"Now it was just Father and I..."

— And then … and then…

[aloneinthehouse]

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Sideblog focused solely on fictional (mostly mlm) incest ships.

If you're not into the subject, please block and do not interact.

NO real-life incest or non-consensual paraphilia of any kind.

Asks are welcome as long as you're respectful. Feel free to make questions, suggestions, or just say anything that's on your mind and you want to share :)

♜ = my work [do not steal]

[under construction...]

[aloneinthehouse]

CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY (2005) | wilbur & willy wonka

[kjjhgfsa]

As much as I enjoy NSFW content in shipcest, I would have liked more romance and intimacy (non-sexual) between two relatives, like, in addition to romantic/sexual relationship, they have a familial closeness and relationship like any family, but they also happen to be dating, just that sometimes it feels like only thing characters in shipcest have in common is sex and nothing else

[writingdose]

this used to be a common knowledge

via AO3Tikli 2022

[brother-father]

𝑃𝑈𝑆𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅 𝐿𝑈𝐶𝐾

explicit; jj maybank/luke maybank; implied/referenced child abuse, childhood sexual abuse, father/son incest, non-consensual blow jobs

JJ can sleep anywhere except at home.

read on ao3

I have this dream that I am hitting my dad with a baseball bat And he is screaming and crying for help And maybe halfway through, it has more to do with me killing him Then it ever did protecting myself And I believe that, yeah, Dad, maybe no one is perfect But I believe that you were pushing your luck

JJ can sleep anywhere.

Lounging in a hammock, curled up awkwardly in the back of the van, nestled on the floor with nothing but a balled up hoodie as a pillow, even standing, JJ can always catch a few winks. It’s a handy trick, especially when crashing at John B’s. Couch surfing has always been preferable to going back home.

But no matter how long JJ spends away from the old Maybank house with its peeling paint and rotting foundation, he always ends back here. It’s the only home he has ever known, and he knows it well. The rattle of the air conditioner when it actually functions. The smell of mildew and heat that sticks to the walls like nicotine. The shoddy floors covered in grime that creak beneath every step. His door that won’t lock unless he shoves a screwdriver in just the right spot between the door and the jam. The stained, caved in mattress he lays upon now, covered by threadbare sheets ruined with burn holes and rips.

He can never sleep on this fucking mattress. Despite curving to the exact shape of his body after a lifetime of use and his broken bed frame, the mattress feels both too soft and too hard. It smells of bong water and sweat no matter how many times he washes the blankets. He would prefer the floor at this point, but it’s currently covered in dirty clothes and who knows what else. And JJ knows, more than the familiar ache of mattress springs digging into his spine, that it’s not the bed at all that keeps him awake.

It’s the man that JJ shares his home with.

He usually tries to get as stoned as possible before attempting sleep here, but he’s regrettably all out of pot and too exhausted to go hunt some down. So, the boy does what he can and settles against his flat pillow, folded beneath his head until he can find some modicum of comfort, and shuts his eyes. Better to feign sleep and recharge his body if he can’t shut down his racing thoughts. Luke hadn’t been home when JJ got here, and he prays his father stays out all night only to come stumbling in and pass out on the couch. It’s so much easier that way, and JJ will feel relieved when he can get the fuck out of here in the morning before the man that raised him ever stirs from his stupor.

JJ’s version of counting sheep, he thinks back to his friends. John B, Pope, and Ki are all he has in this world, his tether to Earth when the screaming in his head won’t stop and all he wants to do is barrel into the ocean and let the waves take him. It feels so tempting sometimes, like an itch he’s desperate to scratch, especially when Luke’s spittle is hitting his face as his father spews out his latest rant, his words as violent as his fists.

Worthless.

Stupid.

Piece of shit.

Good for nothing.

JJ’s heard it all, but being a disappointment to the only blood he has never gets any easier. It shouldn’t mean much, the approval of a drunk asshole, but it means everything. It means so much that sometimes JJ wants to rip himself open and search until he can find something Luke will find worth loving.

Or lie back and allow Luke to hunt for himself.

