I had to write or else I would explode. This is purely self indulgent Characterizations are pretty accurate (I hope) Set up is that Felix is in college, him and Javi are not dating, and the man is not a murderer, just an asshole.]
[CWs: very iffy noncon/dubcon just to be safe, poorly discussed, coerced, and irresponsible kink, rough sex, unknown age gap, choking, drug mention, alcohol use]
Felix sits on a couch that feels and looks like it’s on its last leg. He’s drumming his fingers on the half-empty plastic cup of a watered-down booze concoction.
Javi had dragged him to this party and then promptly abandoned him. Felix knows he didn‘t mean to, he never did, but it inevitably always seems to happen. Javi is like a well-meaning parent throwing a kid into the deep end, and believing wholeheartedly that kid will turn out to be an Olympic swimmer. Felix feels like he’s drowning, but he’ll let himself be tossed into the lake a million more times if it means spending any time with Javi at all.
Javi is perfectly oblivious to the feelings Felix has for him. At least Felix thinks so. The party is lowkey compared to some Javi had coerced him to come to, but it’s still loud, the punch from the giant plastic tub tastes like rubbing alcohol, and Felix hasn’t really spoken to anyone. He feels like he’s put his time in for the night. He stands and looks around for Javi or someone who knows him to quietly announce his departure. Felix is near the front door when it swings open, and a man walks in.
Felix stares at him a little too long, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The man is clearly a few years out of college. Felix watches his icy eyes scan the room before honing in on a group of three somewhat nervous looking guys that are looking back at him.
The man passes by Felix on his way over to them. He’s tall. Felix takes a sip from his cup. One of the guys hands the man a wad of crumpled bills. The man throws the mess of money back at him, pointing at it, and saying something too quietly for Felix to hear. The guy’s friends laugh at him as he unfolds, and straightens the bills before sheepishly handing them back to the man. He counts and folds it before slipping it into his jacket pocket. From the other pocket, he produces a small plastic baggie of white powder. As the guy takes it, the man glances around, catching Felix’s gaze. The trio runs off with their drugs, and the man smiles at him. The expression doesn’t quite reach his weary eyes.
Felix looks away, fumbling to pull his phone out to appear busy. He looks back up when he hears a girl squealing. He watches her run across the room and leap into the man, wrapping her arms around his neck and giggling. He catches her, holding her up off the ground, and kisses her cheek before setting her back down. Felix recognizes her when she turns.
Christine is at every party he goes to, and she’s probably at every party he doesn’t go to if anything he’s heard about her is true. She’s a couple of years older than him. They’re friends of friends more than anything else. Felix finds her intense.
She‘s visibly drunk and pulling on the man's jacket sleeve. He’s tucking some hair behind his ear that she disheveled from his short ponytail, and leaning in close to her face while they converse over the clamor. Obviously the two know each other, but Felix has never seen this man before.
She‘s doe-eyed looking up at him and biting her pointer finger. While the man talks, Christine slides her other hand into his jacket pocket, and he lets her take a baggie. Felix notices she doesn’t give him any money. He also notices the man’s hands—decorated with a few thick silver rings and tattoos peeking out of his sleeve. Those hands caress down Christine’s waist and pull her closer. He whispers in her ear, and she giggles loud enough for Felix to hear over the music.
The man turns her around, kisses the back of her head, and gives her a playful nudge back where she came from. Christine prances off and disappears into another room.
Felix swallows thickly. He wants to be touched like that, and for some reason that thought makes him feel guilty. Why? Because he’s devoted himself entirely to someone who doesn’t even know how he feels? Why should he feel guilty for that?
The man is walking by him and towards the front door. He stops when he’s next to Felix.
“Come outside a second, Staring Problem,” he says, without really looking at Felix. Felix feels his cheeks burning immediately.
“Sorry—I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was-I just—”
“Relax,” the man says, stepping a little closer, “Get some air with me.”
The man doesn’t wait; he just walks out the door. Felix stands still a moment. He’s minimally panicked the man is angry that he saw drugs passing hands, but he was doing it out in the open. It wasn’t Felix’s fault that he saw. He searches the crowd for Javi with his eyes one more time. Finally, he spots him in the corner of the kitchen laughing with a small group. Felix walks outside anyway.
