i don't squick at incest(fic) - (partial rant)
Which, before tonight, I found very normal...but now, I think - hey, incest isn't normal, and it isn't moral, and it isn't right, and yet I still have no problem with reading or writing it. (Unless of course its PWP with oh, say, a 68 year old and a 19 something young adult. Than I'll have some major issues with it... *shivers*)
Partly, I think why my views on incest are so free (not to say I encourge such a thing in real life. Keep in mind what I'm referring to in this post only applies when in the Fandom/Fiction world, not RL. I'm not that twisted) is that there's so much more depth and ground you can cover with inner-family relationships because more likely than not they will have a skewered history. Again, however, this depends on how the author writes said fiction, if it's executed nicely and without causing serious mental harm to the reader, etc.. Incest fic is already a little squick-y, but bad incest fic? What a nightmare that could become.
Sooo, my point?
I started writing what might become an original father/son story, but...the problem is is that its basically a carbon copy of the Lionel/Lex relationship. Yes, yes, I know it's bad...bad Meixia! *slap* But, but. It just happened one night, very short little burst of fingers typing away at the keyboard, and poof, the horrid beginnings of incest!fic feuled by Lexional tendencies. And, to make it even worse, the main character is supposed to look like...Draco Malfoy.
Taint & Intellect
by Meixia
Marcus
His hair is tied back into a glossy, silver ponytail, and the moonlight threads diamonds into every strand. His nose is smart with a pointed tip, sniffing the air for trouble. But none will come. Not on foot at least.
He’s been running from his father for two weeks, hitching rides with anonymous strangers from one city to the next. He’ll go as far as he has to. Manhattan is no longer safe; but then again, anywhere close to his father is never safe. Maybe it is foolish to run away at what is still considered a young age of eighteen years, but he has completed his courses at the University, so naturally, he’s no longer obligated to stay there. He considers the city, his father, the endless hours of slaving over work and social parties, and he believes that anything would be better than that.
His father, Jacob B. Paulson, is CEO of Malfrod & Carolson BioTech Co., the leading company in biotech research and testing facilities that aid the growth and expansion of bioengineering. DNA and clones and human testing. Hardly what Marcus considers an exciting future; he was never fond of science, and he has a hard time stomaching the deformities of human cloning.
All very hush-hush, of course, and as much as he despises it, Marcus won’t say a word. He knows what his father is capable of, the connections he has with the government. Well, maybe not the government or the White House, but at least military personnel who could take Marcus out like a light if they were given the order.
Nothing comes between Jacob and the future of technology and ‘the American dream,’ or so he says.
Maybe he could slip a little green under the table and ask one of the scientists to make him a clone of his own. Anything to get his father off his tail.
Jacob is ruthless if nothing else. Ruthless, and with killer instinct, a nose almost as good as his son’s. He will stop at nothing to get his son back, and Marcus knows that if he does go back, they’ll have to carry him in a body bag.
Today the ride he hitches is with a biker, fifty-something years old, buzzed hair already starting to go white at the temples. There are tattoos all over his arms, and the sweaty red bandanna around his head is frayed at the edges. Someone who has had a hard life, but the difference between him and Marcus is that Marcus didn’t choose to live his the hard way. He was born into it, and even though his mother had been beautiful and promised to always be there to tuck him in at night, she was weak, and an alcoholic.
She had been killed while on the back of some man’s motorcycle, and she hadn’t been wearing a helmet. She was drunk, predictably, and so was the stranger whom she decided to go off with. And there was a goddamned helmet on the back of the seat when they found them wrapped around another vehicle, and red – Marcus can remember red everywhere, so much that her pale pink dress had been stained completely with it. But she was careless, and stupid, and drunk.
Kind of ironic, as Marcus slips his arms loosely around the biker’s waist, the smell of the stranger’s leather jacket and days old sweat breathed in through his keen nose.
“Helmet?” the man asks and holds out a flimsy, red plastic one.
Marcus shakes his head.
“No.”
The man shrugs flippantly, and soon the wind’s blowing through Marcus’s neatly bound ponytail and whipping across his flushed cheeks.
It would be the easiest thing to loosen his arms and slip to meet the gravel beneath.
