#survivor whump is okay. good. and necessary

[defire]

As an abuse survivor, you are just fetishizing child abuse. Plain and simple. Call it a coping mechanism or a power take-back all you want, but it's just an excuse to write porn about child abuse. I pity people like you, truly, I do. I can only pray that you eventually see a therapist about your internalized pedo behavior.

Cw: RANCID ask ⬆️

I'm so glad you brought this up because I don't like to speak for people like you--I'd rather combat these opinions directly.

Since you're praying, I'll feel free to make biblical allusions. (Tw)

First, the word "fetish". My opinion: I don't find fetishes or porn too helpful for processing trauma--it's more like exposure therapy. At some point you do need to actually grieve and process what happened. I don't judge those who do that (you're not hurting anybody♥️), but that's not what Survivor Fiction is for.

When you're judging whether something is bad or good, you can use the "tree by its fruits" concept. Basically, if a tree produces good fruit, it's a good tree. If it produces bad fruit, it's a diseased/bad tree.

So let's look at what Survivor Fiction does for survivors specifically.

It brings healing. I (a new author!) have already received five testimonies that have said how much my writing helped them move through some of their trauma and see things in a different, calmer way.

Survivor Fiction brings peace. A surprising amount of the community--90.5% in a poll involving 1,543 voters--use whump stories to go to sleep at night. (Many trauma survivors have difficulty sleeping from flashbacks. Fiction along the same lines can offer an appropriate sense of distance from the fear.)

It helps disabled people. It appears that a strong majority of our community is autistic. Part of the diagnosis is emotional dysregulation. We need to be walked through how to do things in great detail. Survivor Fiction often walks the reader through the process of trauma, reaction, ptsd, and recovery.

It spreads awareness. Survivor fiction is often more accurate to real-life abusive situations instead of glossing it over--in other words, LYING--about what goes on. This can bring a 3rd party perspective to a current victim too, giving them the understanding that they are being abused and need to escape if possible.

For a more thorough explanation of why fiction about survivors is good and necessary, see this post.

Okay, so would "bad fruit" look like? Do you see any of the following from our community? ↙️

Doing these things in real life

Being generally hurtful of others

Hurting children in real life

Harming emotions by pushing unwanted content to people who would be triggered by it? (Quite the opposite, we tend to post exhaustive content warnings before the content.)

Something else that's actually wrong and not just a thought crime?

And here's the fruit of your words, which I'm sure we all heard the jist of many times before:

You encourage covering up evil. Trying to hide fiction that more accurately describes pain, abuse, and PTSD means hiding the truth. Stifling the exposure of just how evil it is to abuse someone like this. The righteous walk in the light, but the wicked hide their deeds in the darkness.

Your words are shaming. Shame causes pain to fester and act out in harmful ways, such as repeating abuse cycles, self-harm, and dangerous overreactions. Christian ideology here--shame is what caused Adam and Eve to hide from God.

You are lying. You implied that we harm people in real life without any reason to think so. And also implied that we want to be in the aggressor's position. Generally speaking we identify most with the victim.

Referencing Christianity here, if you're christian--Your words condemn the Bible. The bible is full of stories much darker than most of what is written here. You'll read about rape, and the cannibalism of one's own children in Lamentations, among other things.

You're hurting yourself. You will be judged with the measure you judge others with. This is because if you judge others harshly for their thoughts, you'll instinctively judge yourself just as harshly. You end up hurting yourself and others over something that wasn't even doing any harm in the first place.

Causing confusion. What you said was illogical. If it's fiction where the damage occurs, we should be blaming the fictional aggressor--not the writer reporting it. If it's reality where the damage occurs, we should be blaming real criminals--not the journalist. The truth is that writing about survivors isn't generally harmful.

In short, you're creating a lot of problems and not helping. Did this ask come from a loving place?

This answer I'm giving, does.

[thedistantstorm]

First Aid

Steelponcho + Actual First Aid + Zavala is afraid of needles + Suraya is best unofficial medic + Part 1 of maybe 2 or 3 or 7? I have a lot of ideas, ok?

For the prompt: “I don’t know why I bother patching you up when it takes you all of five minutes to get hurt again.” from @bump-of-whump

-----+++++-----

It starts with him bleeding on her freaking table, on her scouting reports. FOTC worked hard on those, and it isn't like she has copies lying around. Suraya wonders if he notices, until she sees him wince.

