"and Dean wrapped that laugh around his finger like a lace ribbon. Songs about love he hadn’t cared about before, but now, he wouldn’t have said anything but that. He wanted another smile, he wanted another dreamy look in Cas’ eyes, so he’d sang along. He had wanted him to fall more in love, because nothing was going to hurt anymore if that happened. He had convinced himself, young, and stupid. This boy was going to make this world turn and stars would fall like rain."
Hi MJ. I was just wondering what your opinion is about shipping brothers. I love Merthur brothercest fics and I also have a certain otp who happen to be brothers. My friend told me thats disgusting and that i am supporting incest. I think thats really stupid because I dont support incest in real life at all. Its weird and freaky. I dont want to sleep with my sister or even my brother. What do you think?
(sorry for the late reply. I just saw your message. My askbox is a mess…)
I like incest stories. It’s an interesting thing to explore, I think. In fact, I think nothing is off limit to explore in fiction. That’s what fiction is for. When you read a novel about a serial killer, or watch a show with serial killers in them, even as protagonists (like Dexter, for example) that doesn’t mean you’re supporting serial killing. When you watch and enjoy Breaking Bad, that doesn’t mean you’re supporting the production and distribution of meth, either. I mean, that’d be ridiculous, right?
As for the porn, well… whatever floats your boat, man. Like, in fanfiction/some erotica fiction there’s the dirtybadwrong factor that lots of people enjoy (seen often in: incest, dubcon, noncon, brainwashing, age diff/underage, etc) and you know, so what? Some people like the idea of the wrongness, the humiliation, or the forbidden feelings, or sometimes just the aftermath, just to see how characters will react, will get through, will push through or crumble, the simultaneous dissection of their feelings and actions in a situation that isn’t good/healthy/”proper”/etc. Will they enjoy it? Will they embrace the wrongness? Will they ignore it? Or crumble under guilt and shame? All of it? None of it? Tell me more I want to know.
People love villains as well. Does that mean you support whatever bad deeds they commit? No. It just means you enjoy seeing the unfolding of a story and where this corrupted, evil, manipulative, broken, etc. character will go.
Fiction is meant to explore all that. Plenty of professionally published novels explore the nature of incest as well. We are complex people and I think that it’s the beauty of fiction to be able to explore and look at and dissect everything about us, down to the dirty, ugly, twisted, and/or taboo parts.
And your enjoyment of anything that isn’t good, or healthy, or positive, etc. doesn’t mean you support that thing in real life. Like, what ever the living fuck?
Basically: depiction and/or enjoyment of something in fiction DOESN’T equal endorsement (in real life).
Carry on reading about your brothers doing forbidden things to each other dear anon. Carry on.
AU: Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak are two of the biggest movie stars on the planet and they’ve been secretly dating for the better part of two years. When Dean’s public girlfriend, upcoming indie actress Jo Harvelle, ‘breaks up’ with him to start dating Charlie Bradbury coincides with him landing the role of a lifetime opposite Cas, that whole “secretly dating” thing? Yeah, that’s shot to hell.
The kicker? There’s some leaked pictures of the two of them having sex on set, never-ending questions on the press tour for their movie and even with all of that, it’s an accidental slip-up during a panel with fans that kills them.
(Dean swears he didn’t mean to answer that girl’s question with “well when you’ve been with someone for as long as we have” but Cas is just glad he said it at all.)
Look around your college classroom, spot the virgins.
See, this seems like a game until you skip over the girl with a short skirt and hair in front of her eyes because you heard last summer that she slept with like nineteen guys. You can’t see her hands, but they’re under the table, pulling a rosary through her fingers as she tries to wash the sin off her. She’s only ever kissed three people in her whole life and they’re all girls. She turned down the wrong guy and he told everyone she’s “a whore.” The label “slut” stuck to the bottom of her shoe and swallowed her up.
But that quiet girl who is always reading probably never touched someone else’s penis, you figure, because you don’t know that she goes home and strips down and pulls on tight black leather, you don’t know she’s got a set of whips that could make any set of knees quiver, you don’t know because she’s proud of what she does but she’s not stupid enough to let anyone know about it. She’s sexy, just not here, not where people judge.
See, the truth is: you have no idea who has lost their virginity, because it doesn’t change you. It doesn’t give you some kind of glow or superpower or stamp on your forehead. You know the feeling of waking up on your birthday and thinking “I don’t feel any older whatsoever”? That’s what maybe they’re all so afraid of you finding out: sex doesn’t change you. Sex doesn’t make you an animal, sex doesn’t suddenly make your relationship a million times more stable or intimate or romantic - it can’t fix what’s broken, although it can make the pain go away for a bit. Sex doesn’t really occur with eighty tea lights and a thick white rug. Sex is ugly and loud and frequently awkward, sex is excellent and breathtaking and when you wake up the next morning, you’re the exact same person. There’s not some magical connection with the person in bed beside you. Believe it or not, pregnancy isn’t some kind of punishment - but practice safe sex, get tested, don’t spread your germs around. They want to tell you, “Sex can ruin you” and I’ve heard that a lot as a little girl, that some boy would join me under my sheets and then dump me four days after, used, unhappy.
But I figured out that I’m not a fucking toy. Letting someone have sex with me is not letting them “use” me, because I’m not an object. My father said the issue lay in the fact “Men are insecure and need to know that they’re the best you ever had,” but I think that’s a steaming crock of absolute-wrong and if I didn’t tell the people I’m with how many others I’d slept beside, there would be literally no way for them to know my number, because I don’t rust, I don’t wear out, I don’t get bruised. I’m not a wilting fruit, I don’t go rotten.
But here’s the thing: some people connect sex and emotion. I don’t personally because I am probably secretly an ice storm in disguise, but I still respect my partner’s desires. If they’re the type to want love and sex to coincide, I let them. I don’t make fun, I don’t pull one-night-stands or friends-with-benefits, because it’s not their “reputation” I’m afraid for: it’s their heart I’m defending.
Here’s the thing: Instead of worrying about people’s “purity” and how it defines them as a person, worry instead about how you can protect other people’s emotions.
Because here’s the thing: look around your room and spot the virgins. Look harder. You can’t tell. Sex doesn’t alter people, it doesn’t make them act in a certain way nor dress in a certain manner. Sex and personality have nothing to do with each other. There’s a reason that virginity doesn’t show on someone’s face: because having sex doesn’t cause you to change.
” — "I lost my virginity to a boy I didn’t even love…" /// r.i.d