#incest cw

[kirbyofthestars]

everyone start treating incest survivors with basic human decency now

[uptownthots]

the backflips people will do just to defend someone else’s boner…like do u REALLY think men who make like “my BARELY LEGAL stepdaughter was DUMB FEMINIST until I fucked it out of her and showed her HER PLACE” porn are doing that in like a feminist way. truly in ur heart of hearts you think hes like. woke?

[winter-pear]

expanding on caleb and morning wood yahoo.

incest cw bc caleb. no really explicit smut, just a desc of cum and morning wood and a lot of implied stuff and Yearning and longing. also yay some writing finally. also they are adults in this, still living w josephine. like 18 n 21 ish.

reader has a vagina is referred to as meimei. some talk about masculinity.

wc is roughly 1.1k

you wake up first. it occurs rarely and the first thing you think about is how you're going to tease caleb for sleeping late.

grandma tells you to be a good girl and wake him. the scheme starts then, you'll spook him a little then tease him after. it's your job as his little sister to annoy him, anyway.

so, you tip-toe into his room already laughing to yourself. you move slowly, smiling a little with mischief. wondering if his patience will hold true even now.

(you know it will. it's part of why you feel comfortable to do it. you'll know he'll smile and roll his eyes, tell you to quit it, pet your head good morning.

you slept and miss his hands. you'd never tell him that)

you open his door, wincing as it creaks. you almost glide on the wood floors, socks sliding, still laughing.

and then you see him.

you're distracted and can't shake it off. he looks peaceful, but your mind drifts elsewhere, too slippery for you to grasp. your heart skips.

you aren't sure if it'll help to hold your breath or not.

caleb is laying there defenseless. sunlight is pouring into his bedroom window, spilling all over him and you can see him so clearly. his body so defined that it almost seems grand, all the room he takes up. kissed with sunlight and warmth and boyish charm. his face sleeping peacefully, snoring so lightly, jaw chiseled with hair that falls into his face. broad shoulders with his arm splayed, big chest rising and falling. the light hairs at the base of his stomach and his abs toned because it's early. you miss the softness of him but you're all too aware now of how strong he is now, how athletic, how much of a man he's grown up into.

and how big he is. always has been, it feels like. every year you grew up together. he was always a head taller, shoulders suddenly spanning an inch wider. and now he takes up most of his bed but you still want to lay with him. how you used to when you were kids from some reason that should make you sick but doesn't.

you don't what the feeling is inside of you. it's too tangled with so may other. you just know he'd make room for you. and some part of you wants that and something more.

your eyes dip. lower and lower, his legs, his—

you're already too distracted to notice the door shutting behind you

you feel it first in your chest, your eyes wide as saucers. your heart inches slowly up the canal of your throat, threatening to fall from your mouth.

he's huge.

you've seen...you've seen his dick before. you live together, accidents happen and all. but it's never on display like this.

(never so solid. never so hard and throbbing. never so thick you can see it through the material of his boxers where he's tented, fabric having to stretch over him, sunlight casting show. never so perfectly in your reach that your hands twitch at your side with the need to touch it.)

you usually just try not to think about it at all.

or—you only think about it when no one's home. to dampen of that feeling that crops up now and again. under your sheets with a hand in your underwear because you don't want anyone to find you wanting like that.

(don't want anyone to know, or to give yourself away. not even a breath or the rustle of clothes.)

you've never seen it hard. and you knew it was big but somehow it's bigger than what you could expect.

something you'd see in porn, some kind of exaggerated picture of masculinity but it's there in front of you. hard and heavy. but it's real, and you feel so close to it, your big brother and his cock so much like a mans, so heavy for something in his dreams. your eyes are fixed. is it too much to hope it's you he's thinking of? the thought makes your heart race.

(it's always been you, couldn't be anybody else).

the tip is already with with pre-cum, you notice. the detail was almost lost on you from how slight.

but a beat or two passes and then

his breathing gets more erratic, and his dick twitches endlessly and suddenly you see something come out—

you can't help but watch gege cum. it's the only thing you've ever wanted in your life. your deepest desire spread out for you, no one else to bear witness. your heart is hammering so loud it's ringing in your ears and you can't form words. your whole world tilts on it's axis. a flowering blooming in the dark.

your body feels like it's burning up from the inside. you shift your weight from one leg to another, body frozen with a molten pit in your core.

you're so wet. like you came a little. an impossibility to your arousal that makes you shudder. your knees feel weak. your pj shorts are going to soak through, a thought in the haze of your mind.

you almost don't hear caleb at all. it's all white noise except for his voice. kind and soft and perfect.

"meimei," he murmurs.

you jump in your skin, voice shaky. you try not to show it. "hi,"

"you sound sweet," caleb says, eyes still closed. you clench a little. "must be dreaming still. c'mere,"

he thinks he's dreaming. you take a few step towards him, body moving like a marionette, and when you're close enough caleb grabs you, pulling you into bed.

and you feel it, his cock throbbing and pressed into your body as you fall in next to him, your back to his chest. his hip rock unthinkingly into you as soon as your close enough, and he shudders—and all of a sudden, there's something hot and sticky spilling on your skin, on your thighs where your shorts are riding up and you can't breathe with how aroused you are, how much you need it. need gege's cock, the only one worth your time.

now you know for sure.

want makes your throat close up, words coming out like you're choking them out of you.

