#Accurate PTSD portrayal by PTSD having author

[fanficfactory333]

Fnaf x Gravity Falls: Ch. 2

Michael hadn’t expected to survive his conversation with Stan Pines.

Now, he wasn’t entirely sure surviving this was any better.

"Alrighty, Mister Mystery!" Mabel declared, throwing open a door with a dramatic flourish. "Welcome to the official Mystery Shack Tour™! Hosted by me, Mabel Pines, and my assistant-slash-future-investigative-journalist twin brother, Dipper!"

Dipper, who was already writing something in a notepad, didn’t look up. "I didn’t agree to that title."

"Too late! You’ve been promoted!"

Michael stood in the doorway, arms loosely crossed, watching the twins with mild exhaustion. He wasn’t opposed to a tour, exactly. He just… didn’t really know what to do with all this energy. Mabel had enough enthusiasm to power a small city, and Dipper’s suspicious eyes were practically burning holes into his skull.

Still. It was better than being back in that alley.

"Okay!" Mabel continued, "This is the gift shop, aka the hub of all things weird and slightly overpriced!" She gestured around them at the cluttered shelves stacked with ridiculous merchandise—shirts, keychains, snow globes, and things that probably counted as taxidermy but definitely shouldn’t.

Michael raised an eyebrow at a jar labeled Authentic Bigfoot Toenails!

He was really hoping that was a scam.

Mabel, blissfully unaware of his concern, picked up a hat from a rack. "Ooh! You should totally wear one of these!" She plopped a bright green trucker hat that read I ❤ TENTACLES onto Michael’s head.

Michael blinked. He reached up, slowly removed the hat, and handed it back to her.

"No thanks."

Mabel shrugged, "Your loss! Okay, moving on!"

As she bounded toward the next room, Michael noticed Dipper still watching him.

Dipper scribbled something down in his notepad.

Michael’s eye twitched.

They followed Mabel into what was clearly the main tourist area. A large wax figure of a lumberjack loomed over them, and various bizarre exhibits were crammed into every available space. Some were clearly fake (like the "REAL MERMAID TAIL," which was obviously a fish glued to a mannequin leg), while others were… less obviously fake.

Michael eyed a shrunken, mummified-looking thing labeled Genuine Chupacabra!

It looked real.

Which was mildly concerning.

Dipper cleared his throat, "So, Michael," he said, in what was definitely a forced casual tone. "What exactly do you do? Y’know. For a living."

Michael exhaled, "I fix things."

Dipper’s pencil scratched across the notepad, "Fix things how?"

"Mechanics. Electronics. Stuff like that."

"Hmmm." Dipper narrowed his eyes.

Michael fought the urge to sigh.

Mabel, meanwhile, had climbed onto a display labeled The World’s Most Distrustful Owl! It was a taxidermy owl with the most judgmental glassy stare Michael had ever seen.

"Fun fact!" Mabel announced, "This room? Totally haunted!"

Michael frowned, "Haunted?"

"Yup! Every time we try to clean it, stuff flies off the shelves, and sometimes the exhibits move when we’re not looking!" She grinned, "We love our poltergeist. We call him Jeff!"

Michael slowly turned toward Dipper, "Is she joking?"

Dipper sighed. "I wish."

Michael stared at them. Then at the owl. Then at the shrunken chupacabra.

This town was actually insane.

Dipper suddenly flipped a few pages in his notepad, "So. If you fix things, do you also, say… build things?"

Michael’s muscles tensed before he could stop himself.

Dipper noticed.

Michael kept his voice even, "Sometimes."

Dipper nodded slowly, jotting something down.

Michael clenched his jaw, "Are you writing about me?"

Dipper snapped the notepad shut, "No."

Michael stared.

Dipper stared back.

Mabel, still on the display, whispered, "Yes."

Michael exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

Mabel hopped down and looped her arm through his, dragging him forward, "Okay, enough with the detective nonsense! Time for the next stop on the tour—the living quarters!"

Michael didn’t have the energy to fight it.

Dipper, however, was still watching him.

Still scribbling notes.

Michael really needed a cigarette.

Michael followed them up the creaky staircase to the Shack’s living quarters, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The upstairs was… homey. Messy, but lived-in. The kind of place that wasn’t just a house, but an actual home. The thought made something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

Mabel practically skipped ahead, throwing her arms wide, "Ta-da! Welcome to the super exclusive Mystery Shack VIP lounge! Also known as our house!"

Michael glanced around. There was a small couch, an old TV, a cluttered kitchen space, and—oh. A lot of handmade decorations. Some with glitter. Some with googly eyes. Most of them probably Mabel’s doing.

"That’s our room," Mabel continued, pointing to a door covered in stickers and doodles, "Grunkle Stan’s room is off-limits, unless you like getting yelled at or possibly trapped in a death maze of laundry."

Michael huffed, "Noted."

Dipper, still eyeing Michael like a science experiment, leaned against the wall and tapped his pencil against his notepad.

"So," he said, too casually, "If you're just passing through, where exactly were you before this?"

Michael tensed but kept his face neutral, "A lot of places."

Dipper hummed, writing something down, "Mhm. And before that?"

Michael exhaled slowly, "Still a lot of places."

Dipper narrowed his eyes, "And before that—"

Mabel suddenly popped up between them, "Okay, Agent Mulder, ease up on the third degree!"

Dipper frowned, "Mabel, you were the one who literally asked if he was a half-bear raised by the woods ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, but that was fun!"

Michael shook his head slightly, leaning back against the wall, "I don’t mind questions," he muttered.

Dipper gave him a skeptical look.

Michael regretted the words almost instantly.

Because then Dipper tilted his head and asked, "Alright. What’s your last name?"

The world froze for half a second.

Michael’s stomach dropped. His fingers curled into fists in his pockets.

His last name.

Afton.

William Afton.

His father, the serial killer. His father, the monster. His father, who wasn’t just a ghost from the past but an actual thing still hunting him down.

Michael couldn’t say his real name.

He knew the case wasn’t widely known outside of Utah, but it wasn’t obscure enough to be safe. All it would take was Dipper remembering some random article, or Mabel looking it up online, and suddenly—

No.

He had to lie.

It had to be simple.

Something normal.

Michael inhaled through his nose and said, "Schmitt. Mike Schmitt."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew they weren’t convincing.

Dipper’s pencil stopped moving.

Michael resisted the urge to wince. He used to be better at this. Used to be able to lie like it was second nature. But after everything—after dying, after being alone for so long—he was out of practice. And Dipper knew it.

Mabel, completely oblivious, gasped, "Ooooh, fancy! Very businessman-y!"

Dipper, however, was still staring at Michael.

Michael met his gaze, keeping his face blank.

Dipper squinted.

Michael forced himself not to fidget.

Dipper slowly, slowly wrote down Mike Schmitt in his notepad.

Underlined it.

Then tapped his pencil against the page, "Huh."

Michael clenched his jaw, "What?"

Dipper just shrugged, still watching him, "Nothing. Just… You hesitated."

Michael’s stomach twisted, "No, I didn’t."

Dipper smirked, "Yeah. You did."

Michael exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm, "It’s not a crime to pause before answering a question, kid."

"Sure," Dipper said, "Unless you’re lying."

Michael rolled his shoulders, pushing off the wall, "Believe what you want."

Dipper tapped his notepad, thinking, "Okay. If that’s your last name, then what’s your middle name?"

Michael stiffened again.

Shit.

Mabel clapped a hand over Dipper’s mouth. "Dipper, NO! What if it’s embarrassing?!"

Dipper mumbled something through her palm.

Michael took the opportunity to compose himself, "Jeremy," he said, the first thing that came to mind.

Mabel gasped dramatically, "You do have an embarrassing middle name!"

Michael groaned, "It’s not embarrassing."

Mabel grinned, "It’s kinda embarrassing."

Dipper, now free from Mabel’s grip, was still watching Michael way too closely. His expression wasn’t amused.

It was calculating.

Michael knew that look.

It was the look of someone figuring things out.

Dipper had no proof. Not yet. But he knew something was off.

And Michael had a feeling he wasn’t going to let it go.

Just as the tension between Michael and Dipper was reaching a breaking point, Stan’s voice rang out from downstairs.

"Hey, knuckleheads! Dinner’s ready! Get down here before it gets cold!"

Mabel immediately perked up. "Ooh! Food time!"

Dipper, still eyeing Michael with suspicion, slowly shut his notepad. He didn’t put it away—just tucked it under his arm, like he was planning to pick up this conversation later.

Michael, however, didn’t move.

Because this—this was a problem.

Dinner meant sitting at a table. It meant eating. It meant taking off his mask.

And Michael couldn’t do any of that.

He hadn’t eaten in years. Couldn’t. The thought of food—of trying to force something into a body that no longer functioned—made his stomach churn, or at least, made the space where his stomach used to be feel wrong. He’d tried once. A long time ago. It had… not gone well.

But even if he could eat, there was still the matter of his face.

His decayed, unnatural, rotting face.

His ribs were wrapped in bandages. His arms and neck were mostly covered. His gloves hid the worst of his hands. But his face?

There was no hiding that once the mask came off.

And there was no way the Pines family wouldn’t notice.

"You coming, Michael?" Mabel asked, already halfway out the door.

Michael inhaled sharply, "I—"

Think. Think.

He couldn’t refuse outright. That would be weird. Suspicious.

He needed a reason.

Something normal. Something believable.

Something—

His mind latched onto the simplest answer, "I already ate."

Mabel blinked, "What? When?"

Michael forced a shrug, "Before I ran into you guys."

Dipper frowned, "You ate before meeting us?"

Michael nodded.

Dipper squinted, "In an alley?"

Michael clenched his jaw, "Yes."

Dipper scribbled something in his notepad, "Huh."

Michael resisted the urge to groan.

Mabel, meanwhile, just grinned, "Aw, man! You missed out! Grunkle Stan’s spaghetti is legendary!"

Dipper scoffed, "It’s literally just canned pasta with a suspicious amount of pepper in it."

"Exactly! Legendary!"

Mabel grabbed Dipper’s wrist and tugged him toward the stairs, "Well, suit yourself, Mike Schmitt! But if you change your mind, there’s always leftovers!"

Michael exhaled slowly, "I’ll keep that in mind."

Mabel and Dipper disappeared downstairs, their voices fading into the sounds of plates clattering and Stan grumbling about free-loading teenagers.

Michael stayed behind.

He leaned against the wall, staring at the floor, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides.

That was close.

Too close.

And this was only the first time.

If he stayed here, this would keep happening. They would notice. Eventually, they’d realize he never ate. Never drank. Never took his mask off.

And then what?

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a gloved hand over his face.

He needed a better plan.

Because if they started asking the wrong questions…

He didn’t know what he’d do.

The voices downstairs faded into a dull hum.

Michael stood in the dimly lit hallway, unmoving, shoulders tight. His gloved hands twitched at his sides before slowly rising to his head, fingers threading into his messy, dark brown hair.

This was bad.

This was so, so bad.

He hadn’t thought about this—hadn’t considered something as simple as dinner being an issue. He’d been so focused on staying hidden, staying ahead, staying alive that he hadn’t planned for something as normal as sitting at a table with people who weren’t trying to kill him.

And now, everything felt like it was closing in.

He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t take off the mask.

He couldn’t let them find out what he was.

They wouldn’t understand.

They’d look at him with horror. Disgust.

They’d see what was underneath. The rot. The wrongness.

And then—

Then they’d throw him out. Or worse, try to help. Try to fix him, as if he weren’t already beyond fixing.

His breathing hitched, something cold pressing against his ribs. His own mind was betraying him, forcing him to remember—

A metal arm. A sharp, piercing pain. The sound of something wet and tearing. The moment he’d stopped being a person and started being—

Michael clenched his jaw, his hands tugging at his hair.

Stop. Just stop.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders curling inward, his breath coming faster despite his body’s lack of actual need for oxygen.

He wasn’t human anymore.

Hadn’t been for a long time.

And yet, for some stupid reason, for the briefest second—

He’d let himself forget.

For a moment, sitting in the Mystery Shack, watching Mabel bounce around and Dipper scowl over his notes, he’d let himself feel… normal.

That had been a mistake.

Because he wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t anything anymore.

A hollow shell, filled with something unnatural. Something wrong.

Something that should’ve stayed dead.

He gritted his teeth, gripping his hair tighter, nails digging into his scalp through his gloves.

Then, a voice.