When he gets outside, the man is already getting in his car. Felix half jogs to the sidewalk and the man rolls down his window. He looks impatient. Something about him is so compelling. He’s handsome to be sure, but it’s more than that. Felix can’t give it a name.
“I’m sorry for staring,” Felix says.
“Did you wanna buy?” the man asks, and Felix shakes his head.
“What are you drinking?” the man nods toward the cup in Felix’s hand.
“Some punch someone made, it’s not…good,” he answers.
“You’re cute,” the man says, and it takes everything Felix has to keep from choking. He steps out of the car again, and leans against the door.
“Why’d you ask me to come outside?” Felix asks, suddenly feeling very small looking up at the man towering over him.
“I just told you. I think you’re cute. Mind if I smoke?” The man is already lighting his cigarette.
“I was thinking you were with, um—”
“Who? Christine? No, we’re friends. Did you come here with someone?” The man is grinning, and laughing the smoke out of his lungs. Felix squints as it’s blown towards his face.
“No,” he lies.
“Perfect. Come home with me,” the man says.
“What?” Felix laughs nervously.
“Yeah, come on, do you live on campus? I’ll drop you off after.”
Felix’s heart is racing. Things like this didn’t happen to him. He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t. This is the stupidest, most dangerous decision he could possibly make. The man leans off the car door and reaches out with his free hand. He softly twirls a blonde wave around Felix’s ear, earning a gentle shudder. His fingers slide down and he lifts Felix’s chin. The man is close enough he can smell his cologne. Felix feels drunker than if he had finished several more cups of that awful punch.
“If you were really having fun in there, then by all means…if you’re coming, get in the car. I can always call Christine if I get too desperate.”
Felix remembers his hands on her—remembers how badly he wanted it.
“Okay,” he starts nodding, “Yeah, okay.”
The man drops his hand.
“You’re nervous,” he says, cocking his head.
“No,” Felix answers, even though it didn’t sound like a question.
The man flicks his cigarette out, and gets back in the car. Felix follows him.
———————————————————
The car ride is eerily silent. Felix pulls out his phone and considers texting Javi. He doesn’t, deciding maybe he’d prefer Javi looking for him. He pockets his phone, and looks over the man. He appears relaxed, and his sharp jaw is working the gum in his mouth.
“Um, my name’s Felix,” he says, feeling the silence become too overwhelming.
“We don’t need to do names,” the man says flatly. He seems to notice how Felix shrinks because a moment later the man’s hand is on his thigh, just above his knee at first, then inching higher. Felix’s heart is a moth in a jar. He sees how the man is operating—keeping him at a distance and then continuing to pull him back in anyway. This knowledge doesn’t keep him from craving the pull.
The man’s eyes stay forward in apparent disinterest while he pets softly at Felix’s lap. He watches the way the man’s fingers curl and move, and he imagines what they’d feel like inside his mouth. Little sparks of interest twitch between his hips.
Felix gasps audibly when the man suddenly palms and squeezes him through his pants. The man pulls away, and Felix hears him huff out a laugh.
“You’re not a virgin, are you?” the man asks.
“No,” Felix adjusts himself uncomfortably in his seat.
“A girl? What, late high school? Just to make sure you weren’t straight. Am I hitting anything?” the man glances over and Felix immediately looks out the window.
“Do you want to hook up? Or just treat me like shit?” Felix asks.
“Hoping for a little of both,” the man says, “if you‘d stop being so prudish. You can handle a little cruelty, can’t you?”
“What you’re some BDSM freak or something?” Felix is trying to sound casual and seasoned, like he can also dish it out. The man laughs at him genuinely.
“No, no ball-gags or fuzzy handcuffs. I just don’t want to be gentle, and I have a feeling you won’t mind,” he says. Felix has no clue what all that entails, but he’s already embarrassed enough to keep quiet. The man turns into an apartment complex and parks.
Felix’s anxiety spikes again. He can’t believe he’s doing this. A single word of flattery and here he is, tailing behind a complete stranger and walking into an elevator. He’s busy chastising himself in his head and when the elevator door slides shut; the man closes the short distance between them. In an instant, Felix‘s back hits the wall. The man’s thumbs are under his jaw lifting his head, and their mouths crash together. The man was right about the lack of gentleness. Felix feels like he’s being descended upon. The sensation in his stomach feels like some sick marriage of fear and ecstasy as the man undoes him with a kiss. The way the man licks into Felix’s mouth makes his head swim. He nips at Felix’s lower lip and Felix feels him smile when he yelps.
