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†AN INCEST COMMENT FICATHON
How to prompt:
Leave a comment with fandom, pairing/character, and prompt. The prompt can take any form, poetry, song lyrics, etc.
Filling Prompts:
1. Filled prompts should include fandom, characters, and prompt in the subject line. Include a title if there is one, and rating if you like.
2. Leave a link to the work in the "filled" thread.
3. Prompts can be filled multiple times by different people.
4. Please WARN for subject matter that others might find triggering.
FEEL FREE TO PROMOTE
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January 25 2012, 19:33:39 UTC 4 months ago
Questions?
ask awayyyJanuary 26 2012, 03:08:39 UTC 4 months ago
When you say "involves incest", does it actually have to be a pairing? Could it focus for example, on children who are the result of incest? V.C. Andrews and the manga Godchild come to mind (I mean, there are also obvious family members to pair them with, but).
And is incest meaning blood relation specifically, or do step-siblings and foster siblings count? What about incestuous undertones - ie. drawing attention to similarities between one's love interest and a family member.
SORRY FOR SO MANY QUESTIONS, I've just. Thought about incestuous subtext a fair amount.
4 months ago
3 months ago
3 months ago
January 25 2012, 19:37:30 UTC 4 months ago
FILLS
put 'em hereJanuary 27 2012, 13:51:08 UTC 4 months ago
filled here.
4 months ago
January 25 2012, 20:48:19 UTC 4 months ago
January 25 2012, 21:03:10 UTC 4 months ago
January 28 2012, 00:31:02 UTC 4 months ago
January 25 2012, 21:21:03 UTC 4 months ago Edited: January 26 2012, 05:33:58 UTC
January 27 2012, 01:53:24 UTC 4 months ago
January 26 2012, 01:46:02 UTC 4 months ago
the kid want to cuss and fight
in the basement
warm black rooster, worn white hand
the young kid's got my name
January 26 2012, 01:49:12 UTC 4 months ago
she locks all the doors and turns, says,
"we will always be safe here in this bed"
January 31 2012, 12:14:16 UTC 3 months ago
3 months ago
January 26 2012, 01:57:14 UTC 4 months ago
i went dancing with my sister
call her madam, call me mister
she wore a dress, it was nice and something
underneath her dress was slipping
January 27 2012, 13:48:35 UTC 4 months ago
It's Lucrezia's first masque since she gave birth, and she feels larger than it, somehow. With heavy feet, a straight spine, and guarded eyes she moves around the room, remembering how to glide and twirl, blend in and stand out at the same time. She observes (she's always been good at watching people) Juan devouring some woman with dark ringlets, Father sitting as though he is on a throne, king of a great empire. She cannot find Cesare, but she doesn't ruminate on it; he's never been good at staying away from her.
Dancing with a few men (or boys, she thinks she can tell the difference now, but she doesn't know which she prefers), she feels her body get heavier, exhaustion creeping up her toes, ankles, into her chest. Lucrezia excuses herself, doesn't know if she'd rather take a walk outside in the cooling air or simply go to her room and fall asleep, swimming in white sheets that don't quite feel right anyway.
She takes a sharp turn, unsure of where her feet are carrying her until she sees her brother, jaw set, standing just outside the crowd. His eyes flicker to her and his lips twitch with a smile he doesn't give into, but Lucrezia knows he will.
"Cesare," she says, standing next to him to see his view of the dance floor, wondering if he was watching her.
"You are lighter on your feet than every man here." His voice is hoarse, and she's beginning to associate his current stance with violence, feet just too far apart. She imagines him with blood on his hands, those hands wrapped around someone's neck the way he warps them around her waist.
"Even you?" It's a challenge.
His eyes flicker from hers to her mouth to her hand. "Come with me," he says, offering his hand to her, palm open, upturned. She takes it; she cannot recall a time when his firm grip hadn't been comforting, even though Lucrezia doesn't think she needs to be taken care of anymore.
He leads her outside, the moon casting shadows, the air eliciting goosebumps on her arms. When he places his hand on her hip he is careful, delicate; he is only ever delicate with her. He presses too close, the stubble on his jaw scratching against her cheek, the fabric of their clothes smashed uncomfortably between their bodies, but Lucrezia doesn't mind.
They sway as music from the hall echoes quietly around them, punctured with silences as the players decrescendo and crescendo. Something is building, and Lucrezia closes her eyes, feels Cesare's hand on her waist, the pads of his fingers pressing and releasing as he learns her new body.
She is the same, but she is different.
