Fire on the Mountain
Charles Xavier is a man of great wealth- One of the wealthiest, even. Most comes from inheritance sure, but he has his ways of maintaining said funds. One such way leads him to the office of Norman Osborn for talk of business and investments. All just an innocent business venture, right?
Right?
(also available here on AO3 if you want lol)
Tags: a bit of psychological horror/thriller (welcome to October :) ), character study
Tag list: idk who would even like this tbh lol. Uuuuuh @greenheart99 as usual, and maybe @samatedeansbroccoli for saying "do it" lmaooo
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Ping.
Ping.
Ping!
At last the elevator door dings. Copper in a sharp marble housing, they glide aside without a sound.
Professor Charles Xavier, founder, leader, and spokesman of the infamous X-Men floats across the overly polished floors. Not a trace of dust, nor grime, nor age, nor cracks- Were in not for the proceeding reputation of the place, it would almost all be too perfect.
Norman Osborn, perfectly human and yet infamous all in his own right- CEO of this very, equally infamous, corporation. His wit only outmatched by perhaps the sharpness of his tongue. A cunning business man. A savant in a building full of mere, meek scientists. A crimson devil in a suit and a penthouse, looking down on all the city beneath him-
And just the man the former is here to see.
Two business men, really. One seeking only to give to the world. One seeking to take for himself. Xavier has been a man of great wealth all his life- He has his ways of maintaining that status... and even more ways of keeping it private from the affairs of his other work. After all, he must.
The X-Men need his support. His focus. Mutants, need his X-Men. Humans, need his X-Men. The world, needs his X-Men. He does all of this, for all of them. The lectures he teaches. The business he conducts.
Today, he is here on invite of Mr. Osborn himself. A business deal. An investment, to be specific. But above all, a trade- Though only if he sees fit.
"Professor! My my, what an honor", Norman rises from his chair to cross the room. Every long step commands the room. Confident. Strong. Electric. He offers his thin, cold hand to shake. His grip is deceptively firm, "Well, it's not every day I get to host a real life hero in my office"
He beams from his eyes and his too white teeth- The Professor nearly fights the urge to squint as he politely waves the other man off, "Please... You flatter me Mr. Osborn-"
"Oh, Norman please-", he interupts with a humble gesture.
"Ah, of course. Thank you, Norman, but hardly- My X-Men are the true heroes to thank. Without them, I wouldn't be here myself", he smiles warmly.
Norman backs up merely a pace or two, taking a seat on the corner of equally polished, equally too bright desk. His smile closes from teeth to just lips, nodding in appreciation of what the Professor has to say. Charles has just barely finished his thought before the other man seizes the conversation once more. He leans an elbow onto his thigh, his perfectly tailored suit matching the every move of his strikingly fit body, and slowly shakes a pointer finger in the Professor's direction, getting more and more animated all the time-
That same toothy grin breaks free to blind his guest once more, "See, I love that mentality you've got Charles- May I call you Charles?", but he waits for no answer, pushing on full steam ahead, "I love it, because that is just the way I feel about my own- The brilliant men and women here at Oscorp... Without them, why I too would be nothing myself"
Norman goes oddly sentimental for just a moment... Then, just as soon as it came- the act is gone.
Mr. Osborn jumps up, walking slowly around behind his desk before taking a seat, "See, here at Oscorp, I believe it's about the team. Pulling together, bringing in the skills and talents and thoughts of every member- that is what makes us successful. The tighter the team, the stronger the results, that's what I always say. Wouldn't you agree?"
Push push push-
"Uh-", Charles' head spins at the whirlwind of words. He feels he hardly has a moment to digest them any longer then mere, basic understanding. Mr. Osborn, smiling still, moves from resting in his office chair to leaning intently on his desk. Shining eyes. Sparkling teeth. A tiny, most subtle nod of- "Uh, yes... Yes, I agree whole heartedly Mr.- uh, Norman"
Release-
The two share a chuckle, and at last Norman sits back, the pressure relinquishing the room.
