'm making making that emotion thingy. Variant 0
Bye
-Eclipse Error
Finished!!! /\ /\ This is the finished drawing from my last one, hope you like it, go there if you want the context or want to see the non painted part. Variant 0 None of this characters are mine. Ink belongs to Comyet Outer belongs to 2mi127 Classic/Sans belongs to Toby fox Cross belongs to Jakei95 Dream belongs to Jokublog Swap belongs to The Undertale community Horror belongs to Sour_Apple_Studios
. . . Well this took some time and I still didn't paint it, yey but I'm putting it today and tomorrow I will put the final drawing. Classic is on the party cause in this version Classic is Outer's friend, Horror is there to eat, Dream and Cross are there cause yes and Swap is there cause he goes to any event. Error was going until he knew Ink was also there (in my au Error is friends with Outer cause he goes a lot to Outertale), Killer also was going to eat and annoy everyone but he wasn't allowed to for a certain reason. This was Outer second party cause he also had one in Outertale, with most of Outertale. Variant 0 None of this characters are mine Ink belongs to Comyet Outer belongs to 2mi127 Classic/Sans belongs to Toby fox Cross belongs to Jakei95 Dream belongs to Jokublog Swap belongs to The Undertale community Horror belongs to Sour_Apple_Studios
the first ever drawings of eidami's (my oc) parents!!
their names are jaig and dul naak.
jaig was born mandalorian and has a diving bird aliik that dul took when they got married. they exchanged knives instead of vambraces because dul sees their armor as something that's almost sacred due to their past.
dul and jaig are both the type to commit to a bit or, in the case of their armors, a theme. jaig went with a bird theme and dul with their half and half.
dul's armor is a past and present, a representation of where they've been, their past and the destruction that defined it, and their present, a regrowth and happiness despite all of that.
jaig's armor is more rooted in mandalorian color meanings (or what I could find of them). the black base is for justice against the empire. and he has feathers all over in red (honoring a parent/parents), orange (shereshoy/lust for life - he has this for dul), green (duty - mainly for his kids, eidami and um'noeh, but also for what he feels is his duty to help get rid of the empire), and he has a few in gray (remembrance - for his first love).
they adopted eidami in 14 bby when she was 1 year old. and then they got um'noeh (who's actually very important to her family's story despite the fact I haven't drawn her too much) around 5 bby. they got separated not too long after that and jaig and dul were looking for their kids ever since.
It was a Thursday evening, near twilight when they brought them in. A large, burly man with tattoos, and a skinny man whose skin was clear of mark or blemish – he was, indeed, remarkably attractive to the inobservant outsider, who did not know why they were sent here.
Dressed in orange jumpsuits, they were escorted from the prison bus to the building – a fancy modernist apartment building, surrounded on all sides by desert, and at a nearer radius, a barbed-wire fence. They were brought to the fence-gate – a sturdy, steel affair – where a guard station stood. The guard inside was chewing nicotine gum as the two approached, and he pushed a single button to open the gate. As it opened, he stepped outside the box, to speak to them.
Chained at the hands behind their back and at their ankles, the prisoners were flanked by guards dressed in full riot gear. The man from the guard station raised a hand when they were a couple meters away, and they stopped.
“Hello, prisoners 22998 and 22999. Pardon the cliché, but welcome to hell.”
The prisoners both looked at the finely-made but arguably poorly maintained apartment building, looked at the guard, but remained silent.
“You see, back a few years, we decided to switch up the usual ‘executioner’ method.”
Gesturing grandly at the building behind him by spreading his arms.
“This is the grand Hotel Del Gran Inferno; jewel of Great Basin. Or at least, that was the plan.”
He looked up at the sky and laughed.
“Here, four hundred years ago, a band of Spanish conquistadors slaughtered a group of native americans that fled here. They say that it’s that blood that created the great evil that stays here.”
He looked back at his prisoners, and crossed his arms at his chest.