The elevator dings and Felix is left gasping when the man pulls away. The severed contact aches. He reaches up and touches his lips half-expecting to find blood there. The man exits the elevator and Felix follows him like a shadow.
The short walk to the man’s apartment does nothing to regulate Felix’s nervous system. The two cross the threshold, and Felix looks around as the man locks up. The table in the front room is littered with papers; each one depicting several sketched images. The lines were harsh and the designs chaotic.
Felix stands awkwardly as the man sheds his jacket and enters the kitchen. The same style of art can be found in many of the tattoos that cover his arms. He pours himself a short glass of whiskey.
“Want some?” he asks.
“N-no thanks, I’m good,” Felix says. The man walks around him and sits on the sofa spread legged. He sips his drink.
“Take your clothes off,” he says this is simply as if he were inviting Felix to have a seat. Felix blinks at him.
“You mean right now?”
“Do you need a whole song and dance first? Come on, let’s see what we’re working with,” the man laughs.
Felix’s face burns as he steps out of his shoes and socks, peels off his t-shirt, and starts to work his belt and jeans undone. He glances up and sees the man staring back at him over the rim of his glass. He looks like he wants to eat Felix alive. When Felix is down to his boxer briefs, he stops. He watches the man, looking for any indication of what he should do now. The man looks him up and down and offers a noncommittal expression of what seems like approval.
“Are you gonna—?” Felix asks.
“Yeah, later. Come here, darlin’,” the man says leaning forward and setting his glass down. The pet name perks Felix’s ears, and he feels activated by it like a fucking sleeper agent. He closes the distance between them and stands still right in front of the man. He’s sort of wishing he did have some more liquor in him at this point.
“Down,” the man says. Felix lowers himself to his knees. The man cups his cheek before sliding his hand up and combing Felix’s hair back.
“There you are. I knew you’d look so pretty down on your knees like this,” the hand in Felix‘s hair tightens, not quite enough to hurt yet.
“You won’t mind if I’m a little rough with you? Will you?” He asks, his voice like honey. Felix is finding eye-contact difficult to maintain, but impossible to break.
“No?” the word barely makes it out of his mouth.
“Good,” the man draws the word out, his grip on Felix’s hair getting tighter. He leans back again and uses his other hand to undo his belt and slacks. The man has his complete attention as he pull himself, half hard, out over his waistband. Felix feels his breath catch in his throat, watching the man slowly stroke his impressive length. When he works up the courage to meet the man’s eyes again, he sees he’s still staring right back.
Felix is pulled closer by his hair, but then the man lets go, tracing down the side his face and stopping to pop his thumb into the boy‘s mouth.
“Have you ever sucked someone off?” the man asks, still pumping his fist lazily. Felix shakes his head. The man presses down on his tongue, and pushes in a little deeper.
“I’ll do all the work for you, how does that sound?”
No answer seems necessary and Felix lets himself be pulled forward by his jaw.
“Lick it,” the man sighs as Felix obeys.
“Open,” he says and Felix does. Both the man’s hands are tangled in his hair now, pushing and pulling his head up and down. Each downstroke fucks deeper into his throat. Felix is quickly overwhelmed—fighting to pull back. Finally the man pulls him off and Felix tries to blink away the tears in his eyes.
“You can do better than that,” the man purrs.
“I just—it’s just,” Felix can’t think. As uncomfortable as he is, his arousal pressing persistently beneath his waistband.
“I know, darlin’, I know. Let’s try again,” he says and it sounds enough like encouragement that Felix listens. The man guides him back into rhythm and it’s only a few seconds before Felix wants to tap out again. He presses his hands against the man’s thighs. The man suddenly stands, still half way down Felix’s throat. Felix tries to pull back, but the man pushes into him to the hilt, gripping his hair viciously now. Felix’s nose is pressed into the dark, coarse hair there, and he whines softly, barely keeping a gag at bay.
“Sh-sh-sh. You’re fine. You’re showing me you’re worth my time, remember? Swallow around me, I wanna feel how deep I am,” the man grabs Felix‘s throat with one hand, and squeezes as the boy struggles to swallow. When he finally pulls out Felix gags and a few tears run down his cheeks.
