#i've just noticed this trend and

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

[burr-ell]

I'll preface this by saying that I don't by any means begrudge anyone their own personal headcanons or interpretations, but I kinda have to get it off my chest that I'm personally not very comfortable with significant deviations from canon character design on CR, and I really tend to side-eye people who have declared their fanart to be "better".

And sure, some of that is because i'm a cranky old bastard. But some of that is that I also have an animation degree and have studied character design. Creators generally give artists a fair amount of input as to how they want their designs to connote the characters' personalities—not just in terms of clothing or hairstyle, but in the overall shape of the silhouettes and body structures. And in the case of CR in particular, that's coming from a place of much closer familiarity with the characters because the creator is actually going to be embodying them for a fairly long period of time, so when the fan response is heavy deviation from that, I think it can feed into some unhealthy fanon perceptions and projections.

Like, for example, it's not so much that I think fanartists are "disrespecting the creators" or whatever when they keep giving Imogen a sweet little round face and big hips/breasts and cute circular glasses, but I've also studied shape language in art. You're communicating something when you design her this way; if a character's silhouette has a lot of circles, visually that connotes being friendly, sweet, and cute. The person who first suggested drawing her with glasses explicitly said they thought it would look cute—and no shade to them! They can like whatever they want!

But canonically, Imogen is a woman in her 20s who's been dealing with unanswered questions, abandonment, loneliness, and sheer exhaustion from trying to hold back and control powers that she never asked for—and who simultaneously uses those powers even when it isn't necessary if she thinks it'll help her achieve a goal or prove a point. She isn't unfriendly, and she wants to do the right thing, but she's also someone who's consciously chosen to keep to herself for most of her life, and yet simultaneously she's quite adept at persuading and deceiving people. I think we're meant to pick up that sense of world-weariness and cynicism from her angular facial features and thin frame. That's...kind of just how character design works.

I think the trend of disregarding the official art and giving her softer features has had an impact on the perception of Imogen as a character. I see a lot of views of her that really remove a lot of her agency, treating her like she's only ever been a victim of circumstance who's never put a foot wrong. Some fans got pushback for pointing out that it really wasn't cool for Imogen to openly contemplate whether or not the Ruby Vanguard might be right in front of three people who were killed by Otohan, insisting that imogen was just dealing with a lot right then. And yes, she was, but that doesn't mean that the way she was dealing with it doesn't say something about her as a character. I don't know if I'd call it coddling, necessarily (even though perhaps there are some very coddling takes I just haven't seen), but there seems to be some resistance, in some circles, to the idea that Imogen isn't a put-upon martyr. And in those same circles, round friendly-looking glasses-wearing Imogen abounds, to the point of editing the official art itself to "fix it".

Truth be told I'd be willing to bet that the rounder cuter Imogen actually came about because of the initial impression of her, given how much fanon at the start of c3 revolved around poor baby Imogen with her scary nightmares needing the wiser, worldlier Laudna to comfort her and kiss it better, but those visuals also proliferated rather quickly and well beyond past the point where that fanon was feasible anymore, and I think both aspects of that fanon ended up informing each other. It's not lost on me that the rounder and cuter-looking Imogen performs the literal function of sanding down her harder edges.

And like I said, I'm not here to be needlessly negative toward what other people want to do. If you want to draw the characters differently to their official art, I don't think either the cast or the artist are especially offended by it. But I personally dislike it, in part because I think some of these trends are a way for fans to claim a certain amount of ownership over the characters, whether they intend it or not. And the ultimate outcome of that is that when creators inevitably assert their ownership over a deeply personal story in a way that fans don't like, the backlash is much stronger than it reasonably should be, which is something I think the CR fandom has seen often enough not to continue doing as often as it does.

[blacktabbygames]

I've never understood when people complain about an ending being predictable, as if that's strictly a bad thing.

Not every story is supposed to be a guessing game, and often the most powerful endings work because you know they're coming, and the tragedy is watching them unfold with that knowledge.

[total-drama-brainrot]

i love how basically every future! au i've seen has noah divorced from emma.

it's just so funny that, instead of having the two break up amicably after dating for a while and realising they're just not compatible/meant to be, most creators go out of their way to make noah this sad divorced man who fumbled his successful lawyer wife and ended up with the short end of the stick. yes! make this man pathetic and depressed! he's the saddest wet cat in existence!