Norman sighs, then nods almost to himself, "I thought you would- The way I see it, when your team is that close- well it really stops being just a team, you know? They become friends. Family, even...", he rocks forward, that same pretend, dreamy smile on his face. Norman reaches for a large picture on his desk and adjusts it just so- Manipulated in such a way to showcase the contents of it's frame.
Therewithin is a man, obviously Mr. Osborn himself. A women, whom the Professor does not recognize. And between the two, held in his father's arms, a young boy with a very familiar head of bright, curly red hair.
"You know Charles, family means everything to me... You said it yourself, without your team, your family- Who are we, really? That's just why I asked you here", he looks from the photo frame to the professor's face with a slow, knowing smile, "See I have a great respect for you and the work of your X-Men... That's why I want to help you take care of your family", he points again, accentuating his words as he speaks with fabricated understanding... Then produces a dense, manilla folder for the table, "-With a little help from mine"
Never losing that piercing, bright eyed, fatherly smile, Mr. Osborn lays out the designs and documents. Each one he talks up, every style of investment- every design of technology and suits, all better then the last. So fast, so loud, and so so bright... And yet for all of this mans noise-
Charles' head feels surprisingly clear.
Clear, in a way that only a psychic would understand. Clear, on it's own. Clear, in that he need not apply effort to block out the voices and thoughts of the world around him. Even with Mr. Osborn's incessant chattering and hustling- This room is so... Quiet.
"And here, I was thi-", Norman looks up for just a split second, working hard to hold back a displeasured glare. He works his jaw as he takes in the Professors strange, nearly pained and certainly confused, grimace. He replaces the friendly mask quickly, "Is... something the matter, Professor?"
Charles refocuses back to his host, seemingly shaking the tension out of his head, "Ah, pardon me Norman... I must have gotten distracted", he takes a moment to look around the room, taking it all in... But before the other man can get in a single word more, "You know I must say, this room just struck me as so remarkable! I nearly hadn't noticed the psionic shielding you've had installed until just now- It must be very excellent quality", he smiles innocently.
Without skipping a beat, Norman chuckles congeniality, taking a break from his papers to posture once more, "Oh, that? Yes yes... Top of the line stuff. I assure you, it isn't personal, merely a piece in the game- business, and all. You know how it is...", he laughs.
"I'm sure", the Professor nods, wearing a cryptic smile, "I suppose I'm just a bit surprised that a man so willing to work with mutants could be so defensive against them, is all- I mean, surely we have nothing to hide here considering we're all on the same page, as you say"
Norman's crisp smile tightens, the light in his eyes sharpens into a beam- but the Professor smiles insistently, nonetheless. So, he smiles warmly in return.
"How right you are-", Norman nods and reaches into a drawer in his elaborate wooden desk. He holds up a small remote in a trusting gesture- Were he to be holding his finger any lower on the device, the logo of Trask Industries would be given away. Norman chuckles and shakes his head auspiciously, his torso jolting with the laughter as it cracks his weathered face into a charming grin, "I like you Charles... You're a man who knows what he wants. You know how to get it, and you know how to look out for your own. I like that-"
Osborn clicks a button on the remote. Not a sound is made, but they both know the shielding has fallen. The noise of this world rushes to Charles' mind- A smile dawns on the Professor's face, but Norman speaks first, "We're a lot alike Charles... And besides- Just like you said", he leans back smiling, arms wide in an innocent gesture, "I have nothing to hide"
"Glad to hear it- I thought you would understand", Charles gives another of his small, winning grins, "Now, as you were saying..."
Norman perks up, back into business mode once more. He shelves his remote and turns the attention of them both back to the papers.
In all his years as the Professor- The man behind the X-Men. The crusader for peace between human and mutant kind alike. A man of policy. A man of responsibility. In all that time, he has made a personal code not to reach into the private thoughts of others. Not without absolute necessity. Truly, he wouldn't pry into the head of any, harmless soul-
But with this shielding surprise... Is Mr. Osborn here truly as harmless as he would have him believe?