“Would you like some help with that?”

Zavala looks at her, startled and just a touch apologetic. “I'm fine.”

She raises an eyebrow and steps around him so she's on his right. The blood has saturated his clothes, pooling in the crook of his elbow, to the point where it's dripping from the tip of the joint below.

“I'm sure you are, tough guy. Surely that's what triage told you, too.”

“Triage?”

“Y'know,” She says, talking slowly as he studies the reports, reaching for the strap of his pauldron - of course, it's the huge one, “The place where the injured go to have a professional evaluate their injuries.”

“This,” He uses his left arm to motion to his right as he allows the clearly damaged limb drop so that it's straight and not dripping blood on her reports, “Is hardly an injury.”

“Maybe not,” She concedes, bracing his large shoulder guard with nimble, unnoticed fingers, “But it will be if you continue to let it fester under that heavy armor.” As she says the words, the last buckle falls away and he hisses when she pulls the the red, white, and silver piece of gear from his arm and drops it to the table with a clatter.

“Hawthorne!” He bites out, meaning to admonish but it comes out a bit more strangled and surprised.

She hushes him, looking at the stain on his arm. “This is an old wound, isn't it?” And, suddenly, without asking, she's pulling away the fabric from his skin and slashing it with a small, sharp knife pulled seemingly from nowhere. It burns.

He attempts to step away from her, but she's managed to put one of her legs between his. If he moves, she's primed for a takedown. Not that he couldn't take her, but certainly someone will hear and come running, especially since the animals in the stable have already fidgeted nervously at his sharp tones.

“How long have you been here again?” She asks, almost idly, as she peels away the fabric from his arm.

The Commander tenses, looks down at his arm. That's going to require serious patching. The fabric is mottled copper and black. It smells of methane and grime. He has not stopped since he arrived...

“Four days,” He answers, sound barely passing his lips.

She frowns. “You didn't have anyone look at this on Titan, did you?”

“There were more… pressing matters,” Namely setting up a command center overrun by the Hive, and losing more than half their forces to the worm-worshiping bastards.

“I'm sure.” She doesn't sound like she's placating him, either. “You need to get this cleaned up,” She finally says, after an uncomfortable few moments looking at his skin. His responding harrumph is an expected protest. “It looks infected.”

“The Hive is an infection,” He replies tersely.

Her tongue peeks out from behind her lips as she pushes on it, and he bites his lip to keep from hissing aloud again.

“I'll make you a deal,” She tells him, stepping back and withdrawing her hand from his arm. “I won't make a fuss about sending you to Triage for patching,” He looks at her like she's crazy if she thinks he's going, “If you let me look at it instead. I kind of think you need stitches.”

The lights that dance under his skin bleed away, making him look exceptionally pale. He shakes his head. “That will not be-”

She squeezes his arm, right above the ugly injury. He clamps his mouth shut, jaws all but grinding together to prevent the startled howl that tries to escape.

She smiles a smile so saccharine it makes him feel nauseous.

“Fine.”

Hawthorne hands him back his ridiculously sized pauldron. “Go to the Farmhouse and shower. I'll get supplies and something for you to wear while this,” She gestures to his battle-mucked undersuit, “Gets laundered.”

-/

Nearly an hour later, he sits on a bed in a room that he's never seen before in the tired farmhouse, feeling like a new Titan in the Vanguard Barracks. His arm is bleeding though he's tied some gauze around it to try and keep this new shirt clean - how the woman has managed to size him up is both concerning and impressive. The shirt and utility pants are standard issue, and hardly appropriate for wear under his armor stacked carefully in the corner between his scout and sniper rifles.

She enters the room with a gentle knock, her grubby poncho absent as well. She looks very small without it, all lean curves from the waist up. He can see her collarbones, the swell of... For some reason his cheeks feel warm.

She sets the white metal kit on the bed beside him and looks at the wound he'd cleaned gently moments before.

“Okay tough guy,” She says with a look that's strangely gentle, “Before I get to work here, how bad was it, before?”

He scrunches his brows. “What do you mean?”

She sifts through the large box of equipment. “Did your ghost heal it at all, or are we starting from scratch?”

He looks away.

“I'm sorry,” She says, turning so she's in his line of sight. “I was told to ask. I know it's a sore subject.”

“She could barely phase into me or maintain a neural link by the time we left the city. The others-”

“Got it,” She replies, hand on his good shoulder. “Say no more.” She opens a plastic container and pulls out a syringe of liquid.