“Please-fuck-I just need a second,” he looking up at the man all wet-eyed and pleading. The man clicks his tongue.
“What‘s wrong?” he asks.
“I can’t breathe and-and it hurts,” Felix all but whimpers. The man looks down at him, amused. He lifts his heavy boot off the ground and presses the sole onto Felix‘s groin. The pressure isn’t crushing but it’s certainly not gentle. Felix doesn’t stop him, mostly out of fear that he’ll push down harder. Mostly.
“You don’t seem to mind too much. You‘ve been hard since I put you on your knees,” the man says, grinding down just a little.
“Could you cum like this?” the man asks. Felix yelps and grabs his ankle when he presses too hard on just the wrong spot.
“Keep your hands off of me. Put them behind your back or sit on them or something. And answer my question,” the man is as compelling as he has been all night and Felix listens without delay.
“No-o,” he whines.
“No?” the man teases, “well I think you can.” The man continues to rub his boot against Felix as he sits back down on the couch, leaning all the way back. He starts stroking himself again absentmindedly. Felix feels his mouth water watching the man touch himself.
“Are you gonna be embarrassed when you do?” The man asks.
“Stop,” Felix moans, rutting back against him.
“Do you really want me to?” he sounds like he’s speaking through a Cheshire Cat smile. Felix doesn’t answer. Despite his denial, he knows he’s already nearly there. The shame burning up his cheeks also shoots down straight into his aching arousal. Felix is antsy, his breath is uncontrolled, and his hips squirm desperately.
“You’re not close are you?” the man feigns something like concern, “Have I found a little masochist? Or maybe created one?” he says and presses his boot down especially hard. The noise that comes out of Felix‘s makes him cover his own mouth with his hand.
“Shit, I don’t think you’re going to last another minute,” the man say and he’s right. Felix is barely hanging on this very second.
“Please,” Felix gasps almost grabs hold of the man’s boot but stops himself.
“Aww. Look at you,” the man speaks, sickly sweet, “Are you asking for permission?”
“Nn—I don’t,” Felix whines, shaking.
“I don’t think it’s up to you anymore,” the man says. He reaches out, grabs the boy’s hair, and forces his head up. Felix doesn’t know why, but he has tears in his eyes. His lip quivers while he looks up at the man.
“Look at me. Go ahead and come, darlin’,” the man murmurs. The orgasm rips through and he cries out. The man doesn’t let up at all. Felix doesn’t even have a second to recover and he’s being dragged to his feet by his arm and pulled down the hall.
“You know, I should make you lick the wet spot off my boot,” the man muses.
Felix is unceremoniously tossed onto the bed. The aftershocks of his climax are still twitching through him. The man is rifling through a drawer.
“What are you doing?” Felix asks, paranoia eating him up.
“Grabbing some lube, do you think this is a porno or something? Take off your underwear,” the man says impatiently.
Felix tugs them off quickly. The man leans over him, still fully dressed except for his pants hanging a little low on his hips. With no warning Felix feels two cold, slick fingers press into him. He gasps and the man cards through his hair placatingly with his other hand.
“Fuck, you’re tight. This is gonna hurt. Do ever you touch yourself here?” the man asks, pushing in and out of him.
“Sometimes,” Felix admits, writhing against the sheets. He takes Felix’s wrist and squeezes some of the lube into his palm.
“Get me ready for you, darlin’” the man says. Felix swallows and reaches down. He starts stroking the man slowly. This is the first time he’s been able to touch the man on his own, at his own pace. He feels some sense of pride when the man groans above him. It’s only a few moments before the man pushes his hand away. He grabs Felix’s hips and yanks him to the edge of the bed. He lines himself up, pushes the boy’s knees into his chest, and shoves in with no more warning. He preemptively covers Felix’s mouth with his hand before he cries out.
“Shh. I have neighbors who don’t want to hear you as bad as I do,” he says.
There is no warming up, no finding pace. The man is just fucking into him like they’re both machines. The force is violating and mean. Felix feels tears cropping up again and shuts his eyes. The man squeezes his cheeks harshly.
“Darlin’, it’s okay, you can cry, look at me,” the man says, and Felix does. The hand covering his mouth slides down in favor of wrapping around his neck. Felix feels his pulse hammering against the man’s thumb. A choked noise drags through his already battered throat. Instinct lifts his hands to push against the man’s arm.