A precaution? Perhaps. Necessary for a meeting like this? Well, that would be the issue, isn't it. Osborn is a business man after all- Nothing is ever truly straight forward in these things. Nothing ever without a double edge or benefits that only the house can see. The only issue is... He is no gambling man.
Especially not when it comes to his family.
Maybe just one little look won't hurt... He must be sure, after all.
Osborn does exactly as he has all along- He talks and talks, blissfully unaware of the Professor in his mind. Charles listens and nods along when appropriate, responding to statements where he can. The split of his concentration is difficult- but not impossible. As he listens and as he probes, he makes an astounding discovery... Against his previous suspicions, everything Norman says seems to be truth. The deals and promises he speaks seem to have no hidden agendas indeed.
Although...
There- Something about the new suits he's pushing... There's something in the way. A block. A curtain. A wall. He can't possibly get through without the other's mind noticing him, but... Dare he go through with all these agreements without knowing? Mr. Osborn has been cordial enough, even agreeing to remove the psychic barrier. Is it really that much of a-
"Looking for something, jackass?"
In the physical plane, all at once the room falls is silent. Norman has ceased his speech, and receded into his head. It would seem, Charles has dedicated a little too much of his efforts to concentrating on the mind reading... Where the hell did that voice come from? Just like Norman, and yet too different. In cadence and tone and yet-
In the empty space of Osborn's mind, all the twists and turns and fractured walls- he looks around for the source. Laughter echoes all around. Again, Norman... but not exact. Before he can wonder too long, Osborn's voice speaks up, everywhere at once, "Professor... You wound me! And here I thought we were having a nice conversation"
Just like that, footsteps click up from behind. Charles turns abruptly to meet them, watching rigid with tension as the business man calmly approaches. He's been caught.
Suddenly, the voice emanates from just one point- Directly him, as he speaks, "Did I bore you, my friend? So sorry, I've been told I'm quite the talker-", he mocks.
Charles swallows, "Sorry... 'Friend'. I didn't mean to intrude, but... You know how it is. 'A piece in the game', and all- The matter is, I just couldn't help but wonder what you so obviously don't want to tell me about these uniforms you're selling", he gestures loosely to a small, mental bunker off to the side, solitary in the nothingness of the mindscape.
Norman stops a healthy distance away from the Professor. He simply casts his eyes the way of the structure, "Oh, that?", Osborn waves his hand, and the walls fall down- There is nothing behind them but a whisp of smoke. It fizzles lazily in the air, then rushes to Norman's open hand. Once there, it materializes into a small SD card, "Well, I just thought since the suits are my property... I should have some information on all that's going on. Assets, and all that- Every bit of communication and camera data stays between the team... and also comes back to me. For safe keeping, of course", he smiles, and crushes the card back into smoke in his hand, "See? Nothing really... Hardly worth all this intrusion, don't you think?"
The Professor bites back, indignant, "So we give you a free seat at the war room, is that it? You surveil my team. Sit in on all our conversations. All our training and missions- And I'm supposed to just go along with it? To what end would you eve-?"
"Why, for all your brilliance, of course! Yourself. Dr. McCoy. All your fascinating X-Men and their mutations... So much science. So much potential- So many things for me to learn, to adapt into technology for my company. For my shareholders..."
Like a flash. Like a switch- Osborn's face twitches. His expression contorts. A hellish, wolf like grin stretches his features. A whole new voice exits his mouth, "For me-"
Once again, Osborn advances... Closer and closer still, that same, insane sneer frozen into his face, "Tsk tsk tsk... Poor Chuck, so confused huh?", Suddenly, Osborn disappears into the whiteness. That voice echoing all around once more, "You look so lost!"
Charles turns and turns, around and around. Where did he-?
A finger taps his shoulder. When he turns to meet it... A face, Norman's bu- No.
No, this... It's something else entirely. It must be. His skin is mottled and peeling, all but melting off his face. The flesh beneath is sick. Scaley. Green-
The creature of Norman's brain takes a hold of Xavier's lapel, the other fist cocked back, ready to strike. Then in that raspy, cackling voice he mocks, "How's about I show you the way out?"