He immediately tenses.

She looks down at her hand and then back. Then once more. “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark here and say you do not like needles.”

“Is it absolutely necessary?”

Suraya nods. “If your ghost is unable to completely heal you, you're open to a ton of diseases. We've been vaccinating the survivors as they come in. Lots of people in a small space is a paradise for disease.” She shrugs. “Better me doing it than some of those medics.”

“Aren't they trained professionals?” He looks exasperated.

“Well, yeah. But they'll also say things like 'okay, you're gonna feel a pinch,’ and 'almost done, you're doing so great.’” She holds the vaccine in front of him, the syringe empty. “But, I just gave it to you and you didn't notice.” She smiles. “Could be worse.”

“Aren’t you supposed to prep the site beforehand?”

She nods, but doesn’t look back at him, instead continuing to rifle through the white metal kit. Gestures to a small pad of alcohol prep on which the used syringe now lies. “I did. You were too busy asking me if this whole thing were necessary.”

He blanches again as she pulls out a sealed suture kit. “I truly do not believe this needs stitches, Hawthorne. It looks fine. Surely a bandage can hold it in place.”

“Not as well as stitches, especially since you’re not going to walk around without your armor on.” She hands him the bottle of peroxide. “You want to do it or should I?”

He grits his teeth and takes the bottle from her while she grabs a pair of gloves and opens the kit anyway. He doesn’t make a sound as he splatters a gratuitous amount of hydrogen peroxide onto the ugly wound. The slash is actually pretty deep, and it froths and burns.

Suraya sighs, and dabs at it with a clean flannel. The skin is torn, and the tissue underneath as well. It’s deep enough that she actually should look to make sure there’s nothing underneath, and she does just that, peeking under the loose skin while he grimaces. “I’m sorry,” She says. “Just don’t want anything bad to happen because I’m a shitty nurse.” She douses the wound in something else that almost makes it sting less but then it’s back to angry and burning when she rubs a different flannel across the majority of the slash.

This time, when she pierces his skin, she positions herself so that she’s standing beside where he’s sitting on the bed, her torso blocking his view. She offers his pain killers but he refuses. Stubborn Titan, she thinks, as he flinches when she makes contact with the skin begins to stitch it back together.

“You aren’t going to pass out, are you?” She asks, when he’s sweating and she’s only gotten two of the estimated twelve to sixteen stitches it’s going to take to patch him up. His arm is huge. “We’re like maybe twenty-percent done.”

He inhales and it’s a wet sound. “No.”

“Breathe, Commander,” She says, stopping to tilt her head over her shoulder and look at him. “This isn’t that scary. The needle isn’t that big.” It’s actually kind of big, and hooked too, but that’s why she’s not letting him see it.  “Want to know what is actually scary?” He doesn’t look up at her but she tells him anyway, as she arcs the needle through tough, blue skin.

“Bears.”

He inhales sharply, a laugh mixed with discomfort. “How so?”

“One, they’re huge. Two, they’re stinky.”

“Those aren’t - erhm,” She ties a knot and cuts the thread of another stitch. “How is that frightening?”

“Well, I suppose it’s not. I’m sure you probably could fight a bear and win, Light or not.” The compliment doesn’t light his ego as it might have in the past. “But I think they’re positively terrifying. Used to try to sleep in trees to avoid them when I travelled. But the little ones,” She looks over her shoulder again, he’s listening intently. “They can freaking climb. Not okay.”

Something about the tone of her voice is soothing. The pain becomes duller as she tells him a story about how one time, she managed to be followed by a brown bear cub, with their mother close behind. She had been alone in the wilds for days, and ended up breaking into some random cabin she came across trying to get them off her trail. Her saving grace had been that the cub was too short to see into the tiny port windows and eventually lost interest. And the whole thing would’ve been fine too, if there weren’t two survivors in the cabin she’d let herself into, thinking she was some wayward bandit trying to rob them. By the time she’s done telling her tale of woe, the wound is almost completely mended, and the Commander is more relaxed than she’s ever seen him. She snips down the last of the stitches, wraps him up so that he won’t inevitably pull one of them out when he puts on his armor later, and smooths his shirt back down his arm.