When the front door slams closed, JJ doesn’t flinch. He stays as still as stone, his ears straining to hear across the house. Heavy footsteps churn across the cracked flooring. Luke is on the move, bypassing the couch, which means he can’t be too loaded. Or just loaded enough. JJ’s stomach lurches as he tightens his hands in the sheets, counting each second in an effort to keep his breathing slow and even. His eyes remain shut tight and his lips are pinched, already chewing on the skin inside his mouth. Maybe Luke will pass JJ’s room without pause and head to bed. Maybe JJ’s heart is hammering for nothing and anticipation will give way to sweet relief. He’s completely sober, terribly so, and that means there will be nothing to dull the awareness. He could run, climb out the window as he had so many times before, but terror strikes JJ where he lays. If Luke caught him escaping, there would be hell to pay.

The footsteps stop just outside JJ’s room, and for one blissful moment the entire house seems to hold its breath. JJ thinks of Pope’s laugh, that throaty rumble that dissolves into boyish giggles at the slightest provocation.

The ancient hinges cry out when Luke pushes open his son’s door. JJ remains prone, faking sleep. It’s easier that way, easier to pretend this isn’t happening if he can’t see his father. Sometimes, Luke just stands there looking down at his son before turning away and going to bed. Sometimes, JJ hears the pull of a zipper and shuffling fabric, and after a few minutes Luke leaves. But tonight, Luke isn’t remaining where he stands and instead crosses to JJ’s bed. The springs whine with the change of weight as Luke kneels over his son.

JJ begins to tremble, but if Luke notices, he says nothing. The house is quiet enough that the buzz of insects outside turn into a chorus of white noise, buzzing in JJ’s ears. If he focuses on the sound, he can almost ignore Luke’s heavy breathing. What he can’t ignore is the way Luke is pulling back the blankets to press his face against JJ’s crotch. It must be pills. Whiskey mixed with Xanax or Hydros or Ambien. It has to be something more than liquor because Luke is only like this when he’s high. The loneliness breeds affection and JJ feels sick with the weight of it. He hates this, but he knows his father needs it.

Because JJ’s not the only one trembling.

Luke is shaking as he breathes in deep and cups JJ’s dick. JJ bites the inside of his cheek to keep from cringing, his breath caught in his throat to the point his head spins. It’ll be over soon, he assures himself, and thinks of the warmth of Ki’s embrace, how she always smells like strawberries. It’s not enough to ease the acid tearing JJ’s stomach apart, but it’s something. It’s enough. His father’s hand is clumsy and heavy over the fabric, rubbing the length of JJ’s cock in lazy, testing strokes. JJ thinks of playing chicken with John B on his shoulders, fighting Ki who sits atop of Pope. They’re laughing and John B is a heavy, solid weight. Dependable.

Not like his father, who feels so fragile in the dark behind JJ’s closed eyelids. He keeps rubbing JJ through his sweat pants, up and down and up and down until the constant stimulation has JJ hardening. The realization hits JJ like a sucker punch and he keens, a babyish whimper slipping past his lips before he can stop it. Instantly Luke is shushing him as if comforting his son through a bad dream, his cheek pressed to JJ’s pelvis.

“It’s okay, JJ … It’s just me,” Luke murmurs as he pulls down JJ’s sweat pants and takes him out. Luke’s hand is rough and dry as his hand closes in and JJ’s stomach drops to his knees. His chest heaves, his heart racketing against his ribs like it wants to punch through his chest. The arousal building with each stroke is worse than any beating his father had ever doled out and JJ can hardly bear to stay still. “Just be good …” Luke mumbles, his voice syrupy and slurred. JJ knows his father won’t remember this tomorrow, that his loneliness is driving his hand instead of his logic.

It doesn’t take long for JJ to be fully hard. He’s panting now, sweat pooling beneath his back as he squeezes his eyes tight. Tears bleed from the corner of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks to dampen his hair. If Luke notices, he says nothing.

Think of John B singing to cringy 80s ballads while he drives. Think of Pope helping you study, taking the care to slowly explain everything when it all gets too frustrating. Think of Ki’s lectures and the face she makes when she’s angry, how her eyes blaze with adoring fire.

Something warm and wet wraps around JJ’s cock and sucks until JJ can’t breathe, his consciousness bashing back into his body. The heat of his father’s mouth and the slickness of his tongue is too much, shooting lightning down JJ’s legs until he’s kicking at the heavy weight in front of him as hard as he can. Luke goes scrambling for balance, grabbing at the bed, at JJ’s legs, anything to keep him from toppling over. JJ doesn’t stop fighting, shoving himself back as much as he can as he kicks until he feels the heel of his foot collide with breast bone.

