Fanfiction

Razumíkhin/Raskolnikov D/s bloodplay, praisekink puppyplay hard M rating, RPF Hegel/Marx body worship. Nothing makes me happier than knowing the two most popular ships in AO3’s Christian Bible fandom are Jesus/Judas and Jesus/Lucifer. Crosstagging in Hebrew to the Talmud and Jewish Folklore canon for fifty different headcanons on how hot King David was. Sh’aul’s throat dry, the hollows under his tongue heavy with drool as the Divine Ruler holds court.

People marry their waifus and husbandos in absentia like marrying Christ. They write manifestos on social media about the traits to embody to make their spouse proud. Kids bond with anime characters so strongly they have visions. Cringe posts with Bakugo-kin demanding no doubles or Midoriya-kin. Obsessive thought patterns self-replicating compulsively, afflicted minds see their objects of focus in everything, the way religious fervor puts the Holy Mother on toast. I think this is a kind of love. I think in any other century ecstasies this intense would be called spiritual. Renaissance philosophers knew that one-sided love came from internal projection, but they thought it could be formative. Therapy simping. Recognize the traits you admire in abstract to manifest them. It’s not compulsive consumption if it devours the consumer.

When the 2012 Les Miserables movie came out a generation gave themselves an education on the Romantic art movement. Louis Boulanger’s The Ordeal of Mazeppa and Charles Schwabe’s Spleen et Ideal did circuits on Tumblr. An Amazon prime show made teenage girls rediscover the religious ecstasy of Christian heretics who saw angels fucking in their backyard. And if FBI propaganda is going to be a critically acclaimed tv series, then my consolation prize will be that the audience agrees that the production consultant’s self-insert Mary Sue is a kinky power bottom with daddy issues. Ankles up, knees in hand, wingtips on the wall, ahegao face while getting pounded by Ed Kemper. 

It makes books visceral. Read it with your whole body. Seperate the text to view the many layers of intention in macro, from cellular to textual, symbolism to artistic intention, then cram it up your ass. Vibrating Sybian attachment that looks like the spine of Moby Dick. I want a translation of Gilgamesh that includes the translator’s opinion on Enkidu and Gilgamesh’s favorite sex position. If ancient Greek philosophers could build competing schools of thought over whether Achilles topped or not, then so can we.

Give me more priestplay Dracula fucking Jonathan Harker stupid, PWP Nurse Ratched dubcon enema play. God, I miss kink memes. Up to fifty pages of anonymous posting with real fucking gems hidden in it. Posts that read SKULLFUCK, GORE, CHARACTER DEATH, comments read: bonus if his thoughts get more disorganized as he dies. KNIFEPLAY GONE WRONG, SURGERY PORN, DICK FLOWER. Description: I’m looking for hurt/comfort with permanent mutilation, no death. One blank subject line with a description that read: I want a fic where Sherlock Holmes ties rubber bands around his cock until there is no blood flow so that when he cuts it off the incision is neat. Bonus if he keeps it in 221b, either in a jar or salted like in The Adventures of the Cardboard Box. She’s not done. Another thread, no title: Sherlock is clipping his toenails when he accidentally clips the glans off his penis.

Namespace loves it. Will someone please scoop our hero’s nuts out in the meme before she does it irl? The Dickshredder is our Queen, she must be paid in tribute. With her royal key she unlocked the hidden door in all our brains that kept the secret thoughts inside. How far can we push this until we hit a wall? What’s worse then clipping off your dickhead with nail clippers? Someone takes dickshredding to the logical conclusion and requests a dickburger with testes after Ishmael fucks a grinder. Why stop at the crotch? Someone else adds the intestines and requests Link watch as every inch gets turned into pulp. If only the Quentin Tarantino threads were preserved.

There’s only so far to go with teen angst, but sacred intellectual property makes potent fertilizer. Imagine if the Monster was born with morning wood and fit it inside Frankenstein. Mary Shelley had one of the biggest ideas of her time when she asked what science could do, now we get to cross those wires and wonder, if Victor comes, is it incest? If God wasn’t dead before, would that kill him? What would kill the author? How do we get them, next?