#lognes

[retrogeographie]

Marne-la-Vallée.

[walker-diaries]

[dreemurr-skelememer]

THEY FINALLY ADDED AU CHARACTER TAGS TO AO3 FOR UTMV!!!! GANG!!!! WE WIN THESE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[starbluethunder]

a sketch of me skunk i just cannot figure out what iwanna do for the colours and patterns.hmm

[laurens-on-your-side]

A. Ham..... :p

Idk man I was in art block then this monstrosity of a man entered my mind Why whywywhyw ahhhhsdfjkds Anyways good evening

[princyvish]

I've been insane over them for three years chat AND NOW IVE FINALLY LEARNED HOW TO DRAW LORD X YAY

[voiceofsword]

assorted doodles (+an edit) for a god au friend and i have been rambling about

[atoriv-art]

😔

[harukapologist]

I don't think I'll ever finish this so have a 1sec long poorly animated Haruka from like December :3

[canarydarity]

(dead end; or, the first thing I've written and completed in nine months. 1587 words)

Wakefulness arrived sullen and unseen, draped over Jimmy’s shoulders like too wet and heavy a coat, leaving him staring at the ceiling for some unknown amount of time before he even became aware that he was awake enough to be doing it. His senses came online one by one, each distilling new information that was somehow all the same: the low thrum of redstone power running through the base and whatever contraptions surrounded it, the tingling numbness of his nerves coming alive after hours without use, the wood grain of the ceiling blending together into one monotonous and dizzying sight—endless static from every direction. 

The day began with the sort of feeling that doesn’t announce itself so much as arrives at the same time you do; it didn’t begin at one particular moment, not exist right up until it did, but rather simply was, imminent and indisputable—like a fact. Or like your shadow. 

Dread was the friend you were embarrassed to be seen with when you ran into someone whose company you really enjoyed, the friend you knew you’d get asked about later and have no good excuses to offer up for their presence. The friend you gave too many chances and always lied through your teeth promising you’d let go. They were crass, they were rude, and they got into your head too easily and spun you around without pointing you in the direction you were meant to be going after. They never paid back the money they borrowed and always lost the things they asked if they could use. Which was to say it was an emotion Jimmy knew didn’t serve him but always too readily gave in to anyway, comfortable sinking because he was too scared to learn how to swim. 

Dread festered like a rotten apple in Jimmy’s stomach, food poisoning churning his insides like spoiled cream into curdled butter, his guts preparing to toss everything vital overboard, empty their coffers, and abandon ship. It sat on his neck like too tight a collar, not quite choking him but providing just enough pressure that every swallow threatened return and every brush of fabric made him brace to expel. It hadn’t come on and it hadn’t given warning, Jimmy had woken up and it was there—and what was worse was he wasn’t surprised. He was barely upset. He just was and the dread was with him. 

Jimmy had the strangest urge to go to the woods. 

Something—someone—clung to him under the sole threadbare blanket their bed and their humble homestead could afford them. After Jimmy had been staring at the ceiling—coming to terms with the feeling of dread crowding him out of his own bed—for who knows how long, the person next to him sighed a sigh too wistful for the morning he was about to wake up into, and stretched like a cat—slowly, one extremity at a time—from sleep into consciousness. His face mashed into Jimmy’s bicep and his arm tugged softly at the squishy part of Jimmy’s side, and Jimmy, for all intents and purposes, kept on staring at the ceiling and settling into his discomfort—awake for longer but somehow still not in charge of his limbs and his being and his existence. 

With a wet sound that said he’d been dead asleep just before, mouth unmoving for hours, Tango said, “Mornin’ early bird,” his voice somehow both rough and smooth at the same time. He rubbed his face more purposefully into Jimmy’s arm. “I like it when I wake up and you’re still here.”