"...gotta wake up, gege"

"five more minutes pipsqueak," he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, so sweet and kind. like lovers. "promise,"

minutes stretch into what feels like hours as you wait for caleb to lull himself back into sleep. you push back against your wants like trying to push boulders. you pull yourself away even when there's a voice in you that urges you to push and push and push. trying to quiet an all-consuming hunger, you carefully peel yourself away. each time you move a limb off of you, it gets a little quieter.

but it never quite leaves your mind. not enough to let you forget.

you tiptoe down the hallway, away to your room. a wetness slicking your thighs as you walk yourself down, opening and closing your door. you hear grandma shouting for you and the noise is muffled, not loud enough to shake your thoughts as you stumble back into bed with your legs like a newborn fawn.

it quiets again and you let your hips rock against your bed, a name you whisper like keeping a lovenote under your pillow.

"gege," a hiccup, a hope, a hunger. "fuck,"

[purplehalnw]

I fucking hate how so many people see incest and think "wow this is such a weird freaky kink" or "haha parental issues, Oedipus complex, Sigmund Freud was right" and not "oh my god this person is being abused".

Yes I'm talking about Lestat and Gabriella.

[lizardsfromspace]

It's 2009 and you're an advertiser who just got assigned this sweet job for a holiday commercial. You know, family stuff was always hard for you to write as a only child, but you really think you nailed the dynamic here. Now to submit the final cut to Folger's and

[likeadog]

I might be stupid, but I've seen that incest post going around, and.

Why is incest actually bad? I know it's bad. I know it's bad for any offspring. But I've never entirely understood why it's bad from a moral standpoint if children aren't being made. Again, I might be stupid.

incest is a form of abuse that takes advantage of the power dynamic between relatives and the sort of trust or dependency that is the basis of it

the "appeal" is the taboo nature, but incestuous abuse is disturbingly common among heteropatriarchal society. the predominance of fictionalized depictions of the matter rely on the myth that all of these relationships are based in mutual attraction and consent thats just waiting to be unlocked (and where have we heard that before! see: the knowing child trope) when the vast majority of cases involve children, coercion, and/or violence. this mythical consensual unproblematic consanguinity has caused incest victims to bear shame, blame, and ostracization from others who assume they willingly and knowingly participated in the act OR its treated as a joke (west virginia jokes, creepy uncle jokes, etc)

its often fetishized in close conjunction with a feeling of entitlement to someones body, voyeuristically and due to proximity, or because of that relationship and power imbalance. its the same motivating factor of a lot of csa cases. and again unlike, like, people who wanna get probed by aliens, its based in very real abuses and has a direct impact on the survivors

[mas0ch1st1cbaby]

Repost this because my original post got deleted sadly </3

[rabirayrana]

One reason I like that Coyle may or may not have had an incestuous relationship with his mom is that it reinforces the overarching theme of his arc, that the violence which American culture would like you to believe is disruptive and deviant is actually completely acceptable and encouraged. Coyle being in the KKK helped his police career instead of harming it, he used his abusive marriages to extort money from not just his wives but their entire families; everybody loved him in Oklahoma, even though his crimes were barely hidden. Being monstrous was apart of his job description, it made life easier for him and earned him all the praise in the world. Likewise, Coyle’s mother did what she was supposed to do in the 1920s South, she married and produced children, and then she used that position for sexual and emotional catharsis knowing that - like her son - she could get away with it.

When Coyle sees Phyllis and starts talking about how “letting a woman control your life” leads to “perversion and despair, chaos,” he sounds genuinely disturbed. His voice gets airy, like he’s dissociating, like this isn’t a cautionary tale but a memory of his. He outright compares Phyllis to his mother, in between bouts of sexualizing her, likening Phyllis to a thundercloud, the thing he associates with sexual power. That petulant sniff he does when he’s calling her his “sweet mother” is the kicker; he knows he’s supposed to love this woman, he’s proud of her, he draws confidence from her, (“mama coyle raised no nancies,”) but he’s still upset. Leland looks at Gooseberry - who was a television star working with children while secretly being a serial killer, who operated in public but kept her worst crimes behind closed doors, who used her influence to get children to abuse drugs and commit parricide - and says that that’s what his mother was like. Phyllis takes him back to a part of his life that is equal parts pain, fear and arousal, she triggers something that sits at the root of his entire conception of women. They had Coyle call her a hysterical bitch three whole times for a reason, she gets under his skin.

It is extremely common for media depictions of mother-son incest to portray the son as the instigator, a reflection of the cultural impulse towards victim blaming. But Coyle casually shakes off the residual stigma of what happened to him by reminding us that being overly intimate with your mom is normal. Lots of people kiss their mother on the mouth. He’s not willing to criticize the patriarchal family structure his mother operated within, he’s staked too much on it, so instead, he zeroes in on the way she specifically misbehaved inside of it, chalks his own suffering up to an accidental misapplication of power into the wrong hands. You gotta wonder if Leland blames his father, on some level, for not controlling his mother properly, for not dominating the household like he was supposed to. That’s probably why he considers his violent attentions to be a favor he’s doing his victims; he associates punishment inseparably with love.

Coyle, in his cut lines, describes what his mother did to him and caps it off by saying “bitch never was right in the head.” He’s performing the same cope that you see people perform every day, when they call their parents (who are legally allowed to sexually & physically assault them, and publicly chortle about doing so) “narcissists,” “psychopaths,” “lunatics,” or any other otherizing label designed to frame the abuse as an outlier rather than part of the cultural norm. Ultimately, Coyle can’t deal with the fact that the social order he was raised under allowed for & incentivized his own mistreatment. He benefits from that social order, remember, certainly more than his mother did, he’s built his entire life around exploiting it. So instead, he pretends she was a deviant. He acts like what he went through was a bug and not a feature of the system he grew up in, something he of all people should know is a lie. Women who self-select into a position where they have unlimited unaccountable access to children often turn out to be predators? Wow, who would’ve thunk! Just like there’s nothing abnormal about a cop being a klansman, there’s nothing abnormal about a mother being a pederast. It is accepted; it is allowed. Sorry.