"Michael?"

He didn’t move.

"Are you suuuure you’re not hungry? There’s plenty—"

Mabel’s voice cut off.

Michael didn’t respond.

Didn’t react at all.

Mabel took a step closer. The room was dim, but even in the low light, she could see him shaking slightly, hands tangled in his hair, his whole body hunched in on itself.

Something was wrong.

Her stomach twisted, "Michael?"

No response.

It was like he didn’t even hear her.

Mabel’s eyes widened, concern overtaking her usual cheer, "Michael?" She tried again, softer this time, "Hey, are you okay?"

Nothing.

Her heart skipped.

She’d seen Dipper panic before—boy howdy, had she seen it—but this was different. This wasn’t someone just thinking too hard. This was bad.

And she didn’t know what to do.

So, she did the only thing she could do.

She reached out, carefully, and placed a hand on his arm.

"Hey," she said gently, "Come back to us, okay?"

[actual-changeling]

Trauma and mental illness are interesting, complex topics that are challenging but also incredibly rewarding to explore and TLOU does it in a way that feels incredibly true to my own experiences. It's respectful, accurate, and they write it into the characters instead of slapping it onto them like a magnet before pulling it off again whenever they feel like it.

So if you take those characters and write your own stories and explore them your way, it should be a given to treat them and those experiences with the same respect that a) the writers have given them and b) mentally ill people in general deserve.

Apparently it is not, though, and that is a problem.

Ellie in particular has gone through several insanely traumatizing experiences that are horrible for anyone to experience, let alone a child, and those instances also happen to *real people*. If you take Ellie, a fictional character, and write about her trauma and abuse in general in a way that is fetishizing, offensive, inaccurate, or outright misery porn, actual people who went through those exact things will see it and they will feel like shit.

PTSD and other mental illnesses are not funny, they are not plot devices, they are not something you should write about lightly. There NEEDS to be a basic understanding of how those disorders function and how they affect a person, you cannot just write about Ellie's experiences with sexual assault and turn it into nothing but a disrespectful, warped portrayal of abuse.

Abuse of *any* kind should never just be a plot device to hurt a character with. Abuse is *not* funny, you should not *enjoy* writing about a character actively being traumatized. I enjoy writing angst because I love eliciting emotional reactions from people in a way that's consensual and safe, but I have never, not ONCE enjoyed hurting a character or writing about them being abused. I have first-hand experiences with how badly abuse can fuck you up, and I also know how horrible it makes you feel when those experiences are trivialized or fetishized.

If you do not feel confident that you can write about those topics in a respectful and accurate manner - don't. Do not write about it at all unless you know that someone who went through that exact thing can read it and not come out the other side feeling dehumanized and fetishized.

I am not saying this to be mean or insulting, I am speaking as both a trauma survivor and a fanfiction author about topics that are of personal importance to me. I have zero interest in participating in drama on tumblr of all places (or any website), so if my post makes you angry maybe just think about why you think it applies to you/angers you and leave me alone. I can and will block people without hesitation, this is my tumblr blog.

To those that DO write respectful portrayals: Thank you, I love you, keep doing what you are doing.

[sonderismo]

I set a goal to read 12 books this year.

I don’t remember how many books I read last year but it couldn’t have been more than four. At present I only remember one (and refuse the idea that I’ve only read just the one). So a goal was set: twelve books, one a month and I’d be satisfied. However, I’ve exceeded my expectations and have read five books as of last night. The books:

1. Vicious by V.E. Schwab - my first book by this author. I technically started it late December and finished it January first. It counts, right?

2. Juniper & Thorn by Ava Reid - also a first timer for both the author and the genre (although I heard that Wuthering Heights could be considered a gothic novel and I’ve read that). It took me a moment to get into it and I skimmed the last chapter. I’ve found that it still stuck with me regardless.

3. Normal People by Sally Rooney - another first. It was interesting but I found the end unsatisfying. I still like it for what it is; an accurate portrayal of what it’s like to be a normal person and what that entails (miscommunication being their biggest weakness).

4. Heir by Sabaa Tahir - I’ve read the Ember Quartet…sort of. I never finished the last book but not because I disliked it. Life just happened. I managed to binge Heir and although I disliked some things (the insta love was a turn off), I’m looking forward to the sequel.

5. Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut - A friend recommended this. It’s not what I usually read but it definitely made me want to get into more Literary Fiction and read more of this author’s books. An excellent portrayal of PTSD through time travel and a take on death that was somehow light in spite of the horrors. So it goes.

And that’s on reading a book a month. I doubt I’ll stick to the pace I set for January (four books in one month was insane) but hopefully I can continue with this. I have a few recommendations and have been lent some books that will probably be next on my TBR. Some I’m not excited to read some I’m neutral about and some I’m excited to experience. I’ll continue updating as I go.

It turns out I’m a yapper and since Vent shut down, I have nowhere to yap in. I figured I’d make this side blog to throw words in and not bother anyone.

[ddejavvu]

thank god. thank you, seriously. i’ve noticed a lot of writers getting super mad/just being dicks about it (and then their followers ganging up) whenever someone dared to say that their tlou fics were super out of character. like sure, it was a good fic, they are good writers, but it was just a story with their name popped in it, that was as far as it went. clearly (and obviously because they clarified it) only watches the show and just went damn that’s a hot dude let me hop on that action. they just didn’t get it or wouldn’t both to get it. okay, sure, you are making him do and say things that trigger his ptsd. like excuse me for getting uncomfortable about that. so thank you for getting that this is not just a sexy little story. it is an extremely complex and heartbreaking tale. so sorry if some people take a story as sad and beautiful as that one too seriously.

okay okay hot take: i think it's important to make the distinction between game joel and show joel!! especially because we don't have the rest of the show yet. so it's totally fine and fair for people to not want to watch the gameplay, it just means that they won't have reference to his full, accurate character, and therefore aren't writing for game joel, but only for this specific instance of tv joel. i think that's fine, i don't think that everyone should be forced to watch the gameplay (i'm also not implying that you think that way either!), i just think the two characters should be looked at separately (at least for right now, until the show finishes and people are more aware of his entire story/arc) if they're so different thus far! i personally would like to watch the gameplay and join the two portrayals of his character in my fics, because i have a crippling fear of writing ooc characters, but i know there are authors out there who don't want to watch it, and don't care if their fics aren't 100% game-accurate, and that's fine! they just need to accept that they're going to be writing for a completely different character than he is in the game, yk?

[cannibalisticapple]

So got a new word for all fan fiction writers that NEEDS to enter common lexicon, courtesy of @cocoa-nerd​:

Angstgoat

Portmanteau of “angst” and “scapegoat”. The act of making a character subject to massive amounts of angst, whether it’s worsening canon examples of troubled backstories and sometimes even adding extra trauma, for no reason other than cheap and easy drama.

Examples include:

Giving characters whose families are never seen abusive families, and sometimes even changing a character’s canonically loving parent(s) to be physically abusive and neglectful

Killing off loving family members at a young age to remove any support network for all the other angst they deal with

Reviving parents who canonically died when the character was young/before their birth but CLEARLY loved the child, and STILL making them abusive/neglectful for some reason (looking at you in particular, Naruto fandom)

Increased amounts of bullying and/or social ostracization, to the point of outright murder attempts (still looking at you, Naruto fandom)

Changing a major backstory element that was the source of bullying/ostracization, but adding a new one so they’re still subject to that same trauma as canon (looking at you, MHA fandom with Quirk!Izuku fics)

Exaggerating ANY negative aspect of their backstory to make it as horrific as possible

Adding brand new traumatic events that were never even implied in canon on top of everything else

Changing a character’s backstory to make it needlessly more traumatic while not changing their characterization from canon at all to reflect said increased trauma

Discrimination is not only prevalent and much STRONGER than ever implied in canon, but somehow the main cast is totally unaware of it

Oppression against this character is not only played up but suddenly the societal norm and even reflected in laws (looking at you, Quirkless!Izuku fics) (seriously we still talk about that scene where a movie theater manger backhands Izuku and then dumps soda on him)

Absolutely no one else around them EVER gets punished for abusive behavior or outright attempted murder targeted at this character due to said oppression

Completely altering some characters’ canon personalities so THEY can become a direct source of additional trauma and oppression, whether in backstory or in the story’s main events. This can be by making THEM bigots and jerks, or making them giant incompetent idiots who make things worse because they don’t understand the issue (looking at all the MHA fics where All Might completely brushes off students’ comments)

Time travel fics that have the character’s life end up even WORSE than canon even before reaching the canon timeline (seriously, kidnapped and spent three years in a death arena?? BEFORE THE CHARACTER IS EVEN 10??)

(Trigger warning) Sudden sexual trauma, abuse and predation, whether in present or backstory, PURELY for extra angst. The author/story doesn’t address the full ramifications of such an event beyond “it makes them feel even worse”. This is especially true for genderbent fics

Making canon events go far worse with no reason other than to increase the suffering. Note it usually doesn’t involve characters dying, and the "worse” applies MAINLY to the protagonist/angstgoat

Having villains hyper-focus on the protagonist and start hunting them down from the very first encounter to either recruit, torment, or both

Having said character end up kidnapped by said villains at a young age and forced to work with them, while being abused and mocked and giving them absolutely no reason to have any actual loyalty to their organization

Give actual medical diagnoses of conditions like depression, anxiety, PTSD, etc. as a result of all this trauma, with bare-minimum research on symptoms and accurate portrayals

And so much more.

Many of these things can work fine on their own, and even work together in the hands of an experienced and skilled writer. However, most fanfics will mix and match multiple examples of the above as cheap and easy sources of drama without ever going into the full ramifications of such changes.

Many writers seem to mistake “angst” with “adversity”.

They use angst to add not only an easy resource for drama (from the writer’s perspective), but also make things more “challenging” for the character as they overcome it.

Thing is, they do it in a way that cheapens the severity of real issues. Many stories feature abuse almost casually from a writing standpoint. The sudden presence of abusive families and increased murder attempts and hospitalizations by classmates doesn’t change the character’s personality significantly from their canon personality. Many times it just makes them better at first aid, or ends with them being socially awkward and having a stutter. Other times it goes to the other extreme, to the point said character is barely functional due to the trauma and should be in therapy instead of whatever the story has them doing.

It’s done more for the reactions of other characters around them, who get righteously furious at the obvious mistreatment of the protagonist. That’s what I mean by it being a “cheap and easy source of drama”: it still centers around the protagonist’s direct suffering, rather than anyone or anything else in the plot.

That’s the key thing about angstgoats: every single bad thing that happens in the fic, happens to the main character. Sometimes other characters will get more severe injuries or get pulled into bad situations with them, to highlight that the whole world is bad, but it always comes back to their connection to the protagonist. They come out of every situation worse than before.

Rather than highlighting how bad a certain situation or circumstance is, when you pile up angst like that, it becomes almost comical. Even now, there’s a discussion on my Discord server about one of the fics I referenced and all the unnecessary angst. We’re not discussing “Oh, X is a horrible thing to happen”, we’re discussing how unrealistic and frankly ridiculous a lot of the details are. And I KNOW that wasn’t the author’s intent, just like many other fanfics with angstgoats.

Angst isn’t a bad thing, but there are some topics that need to be approached with more care than they often are. Don’t mistake “angst” for “adversity”.

So let’s get “angstgoat” in the fandom lexicon!

[softspeirs]

lost your head (inside your heart): speirs x reader one-shot

Pairing: Eventual Ron Speirs x Female Combat Medic!Reader, other platonic relationships. Rating: PG-13 to be safe - mentions of war-typical violence and PTSD. Summary: Post-war Easy officers reunion + you. Disclaimer: Absolutely no offense or disrespect intended to the real men of Easy Company. The characters here are based on the HBO miniseries and the actors’ portrayal. Author’s Note: This is my first BoB story! Please note this isn’t an accurate timeline of any of the Easy officers’ lives after they came back to the States. Additionally, to my knowledge, there were no American female combat medics during World War II, but there were field nurses close to the front lines in some theaters, so that’s where I came up with the idea for our reader’s story. I did some research to make this as realistic as possible, but as for the reader’s role with Easy, please suspend your disbelief briefly!

Spring, 1946

Heart racing, you sit upright in bed, the sound of crickets from the half-opened window filling your ears.

It’s too quiet.

You shake off the remnants of your nightmare - faces and voices you haven’t seen in years swimming behind your closed eyelids.