[howtobecomeadragon]

begging st fanartists to draw dustin with some fuller cheeks........ a cute belly....... a double chin.......

[kingdomoftyto]

....... WAIT. IS THAT LORD MONOCHROMICORN???

[svtskneecaps]

oh also also, baghera getting increasingly french at the end of the timer was so fucking funny and i love her so much, like when her and phil fought and phil killed her and her accent thickened until she abandoned words and made french noises CHEF'S KISS reminds me of when she played outlast w cellbit slime and jaiden and got progressively more french as the night wore on, genuinely had a blast hearing her progressively dropping more and more swears in french

also reminds me of something i THINK i remember, think it was her who said during brazil she kept accidentally speaking french to people because of how close she felt to them

[jamblr-ramblr]

is it like an autism thing to have an unreasonable fear of having your achilleas tendons getting cut? is that in the DNA of neurodivergent folks?

[eldrai]

"Which one is the bottom?" "But who tops?"

do you remember when derek ran into an active bombing site because hotch was down there and needed help. do you remember when hotch told derek he had and always would trust him with his life. do you remember hotch coming with derek in restorations. leaving the door open in profiler, profiled. derek being the one to hold him after foyet. what about "no thanks, I like my job" "you like him more". how hotch's hallucinated fears culminated in derek dying right in front of him, close enough to feel the blood. or derek saying call hotch--not 911, hotch--when they kidnapped him. or the casual touches. every time they share space they have no real reason to other than because the other is there. remember when derek took on some of the paperwork because he knew what it was like to have a single parent, so hotch wouldn't stress? or when hotch heard derek say he'd lied about a body, he'd needed help, and was instantly ready to go? how over and over they always gravitate back to each other? remember when derek said hotch could sometimes be kind of a drill sergeant, softening it with the qualifiers? when hotch tells derek about haley leaving? when derek says to rossi he's going to do whatever hotch needs him to do because he's lost enough? every single time derek is the one to seriously worry about hotch when he's hurt? do you remember all of that?

to answer the question, i don't know. i don't see why it matters, because i think any of the above tells you infinitely more about them.

[naturalkillercyborg]

all lowercase at least one mispeling at least one instance of twowords stuck together misuse of. punctuation

[cryptidafter]

Sometimes I think people forget that stressful situations provide a great opportunity for characters to behave in the ways they normally wouldn't.

I don't think it's odd or OOC for characters to behave erratically or emotionally during a high stress situation or in a high stress environment. A character that's meticulous or well-organized might make a mistake or react before they've thought everything through. When circumstances are outside of the character's control, when their plans don't go the way they envisioned, it's more realistic (imo) to have them behave differently.

It doesn't have to be crying and screaming or making a scene but I want to see some crack in their defenses. Any sort of tell that they are Not Doing Okay. It raises the stakes.

[ifmagicexists]

there's something that bothers me so much whenever i read or see magic reveal concepts that involve "i'm more mad you lied to me than i am about the magic how could you keep such a big secret from me" and i finally realized its because it feels so. dismissive of merlin's struggle? him having to watch people with magic be arrested or executed or burned day after day after day, to listen to the people closest to him so casually refer to it as evil, as though that were an unquestionable fact, having to live every single day less and less sure he could ever be accepted after hiding so long and seeing so much.

like in general but esp as a queer person, seeing these takes that make a magic reveal just about "why didn't you tell me don't you trust me" when actually the characters did not really give merlin much reason to trust they would be accepting (and in fact often in their very reactions demonstrate exactly why he was hesitant), and even if they had he lives!!! in a place where it is literally illegal!!!! like it is so frustrating to constantly see these perspectives where arthur or the knights angrily question why merlin couldn't tell them and merlin just being silent in response, when its so beyond clear how difficult a position merlin was in.

merlin is almost never the main character in his own magic reveal scenarios beyond just worrying about the other person liking him again, and while i get why that is, since its the other person's perspective shifting usually, its still frustrating because its meant to be a culmination of his life's struggle and finally a full realization and acceptance of himself, and i wish we could see more of that: more of merlin's own messy emotions towards having to hide for so long, over fearing his own friends, over suppressing who he is, over getting used to being open about it for the first time in his entire life.