When the air gets too hot, he twirls her around and around until she giggles, until her ladylike giggle turns into a childish laugh. It's worth breaking to see a grin spread across his lips.
Then Cesare kisses her, catching her intake of breath as she laughs against his mourh. Her hand rests on his jaw, her thumb tracing his cheekbone. The press of his body into hers is different now, more deliberate, tighter. Lucrezia hears her blood rushing in her ears, her heart beating against her ribcage. Pain tickles at her heels, her eyelids are heavy, but her palm is awake and her mouth moves against his, and she thinks he is praying even though he doesn't believe in God.
She doesn't know what she believes in anymore except for herself, except for Cesare.
He bunches the fabric of her dress in his hand and she hitches her leg, breathes an Amen against his lips, Forgive me brother, for I have sinned.
4 months ago
4 months ago
January 26 2012, 01:59:06 UTC 4 months ago
wide eyed and up in arms
my little brother was a solemn one
January 26 2012, 02:01:00 UTC 4 months ago
dead hearts are everywhere
January 26 2012, 02:07:56 UTC 4 months ago
now my heart is returned to sister winter
now my heart is as cold as ice
January 26 2012, 02:12:49 UTC 4 months ago
Under the bright glazes
Esau watches Jacob,
Cain watches Abel.
With the same heavy eyes
the tilemaker's Arab assistant
watches me,
all of us wondering
why for every pair
there is just one
blessing.
February 6 2012, 01:39:50 UTC 3 months ago
January 26 2012, 02:24:53 UTC 4 months ago
your lips to my lips
we cease to exist
January 29 2012, 19:04:05 UTC 3 months ago
It was as they had always said, for to die alone was never an option. He understood that this is the only way to save her, save them, before anyone came to tear them apart. And they had been apart for too long, each other’s absence clawing at them, bleeding out their yearning to be whole again. Now they were, even as captives like the lions caged back at the Rock, it did not matter. They were here, together with limbs entwined and snatching back some of the light that had faded from their damaged selves.
A small shaft of the pale morning sunlight came through the window falling onto them so that it seemed that she glowed in his arms. Skin and hair seemed so vibrant and he reached out to curl a finger around one small lock. Their hair was almost the same length now and they appeared as almost perfect reflections like they used to be. Before he lost his hand and before they had been forced apart. Back to when they had been children play fighting and scaling the castle walls or swimming in the sea. Back to when they had been born and he had gripped onto her so that he wouldn’t lose her.
“Jaime,” she sighed his name and he glanced back to her face seeing her open her green eyes. He studied her face, his face, the face of their father and mother, their brother and their children. It was a face he had always wished to see every time he opened his eyes and the last face before the dark descended.
He said nothing but kissed her lips and she returned them warmly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he moved over. He could not stop the tears and when she tasted them she moved back to look at him. She stroked his face, her face, the face of their father and mother, their brother and their children and he saw her own tears gleam.
“My love,” she whispered and he kissed her again, distracting her from his left hand that slowly crept up and caressed her neck. He kept kissing her as he wrapped his fingers around the slim column and still did so when he started to squeeze and her body jolted, reflexes telling her to fight. Soon she was gasping, struggling and her hands hit, slapped, scratched but he pushed down and then he felt her body slowly still and his eyes met hers for the last time.
“I love you,” he said and caught her last breath in his mouth.
He held her tightly in his arms, rocking back and forth crying as the warmth gradually left her. Then he found the small dagger he had stuffed away and eased himself by her side. Cradling her close and with a final kiss he pushed the blade in and crimson seeped out and glistened in the golden light that filled the silent room.
3 months ago
3 months ago
January 26 2012, 02:26:08 UTC 4 months ago
January 26 2012, 02:27:21 UTC 4 months ago
If you could make another one of you
Then you wouldn’t give the other one to me
January 31 2012, 01:03:18 UTC 3 months ago
If you could make another one of you
Then you wouldn’t give the other one to me
I am usually better when I lie
Mycroft Holmes: My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?
John Watson: I don't know.
Mycroft Holmes: Neither do I. But initially, he wanted to be a pirate.
~+~
And it's the truth, Mycroft thinks as he steps outside of the café. He has no idea what is going on in Sherlock's heart. If he even uses it like other people. His mind, oh his mind is a whole other thing. Constantly buzzing, connecting, dissecting. Putting pieces together, so the puzzle becomes a picture.
Mycroft looks up at the sky. Rain and more rain and more rain and nearly calls his driver to pick him up, instead he risks a glance up and nearly takes a step back as he sees Sherlock standing at the window. He doesn't, it would show weakness. Something tightens in his guts and he breathes out carefully. He could nod, he could do- something, he doesn't. That's not how they work. They don't care like other people and with Sherlock he doesn't even need to pretend, even if pretending is all that Mycroft seems to do around Sherlock these days.
