Talk:Essays/@comment-4423292-20170408045019

Why twincest?
By my generation, gender, and interests, I am part of a demographic that as a particular interest in subversive shipping. We are the ones who relentlessly ship every single character in gay pairings, regardless of anything, sometimes including actual compatibility. And sometimes I think this has value. In terms of gay shipping, I think think that there's value in challenging the assumption that all characters are straight, just because. But I won't claim that all subversive shipping stems from social justice. There's also an element of defiance in it: Of shipping them just because we can; because we are free, and we have the power to, and you can't stop us. Of refusing to follow other peoples rules of what is and isn't acceptable. This is a rather superficial reason, but it's true: Part of my love for twincest surely comes from this culture of subversive shipping that I come from.

More seriously, another reason I love twincest is because it's a way of testing authors. Author who choose to include twincest in their works are knowingly taking on a very strange subject, and most unskilled authors would not do that. Neither would cautious authors. Writing about twincest requires confidence and nerve on the part of the author, and a certain willingness to delve into the bizarre, and that is exactly the kind of author whose work I want to read.

There's something so primordial about twincest; like something out of a creation myth. And I know creation myths tend to be incestuous out of necessity more than anything else, but it's not just that. Something about how it's self-contained strikes me as really quintessential; an ecosystem and world unto themselves. Something about the idea that they were born together, then went and were their own people, then came back together again, is circular and beautiful.

I'm not sure how much I can explain this one. Twincest feels primordial to me; it makes me think of the phrase "the womb of the world;" it strikes me as poetically beautiful. It's an emotional response, and I don't think I can really justify it, and if it doesn't strike you the same way, I doubt there's much use in me trying to explain it.

I don't put much stalk in "soul mates." It tends towards lazy writing: if they were really so great together, you wouldn't need to call them soul mates, because them beings obviously a great couple would be enough. And yet, and yet… if we are going down the road of soul mates, having them be born together, born to be together, is the only thing that really makes sense. If I came across a work that stated that two twins were soul mates because they were born together, I would undoubtedly get annoyed and leave. But I don't know of any stories that do that. And so—because I can look at it without getting mad at the author—it does makes sense, in a way. If we're saying there are Fates, I want to believe they're more... well, fated, than trolling author intent on keeping them apart until the end for literary reasons. I want to believe the Fates are kinder; why not just put them together from the beginning?

Twincest is beautiful and intense because really, it's all about self-love. Literary twins almost always serve as foils to each other somehow—otherwise, why bother making them twins at all? It doesn't work this way in real life, but in literature, twins being twins is never accidental or incidental: The author chose to make them twins for a reason. They're the same in deep some ways. And now, because this comic says it better than I ever could, you should read it:



At it's core, loving your twin is about loving you the things they reflect in yourself. What you hate, or fear, or reject them them isn't really about them: it's about those shared traits in yourself. This may be your recklessness, this may be your godtouched magic. And it's always your weakness and power.

Always power. I love twincestuous couples because they could rule. They could be the ultimate power couple, if they worked together.