“Your clothes will be ready in a bit,” She says softly, de-gloving, and throwing the used supplies into a wastebasket. “If you want to crash here until they’re done, feel free. I’d rather you not rip them out wrestling Shaxx or whatever it is you Guardians do for fun.”

“Actually,” He says, deadpan, “We wrestle bears.” She throws an unused roll of gauze at his face. Which he catches, with his big, dumb hand. His eyes are practically glittering they’re so bright. She makes sure to look away, lest she continue to feel their pull. Which, when did that start happening? Wasn’t he some stoic commander? What the shanks was this?

“Ugh! I’m going to find a big needle to chase you around with,” She says back. “You are absolutely the worst!”

-----+++++-----

She more sees his face than she hears the sound of his agonized half-swallowed yelp. Hidden behind him, the Shipwright - Amanda, she tells herself - is curled up into the smallest ball in which she can make herself, and Zavala is using a very questionable pipe to thwart some Fallen scalvagers who are trying to make off with the Shipwright’s very meager workshop. How in the world they’ve managed to get into their base this far is unknown, but it’s a definitive problem.

In the seconds it’s taken her to analyze this problem, they turn toward her. It’s for the best, anyway, because she’s already got her rifle in hand, and the first one goes down easily. The second, however, manages to thump Zavala hard in the side with the butt of its weapon and knock him down before Suraya can end him.

He’s grunting as he gets to his feet, ignoring his own injuries in lieu of making sure Amanda is alright.

She is, just terrified. There isn’t a scratch on her. But the wheeze when he breathes is a new sound the blonde is used to hearing from her beloved Commander. She gasps and begins looking him over, exclaiming that he must go get checked out. The look on his face says that is the literal last thing he would like to do.

She wonders why he’s so adverse to that. Ah well, she reasons. It isn’t her problem, really.

“Amanda, go tell the FOTC guys what’s going on, have them come check the perimeter,” Hawthorne hears herself say. “I’ll get the Commander checked out.”

The Shipwright looks thankful as she runs off and Suraya sidles up to him. “So, you find yourself on the ground a lot or is this new?” He glares at her as she continues, “Seriously. I don’t know why I bother patching you up when it takes you all of five minutes to get hurt again.”

“It was several days.”

The corner of her mouth pulls up in a little smile before she can help herself. “Same thing. C’mon, let’s go get you looked at.”

“Do we have-”

Placatingly, she quips, “I’ll take you back to the Farmhouse. No need to waste Triage’s time with the worst patient, ever.” When he sighs in relief, she chuckles. “You’re a mess, you know that right?”

The real mess is the fact that the good commander decides to forego changing before he allows her to address his wounds, instead peeling off the top half of his armor and standing there, decidedly nude from the waist up. She gulps as her eyes take in what seems like miles of musculature and sinew.

“Do you strip for every woman who patches you up? Or am I just special?”

He raises his eyebrows and looks at her pointedly, as if to ask if she were really going to start this. Then flexes.

She almost - but doesn’t - ‘eep’s on the spot. Ridiculous bastard.

“To be fair, Hawthorne,” He intones cooly as she trails her fingers down his right arm to evaluate the damage, “There is no way for me to possibly allow you to look at my arm or side without devesting this much of my attire.” He cocks his head at her. “Watching you squirm is just an added bonus.”

She growls, digging her fingers in just a little too tight over his reopened wound. “You’re rather small without your armor.”

He straightens, smirks. Doesn’t make that hissing sound she’d hoped to get out of him. “Feel free to insult me to make yourself feel more in control of this situation.”

She’s shaking her head, but the laughter is bubbling up in her chest no matter what she thinks otherwise, so she plays it off with another half-smile and looks at the wound. “So, I think you’ll need at least another ten stitches.”

He jolts, and swings his arm around to evaluate it. It’s barely bleeding. He scoffs. “How so?”

The laughter brims and overflows as she snorts out, “I’m messing with you. I can just put a little bandage onto the end of it where you ripped the stitch. No needles required. It looks pretty good, actually.” Unable to resist, she adds, “You must’ve had a pretty incredible person patch you up.”

Zavala chuckles at that. “If by incredible you mean someone incredibly infuriating.”

“I’m sure you’re a real pain in her ass, too.” She sticks her tongue out, and retrieves the bandage he needs, a little butterfly one that adheres quick and easily. He watches her all the while, and when she’s done, she looks up into bemused eyes. His lips are set into a straight line, but his eyes are something else entirely, all glow and spark and smile. The patterns on his face swirl in somekind of contented hum that she almost wants to touch.

