#but on the SURFACE level it aged poorly.

[katyspersonal]

I had a dream that I've created a video about the Soulsborne fandom, titled "The awful world of incels and radfems" and the thumbnail was depicting the sides as a Redmane Knight and Cleanrot Knight each saying something dumbass in MS Paint made speechbubbles hggfggdh Very pre-SoTE vibe, for sure, this aged! But nonetheless it WAS the fandom before DLC

And despite my big entrance as a Youtuber was about disco horse and not actual lore the reception was rather positive! What really stuck out for me was that the comments featured a lot of thanks acknowledging how toxic the Malenia+Miquella side was too if not worse instead of just parroting the same points about "chadahn dudebros" as if we are saints 🙄 I think being repeatedly praised as someone who says something everyone thinks but is scared to say started to slip into my dreams and self-image. Not a kind of user I'd like to be because fandom is already a Caelid without any more attention to disco horse, but like I keep saying: we all as species are merely people that try to not become hunters until beasts start to scratch at OUR door lol XD

[dathen]

We’re so used to the sexual reading of the entire book of Dracula, which takes the sensuality of the early chapters and jams everything that follows it into the same metaphor no matter how poorly it fits, but I feel the segment we’re approaching works much better with a lens of chronic illness and disease.

Vampire legends are inextricably intertwined with disease. Many of them are said to have been birthed by burying victims of disease too soon, who later seem to rise from the dead. But what’s more is that Stoker and his family have deep-seated trauma over disease: his mother had to flee her hometown at the age of 14 because of a horrific cholera epidemic, and Stoker himself was bedridden as a child from an illness that no one could identify.

Found this quote from Irish Historian Mary McGarry:

Bram as an adult asked his mother to write down her memories of the epidemic for him, and he supplemented this using his own historic research of Sligo’s epidemic. Scratching beneath the surface (of this essay), I found parallels with Dracula. [For instance,] Charlotte says cholera enters port towns having traveled by ship, and can travel overland as a mist—just like Dracula, who infects people with his unknown contagion.

I bring this up because a lot of academic analysis insists that Lucy sleepwalking is proof of her being the Slutty Woman archetype that needs to be punished. This suggested symbolism is hilarious when put next to the text saying she inherited it from her father, but I’d like to suggest a different angle from the lens of disease suggested earlier:

Lucy’s sleepwalking is a condition that predates Dracula but makes her an easy target for him to prey on. Through the lens of disease symbolism, she now is someone with chronic illness or disability who is especially vulnerable to infectious disease. This becomes a cross-section of Stoker’s trauma regarding disease: his own mystery illness and his mother fleeing a plague.

To wind down my rambles with a bit of a soapbox, I feel this adds a very poignant layer to the struggle to keep Lucy alive. The COVID pandemic showed a horrifying level of casual ableism vs disabled and immunodeficient individuals, shrugging off their vulnerability and even their deaths with “well COVID only kills them.” There’s something deeply gratifying at seeing the way everyone around Lucy fights to the bitter end to protect her and refuses to just give her up to Dracula, whether it’s Mina physically chasing him away or the suitor squad pouring their blood into her veins or Van Helsing desperately searching for cures. The vulnerable deserve no less than this. They’re not acceptable casualties.

[shadowtriovibes]

fever (what a lovely way to burn)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: M

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, friends to lovers, character with fever/illness, mild sensual content

Summary: request: "since you saved Sebastian from Azkaban, he has met you in the common room every morning and you have gone to breakfast together. One morning he isn't there so you go to his room looking for him to find him in bed, poorly."

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–” He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.” “N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

Monday, October 5, 1891

Even a month after the start of term, it’s unseasonably warm in the Highlands. The heat from the dog days of summer persists well into the arrival of autumn, permeating the ancient stone walls of the castle and settling like a thin layer of fog across Hogwarts’ students.

Professor Sharp’s N.E.W.T.s-level Potions class meets promptly at nine o’clock every morning. Despite the early time slot, the dungeon-level classroom starts to become warm rather quickly thanks to the heat of two dozen bodies and six potion stations, each with their flickering flames preheating the students’ pewter cauldrons.

Your little trio is usually the last to arrive from breakfast. Sebastian sidles up to the doorway just as Professor Sharp is preparing to close it, gallantly offering to hold it open for you and Ominis as you take your time sauntering down the hall, arms linked together and chatting happily about the latest gossip to have surfaced in the Great Hall.

Then you settle in at the potions table squarely in the middle of the classroom, which you’d unabashedly claimed at the start of term. (Ominis can hear Professor Sharp most clearly here, and Sebastian, as always, gets to remain the center of attention.)

Finally, with Ominis’ dictation quill hovering over his parchment, Professor Sharp begins his daily discourse.

“Dittany, as you’ll recall, is one of the most useful herbs for creating a wide range of healing draughts,” he explains, showing off a tendril of the fiercely pink plant clipped from Professor Garlick’s greenhouse just that morning. “Can anyone give me an example of one?”

“Wiggenweld Potion, sir,” Amit chimes in.

“Very good, Mister Thakkar,” Sharp replies with an approving nod. “Another?”

Adelaide Oakes timidly raises her hand. “Essence of Dittany, sir?”

“Well done, Miss Oakes,” he murmurs. “Though not as effective as a properly-brewed bottle of Wiggenweld, dittany on its own can be used to craft a powerful restorative tonic – especially useful in preventing the occurrence of scars. Five points to Hufflepuff.”

Then Professor Sharp glances around the room expectantly. “One more, perhaps?”

“Moustache paste, sir?” Sebastian mumbles under his breath, and you quickly elbow him in the side.

“What was that, Mister Sallow?” Professor Sharp drawls.

Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek. “Er, the Antidote to Common Poisons, perhaps?”

Professor Sharp levels Sebastian with a dubious look. “I’m afraid not. While dittany is a broadly useful herb, its powers are generally limited to healing, not curing. When considering its uses, think ‘paper cut,’ not ‘influenza.’”

You raise your hand and ask, “Sir, are there any potions that do cure illnesses?”

“Yes, in fact,” Professor Sharp answers. “The Pepperup Potion will quickly resolve any common colds or cases of the flu, with the enigmatic side effect of generating steam that will pour from your ears for hours on end.”

You wince a bit. “I suppose that’s worth being over a cold in a day.”

“I should think so,” he replies with a slight grin. “So has the majority of the wizarding world since the twelfth century.”

As Professor Sharp segues into a lecture on the history of healing potions, you pull out a piece of parchment and start to take down some notes.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “What does Pepperup Potion taste like?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I’ve only had it once, and it was a decade ago.”

You frown. “Why’s that?”

“I can’t drink it,” Sebastian says simply. “I’m allergic to bicorn horn.”

You blink, surprised. “You’re… allergic? How did you even discover that about yourself?”

“Oh, it was gruesome,” Ominis chimes in gleefully.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Well, I had my suspicions as a child when my parents gave me Pepperup Potion and steam poured out of my ears, nose, and mouth for a full week. Simply suffering through the cold would have been better.”

“And then?” you prompt.

“Well… in our third year, Anne and I made some Polyjuice Potion,” Sebastian admits, glancing around furtively. “We wanted to see if we could attend our classes all day as each other without anyone noticing the difference.”

“And Polyjuice Potion has bicorn horn,” you surmise.

Ominis looks delighted. “They were both in the Hospital Wing for three days, stuck as half-formed versions of each other.”

You gasp in disbelief. “That sounds awful!”

“It was the one and only time in their lives they were truly identical!” Ominis crows. “‘Sebastianne,’ we called them.”

You can’t help but giggle at Ominis’ delight while Sebastian sulks.

“In any case,” Sebastian grumbles, “I can’t take Pepperup Potion anymore, but luckily I never get sick.”

“Really?” you ask skeptically. “Everyone gets a common cold once in a while.”

“Not me,” he says proudly. “I haven’t been sick since I was a child. At the very least, if I have been sick, it must have been so mild that I wasn’t slowed down in the slightest – no need for Pepperup, thanks.”

“I’d be careful, Sebastian,” Ominis demurs. “Wouldn’t want to tempt fate, would we?”

With a lazy shrug, Sebastian turns to his potions station and begins to roughly chop some dittany leaves for a new healing potion Sharp intends to teach that afternoon. He glances up surreptitiously while you tie your hair back with one of those green ribbons you like to keep around your wrist for when the Potions classroom becomes especially humid with cauldron steam.

Though it’s unwise to lose focus while holding a knife, Sebastian has become quite skilled at multitasking while tending to his lovesick heart with stolen glances and half-formed daydreams.

He becomes so distracted staring at the column of your neck that when he suddenly feels a bit dizzy, he merely attributes it to the thick, heavy air in the room.

—

Tuesday, October 6, 1891

“You look dreadful,” you tell Sebastian cheerfully as you take a seat at breakfast.

Across from you, Sebastian looks a sight. His generally unruly hair is sticking up in every direction, and his face, which until this morning had still been sun-kissed and freckled from his time carrying out summer chores in Feldcroft, is ghostly pale.

“Cheers,” he grumbles, his head in his hands as he stares down at a plate full of untouched tattie scones.

You know for a fact they’re his favorite. In fact, you’ve stolen countless scones from the Great Hall on weekends when he treats himself to a bit of a lie-in just to make sure there are some left for when he finally emerges, hair rumpled and cheeks creased with pillow lines.

“Late night?” you ask him as you pour yourself some juice.

“The opposite, actually,” Ominis explains. “Sebastian was asleep before I even finished my Runes assignment last night, and I practically had to drag him out of bed this morning.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” you comment, frowning. “You’re usually up half the night reading. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Sebastian shrugs weakly. “I’m fine, I just… It’s dreadfully warm in the castle, and my head is aching.”

Without thinking, you reach across the table and press the back of your hand against his forehead.

“You’re quite hot,” you mumble.

“Wh-what?” Sebastian stammers, his eyes going wide. “What did you do that for?”

“You have a fever,” you explain to him. “Old Muggle trick. And your eyes are quite glassy. I think you might be coming down with something.”

Ominis unsubtly slides further down the bench.

“I’m not sick,” Sebastian protests. “It’s just the heat, it’s making me tired.”

You eye him warily, and as if to prove that he’s not ill, Sebastian lifts one of his hoarded scones to his mouth and takes a bite.

“See?” he asks with his mouth full. “M’fine.”

You grimace. “Lovely.”

Sebastian determinedly joins you and Ominis for Potions and manages to remain upright until the very end of class. He sways just a bit as he gathers up his belongings, and you offer him your shoulder while you make your way toward the stairs to Divination.

He balks when he sees the twisting spiral steps.

“On second thought,” he mumbles, “I think I’ll skive off today and get some rest.”

“Will you be alright?” you ask him concernedly. “I can come with you…”

“No, it’s fine,” he insists. “I’ll just lie down for a bit and then I’ll be grand, I promise. Save a seat for me at dinner, will you?”

Later that evening you linger in the Great Hall until the last of dinner melts through the tables down to the kitchens below, but Sebastian never shows up.

—

Wednesday, October 7, 1891

“You do not want to go in there,” Ominis tells you warningly. “Trust me, he’s a mess.”

You scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sebastian still hasn’t emerged from his dormitory in nearly eighteen hours, and you’re starting to worry for him. Ominis had brought him back some food from dinner the night before, but according to him, it had gone untouched.

When he’d failed to show his face at breakfast, you knew you had to step in.

“He wouldn’t want you to see him like this,” Ominis tries. “Sebastian is hardly a gentleman, but some things are sacred.”

“He’s our best friend,” you remind Ominis. “I really don’t care if he’s not entirely put together.”

Ominis opens his mouth as if to say more, and then seemingly changes his mind.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll tell Professor Sharp you’re tending to Sebastian, and I’ll ask Amit if you can borrow his notes.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ominis,” you breathe, quickly pulling him in for a hug. “What would we do without you?”

“Rot in Azkaban, most likely,” he grumbles, which… is fair.

Once Ominis leaves for class, you gently knock on the seventh-year boys’ dormitory door. “Sebastian? Can I come in?”

Through the door, you hear him whine, “Go ‘way.”

“Sebastian,” you call out patiently. “Ominis told me you’re sick, and you haven’t gotten out of bed in too long. I’m coming in.”

He protests weakly from his bed as you open the door and slip inside, carefully pressing it closed behind you. As you’d expected, his other roommates have all gone for the day. Only Sebastian remains – or at least, you think it’s Sebastian.

All you can see sticking out from underneath the pile of pilfered blankets on his bed is a mess of curly, brown hair.

“Oh, dear,” you sigh.

“Jus’ leave me alone,” he mumbles from beneath the covers. “...I think I’m sick.”

“Finally facing the music, are you?” you tease him, taking a seat at the foot of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like death warmed over,” he groans. “I’ve never been this ill before.”

“Should I take you to see Nurse Blainey?” you ask him. “I know you can’t have Pepperup Potion, but perhaps she has something else that would help.”

“No,” he sighs. “Ominis already sent for her, she said I’m a dafty and I’ll be fine in a coupl’a days.”

You bite back a laugh at Sebastian’s deteriorating accent; for how posh he usually sounds, apparently that rougher Feldcroft vernacular tends to slip out when he’s feeling poorly.

“Poor lamb,” you croon. “Can I do anything for you? Have you eaten?”

“M’not hungry,” he sulks. “Ominis made me drink some water before he left.”

You hum softly as you start to slowly pull his piles of blankets down low enough that you can see his face. Quickly you realize that Ominis had been exaggerating – Sebastian doesn’t look entirely a mess.

His eyes are a bit wet and glassy, you observe, and his nose is bright red from persistent rubbing with a handkerchief abandoned on his bedside table. He looks a little swollen beneath his jaw, but otherwise, he looks like he’d merely stayed awake all night, and you’ve seen a sleepless Sebastian countless times throughout your friendship.

There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw that you’ve never noticed before; it’s the same rich brown color as his wild, unkempt hair.

(Honestly, how dare he still look handsome even when he’s ill.)

“Hello, you,” you tease him in a voice just above a whisper. “Was beginning to wonder if you were even there under all those blankets.”

“I’m cold,” he complains.

“That’s the fever talking,” you tell him. “You should probably–”

But before you can tell him that he’d be better off with less covers, the blankets shift lower and you realize he’s not wearing a pajama shirt.

(Your disobedient mind immediately raises the question of whether he’s wearing anything at all, and subsequently, if you could get away with having a look. Immediately you scold that particular thought away.)

“Er, you should… don’t overheat yourself,” you finish lamely.

He’s flushed down to his chest, fever-pale skin burning red where the blankets had been piled on top of him. You discover that he’s got a thin smattering of hair here, too; he’s grown into the body of a man much sooner than many of your classmates, you imagine.

Sebastian watches as you swallow, your own eyes raking down his body.

“You’re missing class,” he observes. “You never miss class.”

“It’ll be alright, just this once,” you say softly.

For a moment you aren’t sure if you’re talking about missing class or being in Sebastian’s bed.

Then Sebastian suddenly starts to cough and hastily reaches for his handkerchief. He sounds utterly pathetic as he coughs and groans in discomfort, rolling onto his side and looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

“My chest hurts,” he whimpers. “I’ve been coughing all night.”

You reach across him and gently stroke the backs of your fingers down the middle of his chest. His skin is noticeably hot to the touch and damp with sweat.

“I can put some Muggle herbs in a warm compress for your chest,” you offer. “I know they’re not as effective as a potion would be, but it always helped me feel better when I was a child.”

“Alright, I suppose that’d be nice,” he mumbles.

But when you move to stand, he quickly snags your wrist.

“Wait,” he says. “Er… where would you go? For how long?”

“Well, I’ll have to go see if Nurse Blainey has any, and if not I can go look at the edge of the Forbidden Forest,” you explain. “It might take a bit of time, I’m afraid.”

“Then, just… stay,” he whines. “Keep me company? That’s better than some plain old herbs.”

You shift onto the bed, curling up on your side behind Sebastian. It’s a tight fit, and you’re dangerously close to falling off the edge, but you’re able to leave enough space between your bodies that you can make the argument that it’s friendly, and it’s fine.

“Can I rub your back?” you ask him softly. “It might help with the soreness.”

You have no idea if it will help his aching body, but you’re eager to try it nonetheless.

“Go on,” Sebastian rasps. “I… I might fall asleep.”

“You should,” you croon. “Your body’s telling you that you need to rest.”

“S’pathetic,” he grumbles. “I never get sick.”

“You had a good run,” you tease him. “But the common cold comes for us all eventually.”

He falls silent after that, his leanly muscled arms curled around a pillow while you stroke your hand up and down the length of his back. He’s so warm, and you’re a bit anxious about letting him ride out a fever as long as he has, but soon he drifts off to sleep.