“But, I doubt that. I think what’s here is older – something of blood, something that draws tragedy to it, not the other way around. Either way,” he said, “The hotel never saw a single customer, and every worker on it – some four hundred men and women, not to mention their children – has died of some accident working on it. As such, it is partly unfinished. But it still stands.”
He pointed at his prisoners. “You’ll spend the rest of your days here, prey for whatever devil haunts these halls. Don’t worry,” he laughs again, this time a somewhat manic sound, “It won’t be many days. None have lasted the night. Running only ever gets you so far.”
The prisoners remained silent. No one had told them about this transfer, but they handled their surprise well. After all, they’d been on death row for quite some time.
The man from the guardhouse gestured on, and the guards flanking them walked them to the inside of the gate, unshackled them, threw them forward, and shut the gate behind them, locking it with a thick padlock.
“Good luck,” said the guard, blowing the pair a kiss. “We’ll be by in the morning to collect your corpses.”
With that, they all climbed into the bus and left. The skinny prisoner walked to the gates and heard the buzzing. Looking at it, he could tell that touching it would probably blast him back a few feet. Looking at his newfound prisonmate, he hatched a plan within seconds. Waving the man forward, he seized the man by the throat and bodily pushed him back-first into the fence. The larger man screamed as the electricity coursed through him and blackened the flesh it touched. The skinny man then jumped, clambered up the man, and jumped over the top of the fence. Landing with a roll, he looked back and laughed at the larger man, now collapsed on the ground, as he turned and ran towards the sunset.
By the middle of the night, he had made good progress forward and had found enough wood lying around to build a simple fire. Lighting it with flint, he sat at it and looked at the stars. Soon he’d be free again. Licking his lips, he laughed. Demons, he laughed. What nonsense. Soon he’d be free to be the only demon the world ever needed – soon he could kill again.
Closing his eyes, thinking he needed sleep, he turned away from the fire. Then, he heard it. Bolting upright and smiling, he recognized the sound. It was a young girl singing, singing a nursery rhyme he knew well.
“London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down…”
He looked and saw the source. A girl with her back turned to him. No older than nine, with blonde hair, she was his preferred prey. Wetting his teeth with his tongue, he growled, a low, bestial sound. He snuck up behind her as she finished the tune.
“My fair lady…”
As he got close behind her, she turned, and he saw her face.
It was a face he recognized. One of his… a child he had taken and done away with as he pleased. Her screams were still fresh in his mind. But she was different now. Her throat he had cut, and the mark she bore – dried blood, at first unseen to him, was prevalent across her front. Her skin was bloated, from the bog in which he had left her, and maggots crawled visibly through her face.
Her eyes were white, with no visible iris or pupil.
Too late to avoid, she gripped him by the throat with one rotting hand and threw him back towards his impromptu encampment. She laughed, a childish noise undercut by something much deeper and darker. The very night seemed to shroud her as she approached, and she walked towards him.
He got up, looking for a way out, and tried to run away, for he was a simple creature – fighting or fleeing was all that came naturally to him. But he was unaccustomed to being prey – and what he was fighting was a far better predator than him.
With unnatural speed she bowled him over, and had him again by his throat. Her form seemed to stretch to unnatural proportions as she lifted him by the throat, off the ground. She laughed, “Why did you do it? Why did you kill me?”
He struggled at her grasp, trying to rip his way free, but her grip was solid. Far more solid than any young girl’s should be. The wind stirred around them into a near whirlwind, as she continued to speak.
“Why did you kill me, to sate the beast inside you? The truth is there, no matter how you pretend. You aren’t a demon. You aren’t even a man. You are… scum.”
She lifted her head up, revealing her neck to be not slit like he had done to the girl, but a ravenous maw.
“Burn,” she said simply, and threw him onto his fire. Screaming as he was set alight, he felt his limbs stretched out as if being drawn and quartered, and spiked pieces of ashwood pierced has hands and feet. He could not move as he felt his body burn, and the last sight he had was of the creature’s maw opening wider and wider, as if to consume all he was, body and soul.