And just like that, she slams on the metaphorical brakes.

This is not the time.

And he cannot be the one.

[disruptedvice]

Creator tag meme 2018

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc!) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2018. Tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original!) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I was tagged by the lovely @startofamoment, and subsequently realized that I wrote over half of the fics I have on AO3 this year alone (67/109 total), so narrowing these down was fun. I joined new fandoms, so I had 3 OTPs that I mainly wrote for: peraltiago, starmora, thorkyrie (listed in the order I got into the fandom chronologically, of course) (and I just realized that even though I only chose one peraltiago fic, B99 is mentioned in three/four-ish of these reflections, so even if you only know me from one fandom, stick around, cause there’s a lot of cross pollination in these reflections)

Wedding Day -

As she sprinted through the fields, barefoot and free, it made her feel like a child again, racing through the fields of her home planet, because she had promised Mamma she would be home in time to help her with supper.

Her feet were dirty from playing outdoors all day, but, as green little toes pressed into the freshly tilled ground beneath her feet, she was fast, laughing like a wild child as she ran, confident that she’d make it in time to keep her promises.

This time, she had a different promise waiting for her.

It was a different ground beneath her, one she’d never been to before today, but running bare feet in the grass still felt good, just like she remembered. As she ran, long green toes were pressed into a soil that was a different color than she remembered, and her sprinting feet were long and sure as they pounded against the earth with the speed and grace of a gazelle in its natural habitat. Her feet were practiced now, balanced and efficient. This wasn’t the clumsy running of little feet slapping down with every step. This was quick, light, elegant movements, barely touching the ground before propelling into her next step, with long green toes covered in dirt of a foreign land.

Much had changed.

But she was still running and smiling like a wild child, racing home, because she had promises to keep.

If I had to pick an absolute favorite from this year, it would probably be this one, and the funny thing is it was almost never written at all. This was actually an anon prompt fic and kinda technically a starmora week fill. The prompt for day 6 was Wedding, and I made a self explanatory one shot titled Wedding Night

The day after I posted it, I received the anon ask “Starmora prompt: Peter and Gamora's wedding day.”

The thing is- I had no plans to ever write an actual wedding for them. I didn’t even have any ideas for what their wedding would look like when I got that prompt.

In an alternate reality that anon never sent that ask, and one of my favorite fics would have never even existed.

So really, to that anon, that you, because this is isn’t just one of my favorite fics of 2018, but one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written, so thank you for sparking it!

Whirlwind

The majority of my Brooklyn Nine Nine fics from this year were explicit peraltiago one shots, and this was no exception. Just the sex that immediately follows the decision to screw light and breezy on their second night. Kinda kinky, kinda awkward, kinda giggly, and definitely happy.

There’s a specific line in this fic that I love more than anything, and really don’t know why, just that I do.

Amy kissed him like finally and supposed to be.

Honestly, I think this is my favorite line of the year.

Like I just love the way it sounds, reading it aloud in my head. It just fits.

It’s always the best when people leave their favorite lines/parts in comments, and I’ve found that nothing pleases me like writing a mundane sort of detail and finding out that really made an impression on someone. There were a few specific lines left in the comments, but one comment really stood at to me, just in general and also cause of the line they chose:

She felt him stroking at her slicked up curls

Someone left a comment about just that line as a subtle detail being something they really liked. And I was like ‘huh, interesting’ because as far as just regular details go, I didn’t think anything of that line, and I had no idea how good it would feel in the center of my chest when someone left a comment on how much they loved what I just considered a regular sorta line

Healing

“There’s more to healing than what’s just physically necessary,” Val replied calmly, choosing to focus on treating and bandaging hand injuries rather than the weight behind her words. It’s a process, she thought, but didn’t say. She had a feeling he already knew.

Okay, so I actually got the term hand whump from a comment left on one of my older b99 fics, but it was so perfect the first time I read it cause like, that’s my favorite type of whump! I’m glad I’m not alone in being a sucker for hand injuries in the fanfic community. I don’t know what it is. Symbolism??? Maybe???

The first time I saw Thor Ragnarok, I was barely dipping my toes into the MCU fanfiction community with GOTG, so it wasn’t until I watched this movie again for the second time that I wrote my first Thorkyrie fic, cause, I mean, how could I not? How can you not just love everything about them?