You learn two things while he rests: he snores when he’s on his back, and he frowns whenever you take your hands off of him.

—

Thursday, October 8, 1891

Ominis had managed to talk you into returning to your own dormitory for the night, promising to look after Sebastian while you got some rest. When you return the following morning, you find him in even worse condition.

His sheets are bunched down to his hips, and he’s still bare from the waist up. His entire body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and the bags underneath his eyes have worsened – despite how much rest he’s getting, he seems more fatigued than ever.

“What happened?!” you ask Ominis.

“He’s had a fever all night,” Ominis says grimly, looking just as worn out as Sebastian. “He hasn’t eaten a thing, and I’ve barely been able to get him to drink some water.”

“Oh, Seb,” you sigh, taking his clammy hand and resting it in your lap as you sit on the edge of the bed. “You poor thing.”

“I think I’m dying,” he rasps. “This is it, right?”

“Hush now, there’s no need to be so dramatic,” you gently scold him, pressing your hand to his forehead. “You’re quite warm, but I’m not worried about your imminent demise.”

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–”

He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.”

“N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

“You’ll feel better,” you promise him. “And I swear I won’t, er… look, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You argue back and forth until Sebastian, utterly depleted of his typical stubbornness, loses energy and gives in. Ominis promises to stop by J. Pippin’s to see if the shopkeeper has any draughts suitable for Sebastian’s allergies before leaving to go to class, and you help Sebastian get out of bed with his arm around your shoulders and your own around his waist.

(He’s got pants on, thank Merlin, but you have to help him into a pair of pajamas to make the walk to the Slytherin baths.)

Sebastian balks when you enter the boys’ baths, but you both quickly learn there are no enchantments in place to keep you from joining him. You offer him an arm to lean on while he takes off his pajamas and coughs – this time pointedly – for you to turn around while he sinks into the lukewarm bath you’d drawn.

“This does feel nice,” he finally says once he’s settled in the opaque, murlap-scented water.

“Good,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice how your voice has gone up a bit higher than usual. “I’ll be back in a few moments with some fresh pajamas for you.”

“I’ll try not to drown while you’re gone,” he drawls, and even though he still sounds exhausted, you smile to yourself knowing that the bath is already helping him feel more like his usual self.

Hogwarts’ house elves were exceptionally fast in tidying up the boys’ dormitory while the two of you were out, so when you finally lead a clean, dry Sebastian back to his room, you’re thrilled to find freshly laundered sheets and a new pair of pillows waiting for him.

“Gods, I love magic,” he groans as he collapses into bed.

You stay all afternoon and into the evening. Ominis returns shortly before dinner with a brew from Parry Pippin himself, similar to the Pepperup Potion but with cinnamon instead of powdered bicorn horn.

(Sebastian seems to emit thin tendrils of steam straight from the top of his head after he drinks it, but he perks up all the same.)

Feenky herself brings a tray of soup and some leftover scones from breakfast once Sebastian regains his appetite. While he eats, he tells you about how he used to sit with Anne during the summers when she was particularly ill from her curse.

“At the time, I wondered if my being there was more of a help or a hindrance,” he says ruefully. “She was… hard to read, then. I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed by me or appreciated me staying.”

You pause before shyly asking, “Am I helping? By being here?”

“Of course,” he says without thinking.

“Then I’m sure you were helping Anne, even when she was annoyed,” you tell him reassuringly. “That’s all we ever want to do really, isn’t it? Help the ones we love?”

Sebastian glances up at his tray with an inscrutable expression on his face. His eyes are still glassy and he’s a bit peaky, but the cinnamon-laced, not-quite-Pepperup Potion has restored some of the usual warmth in his gaze.

“Right,” he echoes. “Help the ones we love.”

You end up staying the night in the boys’ dormitory. Only Ominis knows you’re there, as he draws the curtains around the both of you before the boys’ other roommates return from the common room. Given that Sebastian seems to be feeling better already, it’s not strictly necessary.

But it feels nice all the same.

—

Friday, October 9, 1891

Sebastian’s fever finally broke during the night.

When you wake up he’s wrapped around you from behind, one of his legs jammed between yours with his arm curled possessively around your waist.

You’re sweltering, but he’s cool to the touch.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Judging by the way sunlight pours over the top of Sebastian’s bed curtains, it’s well past when you’d usually wake up during the school week. You can’t hear any other snoring boys around you, either.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “Wake up.”

He groans tiredly into your hair as his arm tightens around your waist. “No.”

“N-no?!” you sputter. “It’s morning! We… we should, er.”

You trail off when you realize you aren’t quite sure what you should be doing. Evidently you’ve missed breakfast, and you’ve likely missed the start of Potions for the third day in a row. Professor Sharp will have no choice but to give you a detention; just as well, you suppose, as you can use the time to make up what you’ve missed.

But now that the damage is done…

“How are you feeling?” you ask him softly, your eyes still fixed on the green curtains in front of your face.

“Loads better,” he says, only this time his lips are pressed against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

You gasp as he rolls more of his weight toward you, pressing you more firmly into the mattress.

“Sebastian…” you sigh.

“I had a dream about you last night,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper beneath your ear. “I’ve heard Pepperup Potion can give one strange dreams.”

“St-strange?” you whisper back. “Why was it a strange dream?”

“I suppose it wasn’t really ‘strange,’” he acquiesces. “But it was nice. Really nice.”

“Tell me about it?” you ask breathlessly.

“Perhaps I’ll show you instead,” he asks, and when you nod, he slides his hand down to your hip and turns you onto your back.

Then quite suddenly he’s leaning over you, one knee still between your thighs. He rests on his elbows so his face is just centimeters from yours, and it’s the first time you’ve gotten a good look at him since the boys put out last night’s fire.