“Do you have anything to do in the woods today?” It didn’t function at all as a response to what had come before it, and Jimmy hadn’t known it was going to come out of his mouth until it had already happened, leaving his brow to furrow and his mouth to tighten into a frown—the first movement he’d been able to perform since becoming aware that he’d been awake. Why hadn’t he gotten up to feed the chickens, the goats, the cows? Gone to the well to pump water for the day? Collected the eggs and started on breakfast? 

Tango opened his mouth and closed it again—not in the way of being about to say something and changing his mind or finding his cue cards blank, but in the way of readjusting to wakefulness, or readjusting before falling under the spell of sleep once more. Anxiety pricked at Jimmy like a needle he kept missing the fabric with, stabbing into the meat of his own thumb more times than he could count, drops of blood staining the corners of the shirt he’d had to mend after one of their cows took a bite right out of it. Don’t fall back asleep. He said, “Tango,” too loud, too urgent, too fast. 

Jimmy counted the seconds until he replied. 

“Mmm, don’t think so.” Tango mumbled until it turned into a yawn. 

Jimmy’s eyes were almost unbearably dry, still staring at the ceiling like he’d forgotten he was allowed to look anywhere else. It took him a moment to remember that he could blink, and then it took him another to remember how, and a comically long third to force his eyelids to shut and open again after. 

“So you won’t be going in them, then?” 

Still not awake enough to really be thinking about what Jimmy was saying any further than providing an answer, Tango offered, “‘spose not,” without understanding the gravity of the situation. 

And the gravity was this: Jimmy woke up and dread woke up with him. He wasn’t anxious, he wasn’t upset, and he wasn’t angry. He had simply come to with a great and mounting sense of apprehension—not a fear but a surety that it was going to provide them nothing but grief—and a strange but unavoidably persistent feeling that he should be in the woods. 

Jimmy swallowed before he spoke again. Threw a glance to the side and tightened the screw of his lips—unsure if he was trying not to cry or trying to convey that his next request was totally normal. “Promise?” 

It was said in the sort of voice you said something when you wanted it to seem lighter than it was, giving away instead every kind of emotional weight you’d placed upon it in one terribly anxious bouquet. Tango’s arm unlatched from Jimmy’s side and slowly pulled all the way across Jimmy’s stomach, until he could flop over onto his back, the two of them lying side by side, overlapping only the slightest from where their arms had been buried beneath Tango a minute before. He sighed. 

Jimmy closed his eyes, then opened them and blinked rapidly a few times. He took a deep breath and told himself he felt fine and it was all in his head until he was sure the contents of both his stomach and his tear ducts alike would stay where they belonged. 

“Sure,” Tango placated. “Whatever you want.” 

Dread was the mistake you pointed out that everyone ignored until it was too late. The place on the stair your foot landed that you knew was about to make you lose your balance and fall. The moment your health reached one heart and you dropped your shield just so that it would be over. It was thinking that something was wrong and only speaking up after the fact; knowing that something bad was going to happen and that you had to let it happen anyway. 

The bed creaked and Tango sat up. He threw his arms over his head until one of his elbows made a noise that popped, and then sighed one final time and looked down at Jimmy, in the same position he’d been in when he woke up some minutes-to-hours ago. “Up and attem—woke up late, better start on those chores.” 

He threw a leg over Jimmy with a small groan, and then did it again and ended with his second leg on the floor, but before he could stand and vacate Jimmy’s space, Jimmy made the very hard and very brave move of latching onto Tango’s arm with both of his hands. He didn’t tug, he just held on. Nearly every inch of Tango’s forearm was covered by Jimmy’s hand or Jimmy’s palm or Jimmy’s fingers. 

Tango turned back to look at him, and for a moment, Jimmy thought he got it. Tango’s eyes looked from Jimmy’s too frantic to be casual grasp to his too peaked to be affectionate stare, and for just a beat, his brow furrowed and his eyes formed a question. And then by the next, it was gone. Tango huffed, Tango smiled, and Tango leaned over Jimmy to ruffle his hair with his unrestrained hand. “Come on, loverboy, gotta go feed the cows.” 