You’re not sure how much longer you can go on like this.

A creak in the hallway has you freezing, snapping to alertness before you remember there’s nothing to be scared of anymore. Not anymore. Even though the shadows look like enemy soldiers, even though your worst days and nights of the war return to you in your dreams, you force yourself to calm down.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay…” You repeat it over and over again until you start to believe it.

You know it was your father in the hallway. He never comes in, never knocks on the door and asks if you’re okay. He knows you’re not, but he keeps it quiet.

You’ve never felt this kind of hopelessness before.

When will it end? When will the nightmares stop? When will you stop reaching for the arm of someone next to you, only to remember that you’re not in a foxhole in Bastogne anymore? When will you get used to the quiet and stillness of the nights instead of spending every night anticipating the next shell or missing the mindless chatter of your brothers?

Giving up on sleep, you straighten your nightgown and tug on the silk robe hanging from your bedpost and head to the kitchen.

A cup of tea might help.

Sitting at the kitchen table, you force your breath to get back to normal. The mug is warm in your palms, and it calms you slightly.

Another creak.

“It’s late,” your father says as he sits across from you.

“Can’t sleep.”

He watches you carefully. “It will get better.”

You meet his eyes, wary. You see the recognition there, and you have to remind yourself that he’s been through this, too.

“I miss them.” You don’t specify who. Take your pick, you think bitterly. You miss the men. You miss your friends, the ones who gave you rough but affectionate goodbyes before you came home, the ones who didn’t come home at all.

“I know,” he says softly. “Perhaps it’s time for a visit?”

You sit up straight. It never even crossed your mind. Your mind immediately flashes to Bill and Joe and Babe - Philly wasn’t too far away, but then you feel guilty thinking of the other guys you’d be missing.

“I’ll make a call tomorrow,” you tell your father. The prospect of seeing your friends again, whoever you could manage to contact, had you feeling lighter than you had in months.

.

.

.

“How did you get this number?” A joyous voice says in your ear, “I know I didn’t give it to you.”

“You’re not the only one with Intelligence experience, Nix.” You reply dryly. “Plus, your name is on the building. It wasn’t hard to look you up.”

He laughs. “Fair enough. How are you doing?” His voice softens, concerned. You hate that even over the phone, he can read you so well.

“How are you doing?” You retort, but there’s no heat behind it. “Staying out of trouble?”

“Not a bit.” A few beats pass, “Need to get out of town?”

Embarrassingly, you feel your throat get tight as tears well in your eyes. The prospect of seeing someone, anyone from your unit again has relief sweeping through you. “Nix…” You choke out, and he tuts over the phone.

“I know. You’re okay,” he says, as if he knows your own mantra, “Hang in there and get on the next train to New Jersey. I’ll pick you up.”

You can’t even speak. You’re so-- you don’t even know what you’re feeling. Relief, anticipation, grief, loneliness. It’s all too much.

“Try to get some sleep tonight, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

.

.

.

The last time you’d been on a train, you’d been in your uniform, pressed and starched to within an inch of its life, your hair neatly curled and pinned. The smile on your face had been forced, as had the calm you tried to exude as the train car was packed with people, all of them rejoicing in their sons and brothers and husbands coming home.

No one looked twice at the nurse, no one had any idea that she was moved from the aid station to being a combat medic when numbers grew thin. No one had any idea that she trained in Toccoa with paratroopers and could keep up with the best of them.

No, you were just another face in the crowd when you came home, and that was fine with you. You just never felt so isolated as you did then.

It feels similar, now, but you feel the anxiousness swell when the conductor announces your stop.

Gaze frantically scanning the platform, you see a familiar head of dark hair, though it’s still a shock to see him in civilian clothing. Your heart rate speeds up when he spots you through the window, a relieved smile spreading on his face.

You don’t remember getting your bag and being helped down off the train.

The next thing you know, you’re dropping your bag and being swept off your feet in the tightest, most comforting hug you’ve felt in months.

You start to cry.

“Jesus Christ, it’s good to see you.” He mumbles, and you release him so you can see his face. He looks a little emotional himself, though you know if you pointed it out he’d glare at you. “You alright?”

“Just-- I’m happy to see you, too.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

His arm loops around your shoulder as he picks up your suitcase and directs you towards a car. The ride back to his house is quiet, just the two of you enjoying being in each other’s company again. He points out a few sights, and you relish in hearing him talk.

“Got a surprise,” he says after he parks in front of the Nixon family home. “Come on.”

Instead of going inside the house, he leads you down the gravel driveway and into the backyard. “You hate surprises,” you say, and he snorts.

“It’s not for me, short stuff.”

You’re stopped dead in your tracks by familiar silhouettes lounging on the back porch. Winters, Welsh, Lipton, and Speirs. They’re here -- laughing at something Harry has just said, and you round on Nixon.

“I swear if this is just some ploy to get me to cry for an entire day--”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I know better than to get you mad at me. Look, you sounded-- I just thought you’d be happy to have some friends around. They’ve been badgering me to get together anyway.” He watches as you take a deep breath. “Go on.” He nudges you. “They’re waiting for you.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you pull yourself together and will yourself not to cry in front of the men you respect and care for more than anyone else in the world.

You take a few cautious steps forward until Harry sees you, and he’s on his feet before you can say anything, the others following close behind.

“Hot damn, look at you,” Harry says, and then you’re swept into another bone crushing hug.

You’re passed around, even hugged by a smiling Ron Speirs, the sight so unfamiliar it almost brings you to tears all over again.

Lip’s hand gripping yours, you meet Winters’ eye.

“I can’t believe you’re all here.”

“Someone had to make sure Nix wasn’t drinking himself to death,” Harry says dryly, avoiding the punch Nix sends to his shoulder.

“We’ve got food and drinks,” Lip says quietly so you can hear. “Let’s go catch up.”

Inside, you’re momentarily shocked by the state of the house - it’s nothing like what you thought it would be when Nixon invited you to stay with him for a few days.

“How are things at home?” Winters asks, kind eyes meeting yours.

You shrug. “Fine, I suppose.”

He gives you that look that says he knows you’re lying.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Even though he’s not your commanding officer anymore, you still feel like you can’t be totally candid with him. “My mother-- she doesn’t understand. My brother doesn’t really, either.”

You feel the others’ eyes on you.

“My brother got pushed through by our grandfather. Went to officer’s school straight away and was promoted before he even got overseas. He never spent any time in combat. Just one close call during troop transport. I know he had-- he had other experiences that have stuck with him, but how do I explain…” you trail off.

Lip’s hand has found yours again, giving it a comforting squeeze. “We’re all dealing with that,” he says quietly. “No one really knows what to say or do.”

You nod. “I know. It’s just-- hard.” You huff, “my mother can’t understand why I don’t want to go to parties and get married.” You spit the last word, and the men all laugh, save for Ron, whose face shutters a little.

It goes unnoticed by you, but not by Nixon. His job is to be observant, after all.

You sigh. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. Please. Let’s talk about something else.”

Harry ushers you into a chair, drinks are poured, and there’s food - for the first time in weeks you actually have an appetite.

They tell you about their jobs, about their girls, about adjusting to life now. You mention you went to San Francisco to visit Joe Liebgott almost immediately when you got back - he was back in the States before you and had a letter waiting for you at your family home before you even got in the door.

At some point, Ron excuses himself to smoke, and with a nudge from Nixon when Harry and Dick are distracted, you follow, a frown on your face when you realize how quiet he’s been since you showed up.

Maybe he counted on this just being an officer’s reunion? Maybe he was tired of you hanging around. You doubt it though, because you’ve been with this group since Toccoa. The officers were the first group of men in Easy to accept you when you started your training, and you suspect Lip was a big part of getting most of the company on side for you being their combat medic when you were transferred after Easy shipped out to Aldbourne.

Opening the creaky back door, you notice Ron startle from where he sits on the top step.

“Sorry,” you say, “can I sit?”

He gestures to the spot next to him, and you settle there, tucking your skirt underneath you.

He offers you a cigarette and you take one from him, leaning closer so he can light it.

“Everything alright?”

He meets your eyes, his as dark and mysterious as they’ve always been. “I’m always alright.”

You nod. “I know.” A sigh. “You’re going back to Easy after your leave?”

“That’s the plan.”

“That’s good.” You wince, the conversation so stilted and awkward. You never even considered that you might have nothing to talk about with your friends when there wasn’t a war to fight anymore.

“Nixon said you were having a rough time.”

“Like I said in there—“

“Not just with your family.” He interrupts, “Though they should shape up and start respecting you.” His eyes are intense, but they soften upon seeing your surprise. “Besides that, though.” He takes another drag. “Nightmares?”

You roll your eyes. “God, you all are such gossips.”

A smirk. “It’s not gossip if it’s the truth.”

You’re silent for a few minutes until you figure out how to answer him. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face. “I have nightmares almost every night. I don’t sleep anymore.”

You’re surprised when Ron’s free hand settles over yours. It’s hesitant, like he doesn’t want to spook you.

“There’s…” he trails off like he’s still figuring out what to say, “... there’s nothing wrong with having nightmares. Trying to make sense of all the shit we went through…” he shakes his head. “No one would blame you for not being able to sleep.” He squeezes your hand once before letting go.

“And you? How are you holding up?”

His chuckle is hollow. “I’m fine. I told you—“

“You’re always fine. Right.”

You get to your feet, ready to go back inside. You straighten the pleats on your skirt and take a step before his hand closes on your wrist again.

“You did what you had to do to stay alive and keep everyone else alive,” he says, firm. A pause, and then, “Your mother shouldn’t be trying to marry you off to someone who doesn’t understand that.”

He lets go of your wrist, and you’re left puzzled about what that has to do with anything.

.

.

.

“... and then she takes off, her helmet practically flying off her head, and starts screaming at Dike to keep the attack moving. Heard it clear as day through Luz’s radio.”

“You didn’t need a radio to hear it,” Winters adds dryly, and you giggle, feeling warm and content thanks to the wine in your belly and the warmth of your friends at your side.

You take your empty glass to the sink and elbow Nix lightly as he washes a pan - he smiles down at you. “Okay?”

“I never knew you could cook.”

His sleeves are rolled up as he refocuses on his task. “Not really answering my question, kid.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re not that much older than me.”

“A whole year.” He confirms, winking. “You talked to Ron earlier?”

“We had a cigarette outside. What’s up with him?”

“Thought maybe you would know.”

“What’re we whispering about?” Harry says into your ear, and you jump, almost dropping the glass in your hand. He laughs and you glare at him. “Sorry.”

“You are not.”

He grins. “You’re right.” His arm goes over your shoulder in a way that takes you back to cold nights in Bastogne. “Are you sticking around tonight?”

You nod. “Too late to catch a train. Nix was kind enough to give me the guest room.”

Harry looks affronted. “You mean the rest of us have to sleep on the floor?”

You level your gaze, eyes narrowed but amusement lacing your voice, “Somehow I think you’ll manage.”

Lipton comes in, chuckling at your antics. “I have to get going. Gotta work tomorrow.” He pulls you into a hug, his voice soft in your ear. “Anytime you need to get away or need someone to talk to, you call me. Got it?”

“You got it. Same for you, Lip.” You whisper, squeezing him tight.

Lip says his goodbyes and it’s bittersweet. You’re so happy to see him happy and at ease, but sad to see him go. You know it’ll be awhile before you see him again, despite his invitation. You can’t stand being a burden to these men anymore, even though they’re offering their company out of the kindness of their hearts. You still feel in the back of your mind that they were roped into this by Nixon.

Harry and Ron bicker over who gets the couch in the living room while Dick shakes his head, grabbing a pillow and stretching his lanky form out on the floor. You grin at the three of them and say goodnight, following Nix upstairs where he shows you the guestroom.

As soon as you’re alone, you worry about nightmares. You’re hoping the full meal and alcohol from the night is enough to send you to a worry-free sleep.

.

.

.

You’re under heavy fire.

The trees are exploding, the men around you are screaming, and the calls for a medic over and over are deafening.

Under it all, you hear your name. It’s a voice you recognize, a voice you want to open your eyes for, but you’re too scared. You don’t want to see the damage around you.

A shake to your shoulder brings you back to awareness and you bolt upright, nearly knocking into someone.

“You’re okay, you’re safe,” they’re saying, over and over, and in the dim light of the room you see Ron there, eyes intense as he holds you steady.

The door clicks shut and you realize with embarrassment that you probably woke the entire house.