“Hands off,” the man sing-songs, and dips his head lower along with the tone of his voice, “I want to watch you abandon your self-preservation.” Felix doesn’t know why he listens or why the words send jolts of pleasure between his legs, but he rests his shaking hands on either side of his head. The man leans forward applying a bit more pressure and grinning down at his living toy. Felix’s eyelids flutter and little desperate noises he can’t control catch in his throat. His vision goes spotty.
“Aw, I can see you losing your grip. Go ahead and pass out for me,” Felix barely hears the words and he comes to a few seconds later to the man petting his hair and still fucking him.
“Good boy,” the man drawls, “Let’s do that again.”
Felix perks up, in a panic, whining but not really getting any words out.
“No? Why not, look at you, you’re already hard again,” the man assures him, and Felix already knows. He doesn't wait any longer before he goes back to what feels like crushing Felix’s windpipe. He leans in as close as he can without disturbing the pace of the roll of his hips.
“When I let you breathe, I want you to beg me to stop, Felix,” he says lowly. Felix whines, fighting to keep his hands still. He doesn’t think he’ll have to have to fake it. He’s scared and already teetering on the edge of consciousness. His lungs burn and his chest aches, his head is swimming and then there isn’t anything at all. No feeling, no sound, just wave after wave of pure and utter nothing.
Felix wakes up to the man slapping his face. It doesn’t really hurt, but he throws his head to one side trying to avoid being hit again.
“You still with me?”
“Please stop,” Felix hiccups, trying not to cry.
“Give me more than that, or I’m going to put you out again,” the man threatens.
“Please, please I’m scared, I—I don’t know what you want,” Felix coughs, “I don’t know what to say. Please stop, it hurts.” Felix is scrubbing away at tears and trying desperately not to come again all over the man’s shirt.
“God, you’re so fucking sweet,” the man growls out. He steps back to flip Felix onto his stomach before going back in on him. Felix can’t tell anymore if he’s moaning or crying and the man grabs the back of his neck and keeps him muffled against the mattress. His other hand grips Felix’s hip hard enough to bruise. The minutes drag by and Felix feels himself leaking onto the mattress. He’s fucked out and exhausted by the time the man grips his hair at the roots, and cranes his neck back as he finishes inside him with a breathy groan.
Felix doesn’t move as the man leans over him and kisses the top of his head. He smooths the boy’s sweat soaked hair out of his eyes and softly licks away a tear. He disguises it with a quick kiss to Felix’s cheek right after.
“You know what, I wish I had a basement to keep you in. I’d love to have you on retainer,” the man teases before standing up and walking to the bathroom. Felix rolls over and tries to fix his hair, before dragging himself to his feet. He gathers his clothes and quickly dresses himself.
He waits near the door and when the man returns he’s only wearing sweatpants.
“Are you taking me home?” Felix is alarmed by how ragged his voice sounds.
“What? Oh right,” the man gestures vaguely towards the other room, “There’s some cash in my jacket, get yourself a cab.”
—————————————————————————
Erring on the side of caution with tagging people cause this isn’t what the people on my taglist originally signed up for, but I hope you like it anyway!!
whump scenario: a sexual assault taking place in the backseat of a car - while someone else is driving. they’re trapped back there with someone who’s getting more and more handsy by the moment until they’re actively being groped, grabbed and touched, escalating slowly at first and then so much faster. there are hands pushing under their clothes, a mouth on their neck, and the whole time the person in the driver’s seat just keeps driving. maybe that person is an employee, maybe a lackey, maybe a friend or accomplice. but the whole time, it’s like this horrific violation just feet away from them isn’t happening at all. even when the begging starts - please, please stop, please don’t do that, please don’t touch me, stop touching me, please stop, please help me, they’re hurting me, please help - there’s no reaction. the driver’s eyes stay on the road.
If I may add: this taking place in a limo or a car that has a divider between driver and passengers, so if the victim starts being too loud in crying for help, the driver can simply roll up the divider and ignore them further
This concept is excellent, and just as I started daydreaming, I remembered that I wrote something involving this!
The Driver.