Sebastian looks so much better. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are clear and bright, and the sickly sheen of sweat he’d worn for days is entirely gone. (His hair is still a bird’s nest, but that’s to be expected.)

“We were like this,” he tells you.

“Were we just talking?” you ask him, but you’re met with only silence.

After a beat, he asks you, “Why have you been so kind to me this week?”

“You’re my best friend,” you tell him softly. “I – I wanted to help you feel better.”

“Is that all I am?” he asks. “Am I simply your friend?”

You bite your lip hesitantly and his gaze dips down to your mouth, his brown eyes nearly black in the soft morning light.

“Do you want to kiss me, Sebastian?” you ask.

Rather than answering, he surprises you by leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he lifts one of his hands to gently tip your face toward his, cradling your jaw while he deepens the kiss into one that’s hardly sweet at all.

It feels like it’s perhaps the first time in days that Sebastian has felt hunger.

You gasp his name into his mouth and then he’s the one biting your lip, just a quick graze of his teeth before he soothes your ensuing whine with another slow kiss. He shifts his weight onto his hip to rest on the mattress beside you, using that leg between yours to coax you into lying next to him. He rewards your body’s assent with a filthy kiss – the kind you’ve only read about in those Muggle romance novels you hide under your pillow, the kind where the hero kisses the girl with his tongue in her mouth and his hand in her blouse.

“Seb,” you moan.

“I didn’t know,” he confesses against your lips.

“Didn’t know what?” you whine.

“I didn’t know you loved me until last night,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours.

You’re so distracted by how red and swollen his lips look that you nearly miss him saying, “You stayed with me all week, you held me, practically healed me, and I still didn’t know.”

“Of course I love you,” you tell him.

“You love Ominis, you love Poppy,” he counters. “This – us – is different. Right?”

And the truth is, you would have done anything you’d done for Sebastian for any one of your friends. You would have helped Poppy into a warm bath and back into bed, and you would have sat at Ominis’ bedside all day and torn up pieces of scone to float on the surface of his soup.

But you would not have let them press you into their bedsheets and trace their lips along your neck, and right now Sebastian is eagerly doing both.

“Yes,” you whimper, both in answer to his question and as a plea for more.

“I love you, too,” he sighs against your jaw. “I have for ages, and I didn’t want you to see me all pathetic and poorly, but you still love me anyway.”

“I’ve loved you through worse,” you quietly remind him.

He nips at your throat for that remark; you’ve both agreed to speak of your fifth year as little as possible. Truly, the only reason you’d ever bring it up now is to remind Sebastian that you’ve long since made your choice – him, over duty and the law and perhaps even reason.

“Stay with me,” he pleads. “We have all morning, we have the dormitory to ourselves. Let me take care of you now.”

He pulls your thigh across his own and tangles his fingers in your sleep-mussed hair, holding you against his warm, bare chest.

“That’s tempting,” you breathe. “B-but perhaps we should check with Nurse Blainey, to see if you’re ready to return to–”

You cut yourself off with a gasp as he grinds his hips against yours. There’s no mistaking that he’s aroused, and that alone convinces you that he must be feeling well – you’re positive that he would’ve been too weak for this type of debauchery yesterday morning even if you’d gotten fully nude before him and begged.

“Trust me, I feel excellent,” he moans into your mouth. “Love, please.”

You don’t come up for air for a long while after that. By the time Ominis stops by during lunchtime to check on Sebastian, he nearly trips over your skirt, hastily tossed near the doorway.

“I take it you’re feeling better,” he deadpans.

“That potion of yours worked like a charm, Ominis,” Sebastian drawls. “Cinnamon, who would have thought?”

“I don’t suppose I mentioned that Muggles find cinnamon to be an organic aphrodisiac?” Ominis says innocently. “At least, that’s what Mister Pippin said. He told me you might have some rather amorous dreams while you recover.”

“No, I think you forgot to mention that,” Sebastian replies just as innocently.

Ominis simply hums and says, “Well, now that you’ve been made aware, I’ll be off to Herbology. I’d recommend locking the door if our dear friend is going to be keeping you company this afternoon, Sebastian.”

You’re too embarrassed to say a word, but Sebastian cheerfully thanks him as he pulls the door shut and reaches for his wand on his bedside table to magically lock it behind him.

“We’ve become menaces,” you whine as he rolls on top of you once more.

Sebastian grins wickedly down at you. “Not yet we haven’t, but thank Merlin we’ve got all afternoon.”

[olderthannetfic]

Actually, sorry, nevermind with the pro ship stuff ! Did my research and I'm more informed abt it :) you dont need to post either of the asks I sent abt it (and I'm lowkey scared if coming across as a close minded purist prude whose disillusioned about being by one.)..either way ty!

--

*giggling*

The reality is that any new, viral thing from thirty seconds ago spreads easily on TikTok, most especially misinformation. Instagram is another pretty terrible platform just in terms of algorithms and how it's run. I wouldn't expect the prevailing understanding of such-and-such from within one bubble on either to necessarily be well informed.

The concept of "antis" under that name is pretty new, and the concept of "proshippers" is even newer. It has always meant "not antis". Some people have started mutating it to be about specific dark content, but it was always supposed to be about opposing censorship-happy idiots.

I don't find incestuous ships any freakier than other common fantasies people have. Same with adult/minor ships. You're seeing them in a distinct category because they upset you in particular. The feelings are fine, but they don't actually mean that these kinks are darker than all the other ones antis go after.

I know you think someone will be able to interpret "proshippers DNI" as "only the actually bad people should stay away", but that simply isn't what's going to happen. First, DNIs are moronic. Curating your online space means that you need to be the one blocking and avoiding. You can't ask random strangers, possibly your enemies, to do it for you. Second, people are going to have all kinds of opinions on which content is Bad Enough to count even assuming they share a similar definition of 'proshipper'.