You groan pitifully, pulling yourself up to a more stable seated position. Ron moves to the end of the bed, hands hovering near you like he’s worried you might panic again. “I’m sorry--”

“Don’t apologize.” It’s an order; you recognize that tone of his. He meets your eyes and deflates a little. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You can’t look at him anymore and see the disappointment there. You remember this feeling from when he took over as Easy’s CO - you have always admired him, and couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down.

“Hey.” His hand settles over yours again. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed about.”

You’re finally able to meet his eyes, and you don’t see the judgment there that you assumed you would.

The tears come too easily, and you don’t even shrink away from him this time when he moves so you’re side-by-side, his arm going tentatively around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest.

“How long am I going to feel like this?” You ask, your voice cracking through your tears. “I can’t sleep, I can barely eat… I can’t do this anymore.”

His eyes are fierce when he looks down at you. “Stop talking like that.” He shifts you in his hold so you’re face to face, only inches apart. “You have people who care about you. Even if they can’t understand what you did, what you’ve seen, the person you are--” He ducks his head a little, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “-- I can. We can,” he adds, gesturing towards the door. “Every single man you saved, every single man who was fortunate enough to know you knows the type of person you are.”

As you stare at him, trying to comprehend what he’s telling you, something in his eyes shifts. His face is more open than you can ever remember it being, and his lips part as his own gaze slides to your mouth.

A wave of heat washes over you and for the first time, you really really look at Ron Speirs. You flash back to a hundred moments in Toccoa, in England, in France, and Holland-- a hundred times when you noticed a look on his face, a clenching of his jaw when one of the men were making a joke to you -- you assumed it was the same way Winters and Nixon were with you. Protective. Brotherly.

Now? Now things look different.

Almost like he can read your mind, he says your name. His voice is so low it sends shivers down your spine. You don’t remember him ever calling you by your first name.

Despite its impropriety, you find yourself leaning into him closer, not really giving a damn about what anyone else might think. After everything the two of you have been through, you find your sense of decorum has gone out the window.

A creak of the floorboards outside the bedroom has you practically springing apart, Ron rising to his feet swiftly, the door opening to reveal a sheepish looking Lewis Nixon, a mug of steaming liquid in his hand.

“Sorry…” he says slowly, glancing back and forth between the two of you. “Thought a cup of tea might help.”

“You’ll be alright?” Ron asks you, and you nod, unable to find your voice.

He nods and leaves you alone with Nix, shutting the door softly behind him.

.

.

.

You take the chipped mug from Nixon when he sits down on the edge of the bed, ignoring the way his eyes study you.

“I have to ask--”

“Please don’t.”

He grins. “As your honorary big brother--”

“You’re 12 months older than me!”

“Do I need to be worried about that?” He finishes as if you never spoke.

“Worried about what?”

He tilts his head towards the closed door. “Ron.”

You frown. “Why would you need to be worried about him?”

He shakes his head, shrugging. “Was hoping you’d tell me. How long has that been going on?”

You’re incredulous. “There’s nothing going on.”

He’s quiet for a minute. “You-- you screamed. In your sleep.” He fiddles with a loose thread on the bedspread. “Before I could even get out of my bedroom, he was already up the stairs to help you.”

“So?” You take a sip of tea.

“Christ,” Nix mutters, “You’re both as bad as each other.”

You glare. “You’re confusing-- camaraderie with romance.” You stutter, hating him more and more for the laugh he’s trying -- and failing -- to smother.

“I don’t get confused.” He leans over, plucking your mug from your hand and setting it down on the nightstand. “There was a night in Haguenau. I saw you two.”

Flustered, you glare at him. “We were just talking.”

“He never sought anyone else out. Everyone from that whole patrol-- after how bad it went, and he only tried to find you afterwards.”

“He would never abandon the men after a mission.”

Nixon looks frustrated. “I’m not saying he did. I’m trying to tell you that when you demanded to go on the patrol in case anyone got hurt, I’ve never seen him so angry, or worried. And when you all got back, after Jackson, after all the shit that happened after… it was still you he wanted to talk to.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He leans in, voice quiet and soothing. “I’m just pointing out that he’s not your CO anymore. You don’t have to be afraid of hiding what you feel. Now, sleep. In you go,” he says, standing and pulling back the blankets so you can slide into bed.

“Tell him how you feel before his leave ends.” Nix whispers, pressing a firm kiss to your temple before leaving the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

In the morning, you have to work up the courage to go downstairs and face them. You’re embarrassed, and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Nix told you last night.

When you get to the kitchen, you’re met with the back of Dick Winters as he fusses over something on the stove.

“What, your best friend makes you do the cooking?” You ask, and he turns.

“I owed him one.”

You enjoy companionable silence while he cooks, even when he turns and places a hot cup of coffee in front of you on the oak table.

“What are you going to do now?” He asks eventually, and you find yourself weighing your words carefully.

“I-- I don’t know. I want to work, or do something productive. I can’t go back to society parties and charity.”

He nods, thoughtful. “You’re close to Philadelphia; have you ever thought of asking Bill or Joe Toye if they have any connections?”

You shrug. “My mother would never let me move to the city. Not before I get married.”

A cleared throat from the doorway makes you look up, meeting Harry and Nixon’s eyes.

“Morning,” Harry drawls. “Tired this morning?”

A laugh escapes you in a breath. “With all due respect, fuck off, sir.”

Harry and Nixon laugh, and you sheepishly look over at Winters, who shrugs.

You notice Ron is nowhere to be found but you don’t say anything. You still haven’t come to terms with whatever the hell Nixon was trying to tell you the night before. It’s all you can do not to flush with embarrassment all over again.

Breakfast is a rowdy affair, you and Winters sharing amused glances over your coffee while Harry and Nix argue over the validity of stories you’ve all heard a hundred times.

After a while, the front door opens and closes, and then Ron comes in, hands deep in his pockets. He actually smiles a little as he gets some good-natured ribbing from the other guys, and then he’s pulling up a chair between you and Winters, grabbing a plate for himself.

“What time’s your train today, kiddo?” Harry asks after awhile, and while you glare at the nickname, you sigh, not ready for this weekend to be over.

“Two in the afternoon.”

“I’ll drive you,” Nix offers, coffee halfway to his mouth, but he freezes when Ron interrupts.

“I’ve got a train to catch around then anyway. We can share a cab.” He glances over, “If that’s alright with you.”

You nod, suddenly unable to look away from your mug. A kick to your foot has you glancing up, meeting Nixon’s smug face across the table.

The five of you pass the early afternoon in the backyard of the Nixon estate, mostly lounging about and revelling in the freedom of a sunny afternoon. An hour before you need to leave for the train station, Winters pulls you aside and asks if you want to go for a walk.

You agree, happy to spend a little more time with him. You have no idea when you’ll be seeing him next, though you hope it’ll be soon (and you suspect it will be, if Nix has anything to say about it).

The two of you walk slowly.

“Are you going to be alright when you go home?” He asks eventually, face turned up as you come to a stop, soaking up the sunlight.

You sigh, frustrated. “I guess so. Sir, I--”

He holds up his hand, “How long have we known each other?” He smiles. “You don’t have to call me sir.”

You laugh. “Old habits die hard.” You compose yourself, “It’s been two years since we all came home, and I still feel like I’m back there. Every night, I relive it.”

“I do too.” He admits. “It doesn’t make you weak, or a burden. Every one of us has nightmares.”

“I have to pretend I haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Done the things I’ve done. No one else understands. I go to these parties, and people there just want to talk about--” You sigh, “It’s just all so trivial.”

His hand falls heavily on your shoulder, but the comforting touch is welcome. “Whenever you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me.” His head tilts back towards the farm, “Any of the men, really.”

“Thank you,” you reply softly, feeling tears well up in your eyes. You still don’t know how you got lucky enough to be placed with Easy, let alone make the friendships you had during your time in Europe.

“We better get back.”

Back at the house, you catch the tail end of Harry badgering Ron about something, Nixon laying on the lawn, sunglasses perched on his nose.

“-- all I know is you better stop being such a chickenshit--”

“Harry!”

He spins around to face you, grin firmly in place. “Nothing to see here, just giving our Captain a friendly kick in the ass--”

“Alright, alright.” Ron says, glaring. He turns to you, “We should get going soon.”

You’re fighting back tears as you change your clothes and get your back packed, meeting the men downstairs.

“Oh,” Nix groans, “Please don’t cry.” He embraces you tightly. “You’re going to be okay. If you need anything, you call me and I’ll be on the next train.”

You swallow hard. “I know.”

Harry is next, his face stern when he looks at you. “Don’t even think about crying right now, kiddo, or I’m going to get upset.” He smiles softly at you, pulling you into his arms. “Same goes for me, sweetheart. One phone call.”

“Thank you.” You whisper.

You meet Winters’ eyes last. Dick, you force yourself to call him in your head, even though you think you might never be able to do it out loud. “You should talk to your mother,” he says quietly, “Tell her about what you did, if you can.” He hugs you next, a softer hug than the others gave you, but still the balm you need. “I don’t need to tell you I’m a phone call away, too, do I?”

.

.

.

The train station is loud. Your pulse is hammering again as you struggle to navigate the crowd. You’ve got your eyes on Ron’s large form in front of you, his stride sure as he checks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still behind him.

It’s quieter on the platform, and you breathe out a sigh of relief once you’re relatively alone.

“Better?” Ron asks, and you look at him sideways. He sighs, “It was loud in there.” He pulls a cigarette out of his uniform pocket. “It bothers me too.”

You don’t say anything, but take a minute to study him. He’s in his dress uniform, still enlisted, and when he tugs his garrison cap on, the glint of his Captains’ bars in the light draw your eye, and the eye of several others on the platform.

Suddenly you’re struck by how handsome he is. You’ve always recognized it, but forced yourself to ignore it, to get you through the war unscathed. There was no room for romance in war, especially not if you wanted to be accepted and taken seriously.

“How long do you have left?” You ask.

He glances down at you. “I’ve got a week left of leave. Then I’m reporting to start training new recruits.” He looks down at his feet. “What about you? What are you going to do now?”

You shrug. “I have no idea.”

To your surprise, he smiles. “That’s kind of nice, isn’t it?” He meets your eyes with his, “To have no idea what comes next.”

Despite yourself, you smile back. “Those Privates are going to love you.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “They need discipline.”

Saluting, you laugh. “Yes, sir.”

His smile fades the longer he looks at you. Just like the night before, something shifts in his gaze. “Don’t let your parents marry you off to the first guy who asks.” He says, his voice tight.

“You act like I’m just going to let them--”

“I know you might not have much say in the matter.” He says firmly. He steps closer, inches away, the height difference between you never more obvious than it is now. “You deserve someone who respects you, who knows what you volunteered to do. Who cares about you--” He stops himself, swallowing hard.

“Captain--”

“Don’t--” His jaw is clenched before he speaks again, “You don’t need to do that anymore. You can say my name.” He exhales like he’s just run a marathon. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You’re surprised by how well you can read what he’s feeling on his face. He was always so stoic and stern, except in private moments that he only allowed a handful of people to see. You know, though, under it all, he’s more vulnerable than he pretends to be. He carries the weight of all the men he’s lost and his own personal hell on his shoulders.

“Ron.”

His eyes close briefly at the sound of his name on your lips. It lights something up inside you.

“Don’t get married.” He repeats, his voice low.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous - you’ve dodged bullets -- but on an impulse, you reach for his hand. “For Christ’s sake,” you mutter to yourself, before speaking to Ron, “Do you want to come with me?”

He looks surprised. You think you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen Ron Speirs look surprised. “What?”

You can’t help it, you smother a laugh, but can’t hide the smile. “You have a week, right? Come with me. I could use some company.”

“You could have asked Nixon or Welsh.”

“I didn’t ask them. I’m asking you.”

He looks like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Please don’t misunderstand me--”

“Don’t misunderstand me.” You interrupt. “I heard what you said. And what you didn’t say.”

He shakes his head, his lips quirking upwards. “You’re--

“Crazy? Too forward?”

“Extraordinary.” He takes a step closer, his eyes burning. “Beautiful. One of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

All your bravado vanishes. “My parents are going to interrogate you. When they find out you were my CO--”

“I don’t care. If you want me to go with you, then I’m coming with you. I’ll go buy another train ticket right now, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want.” You don’t allow yourself to hesitate, even though you’re scared to death.