Our Stories can Heal

“S’okay. I know this stuff is hard for you. Thanks for trusting me with that.”

Her heart swelled at that. There was a little ache at how he said that like it wasn't clearly just as hard for him, but mostly her heart felt warm and full.

“Thank you for being the kind of person I know I can trust,” she replied, and that earned her a chuckle.

This one is near and dear to my heart as a sexual abuse survivor myself- plus, I have a thing for badass couples supporting each other (can’t you tell from my OTPs?)

I pretty much wrote exclusively for B99 for almost three years, and while I love digging into emotional issues with a generous serving of comfort, I guess the most severe emotional issues I’d ever explored in a Peraltiago fic was Jake’s abandonment issues. While I’m clearly not opposed to exploring themes of support for traumatic experiences, I was never really able to do that until I had a ship that I could do that with in starmora.

It’s much easier for me to explore things like traumatic pasts in starmora fics because A: it’s canon that they both had traumatic childhoods with physical abuse and were both raised in just traumatic environments in general, and B: with pretty much every hurt/comfort fic I write (whether hand injuries or emotional issues) I like starting at the healing point.

With Peter and Gamora, the trauma already happened in the past, and I don’t have to establish it as an author (plus in the MCU meeting each other in the first movie and starting the Guardians of the Galaxy is where every member of the team’s life starts to get better). That’s all established canon.

If I were to write a soft peraltiago fic of  healthy relationships and emotional support involving past sexual abuse for either of them, I’d have to CREATE something in their backstories that led to that situation, and that’s just something that I honestly don’t wanna do.

I only have two starmora fics that touch on this, and tags for both of those are “implied/vaguely referenced past non-con” because I never actually state anything about it directly in the fics, and never go into what actually happened.

Seriously, in both fics, it’s impossible to tell if it was past CSA or if it was a past incident of sexual assault. That’s how vague it is. And I’m able to be that vague with it, because I don’t have to establish traumatic pasts, because their traumatic pasts are canon. Rather than having to create a trauma like I would have to if I wanted to explore these healing themes with peraltiago, with starmoa I just have to go sideways from what’s already canon, you know? (In Our Stories Can Heal they’ve both had vague past trauma, in this fic right here, Peter is the only one who’s had extremely vague past trauma- both are about healthy relationships and healing and emotional support)

The Hourglass Runs Out of Sand

Here is the exact summary for this

“You are always telling me that I am more than what I was made to do,” Gamora reminded him gently.

“Yeah, but you weren’t made for it,” Peter said, looking up at her with a sudden intensity she wasn’t ready for. The anguish in his eyes made her chest pang with a dull, resounding ache. “Your parents made you so you could be a kid, not a weapon. That’s what you were made for. To be a person. You weren’t supposed to be used to kill people or the entire universe. That’s not why you exist, not like me.”

(Or: Peter’s body isn’t reacting well to losing Ego’s light is one of the author’s favorite tropes)

This was such a self indulgent work of all my favorite tropes and themes. Emotional hurt/comfort? Check. Physical hurt/comfort? Check. Mutual comforting? Check.

I even put in the freakin’ summary that it’s written for my favorite tropes. So, I mean, of course it’s gotta make my top 5 of 2018

Plus, I actually had some fun working in ideas that I didn’t actually use, but still love as concepts.

And it was actually thanks to the comments on this fic from Wawa_Girl / @marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches that pushed this over into something extra special as an author.

She made a much better in depth analysis of this fic than I ever could, and her entire long ass comments on this fic made my entire fucking year

Like damn, you get yourself a cheerleader who leaves 2,000+ word comments on your fics, cause I got mine.

Here are just 3 subsections of her comments that meant the fucking world to me:

First of all, I love the very premise, the specific types of emotions and trauma Peter is going through here. It's twofold, and it's fascinating. 1) The idea that he was only "made" to be "used," discovering and contemplating and becoming self-loathing over the fact that the entire reason he was conceived was to be used to as a battery, a tool, a thing to help destroy the universe. WOW. That is a take I had never really considered, or at least never thought about for long. That would fuck anyone up, create serious identity problems, that at least on the side of his father, he was intentionally created for evil purposes, and not just to be a person. 2) Guilt over the thousands of innocent people he hurt while being used as a battery, although it was greatly out of his control. Because to someone who wants to be a hero and with such a big heart, the knowledge that he even involuntarily killed anyone through Ego's power is horrifying, to the point where the guilt is so high he feels he deserves any physical pain/illness/injury. Awww man, another take I would have never strongly considered. We've seen fanfics where Peter feels guilty in the aftermath of Ego, but it's usually in relation to how he treated the main characters (never appreciating Yondu or realizing he had a father all along; not listening to Gamora and yelling mean things to her during their fight; being too cocky and rude to Rocket in the beginning, overall wanting to be a better person/hero/boyfriend). NOT insane guilt over the strangers and planets he destroyed via Ego's light. Goddammit. :( This is the first time I've seen a fanfic address these two ideas. And it's realistic and creative and GOOD.