This kind of "Well, we all know what the Bad Stuff is" attitude tends to have a chilling effect on a space. People are all paranoid that their kinks might count and self-censor far beyond what the person who said it expected.

Honestly, aside from the constant misuse of the terms, my assumption is that public proshippers on Instagram and TikTok are mostly into extreme things because anyone less extreme wouldn't have the balls to be public. The amount of death and rape threats from antis wouldn't be worth it.

--

As for my "rules", I don't have any. This is my personal tumblr, but since I leave anon on, people send me lots of things. I post most of them, but I get so many now, that I'll sometimes cut off a topic that has dragged on boringly. I usually don't post the threats I get unless they're funny and I want to mock them.

--

Re teens in fandom, I got into fandom at 13 on Usenet and set about reading all of the freakiest porn available. I read far worse stuff outside of fandom. I was curious, as many people that age are. It never did me any harm, and it won't do any harm to current 13-year-olds to read dark shit.

The people who get fucked up already have a lack of decent mentors in their offline life, are reading things as self harm, are actually being harmed by the social side of fandom where they've found some creep for horny roleplay, are the subject of a public hate campaign, etc. That sucks, but it's not something I can control or that will get better if we exclude them from fandom.

Teens would be better protected by their parents removing TikTok from their phones than by anything to do with fandom. Its short form makes it ideal for poorly fact-checked soundbites that sound good on the surface but discourage critical thinking or nuanced engagement with a topic. Youtube et al. are also cesspits, but TikTok has elevated predatory algorithms and viral misinformation to a whole new level.

Now back to rewatching miniminuteman. Hahaha.

[writingfics-passingtime]

hi, can you please write about the reader overthinking decorating a pumpkin and loki threatens to tickle them if they don't start it 🤗🤗

I can still post pumpkin content cause it's still November, right?

Here's a sassy, stoic reader, an absolute teasing menace Loki, and a tender, emotional ending (because I can't help myself).

word count: ~4300

pairing: Loki x female reader

content / warnings: sexual tension, suggestive banter, flirting and touching, tickling, swearing

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a suggestive relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: thank you anon ~ I wasn't going to respond yet because my prompts aren't open, but I've seen a few other writers receive and fulfil this ask, and I've liked seeing what other have done with it. My imagination went a little wild. Thanks for your message x

If anyone has an idea for a title, help a girl out

The room was alive with voices, clinking bottles, and the occasional scrape of a knife against pumpkin flesh. The compound’s main dining hall had been transformed into an unlikely tableau of domesticity. Avengers, gods, and spies bent over their assigned gourds with varying levels of skill and enthusiasm. Stark’s pumpkin already looked like a disaster of glitter and questionable wiring, while Natasha’s had been carved into a clean, menacing grin, a masterpiece of precision.

And then there was you.

Your pumpkin sat pristine and untouched in front of you, its smooth surface mocking your indecision. Brushes, carving tools, and paints were scattered around your space, all conspicuously unused. You held a small knife in your hand, twirling it absently as you stared at the blank canvas.

“Do mortals often find themselves defeated by vegetables, or is this particular weakness unique to you?”

Loki's voice slid over you like velvet, dark and rich, tinged with mockery.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a fruit, actually.”

“Ah,” he drawled, moving closer. “Semantics. How very like you.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the table, his long, lean frame clothed in casual, dark fabrics that clung just enough to remind you that he wasn’t of your world. His sharp blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed your untouched pumpkin.

“You’ve been staring at it for nearly an hour,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Surely even you can’t find this much to overthink.”

You exhaled sharply, finally meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m waiting for inspiration.”

“Or perhaps you’re simply afraid to begin.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse stumble. “One wrong cut, one poorly chosen stroke, and the whole thing could be ruined. What a tragic metaphor for your careful, overthought life.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” you said dryly, turning your attention back to the pumpkin. “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

“Work?” His laugh was quiet, mocking. He moved closer, the faint rustle of his clothing brushing against your senses like a whisper. “Sitting frozen with indecision isn’t work, darling. It’s fear.”

You bristled but kept your voice calm. “If you’re so invested in this pumpkin, why don’t you decorate it yourself?”

“Because I find your quandary far more entertaining.”

He stepped around behind you then, his tall frame casting a shadow over your seat. His presence loomed, a magnetic pull you both resented and couldn’t entirely resist.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he said softly, his voice close now, the faintest trace of his breath against your ear. “Either you begin decorating this ridiculous fruit, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

You turned slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. They gleamed with dark amusement, his smirk widening as he caught the way your lips parted involuntarily. “Oh? And how exactly would you do that?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I could start with this.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against your sides, featherlight but enough to send a jolt through you. You stiffened, gripping the edge of the table as his touch lingered, just shy of maddening.

You twisted in your chair to glare at him. “That’s your plan? Tickle me into submission? How original.”

His chuckle was low, dark, a sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Oh, I think it would be quite effective. And besides,” he murmured, leaning closer, “I suspect you’d secretly enjoy it.”

Your breath caught at the sheer audacity of him, the way his voice dipped into something so sultry, so intimate, that your stomach twisted. “Sounds like you're desperate for an excuse to touch me,” you shot back, your tone sharp despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more deliberate. “Desperate? No, darling. Just curious.”

His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, as if he could see straight through you to the rapid beat of your heart.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the tension coiling taut as his words hung there, daring you to respond.

Your grip on the table tightened as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as heat coiled low in your stomach.

It felt like gripping the steering wheel of a car spinning out, but you snapped the moment.

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are."