Charles jolts, like awoken by falling. When next he opens his eyes, it's to the concerned face of Norman Osborn. No scales. No peeling skin. His voice is his own as he asks, "Everything alright, Charles?"
The Professor blinks hard, shaking his head lightly. He says nothing, but... The look he gives says more then enough. Norman nods solemnly, a far away smile on his face as he gathers his papers back up into a neat stack.
He knows when he's been had.
"Well, I guess you've seen everything you need to then-"
Norman shuffles the papers one more time, tapping each end on the table before filing them away. The Professor clears his throat, just as perplexed now as he was mere moments before in Osborn's head. Yet still, he manages, "Just so"
With the papers done, one of a rare few business deals to have fallen through, Norman clicks that button on his psychic shielding remote once more as that same, uncomfortable silence fills Charles' head.
The only thing left, is the sound of Osborn's voice. All the friendly, shining charm has vanished from the man behind the desk, "Then I think we're done here- I assume you can see yourself out", His face falls to an almost bored sort of annoyance, his voice cold and succinct- After all, what more is there to say?
This... mutant- is useless to him now.
Charles gives Mr. Osborn a tight lipped smile and a nod before turning to make his exit. As he goes, his mind races over thoughts of the encounter, with... Whatever that was. Like a madness, the Professor's head buzzes and rushes. What was that? Like a whole other being in the man's very body, it was.
He makes his way through the door, all but missing the squeak as a body rises from the office chair-
Could he be a mutant, then? No... Norman Osborn, a mutant? No, surely not- He would've known about a revelation such as that long ago if it were true.
The elevator's call button is nearly in arm's reach now. The soft click of dress shoes echoes across the empty hallway.
Well if not that, then....?
With the shields up, the approach is shockingly silent. But the words from Mr. Osborn's mouth come impressively clear, "Oh, and Charles...?"
Professor Xavier turns his shoulder, looking back no more then he dare. Norman Osborn, long and tall stands centered in the open doorway. He speaks no more, but indeed he need not.
Eyes unnervingly wide. Irises and pupils wild and frayed. Mouth stretched in a grin most unsettling. Norman, or rather, a man who looks much like him- raises a slow, shaky finger to his lips, eyes locked onto the Mutant's, even from so many feet away.
Norman purses his lips, finger held aloft and, like one would extinguish a flame, leaves him with a parting reminder-
Shhh...
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☆ love; heretical and divine
{☆} characters tsaritsa
{☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings blood
{☆} word count 0.8k
To love a God is heretical. It is an act of blasphemy– it is to drag them down from their throne of hollow gold, to topple the pedestal the worshipers uphold on their shoulders like lambs at the herders heel. It is the act of forcing them to their knees and ripping that beating heart of glorious gold and beautiful, cruel divinity from their chest, so pure it burns.
To love a God is to make them sin. To make them painfully, horribly human.
To love a God is to sin.
The love of a worshiper is no love at all, brilliant in its raw purity, untainted by sin. It is fear and obedience masked by adoration so overpowering it corrupts. It makes the lamb so unquestioning in it's faith it will never question the knife that cuts, the teeth that rip, the claws that tear. If the Creator deemed them unworthy of the very life crafted by their hands, then they must have committed a sin so grave there lay no salvation for their horrid soul.
But she is no worshiper– her lips speak of heresy as easily as she breathes, her words nothing but lies, cold and cruel like the ice that crawls along her skin like webs.
She loves a God like a lover should.
A damned sinner reaching longingly for the heavens.
She loves a God in the subtle brush of their lips, their muffled voices behind closed doors as they indulge in curiosity untamed. She is a sinner through and through, but she feels herself fall further with every brush of her hand across their cheeks, every touch she bestows upon them like a lover. She memorizes the imperfections of their body like memorizing a map– every scar, every mark, every line drawn on their body like a canvas, her touch the brush that stains the pristine white.