The radio is still on, some bland country song about love and nature. The passenger compartment is designed to be soundproof. It's not proofed against other vibrations, though, and with clenched teeth Harry endures the rhythm of Mr Barlow fucking his six figure whore.
because captivity isn’t just being held in a place it’s so much more. it’s a microcosm of death. you are forcibly removed from the people who love you and the life that you live (by dying or by being trapped somewhere you do not want to be). you become an object (because you’re a corpse or because you’re no longer treated as human). losing all control and having your life being dictated by someone or something else. you don’t even have to be physically unable to leave a place. a marriage can be a form of captivity. blackmail is a form of captivity. it is isolation and claustrophobia and stagnation. repeating the same day over and over and over again, unable to create new experiences, like a timeloop, cycles upon cycles.
and the scars. the way that once you get out the only thing you can think is “I’m never going back, ever again.” and it lingers. you can be the safest person in the world and you’ll always be scared of going back. you’ll do anything to never go back. the worst suffering you choose will always be better than being trapped.
things some people, especially people who are new to ao3 or fandom/fanfic space as a whole, seem to not understand:
archive of our own is an archive. not a social media.
archive of our own was built with the stance that there would be no censorship, because other platforms already had censorship where some things that were taboo were reported/removed. ao3 was built with the purpose that all of these works, that were not allowed on other platforms, would be allowed on ao3.
the archive will house anything that’s considered fanworks. so no, you cannot report this fic because it portrays in explicit details taboo topics about xyz, you cannot report that fic because it romanticizes and glorifies xyz. ao3 will not remove any of those fics, because whether or not you like it, those fics do not go against ao3’s terms of service.
“but these things are not allowed on other platforms” that’s precisely why ao3 was created, to house and give a platform to these things that were censored/banned/removed from other platforms.
if you have a problem with this, you can use other platforms to post and read fanfics
but you should also know that ao3 by far has the best tagging system, meaning you won’t get anything like what ao3 provides on other platforms, meaning it may be a pain in the ass for you to find a fic with the prompts and pairing you’re looking for, meaning you may still get jump scared by things that are triggering to you half way through your reading of what you thought was an innocent fic. because other platforms don’t have tagging systems, where you can find and avoid any character/pairing/tag as you please, like ao3.
i think it's quite harmful to share the mindset that basically anything goes on ao3. yes, tags and filtering are super helpful to avoid your dislikes, but because of how many "taboo topics" are written, it's more challenging to find what i want when i have to scroll past abuse, mental health glorification, etc. i think authors need to really take some time to self evaluate and really come to terms with what they're writiinf and if it's that important to be written.
actually, authors can write whatever they want because they write for themselves. not. for. you.
we don't have to cater to your personal liking or comfort because we fucking write whatever the hell we want for ourselves. we are our main audience and priorities. and we already tag our warnings, it's your job to avoid them.
also if you actually filter out tags about topics you don't like, you won't have to scroll past most of the things you don't like, because every fic that's tagged as such just won't show up on your screen at all
Ah yes, and here we have tumblr user "innocent bean" telling AO3 to abandon the mission they were created for, and fan authors to shut up and conform all of their fic to what "innocent bean" wants to read.
it disturbs me that a significant number of people think that the issue with sexual violence, gendered violence, and misogyny is sexual desire rather than dehumanization, so they are relentlessly suspicious of others' (and their own) desires while simultaneously never at all interrogating others' (and their own) dehumanizing beliefs about other people, both within and outside of sexual contexts
#and at the root you'll find the misunderstanding of sexual violence as a violent extension of sex. #when in reality sexual violence is a sexual extension of violence. and the distinction is important.
You know what I realized that I really love? Intelligent whumpees. Whumpees that have a bright future ahead of them, who have the potential for greatness. They're always reading and always itching to learn something new.
And then all of that is taken away. They get kidnapped and suddenly reduced to a stupid pet, a worthless object, or - my personal favorite - a pleasure slave.
Then, when they're eventually rescued, they lose all confidence in their intelligence. Every mistake they make is just proof to themselves that they're too stupid to be worth anything. Their dreams of going to an ivy-league school are gone, replaced with their unrelenting need to be quiet and obedient. Their affinity for learning has been destroyed by the mentality that they're more useful as an empty-headed slave.