His hand comes forward to cradle your face almost in slow motion. “I’ll be right back,” He whispers, and then he’s leaving his bag at your feet, taking a few quick strides back towards the station. He stops when he gets to the doorway, and then jogs back over to you, taking your face in his hands quickly.

He presses a hard, fast kiss to your mouth that has you both reeling from the shock and laughing from happiness, and when he pulls away, he points at you, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll be right here.”

He slows down, then, his eyes dark and expression vulnerable again. His eyes run over your face like he’s trying to memorize it. Slowly this time, he kisses you again, stealing your breath and working his mouth against yours in a way that has you practically seeing stars. “I should have done that two years ago.” He says quietly. “Got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

.

.

.

Epilogue

You’re balancing a tray of pastries in one hand and your overnight bag in your other hand as you walk up the long gravel drive, and you can hear your husband muttering behind you about you being too stubborn to accept his help.

“We’re already late--”

“There you are!” A loud voice from the porch calls, “I thought we were going to have to send a search party--” He stops, taking off his sunglasses as you get closer. “Holy shit.” His eyes are fixed on your swollen belly. A mischievous glint in his eye, he takes your bag from you while Ron grabs the dessert tray. “Do I need to kick his ass?”

Ron rolls his eyes.

“He made an honest woman out of me already, Nix.” You say playfully.

“Yeah, I remember that.” He tugs you closer, giving you a tight hug. “I’m happy for you, kid.”

There’s more of Easy at this reunion than the last time you were here, and you brace yourself for the onslaught of congratulations and mock threats. It’s amazing to see how good natured Ron is being about the whole thing, considering a few years ago these same men were all terrified of him.

You’re content to sit in a comfortable chair with a pillow supporting your back, watching as the men start up a baseball game and laughing at their antics, feeling more at home than you have in years.

A clink of a cane next to you and then Bill is there in the chair to your left, grinning at you. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m okay, Bill. You?”

“Better now I don’t have to be worried about you every day.” He eyes you carefully. “Nightmares?”

You shrug. “Still have a few. Probably always will.” You glance over at Ron, who’s talking with Harry and Dick. “But I don’t suffer through them alone anymore.”

“You’ve never been alone,” he points out, “But I know what you mean.” His gaze is drawn to a dark-haired woman across the yard, laughing at something Babe is saying.

By the end of the day, you’re exhausted, but so, so deliriously happy. You’ve got the man you love at your side, your friends are here and alive, and you can finally see your future.

[freddieofhearts]

Bye bye, dears (for now!)

I know there have been a lot of rumours and some posts about me leaving, so here I am to set the record straight and say a quick ‘au revoir’. This post is long, and I don’t expect everyone to read the whole thing—if you just want information on how to keep in touch, or about access to my removed fics, scroll to the bottom. ⬇️

*

Why are you leaving?

Firstly, of course I’m not leaving Freddie. This is just an ongoing hiatus from the social side of fandom, because while I have some incredible friends here, who have done all they can to support me and have made this experience wonderful in lots of ways—it’s also true that the social space has become more and more toxic for me.

I get a wild amount of hate. Despite never having my ask box enabled on here, people create new accounts just to message me and tell me all the problems in this fandom are my fault, that I’m faking being sick, that I should kill myself, that I’m fat, etc. I also very regularly get hateful comments on AO3.

Obviously I realise that I’m not the only one who receives these cruel attacks, but it’s become increasingly hard to handle them—especially as some people (‘real’ accounts, not faceless anons) do continue to blame me for wider problems in the fandom. It makes me feel consistently sad, anxious, and paranoid, so that I can’t focus on anything Queen-related that I enjoy.

More pressingly, it’s affected my mental health, which is—imperfect at the best of times. As I’ve occasionally alluded to in older posts on this blog, I have a history of anorexia, OCD, PTSD, and some other overlapping issues. Most people who know me in the fandom are also aware that I’m ‘clinically extremely vulnerable’ to Covid-19, significantly immunocompromised, and have been isolating at home for eleven months.

The combination of all of these things + the constant toxic messages has really been triggering me, and leading to an uptick in disordered behaviours, which my body cannot sustain. Every new instance of hate from an anon—every time there’s another indication of groups in the fandom wanting to ostracise me further—my reaction is deeply self-punitive and unhealthy. Ultimately I need to be out of this environment for, at least, a protracted period. My therapist, my partner and my close friends in the fandom support this decision.

*

So, what went wrong?

In 2019, I expected to be an absolutely tiny blog in the Queen Tumblr landscape. The fandom was already well-established, and I have never worked to ‘build a following’ on here—I think I’ve linked my own fic a maximum of three or four times!—in fact, more or less the opposite. As I mentioned above: ya girl is nutty as a fruitcake. As a result, I often avoid extremely niche things in daily life which cause severe anxiety for me, Relevant examples here: I never look at my timeline. I never intentionally look at my follower number. Yup, it’s strange, I fully admit it, but it’s best for me to go with these things—usually. In Queen fandom, however, this avoidance both of analytic stats and of most direct engagement led to some problems... My followers grew without me realising, and way more people were reading my blog than I was aware of. I was still in a—“Wow, this fandom is very frustrating, and rife with ableism, racism, etc., so how do we fix this???”—mindset, and I wanted to share my opinions, sure! but I also thought I was sharing them with 15-20 like-minded people.

Now, intent is not impact, and I recognise that I was brusque, didn’t phrase things particularly sensitively, and absolutely did hurt some people by criticising the fandom so freely. I still regret this—and I regret just as much the fact that some assholes have used my criticising the fandom on my own blog as implicit justification for attacking authors. I have said on here many times that I don’t condone that behaviour—but I also think there’s some truth in the presumption that these anonymous malcontents felt my critiques somehow ‘permitted’ them to engage in abuse. For the first few months, though, I genuinely had no idea there was a link at all—and so I was initially slow to condemn this abusive behaviour in public, because I was taking it for granted all authors agreed it was shitty. It took someone directly telling me (shoutout to @a-froger-epic) that people had identified a connection between my posts and the anons, before everything fell into place.

I would like to offer my apologies to the fandom at large for not being more quick on the uptake about this, because I feel that had I realised sooner that these people were taking ‘inspiration’ in some way from me, it might have been easier to put a stop to it. It does seem that there is still a lot of confusion about whether I support them and which of their views I agree with. Let’s be 100% clear on this: I do not support the anonymous commenters on AO3. At times there is some, limited overlap between parts of their views and parts of mine, but even that is less than you may think—I often see anonymous comments from so-called ‘Freddie fans’ that I substantially disagree with.

Perhaps even more importantly: I do not support anyone who sends anonymous hate on Tumblr.

*

What’s all this about ‘overlap’ with the anons?

Let’s do a mini-summary of the myths vs. the truth. There are views I hold which are genuinely unpopular in the fandom—but which I own up to completely, and have never tried to hide in any way. I’ve never needed to use anonymous to share my opinions because I’m completely open about them! What people who don’t know me tend to have ‘heard’ about me, though, is usually a drastic distortion of my real opinions.

What people think I think:

- Freddie should never top.

- It’s okay to send anon hate if someone writes Freddie ‘wrong’.

- It’s more important to correct ‘wrong’ portrayals than to respect other writers.

- It’s inherently wrong to be more interested in band pairings than canon pairings.

- Freddie should be overtly written as a r*pe survivor/victim (and not doing this is wrong).

- Freddie should be overtly written as having an eating disorder (and not doing this is wrong).

- Kink fics are wrong.

What I actually think:

- I believe Freddie did have a strongly defined sexual identity with marked preferences, but I don’t think Jim Hutton lied when he said that Freddie topped. I believe Freddie did top, but this isn’t the time or place to get into my thoughts on why/when/how much. I do believe that my analysis of the sources relevant to this subject is as historically accurate as one can reasonably be in matters of sex (where historical accuracy will always be particularly limited and imperfect)—but I don’t think it’s morally wrong to write Freddie as topping more than he probably did.

- I don’t believe there’s only one ‘right’ version of Freddie (all others being ‘wrong’). I do believe it is possible to be more right or less right—but I’m also conscious of the fact that this scale of value is not one by which everyone measures fanfiction. As a result, then, I don’t think that any perceptions surrounding ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ justify sending anonymous, non-constructive criticism, or outright hate.

- I do believe constructive criticism is a good thing. I welcome and appreciate it myself; I have received it on my fics in Queen fandom, and it has made them better. I have been in writing workshops which included very forceful criticisms, and the value of such feedback has been intimately and immediately part of my life as a writer for years. However: in this case, I have accepted that my opinion differs from the general community preference, and so I no longer offer any constructive criticism (outside private beta-reading). I haven’t changed my view, but I’ve changed my practice to align with community norms.

- I do not think any single, individual writer has a personal responsibility to write about Freddie Mercury in any given way. That ranges from including the more distressing topics to which I’ve devoted attention (such as trauma)—to concentrating on ‘canon’ pairings like Jimercury—to, even, focusing on Freddie at all.

“Now, that doesn’t sound like you, @freddieofhearts,” you might be thinking. And I know it doesn’t; I think something I’ve done a poor job of articulating is the difference between how I view each individual fan—namely, as free to shape their creative experience at will, even in ways that I might find distressing or offensive; even in ways that you might find distressing or offensive—and the way I view the Collective. I think people have interpreted some of my critiques of ‘Queen Fandom’ as meaning something like: “You-in-particular, a specific Queen fan, are doing it wrong and should change everything about how you do it; also you don’t really care about Freddie.”

And—that’s not it. What any given fan, as an individual, does, isn’t a problem. And that can be true alongside—concurrently with—a multivalent critique of how the fandom is lacking in representation of Freddie’s life, with all that that (wonderful, deservedly celebrated, but also profoundly traumatic) life entailed. I still hold that view; I still have myriad problems with ‘the fandom’ (structurally, collectively, historically and presently—from the 1990s to the 2020s). Some of what I want to work on (away from the social life of fandom) is expressing those critiques with greater nuance, in ways that can’t be misinterpreted as shading any particular fanfiction author or subgenre of story.

In brief: I haven’t changed my mind, but I think Tumblr is an untenable environment in which to discuss the things I want to analyse, especially as there is an ever-present danger of hurting someone.

*

Can we keep in touch? Where is the fic?

I will drop by this account periodically to check out posts that friends have sent me, so you can always sent me a private message to ask for my contact details on the other app that I’m using now for fandom friends. Multiple Freddie conversations and projects are going on over there, off-Tumblr, with a much ‘gentler’ environment and no bad actors—I personally love it!

All my fic has been downloaded and saved. I don’t want to deal with constant harassment on AO3, but I’m happy to share a copy with anyone who missed it and wants to read/re-read something. I also saved everyone’s lovely comments and thoughtful con-crit, so none of that has been lost or erased.

Thank you to everyone who welcomed me to the fandom, made me think, taught me, shared with me, sent me into fits of the giggles, collaborated with me creatively, and otherwise made this one hell of a ride! Love you all. ❤️

[centaurianthropology]

A List of Older Fandoms for Quarantine Viewing

I thought it might be fun to put out a list of older fandoms or smaller fandoms that might be of interest to folks here.  As we’re all still stuck with quarantine, perhaps you’re looking for some new/old media?  Perhaps this list could help?

This is halfway between a rec list and a charting of my own fandom history.  For anyone looking for some new fandoms to check out that are various flavors of interesting and a little older, check ‘em out! 

Feel free to add your own!

In no specific order (other than maybe my DVD shelf??)

Patrick O’Brien books/Master and Commander - this was a fairly good-sized fandom back when the movie ‘Master and Commander’ came out.  A must-watch for anyone who likes historical fiction, age of sail, and powerful homoeroticism.

David Drake’s Royal Cinnabar Navy series - did you ever want Master and Commander in space, but Stephen Maturin is a librarian named Adele Mundy who is a sharpshooter and utterly terrifying and wonderful and beloved ace representation?  Fair warning: this series contains grapic descriptions of violence from an author who’s still working through his Vietnam PTSD.  Here be dragons.

Adam Adamant Lives! -  an Edwardian adventurer got frozen in a block of ice by his arch-nemesis The Face, thawed out in 1969, and now fights crime with a young woman sidekick and an actor-turned-butler who spouts limericks.  It is a completely insane show and joyously dumb.  Everyone involved is having a whale of a time.  It’s hard to come by, but so worth watching it for the pure silliness.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - I can’t believe this has become a fandom some people haven’t heard of, but here we are, far enough out from the massive cultural impact of Buffy that I need to remind folks.  1990s series about a cheerleader-turned-vampire slayer, struggling with both the supernatural and with high school (which is much worse).  