No devoted lamb shall ever see the painting they create in these stolen moments– it is for the eyes of a heretic so vile it makes them shudder, their body dirtied by the love of a woman so vile even their divinity is obscured by the ice.
The lambs may be satisfied with fleeting glimpses of gold and empty words from lips that guide them to the jaws of the wolves, but she is not. Her hands crave them like a starving hound, aching to touch that imperfect skin hidden by the veil of gold that obscures the painfully human body beneath. She longs to free them from the golden cage that binds them– to see their wings blot out the sky, their divinity tainted by sin and making them all the more beautiful for it.
It is a longing that leaves a festering wound that cannot heal, will not heal. Even if it could, she would not let it.
For as much as she tries, deny it as she may, she is no better then the blind lambs following the herder who holds a blade in their hand, glittering like gold in the sun, stained by dull red.
She is a fool, and what a fool they make of her with the touch of their hands against her skin– so cold it leaves frost on their fingertips. Yet they do not fear the cold, mapping out every inch of her imperfections, carved into her body by her own hands.
She has always been a heretic, cursing the divine until she could speak no more, but if divinity can be found in them – in this love that consumes, that burns her hands and her lips – then she is a Saint, praying at the altar until her throat bled.
But in the end, she has and will always be a cold woman with hands stained with blood. Until it is all she can taste, until it is all she can smell, until it is all she can feel. These hands of hers, heretical and divine, will bleed the God from their veins– she will become the wolf to their lamb until the rivers of Teyvat run gold with their ichor, until the gold bleeds into red, the taste of their divinity on her tongue.
Until she drags a God from their lofty throne and makes of them a monster.
There is no greater triumph to the heretic then to love a God into sin. To make a God sin to love.
To love is to be human, and they are no God.
Even if she must tear the gold from their very being until all that's left is something human. Even if Teyvat crumbles and decays, even if it begins over and over again..
She will do it again and again, until the gold can bleed no longer. Until her sins grow too great for Teyvat to contain.
To love a God is to devour, and be devoured. An endless cycle of sin that dulls the glow of gold into something new– something horrifying and divine, in it's own right. Something just as horrid as her, just as divinely corrupted by the sins she carries on her shoulders like a trophy, as gold as the sun and as cold as ice.
Divinity, carved into something human by love all consuming, until it all bleeds away and they begin their dance anew, for as many cycles as it takes.
An eternity, if she must, of dooming this world of theirs to fire and decay for a glimpse of the being snared by their golden shackles.
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Ugly crying & the marauders generation - a pseudo-scientific approach (my marauders crying PhD abstract)
Abstract
In recent days, there have been a variety of claims as to who the prettiest and ugliest crier in the marauders generation could be. This paper aims to address the recent surge in opinions on the matter, and categorize different approaches as well as add a new approach to the scientific examination of ugliness/prettiness when it comes to crying. I hope to provide readers with an overview of the current state of research and encourage all marauders scholars to add their own and I intend to make a contribution to the discourse by committing to the bit and writing a pseudo-academic paper about it instead of actually working on my thesis.
Introduction
In the following paper, the discourse about 5 marauders era characters will be examined in regards to their various levels of perceived ugliness whilst crying. Scholars who may ask why Peter [Pettigrew] is not included in this analysis are advised to refer to acclaimed marauders ugly crying scholar @lynxindisguise's (2023) original poll on the popular blogging website "tumblr.com" which did not include Peter, but rather two non-marauders characters named Lily and Regulus. This paper will follow that approach, since Peter is the nastiest skank bitch I have ever met, I do not trust him and he is a fugly slut. The characters included in this approach are as follows: James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Regulus Black.
Following the scientific criteria for ugly crying, as stated by lynxindisguise et. al (2023), the question of the ugliest crier can be answered by observing the crying person and assessing their ugly-levels on the following parameters: (1) unbecoming facial expressions, (2) facial swelling/blotching, (3) unsettling noises, (4) snot factor, (5) tear volume, (6) general loss of dignity, (7) glistening eyes/lashes, (8) Victorian heroine factor, (9) elegant tear-wiping, (10) post-cry glow (ibid).