The impact sends Luke toppling off the bed, landing with a hefty thunk that makes the house shake as he collides into a pile of JJ’s ephemera. An action figure comes toppling off a shelf above him, hitting Luke on the shoulder on its way down. JJ stares at the gasping tumor that is his father, his cock softening where it lays against his groin, still glazed with saliva. He’s waiting for it, the moment where his father stands and beats his son half to death. JJ has earned it, and Luke needs to save face.

But instead of his expression contorting in rage, the man crumbles with misery. His shoulders slump as he expels a breath and his shaking worsens until quiet, pitiful sobs dribble past his lips. He isn’t looking at his son, but JJ can see the bleary, unfocused look in his eyes. Whatever nightmare JJ is trapped in, he’s trapped alone. Luke is somewhere else completely. The sight is repugnant and JJ forces himself to look away as if to give Luke privacy. The shame radiating from him is so thick that JJ can taste it from across the room. The urge to apologize seizes him, needing to placate his father like he always did, but he can’t bring himself to speak.

Luke is still scrunched awkwardly in the corner of the room, his face red and swollen from crying. “You can’t leave me too,” He babbles, making JJ jerk to face him. Their gazes don’t meet, Luke’s eyes far too clouded and distant. “Promise me, son. You can’t leave me like she did. Everything I do, I do for you.”

The buzzing in JJ’s ears is so loud he can barely make out his father’s words, but their meaning carves its way into his heart regardless. He thinks of water, of going limp and allowing the waves to carry him off to wherever he’s meant to be.

“I know, Dad. I’m not going anywhere.”

[brother-father]

𝑫 𝑨 𝑫 𝑫 𝒀 ' 𝑺 𝑮 𝑰 𝑹 𝑳

explicit; rafe cameron/ward cameron; parent/child incest, blow jobs, feminization, daddy issues

read on ao3

It’s late enough that Ward’s eyes are crossing as he fiddles at his desk, combing through papers and writing notes to himself for his meetings the next morning. He always preferred writing with a pen over keyboard, needing the tactile sensation of ink against paper to better commit things to memory. His office is mostly dark save for the warm yellow glow of his desk lamp, illuminating just enough for him to see across his desk. Rose is likely already asleep in bed, two Klonopin and a glass of wine escorting her to dreamland. Soon, Ward would follow his wife and crawl into their Merino wool and silk sheets, dyed a color he could never remember the name of that Rose just had to have. It is the feeling of his memory foam pillow beneath his ear that Ward is craving as he jots down a few more memos.

The creek of the door creeping open breaks the silence of the room. Ward doesn’t look up from his notes, seeing a flash of baby pink in his periphery and filling in the image of Rose’s satin robe. “I know, I know. I’ll be up to bed soon,” Ward says with a wave of his hand, imagining his wife’s chastising grin. Chardonnay always made her clingy if the pills didn’t knock her out first. Ward has a smile on his face as he looks up, that handsome grin of his that said he was a man that had it all together.

What greets him instead of his wife is Rafe.

Wearing a dress Ward almost certainly bought his daughter last year for her birthday party.

Ward’s son stands six-foot-two with long limbs that always reminded him of a lemur, his skin tan from being out doing God knows what every day. He’s pressed up against the back of the door with his hands folded behind his back, staring at his father with an expression Ward can only make out as maudlin in the dim light. The thin straps of Sarah’s dress are biting into the meat of his shoulders and the damn bodice barely stretches over his ribcage. The skirt is a pale pink gossamer, tulle maybe, and cuts off just above Rafe’s knees. The sight of him ignites disgust within Ward’s chest, but beyond that is searing disappointment. The kid had been a failure since birth and with age had only gotten more unpredictable. Cross-dressing in his sister’s clothes was par for the course, apparently.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ward asks with a grimace, pushing back from his desk before sighing heavily. He checks his clock before rubbing his brow. “I don’t have time for this, Rafe. Get the fuck out and go to bed.”

He casts a glance at Rafe that turns into a stare when he sees his son hasn’t moved an inch. Leaning onto his desk, he counters Rafe with a look that means business. But Rafe doesn’t move. He’s just standing there with that puppy-look that makes Ward sick to his stomach. “Sarah’ll kill you if you rip that dress,” Ward says with a low warning, giving the boy one last chance to get in line or suffer the consequences.