He wonders where his father is.
Tbc…
erm, actually, I had a wee bit more, but my stupid computer froze before I could save it. *grumble* FYI, not beta'd.
Partly, I think why my views on incest are so free (not to say I encourge such a thing in real life. Keep in mind what I'm referring to in this post only applies when in the Fandom/Fiction world, not RL. I'm not that twisted) is that there's so much more depth and ground you can cover with inner-family relationships because more likely than not they will have a skewered history. Again, however, this depends on how the author writes said fiction, if it's executed nicely and without causing serious mental harm to the reader, etc.. Incest fic is already a little squick-y, but bad incest fic? What a nightmare that could become.
Sooo, my point?
I started writing what might become an original father/son story, but...the problem is is that its basically a carbon copy of the Lionel/Lex relationship. Yes, yes, I know it's bad...bad Meixia! *slap* But, but. It just happened one night, very short little burst of fingers typing away at the keyboard, and poof, the horrid beginnings of incest!fic feuled by Lexional tendencies. And, to make it even worse, the main character is supposed to look like...Draco Malfoy.
Taint & Intellect
by Meixia
Marcus
His hair is tied back into a glossy, silver ponytail, and the moonlight threads diamonds into every strand. His nose is smart with a pointed tip, sniffing the air for trouble. But none will come. Not on foot at least.
He’s been running from his father for two weeks, hitching rides with anonymous strangers from one city to the next. He’ll go as far as he has to. Manhattan is no longer safe; but then again, anywhere close to his father is never safe. Maybe it is foolish to run away at what is still considered a young age of eighteen years, but he has completed his courses at the University, so naturally, he’s no longer obligated to stay there. He considers the city, his father, the endless hours of slaving over work and social parties, and he believes that anything would be better than that.
His father, Jacob B. Paulson, is CEO of Malfrod & Carolson BioTech Co., the leading company in biotech research and testing facilities that aid the growth and expansion of bioengineering. DNA and clones and human testing. Hardly what Marcus considers an exciting future; he was never fond of science, and he has a hard time stomaching the deformities of human cloning.
All very hush-hush, of course, and as much as he despises it, Marcus won’t say a word. He knows what his father is capable of, the connections he has with the government. Well, maybe not the government or the White House, but at least military personnel who could take Marcus out like a light if they were given the order.
Nothing comes between Jacob and the future of technology and ‘the American dream,’ or so he says.
Maybe he could slip a little green under the table and ask one of the scientists to make him a clone of his own. Anything to get his father off his tail.
Jacob is ruthless if nothing else. Ruthless, and with killer instinct, a nose almost as good as his son’s. He will stop at nothing to get his son back, and Marcus knows that if he does go back, they’ll have to carry him in a body bag.
Today the ride he hitches is with a biker, fifty-something years old, buzzed hair already starting to go white at the temples. There are tattoos all over his arms, and the sweaty red bandanna around his head is frayed at the edges. Someone who has had a hard life, but the difference between him and Marcus is that Marcus didn’t choose to live his the hard way. He was born into it, and even though his mother had been beautiful and promised to always be there to tuck him in at night, she was weak, and an alcoholic.
She had been killed while on the back of some man’s motorcycle, and she hadn’t been wearing a helmet. She was drunk, predictably, and so was the stranger whom she decided to go off with. And there was a goddamned helmet on the back of the seat when they found them wrapped around another vehicle, and red – Marcus can remember red everywhere, so much that her pale pink dress had been stained completely with it. But she was careless, and stupid, and drunk.
Kind of ironic, as Marcus slips his arms loosely around the biker’s waist, the smell of the stranger’s leather jacket and days old sweat breathed in through his keen nose.
“Helmet?” the man asks and holds out a flimsy, red plastic one.
Marcus shakes his head.
“No.”
The man shrugs flippantly, and soon the wind’s blowing through Marcus’s neatly bound ponytail and whipping across his flushed cheeks.
It would be the easiest thing to loosen his arms and slip to meet the gravel beneath.
He wonders where his father is.
Tbc…
erm, actually, I had a wee bit more, but my stupid computer froze before I could save it. *grumble* FYI, not beta'd.