Meanwhile, back at the Hotel, his betrayed fellow inmate was waking up, feeling like his head had been split in two. Looking at the fence and remembering what had happened, he found himself cursing the man who had left him there under his breath. “Damned little slippery bastard.”
Looking around, he saw nothing, but the abandoned building, and felt the cold. He decided it was probably best to go into the hotel, regardless of what the guards had said to him. If the place was haunted, it would hardly be a better end to freeze to death. If he was going to die, he was going to die inside.
Opening the door, he found himself in a spacious atrium, with a finely-made wooden staircase with red carpet. The place looked to have been fit for a king. He wandered down a darkened hallway, and tried the light switch. Nothing turned on. Sighing, he wandered still, into what he thought was a kitchen. Finding his way around in the dark, he found a couple full bottles, probably hidden there by one of the deceased workers. Wandering back to the atrium, and by the light of the moon, saw it was a bottle of orange Absolute and a bottle of Captain Morgan. Fit for a king. Taking a swig of the Absolute, he wiped his face, and sat on the staircase. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t run the same way the other had. Even if he did, he’d die of dehydration before he made it there. The liquor wouldn’t help, after all. He took another swig.
And what if the guard had been honest? What if this place was going to kill him? Why else would they put death-row prisoners here?
He sat there for a few minutes before he heard it. Footsteps, from upstairs. Knowing he full well was alone, and recognizing the cliché despite the onset of inebriation, he decided to go up the stairs towards it.
Walking down the upstairs hallway, he heard the footsteps still, and still he followed, still holding the bottles between the fingers of his right hand. Seeing a light beneath the door on his left, he opened it and stepped inside. It was a different scene.
It was the house he and his wife had lived in, when she was alive. He could see himself, holding a bottle of beer, sitting at a table in the corner. He could see her, with her brown hair and eyes, shouting at him and brandishing a knife. He watched as he stood up, he watched as she charged him, and he responded in the only way he could at that point, by hitting her with the empty bottle. She hit the ground like a ragdoll, and he watched as he kneeled down and checked her pulse before getting up and calling 911.
He took another drink from the bottle of Absolute, hoping it would chase away the memory playing out in front of him.
He watched himself go back to his wife and start begging her and praying for her to return to him. It was his fault. He watched as the police arrived, he did not respond, and they beat down the door. He watched himself being led away numbly by the police.
It was then that he felt her. Standing behind him, with a hand on one shoulder and her head on the other. “You did this.”
As he quickly turned, dropping his bottles, she bounced backwards. He saw her, the right side of her head caved partly in from the blow dealt years earlier, blood leaking from her ear. He ran past her, down the hallway, and she followed, jumping rather than running. Keeping a couple feet behind. He ran and turned down the hallway, finding a dead end – an unfinished ledge above a pile of rusted steel beams.
Turning back, he saw her leap and grab his throat. She held him aloft, as he struggled with her grip. “You did this,” she said again, her voice a menacing growl.
“I know,” he said, barely able to breathe, closing his eyes, “I know.”
“You killed me. You deserve death.”
“I did. I deserve death. Kill me. It’s been eating me alive. All these years, Therese. Maybe this is fate. Take my life, like I did yours. It’s… fair.”
She stopped. She seemed shocked. She looked down, and then dropped him. He landed on his feet, not falling over the ledge.
“You… deserve...,” she stopped.
He moved towards her. “Please. I deserve it. Therese…”
“I… can’t…,” she stepped back.
“The guilty must be punished…,” she said, “The guilty… not… you…?”
She sat down, shifting between forms. Therese, a child, a Hispanic woman, a tall man, a thin man, a twisted, shadowy mess. Finally, she settled into a form somewhere between the three most recent – a young girl, perhaps thirteen, with brown hair and eyes, with darker skin.
“You…” she stopped, and looked over the horizon. The sun was rising on the horizon. Turning into a floating ball of shadow, she disappeared.