- How Gamora originally thought Peter "felt" the other children, his siblings dying, how seeing the bodies scared her for Peter's well-being so much, and how making Peter relive their deaths seemed like Ego's brand of sick, psychological torture. But also that Peter actually meant he felt the other strangers dying due to the expansion, scared and running away and being buried. Feeling that is horrifying, of course he would feel insane levels of guilt. The comparison that, despite Gamora's guilt over her victims under Thanos, she never felt them die, and not all at once but over the course of years. Again, great contrast. I still love her reminder "That wasn't you." That could never be Peter.

- Peter breaking down crying when Gamora says "Earth" instead of "Terra." That's so interesting, one of the most original concepts in this piece, how that slight name change would resonate with him so much. Fascinating. And heartbreaking. He held it together well, and that was the thing that broke the thread. Poor baby.”

If you’ve got anyone in your corner who builds you up like that, then you’re set for life, baby.

(I think that Gamora misinterpreting Peter’s statement and thinking he meant the other children when in fact he meant the people that died during the expansion is the example of working in ideas I didn’t actually use but just love as concepts)

And that last one kinda goes to the point I made in Whirlwind reflection about people liking what I thought of as regular/sorta mundane details- like obviously the part about Earth/Terra was supposed to be emotional and I wrote it that way on purpose, but I didn’t intend it to be even in the top 8 emotional hard hitting moments in this fic, so what she wrote about that little bit has always stuck with me

And turns out her favorite part was a last minute addition, which always makes me feel extra special, I don’t know why. Finding out that last minute inclusions are things that people loved just makes me glow

If you have a reader who sometimes gives you comments even half as good as marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches gives hers, then you too can consider yourself truly blessed (she writes freakin’ amazing starmora fics too, so she’s the kind of commenter I aspire to be as a fanfic writer, you know? If you don’t have your own marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches, you go be somebody else’s marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches. You go make somebody’s year just by being you)

I’ll be tagging @thehoneymoonbinder, @marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches, @ephemeralcontinuum, @nymphrea, and @startsrose3

Honorable mention for Falling, or the fic that made me realize that I have a pattern, and every time I have a new OTP, the first fic I post for them must be a pregnancy fic. First B99 fic? Peraltiago pregnancy one shot back in 2015.  Last February? Published my first GOTG fic, a starmora pregnancy one shot. Back in June? My first fic ever written for any of the Thor movies- Falling- a, you guessed it, Thorkyrie pregnancy one shot.

[defire]

Defining Whump/Survivor Fiction

So I can link back to it

(from my pov, a survivor)

Survivor Fiction is about the process of physical suffering to recovery. It can be extremely intense to read, containing taboo topics like slavery, abuse, and war. For me, this is exactly where my mind already is 90% of the time--without whump, I was there constantly. Survivor Fiction takes me through that mindset, and then out of it, because with each fresh terror, I realize with extreme relief that it isn't happening to me anymore, and I can finally move out of that panic.

that feeling of relief is called "whumperflies" --this is my theory okay, i might be wrong! It feels like experiencing only the good half of the fear, a sense of grief and jubilation at the same time.

More generally , Survivor Fiction a good way to allow in the so-called "negative" emotions like humiliation, defeat, vulnerability... And just let them exist and pass through, instead of trapping them inside. What other genres can do this? People are so terrified of these feelings that this genre is still considered "transgressive".

I think Survivor Fiction also helps spread awareness about what some people's worlds really look like--because that taboo stuff really does happen, and too many people are looking away.

So if you want to see some characters suffer a little more, don't be embarrassed of it; it's just your heart wanting to rest from the burden of holding all that in. Have some peace. Read some whump.

Detailed post on why survivor fiction is okay, good and necessary