Criteria (1)-(6) can be categorized as the ugly crying parameters whereas (7)-(10) are pretty crying parameters, creating a false binary between ugly and pretty crying, which may be problematised and addressed in another the paper. In contrast to lynxindisguise’s original 10 criteria to measure the aesthetics of crying, this paper proposes to add (11) explosiveness of cry as another ugly crying parameter, in order to get a more clear assessment of where on the ugly-pretty crying scale a character falls.
The ugly crying parameters
(1) Unbecoming facial expressions
James Potter is mentioned in this category by several marauders scholars: @jaylienpotter talks about his red face and ugly sobbing, @artbyace mentions his “scrunched up cry face” and @sectoren claimes “james (…) is that one handsome guy that when the waterworks get going becomes like. Cartoonishly ugly”, raising the question of upkeeping toxic masculinity in order to avoid having to witness more of James Potter’s crying “mug”.
Though James Potter features heavily in this category, another character who is also mentioned just as often is Remus Lupin: @kaaaaaaarf, @appreciatedmoron and @http-starboy all emphasise that Remus Lupin is the one with a red and blotchy face.
(2) facial swelling/blotching
While there is a definitive overlap between the categories of facial swelling/blotching, unbecoming facial expressions and snot factor, Sirius’ and Regulus’ victorian heroine complexions, which give them an advantage in the homonymous category, may be to their disadvantage in the “blotching” category. This will require further research by other scholars.
(3) unsettling noises
James Potter is mentioned in this category by Jaylienpotter (2023), claiming he not only hiccups when crying but also that “his cries are one of the most heartbreaking things you’ll ever hear” and similarly, artbyace states that “James loves and feels so loudly”, whereas “Sirius is silent”, both sentiments are reminiscent of znelda’s (2023) statements that James “was allowed to feel his emotions freely in a loving household” and “Sirius (…) [is] used to hide [his] feelings and [has] become stoic”.
With several other scholars, among them also @jamesunderwater (2023) raising the point that James may be the ugliest crier due to him being “the only one well adjusted enough to have access to his feelings” this raises the question of possibly introducing another category, maybe of emotional awareness/stability to be able to measure this parameter more efficiently, though emotional vulnerability may also just be a part of the unsettling noises parameter, suggesting that there is a correlation between noisiness and the existing environment being welcoming to and accepting of various expressions of emotions.
(4) snot factor
The most popular winner in the snot factor category seems to be Remus Lupin, with several scholars agreeing that his sobs are the dampest and snottiest out of all the candidates. kaaaaaaarf (2023) writes “he turnes all red and blochty and snot drips out of his nose (…) he cant (sic) not cry with his mouth open as well so there is a lot of spit”, and appreciatedmoron (2023) agrees with kaaaaaaarf on this.
It only seems right to me to include spit in the snot category as well, seeing as they’re both crying-related bodily fluids that add to the ugly-cry factor. http-starboy (2023) also mentions snot in regards to Remus Lupin, which compared to both their comments in (1) opens up the question of how unbecoming facial expressions, more particularly redness of the face and snot factor may be related, as several authors seem to write about both specifically in relation to each other. Whether this is just pure coincidence or not would need further research, for which we currently do not have enough funding. This is only one of the many research gaps in the relatively new field of marauder’s ugly crying studies, which cannot fully be addressed in this paper.
James Potter is also mentioned in the snot category, namely by the marauders scholar artbyace (2023).
(5) tear volume
Artbyace (2023) claims James Potter is “full on bawling” which can only be assumed to refer to tear volume, but the most convincing argument for tear volume comes from the acclaimed marauders scholar @fruityindividual (2023), stating that “tsunami warning tones go off in sirius’ brain anytime remus is close 2 (sic) tears” which already indicates high levels of tear volumes. The author then goes on to specify the volume by claiming that “indeed the ocean wishes rj lupin would jump in and help contribute 2 (sic) rising sea levels”, further emphasizing the volume of Remus's tears.