[the-poppy-outie-effect]

Begging yall to keep Pigsy's characterization in your freenoodles content

Yes, he's a sweetheart and madly in love with Tang, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still a grumpy middle aged man and Will React As Such. More grumpy middle aged man Pigsy characterization please, it's very important

[13eyond13]

Hi I noticed you have been in the deathnote fandom for a long time. Do you know some changes the fandom/ships went through? I already know that the misogyny towards misa used to be terrible

Thanks 🙏

Hi! Yes, I've been here a long time lmao So from what I can recall things have actually stayed pretty remarkably the same when it comes to the popularity of the ships and dynamics in this series. Lawlight has always been the most popular ship, followed closely by M2 (Matt x Mello). However back in the mid/late 2000s it was different in terms of certain things, like the way the ships were referred to. For example, there was no such thing as a nickname for a ship as a whole back then - you didn't call it "Lawlight," you called it either "L/Light" or "Light/L." You had to specify which of the two you liked as the top by putting their name at the start of the pairing. They were treated almost like they were two entirely different ships, and people would definitely get upset if you weren't terribly careful about specifying this when posting shippy fics and things. This changed sometime between 2009-2012, maybe? Possibly around when "Brangelina" and celebrity couple nicknames like that became a thing in pop culture, lol. I am personally glad things are no longer this fussy about labeling and defining the ships, because I find it dumb and possibly a bit offensive towards gay folks to be that obsessive about their bedroom dynamics above all else. But I definitely still see people get very particular about their preferences for this stuff when it comes to their discussions of the ships these days too, so I might be the odd one out here. Overall I'd say tolerance towards diversity of the pairings and appreciation of the more minor characters has increased? Stuff like pairing L with Matsuda or having het ships like B x Naomi wasn't terribly common back then, from what I remember. People won't hate on you and fight with you as much for daring to enjoy depicting the characters with somebody other than their fave in a story or a piece of art nowadays, either (like "how dare you pair L with somebody other than Light!" - this was a very common thing to hear back in the early fandom days, and people would often act like you were "cheating" on a character by shipping them with somebody other than the character they decided they belonged with.) And fans have also started showing more appreciation for the female characters and attempting to be more inclusive toward them than they used to be. There is a bit less hatred of characters like Near and more shipping of him now as well. Many people were extremely dismissive of him back in the day, and he has definitely grown in popularity over time.

In general I think the fandom has chilled out and diversified and become more tolerant and deeper and more accurate with the characterization in its discussion of the series overall, but I still often will see the exact same takes and trends and tastes and arguments going on now as I used to see back in 2008. Especially when I step outside of the Tumblr bubble and back into a broader/more casual group of fans talking about the series and their faves.

[uncanny-tranny]

Maybe it's just me, but part of why I never really felt completely secure in being public about my own artistic endeavors was how... being proud of yourself in any capacity for any reason is almost a faux pas, if that makes sense.

I've noticed how it's almost expected to perform the air of humility, but is that humility? Is it humility to say, "Oh, I'm sorry for clogging your feed with my awful art" or anything to the effect of self-deprecation?

I think that's why I so often gravitate toward those who make "bad art." There's a sense of freedom that is only achieved with the level of hubris that being unashamed in the number of people who hate your art. I wonder, though, how many people don't hate the art as much as they hate that they can't chastise the artist into humility, into recognizing how "terrible" an artist they "actually" are?

[trangenderstan]

Ironically, there needs to be more actually blind Stan Blind Faith content. For some reason it’s so hard to find a single fic of Stan actually just. Not seeing anything. Having to learn to navigate his surroundings with one of the most important organs rendered useless. It would be such a great character arc, for him to start out hating the development, thinking his life is ruined forever, but then as time passes realize that with all his struggle some advantages came as well. He can hear better, he can feel better, the world around him is different now. And as much as he wishes to see it again, he learns to adapt. To live and to thrive and to enjoy life in his own way. I just feel like it’s such a powerful story to tell instead of bringing him back to zero with a prosthetic or, even worse, having his sight just magically come back