Like a gunshot Rafe pushes from the door, crossing the room in two unsteady strides before he’s around the desk and landing on his knees with heavy thunks that undoubtedly penetrate through the floor to the level below. He grabs at Ward’s knee and uses the leverage to turn Ward in his desk chair to face him. Bathed in yellow, Ward can see that Rafe’s eyes are all pupil, two black orbs staring up at him like dolls’ eyes. The effect is heightened by the long lashes that circle his eyes, thickened with mascara. There is rouge on his cheeks too, some kind of shimmery blush he no doubt stole from Sarah as well. Most obscene is the lipstick, a bright red smeared across Rafe’s lips.

“Jesus Christ, son.” Ward winces as he grabs Rafe by the jaw, turning his face into the light to examine the damage done. His lips curl in disgust as he looks away, blinking past the humiliation bubbling in his gut. He prays that this is just some bad trip, that Rafe mixed coke with something he shouldn’t and would forget all of this like a bad hangover, but then he feels hands running up his calves. Ward looks down, his eyes meeting Rafe’s, and past the high he sees ugly determination.

“Please, Dad. Just let me,” Rafe begs, his voice quiet and trembling as badly as his hands as they work their way up his father’s legs. Ward freezes, confusion and shock turning him rigid until finally his hands catch up with his brain. The urge to kick the kid like a hyper dog is ever present, but Ward opts to seize Rafe by his biceps and haul him up instead.

“The hell are you doing?” He asks through his teeth, his eyes nearly bulging as he tries to see his son past the haze of whatever he took and that goddamn makeup. Abomination. The word cuts like a blade through his mind, carving itself into whatever gland was meant to produce affection. “This isn’t funny, Rafe. Say something!” Ward shakes his son, recalling all the nights he had held the boy as a baby and sang to him until his squealing finally subsided and he could get back to sleep. All that effort, wasted on an ungrateful, thoughtless child.

But Rafe doesn’t stop. His hands are on Ward’s thighs now, grasping at the meat of his legs like he wishes to claw out chunks of his flesh through the fabric of his pants. The boy is shaking, his wide eyes wet with tears that smear the clumps of black stuck to his lashes. “Please, Daddy,” He gasps, and Ward flinches at the word. Only Sarah calls him that still. Rafe had grown out of it by the time his mother died. “I’ll be good. I promise to be good for you.”

The words shock Ward to his core and his breath hitches, escaping his lungs in a stuttering exhale. Slowly he releases his grip on Rafe’s arms, trying and failing to make sense of this. The kid’s sweating, he realizes, the scent of spun sugar heavy in the air. And crying. Rafe is crying as he looks up at his father, his hands now on Ward’s belt. The full grain leather slips from the buckle with ease, accompanied by the tinkling sound of metal. It’s not his son he sees before him, but for a moment it's her. Rafe always shared his mother’s coloring, that dark honey hair and eyes the color of sea glass. After it happened, during that short while Ward was alone, he had barely been able to look at his son. All he saw was what he had lost. That resentment had never been scrubbed away, even after Rose swept into his life and made Ward whole again. Why did Rafe get to live when he squandered every chance he was given? When he was nothing but a pitiful fuck-up, destined for prison or worse?

The thoughts send Ward grasping Rafe by the hair and bending forward to get in his face as he wrenches Rafe’s head back. “You disgust me.” Ward spits the words like venom. He smells vodka on Rafe’s breath, heady enough for Ward to feel buzzed as he shoves his son away. Rafe isn’t deterred, going now for the button and zip of his father’s pants. It’s happening. There’s no denying what Rafe intends to do as he slides down the pull of the zipper with a shaking hand.

“Good. I’ll be good,” Rafe whispers to himself, and Ward can’t tell if the boy is psyching himself up or still trying to convince his father not to intervene.

Rafe is all hands, running his fingers over Ward’s legs in massage-like circles. Ward’s curiosity is beginning to outweigh his shock as his own hands find the arms of the chair, gripping the cushioned rests until his own trembling subsides. How much is Rafe really like his mother? How far is he willing to go? Rafe was a coward as much as a fuck up, and Ward intended to win this game of chicken like he won at everything in life. “You want it? Take it,” Ward orders, waiting for his son to turn tail and run.