(6) general loss of dignity
@pastaplatypus (2023) writes about James Potter not being able to do a Melodramatic Bollywood Cry, which is perceived as inherently racist by the crier.
I would like to argue that Sirius Black also deserves to be mentioned in this category. While as of today, with less than 1 hour left to vote, 15.5% of voters agree that Sirius is the ugliest crier, the more outspoken voices all argue for different ugly criers. Due to their upbringing, I am tempted to name both Black brothers in the “loss of dignity” category and look forward to reading future contributions to this discussion.
The pretty crying parameters
(7) glistening eyes/lashes
Undoubtedly Sirius Black deserves to be mentioned in this category. I believe his dark lashes and glimmering eyes are part of what makes him the prettiest crier. Whereas Remus’s eyes also sometimes glisten or appear red, and it is usually attributed to be caused by drug consumption, which more often than not is a wrong assumption, but he happily goes along with the pretense of being a weed-smoking bad boy in order to hide his ugly crying damp tendencies.
(8) Victorian heroine factor
It almost seems superfluous to even mention Sirius (and, to a lesser degree, Regulus) Black in this category. This category was made for Sirius, as is apparent when reading lynxindisguises (2023) description of the victorian heroine factor, in response to a question by the scholar @plecotusauritus:
“the Victorian Heroine Factor is a deeply scientific assessment of the Vibes. Is this person giving tragically beautiful, windswept Victorian Heroine, sobbing gently into their hands while sprawled across a boulder or a well or a fountain of some sort? When they look up at you, do their tear-plumped lips part elegantly as a single tear slides down their cheek?”
(9) elegant tear-wiping
There hasn't been a lot of research in this area, but I would like to propose handkerchiefs with embroidered initials and family crests as another potential factor in favor of the Black brothers scoring high marks in this category as well as the Victorian heroine factor.
(10) post-cry glow
Artbyace (2023) claims “lily is always beautiful (…) even when crying”, which is echoed by znelda’s (2023) earlier claim that “Lily (…) [is] a woman and no woman is ugly when crying.”
Sirius is the other popular choice by marauders scholars for this category, with @in-flvx (2023) stating that he “handsomely handsomes while dying after 12 years of torture hell and another year in shackles”, which would mean that “a few tears would[n’t] stop him from being the hottest person in the room at all times” (ibid).
Additional parameters
I am suggesting to introduce an additional metric in order to further specify and better assess the ugly-crying levels:
(11) explosiveness of cry
@felixantares (2023) introduces the idea that Remus “is the type that very few people have been seen cry because he ignores every difficult emotion hes (sic) ever had (…) and it all explodes at once and its horrible to watch when he breaks down”, a sentiment shared by several of the other authors mentioned above in various other categories.
Further opinions & conclusions
The most popular consensus seems to be that Sirius cannot be the ugliest crier, sometimes also in direct comparison to his brother: @spindrifters (2023) answers the question of the ugliest crier with “obviously it’s regulus”, elaborating that “at least [it’s] definitely not sirius bc (sic) reg is canonically less handsome in all ways” which brings up the question if regular beauty plays into ugly crying. This is contrasted by lynxindisguises argument, that Sirius may be an ugly crier because he’s so gorgeous, and his ugly crying subverts the expectations of beauty:
“the most beautiful man alive looks hideous while crying, and his deeply awkward and perpetually damp bf (sic) is literally in his element while crying – dampness becomes him, you might say.”
This statement raises yet another question – does regular crying make the crier more or less ugly? Can an ugly crier become a pretty crier by practice or are we all born either ugly or pretty criers, condemned to this fate for life?
While this paper has given an overview of the current state of research to ugly crying/pretty crying, it has also raised many more questions. Other topics which may be addressed in future papers also include the philosophical question whether ugly crying is in the eye of the beholder and if it is possible to ugly cry without being perceived, and if it is possible to ugly cry if the person perceiving you doesn’t find it ugly. Since the research field of ugly crying is a relatively new one, we can only hope to read many more opinions on these and other topics in the future, and I look forward to reading different scholar’s approaches to these highly relevant topics.
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