~+~
Mycroft wasn't interested in Sherlock until Sherlock started to talk. Since that day Mycroft knew that Sherlock had a mind that matched his own. He wasn't alone anymore in this sea of ordinary people. Everyone seemed just so slow compared to them.
When he was younger Mycroft thought that they were alike, that they were one, but he was wrong.
Sherlock isn't, wasn't like other people, not even like Mycroft. (God knows Sherlock tried for a while there. The drugs just don't work. Never did.)
He comes close, they come close, but never-. No, he thinks. No. And still Mycroft can't stop caring. He tried and for good reason too, but Sherlock is his blood, his flesh, his family, his.
~+~
Sherlock puts his fingers to the glass and Mycroft watches. It's a careless, sentimental, unnecessary gesture. Seconds slipping away. He's soaked already and he just can't seem to look away, to care for the world. The rain, the wind, the people that have to go out of their ways, because he's rooted to the spot. Hurrying along. He's counting down. Dr. Watson is on his way up. He'll tell Sherlock a lie about Irene Adler. Mycroft wonders how good Dr. Watson can lie. Not good enough he decides. Sherlock will know.
Sherlock always knows.
~end~
January 26 2012, 02:53:15 UTC 4 months ago
January 26 2012, 02:54:14 UTC 4 months ago
January 27 2012, 01:06:00 UTC 4 months ago Edited: January 27 2012, 01:06:12 UTC
January 26 2012, 03:12:32 UTC 4 months ago
January 26 2012, 03:17:14 UTC 4 months ago
January 26 2012, 03:22:16 UTC 4 months ago
January 26 2012, 03:35:23 UTC 4 months ago
January 27 2012, 23:04:36 UTC 4 months ago Edited: January 27 2012, 23:14:04 UTC
"Try harder."
This is bullshit.
Faye tugs at her wrists - the only reason she even let herself be bound and hasn't kicked Cassie's ass yet is because Cassie has something she wants, and she was under the impression that she was going to help her get it - and licks at the cut on her bottom lip to try and soothe it. It stings when she speaks anyway.
"Stop screwing with me, princess. How long do you think it will be before Dianna catches on? Then we'll both be done. Now tell me, why can't I access it?"
"You can, Faye. Try harder."
She's getting really tired of hearing the same line. "What do you think I've been doing for the last two days? Or are you actually under the impression that I enjoy your company?"
"Your mom sure did a number on you with that protection spell."
"Oh my God," Faye says. "You're actually enjoying this, twisted bitch."
"I wonder if she managed to put one on herself."
Faye tugs again, hard enough this time that the chair she's in starts to tip before snapping back into place and makes her entire body lurch, before she's snapping back as well.
Fucking magic. "Touch her and I'll gut you with that charm you seem to be so fond of."
Cassie smiles and sets it down, makes her way across wooden floor boards to stand behind her. Faye's pull tightens with every clack her heels make.
"How? The same way you tried to stop me from taking Jake?" she asks, her hands dragging across her shoulders and down the length of Faye's arms until she's teasing at Faye's hands with her finger tips. Faye can feel her smiling.
"The way I see it, you're not in a position to do much of anything. But then, that's what you're good at isn't it," Cassie says, sliding to straddle Faye's lap and looping her arms around her neck. "Being powerless."
Cassie bites down onto the bottom of her ear, takes part of her flesh in between two obnoxiously perfect rows of white teeth and tugs, and that's all it takes.
Faye's hands come loose as a a circle of flames forms and glass shatters around them, but before she can set them anywhere useful Cassie has her bound again, this time with her wrists above her head and the rest of them pressed against a wall together, and then Cassie's kissing her, sloppy and fast until all that's left is a simmering, until she's sure the brown won't leave Faye's eyes again.
"Good. You're getting better," Cassie says, letting Faye come down slow, still watching. Just in case.
"God," Faye breathes once she can. "I have no idea why everyone still thinks you're the good witch."
3 months ago
3 months ago
3 months ago
January 26 2012, 04:27:45 UTC 4 months ago
January 26 2012, 04:48:49 UTC 4 months ago
January 28 2012, 18:28:01 UTC 3 months ago
3 months ago
January 26 2012, 04:50:52 UTC 4 months ago Edited: January 26 2012, 04:55:49 UTC
January 26 2012, 04:55:39 UTC 4 months ago
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