Ward isn’t aware that he’s half hard until Rafe pulls him out. The kid bends forward between Ward’s spread legs and licks him from root to tip, one long stripe on the underside that makes Ward hiss. He grows against Rafe’s tongue and forces his breathing to remain even as Rafe circles his hand around the base of him. Rafe's mouth is hot and wet as he pops the head into his mouth. Ward can feel every bump and groove of Rafe’s tongue and his stomach lurches, every logical neuron in his brain shooting sparks of pure terror.

This is happening. And it feels good.

Rafe is swirling his tongue around the head, flicking his tongue against the slit in a way that has Ward’s back arching as he braces himself with his iron grip on the arm rests. He lowers his head, taking Ward into his mouth inch by inch until Ward can see that Sarah’s dress is open in the back. Rafe hadn’t been able to do up the zipper and the fabric flaps like wings as his bird-like shoulder blades jut out. With every inch Rafe takes, he’s sucking harder, his hand twisting around the base like he wants to rip Ward from the root. The boy’s got a mouth like a hoover and Ward shuts his eyes, seeing her and smelling Sarah’s perfume. Rafe’s tongue is too much, too hot, and Ward releases one of the arm rests. He opens his eyes to stare down at his son as he takes him by the jaw, feeling his mouth work as he begins to bob back and forth, sucking Ward’s cock like he had been trained for it. He wipes away the drool that escapes Rafe’s plush lips before slipping his thumb inside, stretching his mouth to the side until he sees teeth.

Rafe opens his eyes and meets his father’s gaze, his lipstick smeared across his face. He looks filthy, like some back alley whore Ward found in the Cut. He expects to see hatred or fear in Rafe’s eyes, but all he sees is a half-lidded look of desire. Humiliation returns with a vengeance and Ward leans back in his seat, unable to meet the boy’s eyes any longer.

He wants to shove Rafe away, but he’s harder than he’s ever been for Rose inside that slick mouth. It would be one thing if Rafe wasn’t enjoying it, if this was just a punishment like all the other times Ward had cut him with words or taken away privileges that Ward had worked hard day and night tirelessly for. But this wasn’t a punishment; this was desperation.

“So fucking needy,” Ward groans, his thumb slipping out of Rafe’s mouth before snatching his hair again. He pushes Rafe forward, forces him to take it all until he feels himself smacking the back of Rafe’s throat. Rafe begins to gag, choking and sputtering against Ward’s crotch. His hands scatter to grip Ward’s legs again, tugging on his pants and digging his nails into the muscle. “You like this, don’t you? So, take it.” Ward bucks his hips into Rafe’s mouth, his breath heavy as his body warms, tightens. “Fucking take it.”

Rafe resists a moment longer before he breathes through his nose and his throat relaxes. He swallows down the head, allowing Ward to penetrate his throat to the hilt. Naturally, it takes a dick in his mouth for the boy to follow orders. Ward doesn’t have the ability to feel pride, too busy fucking up into that ruined mouth. It lasts for hours or seconds, Ward can’t tell, but then he’s shooting off and Rafe is drinking every thick drop that exploded against his tongue.

Ward’s orgasm rolls through him in waves, leaving him trembling and gasping for air. No sooner does he release his hold on Rafe’s hair than his son is pushing himself away, his chest heaving like he had been drowning. Ward looks down at him and is overtaken with the sense that he has spoiled the boy, that this is just one more mistake in a sea of regret. Reaching out, Ward wipes a smear of lipstick and cum from Rafe’s bottom lip before shoving hard at his shoulder.

“Get yourself cleaned up.”

~

It’s the morning and Ward is freshly showered. He trims his beard in the mirror and styles his damp hair, checks the corner of his eyes for the deepening of crow’s feet. He turns to the hamper, intending to throw in his towel, but stops just before it. Sitting atop the pile are the khaki pants he had worn the night before. Ward picks up the item and unfurls it until he exposes the crotch. There, slathered across the zipper and the surrounding fabric, are sticky streaks of red lipstick. Ward drags his thumb across the blotches, feels the pigment stick to his skin. Worthless little asshole, he thinks and shoves the pants into the trash bin under the sink.