Loki laughed, soft and wicked. “Of course not. And you're the picture of composure, as always."

His hand brushed against yours then, the faintest graze of his fingertips, and you swore the room tilted.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice a low murmur, his eyes locked on yours. “Prove me wrong. Pick up the brush. Start decorating. Show me you're not afraid of a little fun.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the dark amusement in his smirk, the sheer magnetic pull of him it was... intoxicating.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you grabbed the brush. “Fine,” you said, your voice tight as you dipped it into the paint.

Loki straightened, his smirk triumphant but his eyes still glinting with wicked intent. “There’s a good girl,” he said softly, the words like a caress against your ear.

It left you burning long after he’d stepped away.

As you focused on the paint in front of you, doing your best to ignore the heat coursing through your veins, you felt the thrill of his words linger.

The brush hovered over the pumpkin, the orange, unsullied skin glaring up at you like a taunt. Loki had retreated to the far end of the room, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table as he spoke with Thor. You knew it was only a matter of time before his attention flickered back to you, the heat of a flame too close for comfort.

You had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm under his gaze any longer.

Sliding the brush down as quietly as possible, you rose from your seat. The soft scrape of your chair legs across the floor was muffled beneath the ambient chatter of the room, and Loki didn’t so much as glance your way. Your pulse quickened as you edged toward the door, heart hammering with every step.

He didn’t follow.

Once you’d slipped into the quiet of the hall, the tension in your chest eased, and you let out a breath you were very aware you'd been holding.

You made your way toward the compound’s library, the solitude of it a welcome balm. The others would still be occupied for at least another hour - enough time for you to lose yourself in the pages of your book and avoid whatever game Loki had been playing that almost made you crack.

The library greeted you with its familiar quiet, the scent of leather sofas and paper a comforting presence. You found your usual spot tucked away in a far corner, a large bay window cushioned with soft pillows overlooking the courtyard. Settling in with a contented sigh, you pulled your book from where you'd wedged it between the seat cushion and the wooden frame.

The story drew you in almost immediately, the tension of moments ago dissolving into the words on the page. The sunlight filtering through the window began softening into twilight, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow.

The quiet here was sacred, untouched by the chaos of the compound. As you turned the last few pages, your chest loosened, the illusion of safety creeping in.

Surely, he hadn’t followed you. Surely, Loki had other things to occupy himself-

Surely not.

“I expected better from you.”

The voice slithered into your ears, so low and sudden that your breath caught in your throat. With all your years of training, you managed to stay frozen. Futile, though. You knew he could see right through it.

You looked up, and there he stood, shadowed and immaculate, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of a single, golden lamp. His icy blue eyes glinted with cruel amusement, his lips curling into a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“How... predictable,” he continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You flee like a rabbit, thinking you can burrow away from the wolf.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced yourself turn back your book. “I don’t recall fleeing,” you started, turning a page. “I walked out, actually. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the difference in your old age.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling over jagged peaks. “Ah, there it is. That fire you wear like armour. Does it soothe you to pretend you’re unshakeable?”

You scoffed, even as your pulse betrayed you. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone whose only hobby seems to be tormenting me.”

“Torment?” he echoed, his voice silken as he closed more distance between you. “My dear, if I were tormenting you, you’d know it. Shall I demonstrate?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning another page of your book. The words blurred before your eyes, but you kept your expression neutral. “If you think I’m going to feed your ego by reacting, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

"Why did you refuse to take part?" There was something unnervingly earnest in his voice that pulled at your heart. "Why did you leave?"

You looked up, wearing a mask of indifference and sarcasm. “I didn’t realise decorating pumpkins was a matter of state importance.”

The smirk tugging at his lips was slow and predatory, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Such sharp words, little rabbit. Always so quick with your tongue when your heart’s trying to claw its way out of your chest.”

Your pulse spiked, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you tilted your head, letting a slow, sardonic smirk curve your lips. “You said you weren't desperate, Loki. But you seem to have taken to taunting me for sport."

The laugh that slipped from him was low and sinuous, curling like smoke through the still air. “Oh, I don’t need sport to occupy me. But you…” He leaned forward, the space between you vanishing in an instant. “You’re far too entertaining to resist. Especially when you’re trembling behind that mask of yours.”

“I’m not trembling.”

“No?” His voice was a purr now, his breath brushing your ear as he lowered himself just enough to meet you at eye level. “I suppose you weren’t squirming earlier, either. Like prey in my hands.”

Your cheeks flared with heat, but you kept your expression neutral. “You sound obsessed.”

“And you sound very ticklish.”

The way he said it - smooth, dark, laced with that damned smirk -sent a ripple of mortification through you. It was all the confirmation you needed of his intentions to follow through on his earlier threat.

It was inevitable.

So you leaned back, lifting your book as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze. If you were going down, you were going down swinging. Well, verbally, at least.

“You’re overplaying your hand.”

“Oh, am I?” He stood to his full height, towering over you now, his shadow eclipsing the faint light. “Because the ones who act so tough, so stoic, so unbothered... they’re always the most fun. It’s so very delicious to watch them fall apart.”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” You forced your tone into something light, dismissive, though your grip on the book tightened. “That you’ve got me figured out?”

His smirk deepened, his head tilting as he studied you like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “I don’t need to tell myself anything. You do all the work for me.”

Your lips parted for a retort, but his eyes flickered down to the slight tremor in your fingers, the way your knees shifted restlessly against the cushions.

And you saw how his smile widened, satisfied and predatory, when he saw all the hallmarks of someone about to flee.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, voice dropping to a velvet whisper. “Run. It’ll be more fun for me.”

For a split second, you froze, torn between logic and instinct. Then you bolted, your book tumbling to the seat as you darted for the nearest gap.

