Poem rec: Taking, and what's your idea of poetic?
Title: Taking
Poet: laughablelament
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Wincest
Tags/Warnings/Spoilers: incest kink
Prompt: "Taking some 'we' time." - Dean, 10.04 (Paper Moon)
Look at this sexy thing laughablelament posted at spnapo! And by 'sexy' I don't mean the line breaks. (OK that too.)
We'd love some prompts or poems/poem-like things/lyrical drabbles/images/self-contained bits of fic/ ( Read more... )
DirigibleBoyKing's fœtus; œstrus
"Your belly swells pale as the sky, and just like last time there's the congratulations. Inbox full of unanswered emails. John, gruff sometimes, holding your gut with wish-calloused palms. Your house has changed, maybe in salutation; tree outside it bare-knuckled, scraping brittle fingers over your window when the wind mumbles through the streets. Dean doesn't like it. You haven't told him that the noises live under your skin. He's scared of the dark, anyway. Dean is four, a little thing, affectionate. Eyes like winter rain."
quiescent9's The Family of Things--Sam and post-Cage trauma, Sam/Dean, non-linear.
"It is another day. There's a road. You're supposed to follow it. You've never liked driving. Too many variables, you said. And then Dean put those keys into your hands and his eyes warned, don't let me down and take care of baby and fuck, Sam stop being a girl and so you drive, down this road that runs on and on with no end in sight, and you think of everything (girls, boys, Dean) except how you stuck that knife into that empty shell of a person back there in Bobby's house, the one you'd look at in the mirror but don't recognise, and ain't that a fucking cliché. And someone says what the hell is this shit doing on the radio anyway before a hand disciplines the stereo into silence and Sammy drives. Sammy drives and Dean smiles, proud of his little brother with the too-big hands on that steering wheel, palms slippery against the leather and you smile too."
dear-tiger's Love and Crocodiles--S6-ish, Dean makes a deal for a guide who'll take him through Hell and to Sam. Sam/Dean.
"“Fine.” Dean’s throat hurt. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried again. “Fine. It’s yours in exchange for a passage for a night and a day.”
He looked at the horrible thing in Sergio’s hand and thought of the way Sam smiled like the sun. He thought of kisses in the dark - of hard ones and the slow ones that melted him from the toes to the top of his head. He thought of driving through the night with the radio playing softly, something swelling and swelling in his chest until it almost burst him open.
In the room gone dim, there seemed to be something crocodilian in Sergio’s face. He pulled a Kleenex from somewhere and started wiping the sludge off Dean’s love."
alethiometry's Promises To Keep Sam/Jess
"The man in the car might have been driving for an eternity, or he might have started driving not five minutes ago. He couldn’t tell, but the sky was clear and the forest was beautiful and the steady pounding of the tires on asphalt was downright hypnotizing, so he wasn’t bothered. Sometimes the forest would whisper to him, although he had no idea what it was saying. Soothing words, he supposed. Words that belonged to a hazy memory of warmth and sunlight and dust motes swirling like fairy dust around a face that loved him, and that he loved. He had no idea where the memory came from. It was a good memory, though, one that warmed him from the inside, so he cradled it inside him and urged the car on."
compo67's Day of the Dead Sam/Dean, part of a larger verse of futurefic domesticity in Chicago.
"His nightmare opens up to a page from a coloring book. At first he's given a pencil, but it warps into a quill. Pen nib. Indian ink. Scratch. Tear. Shred. Too sharp for the page he ends up ripping it down the middle and it is a picture of his own face.
The blank eyes stare at him. Never more. Never more. The lids flap like wings, his eyelashes rustle, and the eyes turn...
"Dean!""
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Adding here some from writers not yet mentioned in this conversation:
two by two by story_monger (prose poem)
And nigeltde, whom you've recced before--but this:
Shark Fin Blues (poetic prose). Am also a fan of David Milch (esp. his Deadwood) from whom the summary for this story ("a lie agreed upon")comes; another writer who truly appreciates the rhythms and interactions of words!
These two are verse rather than hybrid:
Union Lines by ponderosa
Killing Time by de_nugis (sestina!)
All the great recs you and others made on my sentence post on spn_writing; what wealth of poetic prose!
recs, great lines
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