In Awe - Blog Posts
*sniffs out any astro art I can find*
YAAAAAAAAAAHAGAHWUEISBDHEODUEINDHEIEHHE
I brought you some sketches.
LEGO Monkie Kid Fand-Home Prints by @Kyri45
These can be found in 3 versions both as prints and T-Shirt on my RedBubble!
ABSOLUTELY ✨✨✨✨
I-I don't even have the words, this is beyond epic yo! ✨:3
Hey peeps, go check em out! They've got amazing content ✨ @lordtraco-fanfics ✨
Teeny tiny ficlet based on this by @panklocalbard
(tw unreality? It gets glitchy)
Emmet
His name was Emmet.
In a thousand realities his name was Emmet.
Alone
He was alone.
In two thousand realities he was alone.
The weight piled on as light streamed in harshly from above him, fracturing into so many colors by the time it reached him. So too did he fracture in the weight of the memories that flooded in.
Desperation after desperation, a million voices all his own were crying out for an answer, a solution. Some shared memories. Wormholes, pokemon, tears in the fabric of reality. Most, like him, had nothing to offer.
Ingo was gone.
That truth was the only unifying factor as the fracturing continued. He was Emmet, had been Emmet, what was he now? Who were they now? A million cries at once, a million colors painting the floor in meaningless shapes.
Ingo was gone.
Their body broke down in the chair, hands clenched together against their forehead as the sob ripped through in a thousand horrendous echoes.
Reality couldn't hold the magnitude, it broke as well. Glitched. Colors desaturated, leaving merely red white and black.
He felt in motion even while still, duplicated yet detached, destroyed yet not dead. Colors, memories, feelings not his own were banished. The game righted itself.
What game?
He was Emmet.
He was alone.
He would find I̶̧̛̮̖̣̠̪̲͙̝̬͍͉̪͚͓̻̤̙̞̙͈͙̩̭̤̤̐̍̾̅̒̓̇̄̓͗̎̇̈́̽̈̽̑̾͌̈́̈́̕̕͜͝͝͠ń̷̢͚̰̝̠̣̭̻̖͍͉͔̹͚͍̬̻̲͓͉͚̪͚̫̫̰̯̔̀̑͑̽̌̂͋̀͂̀̓̄̑̏̔͋̍̈́͆̋͐̔̐͊͘̚̕͜͜͝͝͝ͅͅģ̸͕̠̭̣̪̬̮͕̠͈͍͈͉̙͔̮̻̪̗͎̱̟̩͕͇̬͉͖̪̹͉̠̰̟͈̃̀͌̉̿͆̇̍̈́̀͂̽̈́̑͋͐̅̏̈́͋́͋͌̆͝͝͝ͅǫ̷̧̡̢̛̠͖̞̣̼͈̲̝̮̙͓̫̰̘̰̲̠̳̟̦̰̹̣̜͓͚̹̤̒͊́̈́̒͛͊̂̈́̊̈́͑̓̂̋͋̆͛̓̿͐͛̈́̄̌̀̂͗̈́̓̕͜͜͝͠
Now, that I have my first mutual subscriber, I am so grateful💓 And I'm
French Revolutionaries.
Artist: @/fauxmantis on twitter
Dorian
First, it’s amazing to me that I still don’t remember the TRUE title of this book. I always refer to it just as Dorian, then remember it’s Dorian Gray--completely forgetting it’s actually “The Picture of Dorian Gray”
I love this book so, so much. Forget the ridiculousness of homophobia in general and in the book, for Oscar Wilde to have written this book, have the visual degree he had, the understanding he had--it baffles and bothers me that people really considered anything else except for the pure genius that he was with this story and concerned themselves with other things.
First, for the story, the use of the painting and Dorian as a split between him and his soul is amazing. While he begins his journey with a great lack of understanding, it brings about the idea that without consequences many will go astray--while also pointing out that those who choose to put their value in images or status instead of nature and character are going to be missing the truth about people--warned by Sybil, the painting and Bail’s disbelief of the rumours
Secondly, Dorian’s journey over the 18 years that were inspired by Basil’s painting and Lord Henry’s small chat, along with Dorian’s lack of follow thru to stay with Sybil both before and after her death--what concerns me with this is the reflection that that at that point his fate is sealed. While later true, Dorian and the other characters take the easy way out and similarly to my first point go towards the path of least resistance--in more ways than one, regardless of the logic or lack of behind it.
Finally, and for me, the most awe-striking genius that I continue to be stunned by is the ending where Dorian meets his demise. While I know that our creativity comes from an inspiration within, the ending especially (along with the idea of the painting in general) was so ahead of its time. I am again in awe