He pulled out of Jimmy’s hands like they’d never been wrapped around him. Too casual, too unconcerned, and too easily. Jimmy watched Tango go, he counted to three, and he moved to get dressed only when he was sure he wouldn’t immediately puke upon the fresh clothes he was about to put on. 

He shoved dread aside until it took up post somewhere out of the way but in the rearview mirror—where he could try and ignore it but would ultimately still feel it backseat drive. Jimmy grabbed the bucket of feed and went to go greet the cows for what hopefully wasn't the last time, and tried not to pay any mind to the trees, watching him from the window beside the bed.

[jude-jespernumber1glazer]

ok gays i finallw draw wesper ‼️‼️🤑 they so silly !!! :333

[walker-diaries]

[wterau-reposts]

WE HAVE THE FAMILY FOR NOW.

WHEN THE ELEVATOR REGRETS LINEUP CONTINUATION SPOILER

[peppzi]

Seeing other ppls operators/drifters that look like fucking supermodels then.. there's.. my.. son. My ugly horrible son. He's hideous.

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

Genuine question, as someone who has characters of my own: how do I get over my embarrassment for having OC’s? I’d never make fun of someone for having them, but whenever it comes across my dash (especially if it’s ship art) I can’t help but… (for lack of a better word), cringe. I love people being creative but it feels like I can’t get over the backlash against things like that.

It's something you have to unlearn, and that's not always easy. I think as a whole, most fandoms are not OC friendly unless it's something like a videogame in which you create the main character from scratch. Most people will stick to already established characters, because that's easy to write. Very few are brave enough to make their own story.

Firstly, l'm going to discuss comics, this is a world of many worlds. DC as example has so many universes, and there's no way I could name them all. I think many of them are numbered, and fans who create their own usually make a numbered or named verse. Like, Codotverse! (if Codot can put his whole voice out there, you can do it too, btw)

Personally, I think the open ended-ness of comic worlds is a positive for fandom. It makes it so anyone can tell a story and despite it being fannon, it's really no less canon than what's in between the pages. Comic writers themselves can't get things straight half the time, heck I've been known to nit pick comics because they forget some fact about Jonathan that SHOULD be well known.

Now, lets talk OCs. The fact is, and this probably sounds mean, people would rather read about Scarecrow or Riddler then -insert Hench character for shipping here-

The reason is as stated above, it's easier to get into. They know what to expect. And unless this OC is someone you've been talking about for years and they have curated their own mini fandom within the fandom, most ARE gonna scroll by. That's sad, I know.

BUT that doesn't mean you should quit or be embarrassed about an OC. People can come to love them, but this usually takes effort and dedication on your part. You are the one and only author and content creator of this OC. Nobody else is gonna make content for them without insensitive. That means you gotta talk talk talk, and draw draw draw, then write write write. MAKE them care. People can very easily come to love and OC,. and i know this for a fact because I used to have my own and I always got asks, people wanted to draw them, or write stories, etc.

The thing is, you gotta embrace being potentiality embarrassing. If you don't take a step forward and put yourself out there, who will? This sounds very internal for you, and it's literally something that is taught to the youngins of fandom very quickly. Fandom, as a whole (think big here) will squash or despise anything that isn't palatable. And what is palatable? that changes often. Usually, fandom is a progressive space but that doesn't mean each and every sect doesn't have issues. Big issues that are spread between a lot of fandoms include misogyny and fetishization. This is why you sometimes see creators and fandom goers attacking canon female love interests and OCs. This is also why you see a huge influx of men being shipped together and any mention of either man loving or having a relationship with a woman is often erased. These two things go hand in hand quiiiite a lot actually. Just, a thing to watch out for and think critically about.

In the end, it boils down to making your audience care amongst a sea of easy to read and already palatable content. You gotta swim against the current. Make a space for yourself, provide something that doesn't exist yet. (for me, it was hi res comic scans)

Basically, don't let the haters win.

[catatonic-chaos-climax]

lgong cnat