[sugrbrain]

wardrafe truthers, hear me out—i kinda just realized something!! so we always talk about how in ward’s final moment, he chooses sarah and dies for her but all his actions leading up to that, he choses rafe, almost every single time.

like with the peterkin situation; when sarah asked what was gonna happen to him after rafe shot her dead—he literally says “baby, nothing’s gonna happen to rafe.” and she’s like ???? he just killed someone..

she excepted ward to sacrifice rafe when it came down to it, but he didn’t. he literally couldn’t do it to him—and he even shows that with rose when she wanted to sell rafe out and basically come clean, especially if it came down to choosing between him or sarah, she admitted she was choosing sarah in the end because she knows how unstable and volatile rafe is.

but ward takes blame for the murder and fakes his death FOR rafe to protect him ( i think he truly did understand why rafe shot peterkin because he literally made him, and genuinely sees rafe as a mini him even though he hates to admit it because then that would mean he’s responsible for the way rafe turned out and how he ignored rafe when he needed help but now all of sudden he’s gone too far ..?)

and ward has also never actually had to question rafe’s loyalty or devotion to him. he knows rafe would snap on him AND for him in the blink of an eye. and the scene that’s so devastating but proves this is when ward was meeting with (idk if was a cop or not) that guy would was blackmailing him for money because he had seen rafe kill peterkin and had the murder weapon. after ward kills him, he goes to rafe for help and says—“i just feel like i need somebody to have my back” and rafe immediately stepped to him and said “i got that.” and ward was like “you got that?” and rafe said “all day.” ( shfsaiud im glitching bc why is this so f&:,$)

anywho.. now the contrast with sarah, i’ve talked about how ward only loves sarah because she validates his goodness and makes the family image look perfect. he tries to protect sarah from getting tainted by the rest of his life and actively drags rafe into it because he knows rafe isn’t a liability. and the second sarah became one—the second she started talking back and standing up for herself and calling ward out on his bullshit—ward says that he can’t trust her so he slaps the shit out of her and then after she obviously chooses the pogues over her own family, ward tries to kill her. ( do ppl forget ab this .. like ppl rarely mention it .. )

but what’s soo interesting is how sarah was so sure that ward was gonna pick her, probably because she was ‘the perfect daughter’ up until she started fighting back—but ward chose rafe that day on the tarmac when he decided to protect him because he knows rafe was genuinely doing what he thought was the right thing. but i dont think he would’ve sold rafe out anyway, i just don’t think he could because he knows deep down.

ward has never tried to kill rafe because he has never had to question his loyalty. but even when rafe goes to him in s3 i think after ward is back in kildare— rafe threatens him and pulls a gun on him telling him to back to guadalupe or something, ward doesn’t get violent with him ( but he does threaten him back ) and this could be because ward knows that rafe would never actually hurt him or because he can’t bear the idea of betraying rafe. idkk this was vv interesting to me! feel free to send your thoughts and theories too!!

[aloneinthehouse]

do you have any camcest thoughts

I might have too many for my own good! Their family dynamic is so complex and twisted I sometimes ask myself how was this part of a netflix teen adventure show. Not sure if you're referring to one specific pairing or camcest in general, but just in case it's the latter, I'll talk a bit about all of them and the way I interpret each one. Good chunks of text ahead:

Sarah/Ward | He's mad about her. In all senses. It's the daddy's little girl trope, but make it a hundred times darker. Even thought it is never confirmed in the show, I strongly believe part of his obsession comes from Sarah's resemblance to her mother, both in personality and looks. She reminds him of his wife and how she made him feel. Ward spent his whole life looking for treasures, but she was the most precious of them all. She's the one whose world always evolved around him, who always loved him, obeyed him and never caused trouble. She's perfect because she's not just a Cameron, she's his daughter, his treasure. And no one's stealing her away. She belongs to him, in all senses.

I don't think Ward has a conscious sexual desire for her, since he wants her to stay pure, but that if the inevitable day comes where she loses this purity (and deep down he knows it will), he wants to be the only one to take it from her.

Rafe/Ward | My favorite (to no one's surprise) and the most interesting in my opinion. Rafe loves his father more than anything and will do whatever it takes to be loved back. Is this love fraternal or romantic? I'd say it's a sick mix of both and much more! He must've seen how Ward was with his wife, his dangerous, obsessive feelings towards Sarah that don't go unnoticed, and he wants that desperately. He fights with Rose for Ward's attention and hates Sarah for always stealing their dad's love. To Rafe, they both are the 'other woman', and he wants to prove to his father that he's the only one he needs.