Running down the stairs, he saw that the bus was arriving again. He saw the guards leave, the one from earlier laughing. He felt the hand again. Turning, he saw the girl again. She pointed at the guard from the guardhouse. “Guilty.”
He looked at her, suddenly understanding. “You… can’t go out into the daylight, can you?”
She shook her head. She began in a different language, then stopped. Beginning again in English, she spoke, “I am cursed to reap vengeance for as long as the sun shines not. Bring him here, to face his judgement.”
“Face his…? Is that what you call this? Judgement? You’ve murdered people.”
She shook her head. “I… am not the only curse this place bears. This is a place of death, to be a place of death for all eternity after.”
“If he’s so guilty, why don’t you get him whenever he comes into the compound?”
She shook her head. “He never comes in. He knows. He’s smart.”
“What has he done?”
“I won’t know until he faces my judgement.”
Watching, he saw the man from the guardhouse send in two guards, to check for bodies. Thinking quickly, as they entered, he grabbed a chunk of brick and threw it down the darkened hallway to the right. Looking at each other, then looking down the hallway, they moved cautiously towards it. When they had moved a safe distance down the hall, he ran out towards the open gate.
“Hey!” he shouted.
The man from the guardhouse turned towards him. “What in the hells-“
He began to draw a taser from his waist, but it was too late. Knocking the weapon from his grasp, the former prisoner pinned his arms behind his back and used his own handcuffs against him. “What the fuck – let me go!”
Dragging him backwards into the hotel, kicking and screaming, the former prisoner looked around. “Where the hell are you?”
Emerging from the shadows game Her.
Taking the form of a prisoner, she walked towards the handcuffed guard.
The prisoner had taser marks on his face and neck, and smelled of burnt flesh. “You did this.”
The guard screamed. “Get away!”
Another prisoner appeared, different person, same marks. “You did this.”
“Go away!”
Another appeared. Then another. Emerging from the shadows, materializing from nothing. The same mantra. “You did this. You did this. You did this.”
He screamed as loud as he could as he was surrounded by the prisoners. Screaming like a banshee as he was enveloped, screaming as ripping and crunching of flesh began. Screaming as blood poured across the floor. Screaming that stopped all too suddenly as he did.
When it was over, nothing remained of the guard but blood and scraps. Only the girl and the former prisoner stood in the room. She handed him a key. “Go,” she said, simply, then vanished, fading into shadow.
Not needing a second chance, he left, got into the empty prisoner bus, and drove. Where he was going, he did not know. Only that he’d never see that hotel again – and never wanted to.
Story Shard 536
A death row prison where the you are killed by what you killed the most in life.
Did some school/homework (did everything that is due by tonight)
Now it’s time for a nap 😌
I have decided to eat first
Now I shall take my nap
(or at least try to)
Oh the dilemma of having to choose between taking a nap and eating food 😔
Oh the dilemma of having to choose between taking a nap and eating food 😔
Touch Stances (not exactly sure where I stand) (also not sure about this title ☹️)
How does one determine where they stand(?) when it comes to the touch stances?
Like I think I'm either touch oscillating or touch ambivalent (I'm not 100% sure)
I am very much uncomfortable with being hugged (or really just touched in general) without warning (which my dad does a lot), and I can't stand touching strangers (the best I can do is a fist bump)
I'm like a cat in the sense that I either have to be the one to initiate the affection or in rare cases it's someone I'm close to that can initiate it (if that makes sense) and even then I rarely initiate affection (physical) at all
Damn you (neutral) now you got me actually wanting to write that essay
This literally makes me want to do research and everything
I don’t have the time to do that 😭😭😭
the aromantic urge to write an essay about the tendency to over-emphasize love within restorative spaces and how that is ultimately harmful and narrows our vision
I mean… yeah
I figured out I’m asexual at around 16 and then figured out I’m aromantic as well either later in the year at 16 or at 17