They've been completely destroyed, and the greatness they once seemed destined for is now nothing but a distant, impossible fantasy.
just a heads up to my fellow writers out there that AO3 is currently fighting off bots commenting on people’s works to tell them that AO3 will delete their fics “due to the works being deprecated”, and the deletion will affect their accounts unless the authors delete the fics themselves first. IT IS A SCAM. AO3 will NOT delete your works. please do NOT fall for these bots!
I’ve been told the reason why these bots are doing this is due to copyright infringement issue where they’re trying to steal your works (possibly to train AI but this is just a guess) ‼️‼️‼️and once you deleted your fics, it will be either very difficult or impossible for you to claim ownership of your own fics when they were already deleted.‼️‼️‼️
a reminder that AO3 will never contact you through your comments section (in case they claim to be one of the moderators). AO3 will only contact you through your email address which you use to register your account, and it will be from AO3’s official handle. not some sketchy ass @
so if you get a comment telling you you should “delete your works to protect your account because AO3 is doing blah blah blah” report that comment. don’t delete your works.
PLEASE DO NOT FALL FOR THESE SCAM.
AO3 IS NOT DELETING WORKS.
DO NOT DELETE YOUR WORKS JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE CLAIMS THEY KNOW SOMETHING.
No handcuffs or tape or rope in sight - or maybe you want to use something a little more personal…
~Improvised bondage with shoelaces, scarves, bedsheets, or curtains
~Clothing optional - take off a whumpee’s clothes just to tie them up with it! Maybe it’s just a shirt, maybe it’s everything. Are they being humiliated or dehumanized by being stripped? Could be a good one for noncon whump!
~Deck the halls - decorate your whumpee! Are they wrapped up in christmas lights, tinsel, ribbons and bows?
~Barnyard bash - are they on a farm? Animal restraints and traps, by handfuls of straw, itchy and irritating twine, chicken wire, leather scrap, burlap, or hastily-nailed scrap wood!
~Bring the pain - barbed wire, electric wire, razor wire
~Guitar and instrument strings
~Plastic wrap, trash bags, zip ties
~Gore porn - intestines, skin, stringy flesh - are they from the whumpee, or someone else? Are they bound by the flesh of a loved one? Someone who tried to protect them? A caretaker? Or maybe someone else who hurt them before - and got in the way of a bigger bad!
@ me if you write something this helped inspire, I’d love to read it!
i feel like people forget that sometimes characters in fic are written like that because it's a reflection of real life.
people have sex without setting boundaries. people have unprotected sex without talking about their sexual histories or producing recent sti tests. people play with kink without discussing it ahead of time or establishing a safeword. they have anal without 'enough' prep or lube—they may even prefer it like that.
and none of this is really a fantasy. it's all pretty normal. you can feel that it's inappropriately normalised, and you'd probably be right! but it is normalised: one study found that 58% of female undergraduate students on the campus studied had been choked during sex. 20% of those students said that they'd never been asked if it was ok; another 30% said they'd only sometimes been asked if they consented. fully half! (non-paywalled journal article on choking during sex here, including these numbers.) despite a rise in stis of all sorts, condom use is declining. (pdf link to the full text of this study about declining condom use in the us; aidsmap article about an australian study with similar results.)
even when people do talk about things—sex or anything else—they communicate imperfectly. 'yeah, but don't go too far' is consenting and setting a boundary, and also relying that the person you're talking to has the same metric for 'too far' that you do. for some people, 'the trash needs to go out' is a neutral, factual observation; for others, it's a request that the person they're speaking to take out the trash.
even when people understand each other perfectly, people react unpredictably to things sometimes! we behave irrationally! people laugh uncontrollably at funerals, or get angry at the straw that broke their back rather than the enormous load they were already carrying. they get scared and lash out at people trying to help them. when hurt, most people do not instinctively reach for therapy-approved grounding exercises and 'i feel' statements.
pretty much any bad choice that characters could conceivably make is a choice that people make in real life, on purpose, all the time. people do things that can have catastrophic, life-changing effects because it felt like a good idea at the time, or they're leaning into the vibe, or they just didn't think about it all that much, or an infinite number of other reasons.
fiction isn't intended as a guide on the best, safest, and most responsible ways to live your life, and fanfic isn't any different. it's not a narrative flaw to let characters do things that are messy or harmful or downright stupid—it's a reflection of what people are actually like, and not something that authors should feel they have to apologise for.