I believe Ward sees a lot of himself in Rafe, which is why he was never affectionate with him and doesn't want Rafe to take charge of anything in his life. He wants to keep the family together at all costs, but he needs to be in control, and Rafe, unlike Sarah, is a threat to that. He manipulates and neglects Rafe so that he's always needy and seeking for his approval, always under his wing and never willing to go against him - but also he can't stand the possibility of Rafe's life not evolving around him. In some way or another, he needs his son just as much as his son needs him. And he loves him more than he wants to admit.

And Rafe hates him for doing all this, deeply. But as Ward himself said: "I am you father, and you love me". And who's gonna love Rafe if not him?

Rafe/Sarah | I don't have nearly as much things to say about this one, but I can see where it's coming from and it does have some subtext in the show, particularly in that boat scene from season 2. Rafe had adopted his father's view of valuing family above all and treated Sarah as something that belong to him and he needed to protect I'll actually quote one of your posts because you summed it up better than I ever could "Rafe doesn’t see Sarah as her own person, he sees her only as a member of the family, which is why he believes it’s justified to harm her when she doesn’t live up to that role.". He believes he was the right to harm her, but also to treat her as an object of possession that's being stolen from him. She's his sister.

I think what makes camcest so appealing and interesting to me is that the fact that they're a family is one of, if not the most important part of all their characters. They are not just people who happen to be related; they're Camerons. They must stick together because family is the most important thing there is, and without that none of them would have nothing. All their action, relationships and lives are centered around the fact that they have the same blood, same genes. For better of for worse, their connection is something they couldn't have with anyone else. Only a cameron can truly love a cameron.

[aloneinthehouse]

[sothicsrosier]

[dirtbikeridingjunkie]

Happy House

no warnings. Not as in nothing bad. As in if you get it you get it and if you don’t, no damage is done. (I thinkkkk) [ 433 words ]

The old house ached and moaned over the nuisance of its intruders, feet too tiny to bend the floors to creak just yet. Two, four, eight?

Must be crawling, that one.

But it would learn to dance around the aching ones, she’d learn it better than anyone. Til then it screamed and yelled and giggled, and tottered behind faster trampling, louder screaming feet. Noise that soon drowned out the older cries. 

This what houses were built for. To shelter. To be a home. The house had seen its creator die, and all creations owe gratitude. The house knew its purpose.

The house had no feelings, it just had what stuck behind from them, settled on wallpaper and the tiny scars and scratches of long dead trees, long tables, long planks, and cabinets, fulfilling new purpose, grateful to their creator.

And they did not remember the soil, and they did not remember stretching their roots, they just knew at a breath of wind through the open window they had once been someone else. 

The intruders sanded the planks down, they trapped the feelings in thick varnish and tapestry, they ripped out its guts and told her it was all still the same—but the intruder was creator now. 

The creator loved the house, she could not feel or hear, but he said that.

The house had to do nothing but be a house. Bear new feelings sinking into the walls. It could not hear. 

It could only scream. 

It could groan under every heavy step to the boys bedroom, it could not groan louder, it was a house, it could not keep quiet, when winds rushed through its tired bones and it creaked and wept over its age against the storm.

Not when the creator walked creaking planks, not hush when the key turned there. 

“Hey buddy, it’s just me”

“Is the storm scaring you, huh?” 

And the mattress didn’t scream, when he sat down, it was new, it had its own creator, it was made mute. 

“It’s just this old house, you know, makes it sound worse than it really is”, the creator chuckled. The house could not hear this, it screeched.

“Come here”

The mattress had its own mute purpose.

“It’s all good now. I’m here” 

“Oh, don’t worry, we won’t tell the girls.”

