Here's the full artwork I did for the upcoming Avatar concert! Thank you for having me🎶
Tour dates and info: https://avatarinconcert.com
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Damian: "My grandfather drives faster than this, and he's dead!"
Jason and Steph, leaning forward from the backseat: "Ra's died?!"
Tim: "He's still alive. He literally never--"
Dick, rolling his eyes, hands clenched on the wheel: "Guys he means Thomas."
Steph, slumping back: "Wow, I legitimately forgot about that."
Damian: "Every word that comes out of your mouth is a reminder--"
Dick: *cranks up the radio loudly*
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Not a question but: GodDAMN, Red, the newest Trope Talk just left me a blubbering mess in the best way possible. What a fantastic, raw, soul-warming video. Thank you for that, and also, I now gotta re-read all the Death-centric Discworld books.
When I first scripted it I sent it to Blue like "hey, should I tone it down? I feel like this might give people existential crises" and he was like "nahhhh we're fine" so. sorry for making everybody cry
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people will type out and post literally anything on here and someone will tag #harry du bois . who else is doing it like him .
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my favorite thing about shuffling sleep token is when the most heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, emotional song finishes and then after a beat of silence, it's just
I̶̳̗̪̓͝ ̷͉̞̼̮͆́̓S̵͎̠̪̘͐̌͜Ē̵͖̌͘Ĕ̶͈ ̷͚̬͖̗̏̒̅͜T̵͔̗͋̽̈͗H̵͓͓̭͌̆͑̏̕͝E̵̳͉̥͐̀͗̍́̂͝ ̸̮̼̣͖̹͇̈̈̀̈́̂̐͝Ġ̵̜̫̅̐͒̚O̸̞̝̺̩̒̊̈́̂͗̆̕D̷͍͇͚̋̒S̴̙̎̈́̀̈́̕ ̸͍̾̿̌̄́A̵͕͛̈́̓͆̿͘V̷̗͖̲͕̬̺̉͐̑͒̎̾E̷͓͚̮̻͋͋R̸̛̘̂̏̆Ṭ̷̖͙̻̠̠̿ ̶̞̪̫̹͖̎͊͐̄̚T̴̡͖͆̑͒͛̋H̸͎̒͒̈͛͊̇E̷̛͚͉̖̒̊̀I̶̯̞̊̔̄R̸̬̞̻͌̈́̐̓̿̋ ̸̬̹̘̳̈́̓G̷̠̚Á̵̃͆͜͠Z̶̨̹̻̥̼̊̄͋̕E̸͚͖̾̄̐̍̃̓̍ ̸̢̲̬͔̼̭̄̐̍͗͗̈́̏ͅF̸̪̣͈̝͉̘̔̒̆̈́̾̋͐R̶̦̠̪̘̭͓͓̎Ǫ̸̍̇͊̀͝M̴̛͉͈̈́ ̶̛̗̟̐͆̍̅Ḿ̶͓̯̠̔͗̂E̷̳̞̖̊͌̂̔̽͆
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A lone statue stood in the middle of a desolate field. Wails of the hollow wind, and although now faint, but still present smell of death occupied its surroundings for the past five hundred years. Its only company since an unprecedented tragedy took place, washing the sky blood red and the clouds letting not but a sliver of sunlight pass through.
Up until now.
Now the young guardian, frozen still in time, with his last memories played on a twisted and seemingly never-ending loop, felt something warm hit the freezing stone's surface of his face frozen in permanent terror.
All it took was five centuries of being held in purgatory, for the guardian to be allowed to finally take another breath it seemed. But that was alright. He'd accept any punishment given as the consequence of his inaction when it counted. Now that it was finally over, he let himself savor the first gulps of air he had for the longest time.
It all but hit him with his failure however, as the dust and decay filled air entered his lungs. Its particles nesting now forever inside of him as a cruel reminder, no matter how much he coughed to get them out.
At last he collapsed, shaken, onto the ground as the eternal wait didn't stop there. It would be unfair to expect of him to adjust so quickly after standing still and hearing nothing but the cries of the helpless and innocent being slaughtered or driven mad, no? What's a few more minutes of taking in the desolate sight of what was once a lush valley with children playing and birds singing, now reduced to nothing but a forgotten graveyard and a destroyed home.
After adjusting to the reality he could now move through, he went and searched for any sign of life amidst the rubble, anything that moved independently of the rushing wind.
Yet the guardian found nothing.
Not even bugs or mice repopulating the ruins. Not even vines or grass dared to reclaim the buildings. They were exactly as destroyed as if they had collapsed yesterday.
Losing hope in finding life, something else caught his eye. Something that stood out against the rot and red, something almost completely out of place, a flicker of gold. And one that he recognized almost instantly.
He rushed to it with the only thing letting him know how fast his legs were moving being the sickening crunch of dust beneath the soles of his shoes, and what was left of his brother's cape getting closer.
Falling back to his knees not a second later to reaching his destination, he carefully picked up the tattered cloth. As if it was the only thing affected by the passage of time, it was still brilliant yellow, yet ripped and fragile with holes chewed at the edges of its torn fabric.
Every emotion suddenly rushed back to him as he held the cape in his hands and their weight got just a bit too much to bear.
He heard a muffled scream and hoped that whoever it was, they could wait just a bit longer for him to let him process some of his grief first.
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