Angel - spinoff of Buffy, and in some ways my preferred series?  It has so many problems, and the writing of seasons 3 and 4 is quite weak, but the characters are strong, the stories are solid, and Alexis Denisof’s Wesley Wyndam-Pryce remains one of my favorite character arcs in television.

Marble Hornets - here’s another fandom that doesn’t feel like it should be old, but it’s now over a decade since its premiere.  One of the early webseries, Marble Hornets is still one of the best.  Well done horror with occasionally iffy amateur acting, easily overcome with a surprising touch for cinematography.  I’m a sucker for amateur film, especially when it’s well done and ambitious.

Babylon 5 - This was the first fandom I posted about on here, and still one of my great loves.  Arcs before arcs on television were a thing.  Huge overarching stories playing out over seasons.  Great political intrigue on a space station.  The grandest, most tragic Shakespearean romance that ever played out between two middle-aged alien diplomats.  

Carnivale - HBO prestige show before they had prestige shows.  Bought the DVDs on the cover art alone, and they were so worth it: “1934.  The Dustbowl.  The last great age of magic.”  Like most HBO shows, every possible content warning does probably apply to this show, though it’s not nearly as extreme as Game of Thrones, so if you could watch that, you can probably watch Carnivale.

Firefly - space western courtesy of Joss Whedon.  Only one series long, but really well done.  Probably Whedon’s best work.

Homicide: Life on the Streets - early 1990s police procedural with a twist: it wanted to be a very accurate, realistic portrayal of a homicide unit, based on a documentary novel.  The characters all feel real, you’re certain they all smell like cigarettes, coffee, and sweat.  Also, can we applaud a show that has a female homicide detective who doesn’t wear makeup, has frizzy red hair, and never wears heels?  Kay Howard is such a fantastic character.  Frank Pembleton and Tim Bayliss and John Munch and Gee are all such wonderful, real characters.  Another great show for prestige-television-before-it-existed.

The Last Detective - British detective series about a detective who gets small, mournful cases ignored by everyone else and solves them mostly through dogged work rather than brilliance.  This show is the most melancholy show I have ever seen, shockingly good in the quietest way possible, and remains one of my favorite detective series ever.

M*A*S*H - have you ever wanted a proper tragicomedy billed as a sitcom?  There’s a reason this show is still considered the greatest sitcom ever made.  Fair warning: the early seasons really haven’t aged well, and a lot of the comedy doesn’t land.  But if you’re willing to stick with it to the later seasons, you’ll find a show that shifts toward one of the greatest tragicomedies ever.  

Sapphire and Steel - 1970s/1980s British horror/sci-fi show about two mysterious beings that appear to resolve science fiction reinterpretations of horror concepts.  Despite a shoestring budget, the writing is phenomenal, and the acting is perfect, particularly the icy intimacy between the two leads, David McCallum and Joanna Lumley.

Sherlock Holmes - before the modern interpretations, there was the 1980s series starring Jeremy Brett.  If you want the single most accurate interpretation of Conan Doyle’s work, with characters who feel and look like they’ve stepped off the page (and the series that singlehandedly rehabilitated the character of Inspector Lestrade), this series is a must-watch.  This has been my go-to comfort viewing for years.

    Also, if you’re a Sherlock Holmes nut, and you’re desperate for more content, and willing to navigate a Cyrillic DVD menu for subtitles, might I suggest the late 70s Russian Sherlock Holmes series?  Vasiliy Livanov’s Holmes is such a different interpretation of the character, and he’s a delight.  And Vitaliy Solomin’s Watson is possibly my favorite Watson ever.  He’s so done with everything.

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - sort of the forgotten middle child of the Star Trek series, but in many ways it’s one of the most ambitious.  It was a rival/developed at the same time and somewhat by the same team as Babylon 5, so there are some striking similarities (space station, overarching stories, etc), but while B5 manages the political intrigue better, DS9 does a war better.  It’s the darkest of the Star Trek series, investigating the more tarnished edges of the utopia.  The characters are more deeply developed and flawed, and I love them all.  Andrew Robinson’s portrayal of tailor-with-a-mysterious-past Garak is probably the best character Star Trek ever created in any series.

Hope those of you looking for new things to watch and dig into might find something in this list!

[actual-changeling]

hi, in you post the other day you said that some authors `wrongly portray PTSD` ? can you axplain what you mean by that?

Hi anon!

I assume you are referring to this post, though I have made a couple at this point.

When it comes down to it, I mostly mean two things with that: ignoring their PTSD and trauma entirely and the portrayal being medically/factually incorrect.

I wish I could say that you can completely ignore the shit that happened to them and still write the characters as they, but in my opinion they are way to intertwined, you cannot separate Joel from his trauma because his trauma MADE him Joel, same with Ellie. Unless it is an AU and/or purposefully written out of character, you have to acknowledge their PTSD in some way. And mind you, even in most AUs people still include Sarah's death and Ellie's traumatic experiences because they are defining to their characters.

Still, my issue isn't even with people completely ignoring it (honestly if you wanna do that please do! let them be carefree and happy), the problem arises when people continue to write them the way they are, PTSD symptoms and all, but do not acknowledge it whatsoever. Ellie flinches and it's portrayed as funny, Joel is anxiously overbearing and it's written as "oh he is just like that", I am talking about authors taking serious disordered symptoms and depathologizing them. This is dangerous because it means people who aren't as educated on the matter read that and think those experiences are normal. They are not.

The second problem is people writing PTSD and other disorders in a way that is medically incorrect, either out of pure ignorance/lack of education or on purpose because it serves their plot.

Before I explain why exactly that is an issue though I wanna say that there IS a third version of this one where it is okay. If you have PTSD/whatever disorder it is about and write it in a way that provides catharsis to you or helps you process something that is 100% alright, you are not contributing to the problem. Writing is personal and sometimes we don't want the shit we go through on the daily to be as heavy as it actually is, just the comfort we can come up with. So if you are reading this and worried I mean you: I don't, promise.

Now, the problem. I think the most obvious one is the fact that it is inaccurate representation that can not only give people false information but also contribute to stereotypes. If you are not educated enough to write an accurate portrayal of PTSD the one you do write will be based on ableist stereotypes society throws at us.

I have read fics not just in this fandom but basically all the other ones I have been in where panic attacks and triggers are healed by "the power of love", where panic attacks are always excessive hyperventilation and laying on the floor and it's the only symptom they have, where bad memories are erased because the person they like suddenly does love them back. Any symptoms that would require someone to actually understand how trauma affects someone are just fully erased or ignored. People get triggered and it's either "haha funny look how they flinch" or "you are evil for showing symptoms" - not even intentionally, but the way people write about it expresses exactly that to someone who has PTSD. There are inaccurate depictions of dissociation like "they pass out and need to be carried home" which is simply not how it works at all, or contradictory things like "they dissociated the whole time but still remember every little things" (if you didn't know, dissociation prevents memories from forming, it is not possible to heavily dissociate and then remember everything afterward).

I could go on and on about the shit I have seen, but I think this explains what exactly I meant by "inaccurate portrayals of PTSD". It contributes to ableism and stereotypes and unless you have PTSD yourself you have no business writing it like this. Trauma isn't your playground, either do it properly or not at all.

I hope this helped you understand anon, feel free to leave another ask if you have more questions or need something clarified, I am always happy to respond! I hope you have a good day <3

[goldenkamuyhunting]

this might come off as strange, but its been something on my mind. what are your thoughts on ogata possibly showing autistic behaviors? i was thinking about some of his mannerisms such as rubbing his hair and his difficulty showing facial expressions. these can be explained by other means, but i thought it was an interesting idea.

Hum...

I guess I’ll go with a premise first.

It would be absolutely great if GK were to have an autistic character. People with autistic disorder are greatly underrepresented in manga and anime (I think I’ve hear only about “With the Light” by Tobe Keiko which remained unfinished due to the author dying but I hope I’m missing something) and it actually would be awesome to give autistic people more representation.

And if you’re asking me if you can headcanon Ogata as autistic, yeah, sure, why not? As long as you’ve real knowledge on autism and aren’t you just trying to use the term because nowadays it seems it’s... ‘trendy’ to call a loner or a character with unusual quirk autistic, as if it were some sort of umbrella term for a certain type of character and not a real disorder with whom people in real life has to spend their life with.

If we’re however talking of the author’s intent, no, I fear the chances Noda intended to portray Ogata as an autistic character are pretty low.

Why?

The reason is more in how media, the production of media and portrayal in media of disorders work.

Basically when you create a character and give them certain characters traits they all have to have a use in the story and have to be easily recognizable.

You have to understand WHY a character acts a certain way otherwise you’ll end up confused and his actions need to have a purpose in the story otherwise they’re a waste of time, both for the writer who write them and the reader who read them.

This creates various consequences, among which the fact that many authors prefer to go for a ‘trope’ version of disorders, diseases and cultures more than a ‘realistic’ version of them.

In fact not only the trope version requires less research on their part but it’s also easily recognizable from the readers, regardless of it being accurate or not.

For example let’s think at Sugimoto and at how we all know he has Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) even though Noda never came and said it out loud (and it couldn’t really say it in the story as this name was given to this disorder in 1980 so way after the time GK take place). 

Why is that?

Because Sugimoto basically checks all our expectations for a functional version of someone with this disorder right from the start of the story.

- He’s a veteran who lived through traumatic experiences during the war.

- He’s still plagued by nightmares about them.

- He is afraid to go back home because he perceives himself as different and he fears he’ll be rejected.

- He view himself as some sort of monster due to the guilt for the people he had killed.

- He had undergone a personality change of some sort (in Sugimoto’s case he moved from a person unable to kill to one who can do it in a blink if threatened)

This basically checks everyone’s list of expected things for a veteran with PTSD and, at this point, we don’t care if his PTSD is represented faithfully or not, we’ve just accepted Sugimoto has it.

We don’t really theorize Sugimoto has PTSD, we know he has it, it’s under everyone’s eyes and Noda here and there refresh our mind about this just to make sure we don’t forget not with words but with discussions about how war affected him, with nightmares and so on.

PTSD is the first explanation that comes to the mind of everyone who knows PTSD exists, and if you offer other explanations for all this, although they can be possible, they fundamentally feel unbelievable and failing to get the author’s message.

So what about Ogata and autism?

You said it yourself, Ogata’s traits can be explained by means different than autism and this is what is usually done. Which means if Noda instead wanted him to be coded as an autitic character he has failed to pass the message.

Ogata doesn’t really check right from his first apparition all the viewers’ expected checkboxes for autism, quite the opposite and, what’s more, while Noda returns to the topic of Sugimoto and his PTSD, having the character discuss it and struggle with it, the topic Noda returns to talk about with Ogata is his family trauma, not his disorder.

We don’t get explanations on how Ogata had to deal with what you suggest are autistic traits through all his life and how they affected him, not we’ve pages about his family drama. We’ve chapters completely dedicated to them and minor references to them because Noda wants us to notice this about him, his own personal trauma, but Ogata’s family drama isn’t an autistic trait.

Or we’ve the dozens of cat references that toss in the idea that Ogata is modeled after a cat.

Long story short, I fear I can’t say Noda deliberately coded Ogata to be an autistic character because this doesn’t seem to be the message he seems to want to deliver with the way he structures the story.

Of course I’m not Noda, I’m not even Japanese and I might be wrong as I might be missing clues that would be obvious to a Japanese reader but not so much to a western one.

Sometimes a difference in culture cause troubles in understanding a message that’s being passed.

Said all this, it doesn’t mean Ogata SURELY doesn’t have autistic traits.

Ogata’s traits can be interpreted as autistic. The autistic spectrum is pretty large and he can fall into it.

Ogata is not a real person who either has autism or doesn’t.

Maybe it’s by coincidence that Noda gave him traits that might cause him to fall in the autistic spectrum.

Or maybe Noda knew a real person with autism and took inspiration from him/her for Ogata but was hesitant in giving away the fact that he was taking inspiration from that person, which is why he didn’t bother to code the message in a way that would be immediately delivered to the viewers.

In short, as said before, if you feel like reading him as an autistic character because you are knowledgeable about autism and know what you’re talking about, please, feel free to go for it and don’t let anyone stop you.

Thanks for your ask!