“We’ll tell em what a brave boy you are sleeping all by yourself through the storm, okay? ‘s our secret”

[familyromantic]

Oh poor antishippers. They are soooo left out in fandoms. Non-incest ships are basically extinct and mean incest shippers always leave comments like "Wait you ship them? But they aren't siblings 🤢" and "You are so wrong in the head for not liking incest". Finally someone adressed this fandom problem 😢

[croakergender-deactivated202512]

my take

[chapelwhore]

you guys don’t deserve to love Rafe Cameron if you can’t see how pathetic he truly is

[chapelwhore]

same man who murdered someone to get in his fathers good graces btw

[aloneinthehouse]

do you have any camcest thoughts

I might have too many for my own good! Their family dynamic is so complex and twisted I sometimes ask myself how was this part of a netflix teen adventure show. Not sure if you're referring to one specific pairing or camcest in general, but just in case it's the latter, I'll talk a bit about all of them and the way I interpret each one. Good chunks of text ahead:

Sarah/Ward | He's mad about her. In all senses. It's the daddy's little girl trope, but make it a hundred times darker. Even thought it is never confirmed in the show, I strongly believe part of his obsession comes from Sarah's resemblance to her mother, both in personality and looks. She reminds him of his wife and how she made him feel. Ward spent his whole life looking for treasures, but she was the most precious of them all. She's the one whose world always evolved around him, who always loved him, obeyed him and never caused trouble. She's perfect because she's not just a Cameron, she's his daughter, his treasure. And no one's stealing her away. She belongs to him, in all senses.

I don't think Ward has a conscious sexual desire for her, since he wants her to stay pure, but that if the inevitable day comes where she loses this purity (and deep down he knows it will), he wants to be the only one to take it from her.

Rafe/Ward | My favorite (to no one's surprise) and the most interesting in my opinion. Rafe loves his father more than anything and will do whatever it takes to be loved back. Is this love fraternal or romantic? I'd say it's a sick mix of both and much more! He must've seen how Ward was with his wife, his dangerous, obsessive feelings towards Sarah that don't go unnoticed, and he wants that desperately. He fights with Rose for Ward's attention and hates Sarah for always stealing their dad's love. To Rafe, they both are the 'other woman', and he wants to prove to his father that he's the only one he needs.

I believe Ward sees a lot of himself in Rafe, which is why he was never affectionate with him and doesn't want Rafe to take charge of anything in his life. He wants to keep the family together at all costs, but he needs to be in control, and Rafe, unlike Sarah, is a threat to that. He manipulates and neglects Rafe so that he's always needy and seeking for his approval, always under his wing and never willing to go against him - but also he can't stand the possibility of Rafe's life not evolving around him. In some way or another, he needs his son just as much as his son needs him. And he loves him more than he wants to admit.

And Rafe hates him for doing all this, deeply. But as Ward himself said: "I am you father, and you love me". And who's gonna love Rafe if not him?

Rafe/Sarah | I don't have nearly as much things to say about this one, but I can see where it's coming from and it does have some subtext in the show, particularly in that boat scene from season 2. Rafe had adopted his father's view of valuing family above all and treated Sarah as something that belong to him and he needed to protect I'll actually quote one of your posts because you summed it up better than I ever could "Rafe doesn’t see Sarah as her own person, he sees her only as a member of the family, which is why he believes it’s justified to harm her when she doesn’t live up to that role.". He believes he was the right to harm her, but also to treat her as an object of possession that's being stolen from him. She's his sister.

I think what makes camcest so appealing and interesting to me is that the fact that they're a family is one of, if not the most important part of all their characters. They are not just people who happen to be related; they're Camerons. They must stick together because family is the most important thing there is, and without that none of them would have nothing. All their action, relationships and lives are centered around the fact that they have the same blood, same genes. For better of for worse, their connection is something they couldn't have with anyone else. Only a cameron can truly love a cameron.

[iinsistuous]

here is a shipcest tier list i made :)

feel free to reblog with your ranking! some of the dynamics/tropes have wider or narrower definitions (for example, differentiated by gender or age) so you can decide how specific you want to be

also lmk if i misssed anything...

[aloneinthehouse]

[unalivepigeon]

Here's the thing: while you can think about and dream of being manhandled, dominated and penetrated by this fictional character, I can think about and dream of this fictional character being manhandled, dominated and penetrated by some father figure. And our completely different and even opposing imaginary scenarios can exist at the same time without interfering, without one canceling the other out, or even having any whatsoever tiny effect on each other. Wow. This is the beauty of imagination. Think about it. It's amazing. The possibilities of fiction are without limits, and they should stay like this.

[aloneinthehouse]

"Just Stevie and Luke."

[aloneinthehouse]

THE AUTOPSY OF JANE DOE (2016) | austin & tommy tilden