[randomnumbers751650]

Steven Universe Future is a fanfic of Steven Universe, and I don’t mean it in a bad way. All the deconstruction happening in SUF of all themes in SU reminds me of fanfics that are based on kids’ show that explore some dark aspect hinted in canon or just drop in some war or something or, terribly, some coma dream theory.

Still, SUF was done right: everything follows the stuff hinted in SU (like Lars’ near death experience, some would say it was literal death). Steven is so alone in the universe it’s really sad. There are dozens of analysis about how Steven is essentially a child soldier suffering from PTSD, and, just like in real life, he has difficult of adjusting to a “normal” life after the war - it’s like in Spec Ops: The Line, I wonder if Steven will say “Who said I survived” when the gems find him again.

Though I’m sure the ending will be at least bittersweet tending to sweet because it’s a kid’s show. Pretty much like Stan recovered his memories in the Gravity Falls’ finale, I believe there will be a similar resolution.

I have to admit that this realization, that SUF is a fanfic (or it’s structured like one), has been bothering me a bit. When I used to read and write fanfics, people took kids’ shows and added things like gore, sex, violence, war and it was so...gratuitous. A lot of them didn’t seem to understand what they were doing by doing that and I’ve always disliked this genre of fanfiction.

By no means SUF is an example of a bad execution of these themes: it was pretty much hinted in early seasons, as Steven PTSD flashback showed, the fact that they never showed Beach City’s school - maybe they did, I don’t remember, but what matters is that Steven never had a proper childhood, because he was raised by aliens...literally, and a father that, although well-meaning, committed errors in a way he couldn’t get prepared for (when Greg was proud that Steven talked back to him, Greg felt like he succeed in being a father); the portrayal of the psychological problems was pretty accurate, the writers did their research (unlike the fanfic authors I previously mentioned), and that’s what makes SUF so efficient in delivering its episodes; White Diamond even said “there is no one in the universe like you”, and that’s devastating.

I just fear that this might create a trend of writers getting the wrong message and kids’ shows trying to outdark SUF without understanding it (pretty much the like edgy age of comics in the 90s). The dark themes in SUF weren’t meaningless, but I fear that kids’ shows involving adventures won’t be greenlit if they don’t show regular breakdowns anymore. Maybe this is just an unfounded fear, after all didn’t Adventure Time do something similar? I didn’t watch AT after the third season, but it didn’t seem to create this trend.

[lucky-numberme]

What We Owe Each Other (News!)

Recently @ lesbianarcana called out white Arcana fanfic authors on our racist approaches and stereotypes of the POC characters.

I looked back at WWOEO so far and found some of those racist portrayals of Nadia and Muriel as well as some inexcusable white savior undertones. As such the work has been taken down so I can rewrite it with more compassionate & accurate portrayals of poc characters.

Thanks everyone for interacting with it! Especially since it's my first fic, all the encouragements have been so meaningful.

I hope to see y'all for the regularly scheduled update (every 7-8 days). This week will be some PTSD fluff with our mountain man, and then we will reapproach WWOEO with more respect and complexity. Thank you, babes 🐻💚

[blackbirdpaw]

We all know that there isn't that much representation in Warriors. There are few lgbt+ cats, none have been explicitly written, the disability representation is selective and poor, and there is very little mental illness representation. So the characters who are neurodivergent/lgbt+/disabled need to be celebrated! But unfortunately, this isn't the case with this fandom. I'm specifically talking about mentally ill cats because there's a frightening theme in this fandom. That's right, folks. I'm calling bullshit.

There are three mentally ill cats I'm going to talk about. There are many characters who can be headcanoned with a mental illness but these three characters, in particular, are criticised or celebrated for their mentally ill symptoms. Let's talk about Alderheart. Alderheart hasn't been confirmed to have generalised anxiety or any kind of anxiety disorder but he clearly suffers from high levels of anxiety and him having G.A.D is generally accepted throughout the fandom. People love this guy! People love the fact that he's anxious. They can relate, and it "makes him cute." It's endearing! But two other characters have not been met with that same reception.

Palebird is the only character confirmed to have a mental illness. Kate Cary stated on her blog that Palebird suffered from postnatal depression which was furthered by her grief for Finchkit's death. This is clearly shown in canon. Though it wasn't in focus, Palebird seemed tired and sad all the time. Tallkit had to be careful not to exhaust her or upset her. It showed her healing over time with the help of Woollytail and her new kits and finally being happy. Now, I'd think this could be something relatable for readers. Depression is incredibly common, and while readers wouldn't have Postnatal Depression and most likely have Major Depression or Persistent Depressive Disorder, they are both depressive disorders and therefore share a lot of the same symptoms. I also thought readers would be happy that there's actually some canon mental illness representation - but I was very wrong. Readers disliked Palebird because she was emotionally distant to Tallkit, a symptom of her disorder, calling her a horrible parent and even abusive. She gets more hate than Sandgorse, which I find absolutely absurd. I completely and utterly disagree with all this hate.

The last character I want to mention is Bluestar. Bluestar is the most blatant mentally ill cat in this series. She undergoes a significant change in personality and behaviour. Vicky Holmes stated on Facebook that Bluestar had dementia, which I disagree with one hundred percent. Bluestar had some of the symptoms, yes, but those symptoms fit the diagnosis criteria of ptsd much better. I could give you a full analysis, I've done it before. Because I'm a nerd. But it really comes down to a few things. Bluestar's actual memory was fine. Dementia affects memory. Graypool showed a much better representation of dementia and she had pretty much one scene! She had wandered away from her Clan and was extremely confused and seemed lost in the past. Bluestar, on the other hand, was paranoid. That paranoia distorted her perception. That paranoia stemmed from a trauma she went through - Tigerclaw's treachery and attempted murder of herself. Dementia has links with trauma but nothing concrete has been discovered yet. But enough about that. Bluestar has ptsd and clearly displays ptsd symptoms. It's obvious she's suffering greatly. But does Bluestar get given with sympathy? No. Fucking Scourge gets more kindness then she does. The fandom hated this change in Bluestar. "I loved Bluestar until she went crazy," "Bluestar got so annoying omg." "Bluestar was selfish" "Bluestar was such a drama queen!" This change in character elicited no positive response but rather an outcry of hate.

Yeah, but what's the problem here? They're different characters and they act differently. Two of them hurt others and their actions are harmful, irrational, and, well, bad. The other doesn't. Bluestar and Palebird portray ugly symptoms! Alderheart doesn't, he's cute, he's a little softboi.

Here's the thing though: mental illness is ugly. It isn't pretty, it isn't cute, and it sure as hell isn't uwu softboi. It isn't "my poor smol bean." Praising one character for their mental illness while condemning others is hypocritical. You are not being an advocate for preaching about how Alderheart is a great character because of his anxiety whole simultaneously shitting on Bluestar and Palebird for exhibiting negative symptoms. In doing so you are actively harming mentally ill people by supporting only a romanticised narrative of mental illness. By only accepting the mental illnesses that you deem "socially acceptable," you are being horribly ableist. Hey, it's like in real life, when people preach about how they support people with depression and anxiety but turn around and call people with borderline personality disorder and schizophrenia abusive demons. Mental illness isn't fucking cute. It isn't a good thing. It should be portrayed as a negative thing because that's what it is, generalised anxiety included. Mental illnesses are ugly. They're hurting other people with paranoid accusations. They're being so disconnected from others that you're being neglectful to their needs. They're being irrational. They're frightening.

I'm not saying we should praise mentally ill behaviours. But we should have sympathy for characters like Bluestar and Palebird. We should say, "hey, this behaviour isn't right and it's hurting others! But I understand it's rooted in mental illness and while that doesn't excuse the behaviour, I recognise it's a symptom of a mental health issue and I hope this character recovers and gets help. I'm really happy the authors gave us mental illness representation because that's important!" I'm also not saying that we shouldn't have likable mentally ill characters. Positive representation is a good thing! There are plenty of mentally ill people who exhibit symptoms and are still good people. All I'm saying is that we shouldn't treat mental illness in characters like a desirable thing to have or an adorable personality trait. You cannot say "I like this character because they give us mental illness rep," and then say: "not this one because they're a meanie." Mental illnesses can be scary. We shouldn't pretend they're not. We can't demand something and then reject it because it doesn't fit our idealised version of that said thing. that we should be happy with what representation we get and acknowledge this!

There is a difference between a negative portrayal and an actively dangerous and stigmatizing portrayal. A negative portrayal of mental illness, in this case, would be a character who hurts others because of their mental illness but is still shown to be human, have likable traits, and is an accurate portrayal, like Palebird. A stigmatizing and inaccurate portrayal is what we should be condemning, like the awful attempt at portraying Dissociative Identity Disorder in the movie Split.

At the end of the day, I just think it's so hypocritical the way the fandom treats the mentally ill characters written into the books. All of them deserve acknowledgement and all of them should be received with sympathy, especially because all of them recover, which shows that while they were negative portrayals of mental illness and were hurtful to others, they were capable of getting better and righting their wrongs, which is such an important message and so accurate to those suffering from mental health issues. Bluestar's recovery was... inaccurate but at least it happened. Palebird's was pretty well executed! Romanticising mental illness isn't at all okay and you're not a mental health advocate by doing so. You're not helping the community, you're harming it. You don't have to like Bluestar and Palebird. But give those lovely ladies the props they deserve!

(I'd also like to mention that Alderheart being a romanticisation of G.A.D is not a fault of the authors as they didn't write him to have clinical anxiety! It was just a widespread headcanon that proved my point. Another point to note is that this isn't about younger fandom members who can't grasp the complexity of Bluestar's character and instead just sees her as a drama queen or annoying. This is about readers who can identify mental illness in characters and praise Alderheart while not treating Bluestar and Palebird equally.)

[callioope]

OKAY SO THIS HAPPENED the other day:

Fuz: thoughts on 6th harry potter book

Me: … I mean Me: It's my favorite Me: Harry and Ginny get together Me: Back story on Voldemort Me: There are parts that are ridiculous but I enjoyed it

Fuz: apparently [his coworkers] hate it because harry and ginny get together Fuz: so i guess books depend on what ships you like

Me: I will fight anyone who doesn't like Harry and Ginny Me: You will get an essay during my lunch

Later, during 45-minute lunch break: 

Me: *typing furiously on my phone* Harry and Ginny make a good match because of their rapport and understanding of one another. No one else truly “gets” Harry the way that Ginny does, not even his best friend Ron. Also, Harry and Ginny was telegraphed from book one and their getting there is a satisfying fulfillment of that arc.

We'll start with book one. Ginny and Harry really only interact for a short period on the platform. However, this is an important meeting. It's worth noting that JK Rowling’s parents met on a train platform. The fact that Ginny and Harry meet this way telegraphs that JKR planned on them getting together from the very get go. This is the beginning of their full relationship arc.

In book two, we finally get to meet Ginny and she in fact plays an integral role in the story. One key H/G moment, which is one of my faves, occurs towards the beginning of the book when the Weasleys and Harry run into the Malfoys while shopping for school supplies. The Malfoys tease Harry about his fame and celebrity, and it is GINNY who steps forward and defends him, saying, “he doesn't want all that!” This is a twelve year old standing up to LUCIUS MALFOY. what a rock star. She might not even have a wand yet. I can't remember. Can provide actual quote later. Anyways, this is also, incidentally, the moment Lucius slips her the diary which is also super important because Harry and Ginny experience a traumatic event together that no one can really understand. They both have the shared experience of being possessed and influenced by Voldemort. That in and of itself wouldn't be a REASON to date someone, but it does build the foundation of their closeness that is INTEGRAL to their complete understanding of each other.

On to book 3. Ginny's around, I guess? I don't really know what she does because this book is largely about Ron and Hermione, which is a whole separate essay that I will gladly also write upon request, especially as it's necessary to demonstrate why Hermione not only isn’t right for Harry, but that she doesn't even want to be. She's got eyes for Ron, it couldn't be more canon. (Haphazard comments from an author desperate to stay relevant, who contradicts herself, who cannot understand the problem with Johnny Depp, and who was instigated by an actress whose portrayal of Hermione isn’t accurate DO NOT COUNT.)

Book 4. Harry thinks of Ginny as a given back up date for the Yule Ball. BUT OH BOY Ginny's already taken, she's going with her friend Neville, who she likes and who asked her because he is a good guy. Harry, you did badly on this one, and Ginny calls you out for it rightly so. Also, I think she starts dating someone else by the end of this book. She's moving on from her crush, she's learning about herself and she doesn't need to wait around for dense Harry Potter to find romantic partnership.

It's also worth mentioning that our good man Ron Weasley, who's got such a case of insecurity for many valid but irrelevant, for today's purposes, that he contributes to a nasty fight with Harry based on a foundational misunderstanding of Harry's character. Ron is jealous of Harry's fame with regard to the Tri-Wizard Tournament, complicated of course by the fact that Harry should not be competing in the tournament because of his age. But remember how two years ago, Ginny demonstrated an accurate insight that “Harry doesn't want all that”? When it comes to Harry, Ginny has always had her pulse on his feelings!! She gets him!

Now we come to book five. Ginny's doing well for herself, doing well in school and romance, Harry's hung up on Cho Chang cuz he's ridiculous. I'm going to remind you he was attracted to her mainly bc of her badass Quidditch skills (and, of course, she's pretty and also a nice person). So early on in book five, angst y over the fact that Voldemort is back, no one believes him, he had to stay at the Dursleys, Dumbledore won't tell him why or tell him anything (bc he's a tool but separate issue), Harry goes off on Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. He says some nasty comments and Ginny Weasley will not stand for it, she calls him out on his shit and reminds him that she, too, has faced Voldemort and that she knows What's Up, that she gets it and he's being an ass. This is very important in the development of their relationship because it proves that Ginny is not just some fangirl with an awkward schoolgirl crush on her brother's best friend. She can stand up to him, and she gets him, they are equals. At the end of book five, we find out that Ginny is now dating a second person, and Harry is jealous!!!!!!! Then the book ends.

Book. Six. This is what we've been building towards. The final segment of the arc of their relationship story line. Harry finally opens his goddamn eyes and realizes this girl, this woman, Ginny Weasley, whom he has spent every summer with at the Weasleys, who sasses him back as no one else can (remember Harry is a sassmaster), is an amazing, bright, beautiful, badass witch and he. Is. Swept. Away! He has got it bad, just as he should because Ginny is the shit.

She joins the Quidditch team and shows off the talent that will lead her to the professional Quidditch pitch later in life. She becomes Harry's partner in leading the team. Quidditch has always been important to Harry so SHARED INTERESTS/PASSIONS, my friends. Also remember that's what caught his eye with Cho. This is what Harry looks for in a partner!

Now. Now. This is when we get the magic, what has been building!! Ginny dumps Dean at some point. And Harry and Ginny rock the Quidditch pitch. Ron comes into his own, too, and Gryffindor WINS. riding the pure, ecstatic thrill of their win, Harry and Ginny turn to each other in the common room and THEY KISS!!!!!! AND IT IS SO PURE AND HAPPY!!!! what more could you want for Harry??!!!?!!!?

They date for a couple months, wonderful months, they are so happy together and everything clicks! Amazing.

Then Dumbledore dies.

And Harry knows what he has to do.

And guess what. Ginny does, too. She gets him. She supports him. She lets him do what he needs to do.

That's what Harry needs in a partner.

In the meantime, (book seveeeen!) Ginny and Neville hold down the fort at Hogwarts, kicking butt and taking names, so when Harry's ready to come back, they're ready for him. They're ready to face Voldemort.

And they do. And they win. And Ginny and Harry love happily ever after. Oh, is happy ever after not enough? Do you want to complain about how Harry probably has PTSD and it's never addressed? That may be valid, but as a reminder, he's got Ginny Weasley at his side, a woman who has always understood him, always had his back, always had to live with her own trauma from Voldemort. They'll get through it together.

FIN

Epilogue:

Me to Fuz: So did you WANT to talk about Harry Potter, or….? :P

[actual-changeling]

hello :) first of all you really don't have to answer or acknowledge this since it'll maybe stir this whole thing up even more, but i guess i just wanted to talk about this with someone who feels as passionate about it as i do. there's this very famous writer in the TLOU fandom and the way they portray ellie's character and especially her trauma just IRKS me so bad. it's so obvious they have no idea how PSTD works. at first i was like, ok, don't like don't read, i truly get it and agree, but when you write about such a sensitive topic i feel like you have to take responsability? the don't like it don't read it rule doesn't apply here since A LOT of people are reading your works and there's a possibility that their knowledge of PSTD will be flawed bc of the way YOU wrote it. and ellie's character... like, how much can you change a character's personality before it's another whole person? i just don't understand the point. again, no need to reply! just wanted to talk about this w/ someone (a writer, no less) who gets it

Hi anon!

I'm glad you felt safe enough to send this ask, and I 100% understand where you are coming from. I won't go into the drama because Ellis made his post and I was only watching it from the sidelines because he is my friend; this is done for him so it's done for me.

I do wanna say something on the matter of "don't like don't read" and author responsibility because as everyone who follows me probably knows at this point, I care about accurately writing PTSD and trauma (and any other conditions for that matter), and I have made several posts about it before. This is not about one person, this is about a trend I have see both in this fandom and in other ones, so once again, as always, if you start feeling defensive ask yourself why and have a good look at that.

I want to make something very very clear: people critizing a person's portrayal of a character's trauma and PTSD is NOT about headcanons. It is not about creative freedom. It is not about character interpretation. It never has been and it never will be. It is about accurately portraying actual medical conditions in a way that is both respectful and does not contribute to ableism and stigma.

If your portrayal misses the mark, people critizicing it are not criticzing your headcanons. They are telling you that something you wrote is legitimately offensive and harms actual, real people with that condition. There is exactly one correct response to that and it's apologizing, correcting your mistakes and/or taking the work down if you cannot do so for some reason (too deeply enmeshed with the story, you cannot write it properly, etc.). Saying "don't like don't read" and ignoring it doesn't suddenly make your work not offensive, it just makes YOU a bigot who does not care that they are hurting people.

"Don't like don't read" is about fics that do not meet your personal taste or deal with topics you cannot handle. It does not apply to offensive, harmful content. Would you say the same if someone published an outright transphobic or racist fanfic? Would you say "don't like don't read" and allow them to continue to post outright bigotry without repercussions? And if your answer to this is no, as I hope it is, why is it different when it comes to ableism? Why do you think mental disorders and conditions are somehow less worthy of being portrayed correctly? Why is ableism "less bad" to you?

And anon, you bring up a great point, as an author you not only have a responsibility to make sure that your portrayal isn't hurting people who have it but that it also doesn't contribute to negative stereotypes and furthers the stigma. If a person who does not have PTSD reads it and comes out the other side with an even more flawed view of it, you failed. You failed as an author and as an ally to disabled people.

Write Ellie however you want, but once you get to a certain point at least tag it as "out of character" so people can avoid it. It's not a bad thing to write ooc characters, if you are having fun - go for it! Just tag it as such so people can avoid it. Wrongly portrayed PTSD does not fall under headcanons though, it's a problem and you need to fix it. You need to do more research than one google search. Having a friend with PTSD is also not enough, you need the full picture, you need to understand how PTSD works and why people's symptoms are the way they are.

I have CPTSD, I have enough trauma for several lifetimes, I have several other diagnosed conditions and I'm on heavy psych medications and I still do my research. I draw from my own experienced a lot but I also have years of research under my belt and I still do more. Because I care. I care about my writing and my stories, I care about the characters and the people who see themselves in them, I care about my readers and everyone else who will be (hopefully positively) affected by the education I can provide via my writing. I care and that means putting in the work isn't a chore, I do it willingly and with enthusiasm.

If someone tells me I fucked something up - thank you, I will change it, apologize, and learn from it. That is the only correct response and I hope people will start doing so instead of twisting words and hiding behind "don't like don't read" because it has never been about interpretation and never will be.

This got quite long, but once again anon, thank you for sending in the ask, I'm glad you felt comfortable sending it. Have a great day <3

[musingsbetweenthepages]

Book Review: The Great Alone

Book: The Great Alone

Author: Kristin Hannah

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Review: This book interested me with the father having PTSD before it was called that or even really scientifically defined as PTSD. I got diagnosed with that about a year to a year and a half ago (I can’t remember because the days and years have all been blending in for me), and seeing someone who is diagnosed with it got me curious. Some authors won’t do their research on what a mental illness is when they create a character to have one. Many times I’ve yelled at books who inaccurately defined someone with schizophrenia or depression or other mental illnesses and go with the tropes that sensationalize mental hospitals and illnesses. I hate that. If you write a novel on mental illness, as one who has a few, do your research. Or hell, make friends with a psychology student (like me) who can then guide you on representing us right! However, this book didn’t make me scream at it with inaccuracies. In fact, it actually started to represent a lot of my young mid 20s worth of life growing up (minus the shocking endings and that one twist that would have had me screaming “hell no” with the daughter’s decision). I don’t want to reveal spoilers so I’ll just reference there’s the big no-no that I wouldn’t have done or let happen. And then the ending, which shocked me. There’s also the “holy shit” part that I wasn't expecting, and when it happened, I was shook! Yeah, first time I’ve ever used that stupid word, but it was me completely. The way this book was written was extremely good and I couldn’t help feeling so sad for the daughter, Leni. The book takes place in the 70s and 80s during Regan’s time and after. It starts with Leni’s father, Ernt, losing his job yet again and the family having to uproot themselves to scrape by and move on yet again. When it was revealed that the mom was only 16 and the dad 25 when they ran away and got married, I was horrified. That surely would have counted as statutory rape! However, looking over their laws, it was, in fact, legal to be 16 and run off with a 25 year old man who promised you the world and made you sacrifice yourself over everything. Honestly that disgusts me that the parents can't stop their daughter from being manipulated by some 25 year old dude. Like no. I honestly have a problem with age gaps. I don’t like them because I’ve seen how they can seriously affect relationships. If someone is 9 years or more older than you, I don't see it working out because theres a huge gap of life experiences and the older person can use it to their advantage to take control over the younger one. It may also just be because I’m a pessimist and I don’t trust others easily. I’ve had trust issues with growing up in a similar situation. Anyways, the mom basically leads a toxic lifestyle with this man where he’ll abuse her and then apologize and you wonder if it’s just the mental illness or if he’s truly like this. I couldn’t tell, but I knew it was wrong with how she clings to him constantly and lets him beat on her. And I say “lets” because she does what every battered woman I know does, places the blame of her partners anger and hatred squarely on her shoulders by saying that maybe if she had been nicer/quieter/kinder/did more that he’d stop beating on her. My father would occasionally be physically abusive, but mostly to us kids. I ended up learning after moving out on my own that the way he “disciplined” us kids was considered abuse and that I could take him to court over it. Getting beat with a wire hanger, hair pulled so hard that you're standing on tippy toe to lessen the pain, and getting spanked so hard that you have bruises and can't sit constitutes as abuse. Adding in the verbal, psychological, and emotional abuse and reading this was hard. The way the family dynamics played out over and over and over with the daughter Leni seeing how twisted her parent’s relationship was and the mom not getting out of it, the drinking of the father. All of it was like an echo of my past. So emotionally it was difficult. When things turned out good between the mother and daughter relationship wise, I’ll admit I cried. I cried for the chance they had to repair the damage and move on, and I cried for the harsh truth that I’d never get that with mine. I related so deeply to these characters, to this family that it tore me apart. And honestly, I cried a lot the closer I got to the ending. When the “holy shit” part happened, I screamed for joy over what I didn’t get, and then cried afterwards. The mother, Cora, became the mom I didn’t get to have as mine is still in denial and still playing a somewhat twisted game with my screwed up father as they try and divorce. It’s too much stress for me to handle while going to college and now working at the library that I’ve kept out of it. I check up when I can, but I keep away. The maturity of Leni surprised me over her eventual forgiveness of her parents and their twisted relationship, something I’ve been unable to do. It was a beautiful, heartbreaking story that kept me rooted, hoping for the best, even though I don’t really like happy endings, because goddammit, Leni deserved a happy ending after all of this insanity! The cruelty of her parents toxicity, though a main part of the story, eventually subsided and revealed the strengths of the characters that I honestly didn’t expect when compared to my own life. That may be why I’m a pessimist, I haven't been able to really see my family dynamics played out in a positive twist, except with my sister and I getting out of that house and cutting ties with our parents (for the most part). Overall, I loved this book and I wish there was more to it, and yet I wanted to be done with it as it emotionally drained me. If you grew up in a similar family dynamic, be careful as this book is harsh and cruel with its portrayal. It’s an accurate one, but it doesn't shy away from it at all.