But Loki was faster.

You didn't make it two full steps before he caught you with a preternatural ease, his ensnaring hands dragging you back against him in one smooth motion. His low chuckle brushed your ear as he manoeuvred you down onto the window seat, half-pinning you on your side with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

“Pitiful,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery. “And here I thought you’d make it a challenge.”

You shoved at him, scowling. “Let me go, you overgrown-”

Whatever venom you’d prepared was shattered as his fingers pressed into your ribs, curling with precision against the fabric of your sweater. Laughter burst from you, loud and uncontrollable, and you immediately clamped your lips shut, mortified by the sound.

“Ah,” Loki purred, his grin widening. “There it is. That lovely sound you try so hard to keep from the world. Go on, darling. Let me hear it again.”

“Loki, wait- no!” you gasped, but his hands had already found the curve of your waist, his fingers pinching with precision that felt criminal.

“No?” he echoed, mockingly incredulous. “You were so calm a moment ago. What happened?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, squeezing tighter, his nails grazing the bare skin of your sides. You quaked at the contact, laughter spilling out uncontrollably as he found every sensitive spot with uncanny accuracy. Your hands clutched at his forearms, his chuckle hot and tempting against your neck as your head fell back in mirth.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice low and commanding, the words a dark melody against your ear. “Why did you run?”

“I- I...” you wheezed, twisting in his hold, going nowhere. With a ferocious, defiant growl, you yelled, "I... walked!"

Loki paused, his lips curling in that knowing smirk, and then he tickled harder, digging in with precision. You crumpled back against him, laughing helplessly, unable to catch your breath. Every sound that left your mouth was a mix of laughter and helpless gasps, each one a surrender to him, to the unrelenting tickling.

“Let's try again,” Loki commanded, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me why you fled.”

You struggled to pull yourself together, trying to come up with another witty retort, but before you could speak, Loki found an especially sensitive spot, just under your ribs, and his fingers locked in with a brutal efficiency. You shrieked, squirming beneath him, but he held you there with the effortless force of a god, his smile widening against the shell of your ear.

You thrashed harder, your laughter raw and breaking, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ll- kill you-”

“You’ll what?” He laughed, low and dark, his fingers picking up speed again, pressing and kneading with wicked precision. Every stroke of his hands felt like it was designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits and then some.

The realisation hit like a blow: he could read you. Every shudder, every hitch in your breath, every twitch of your body. And worse, he was enjoying it, adjusting his touch with the kind of skill that only centuries of mischief could hone. His hands didn’t just tickle; they teased, tormented, mastered you.

"You- oh my g-" you gasped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "You absolute fucking-"

“Such language,” he chided, his tone a tease of disapproval. “And after I’ve been so gentle.”

His fingers danced lower, teasing the curve of your hips, and the laugh that escaped you was so deep, so raw, it left your chest aching. Loki stilled for half a heartbeat, his grin sharp as he took in the sound, before redoubling his efforts. He pressed his thumbs into the tender space just above your hipbones, his fingers curling to squeeze in a way that had you screaming, your body writhing in his iron grip.

“Okay! Okay!” you gasped, tears of mirth welling in your eyes.

“Speak, then,” he commanded in low and silken voice, his fingers unrelenting. “And don’t lie to me. You won’t like the consequences.”

“I—” You hesitated, your breath hitching, but he gave you no mercy. His nails dragged lightly over your ribs, and the sound that tore from you was half a laugh, half a desperate gasp.

“Speak."

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself!” you finally choked out, your body trembling beneath his. “I didn’t want to make something stupid and have everyone see how bad it is!”

Immediately, his hands stilled, and you gulped in a shuddering breath. He unwrapped his arms from around you and leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. You shoved at him weakly, as if not quite believing he was retreating.

“Well,” he said, standing and staring down at you, admiring his handiwork, “you’ve certainly made a spectacle of yourself now.”

You glared at him, flushed and breathless. “You... are insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, his grin returning, “are utterly fascinating. Shall we?”

Before you could protest, he hooked his arms under your knees and around your back, sweeping you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the door. You squirmed in his grasp.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“Delivering you back to the battlefield,” he said, his smirk a knife’s edge. “You’re not escaping that easily. You’ve still got a pumpkin to ruin, and I, for one, am thoroughly invested in the spectacle.”

You groaned, your head falling back in defeat. "I hate you."

The smirk in his voice was undeniable. "No, you don't."

The dining hall was no longer the lively scene it had been earlier.

Now, it was deserted, shadows stretching long and dark across the room, flickering with the faint light of a few dying candles. The scent of melted wax and pumpkin guts permeated in the air, and the silence was nearly oppressive.

Loki carried you inside, his grip firm but not unkind, and though you didn’t resist, you couldn’t help but feel a smouldering irritation at the way he seemed to enjoy this small victory. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, steadying you, as though daring you to bolt again.

You stepped forward, stopping just shy of your untouched pumpkin. Its smooth, orange surface gleamed in the low light, mocking you. The tools remained where you’d left them, and the weight of your earlier frustration pressed at the edges of your mind.

“I... don’t know what to do with it,” you said finally, turning back to Loki. You hated how the admission sounded - small, almost defeated - but there was no taking it back now.

Loki’s sharp gaze softened imperceptibly. His lips twitched, but the smirk didn’t fully form. “Then I shall help you,” he said, his voice low and smooth, offering no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he sat in your chair with that infuriating ease, his presence commanding even in the simplest of movements. His eyes met yours, glittering with a mixture of challenge and amusement, and he reached out a hand, curling his fingers in a silent demand.

“What are you-” The words barely left your mouth before you realised he was beckoning you to sit on his lap. Heat flushed through you, unbidden, and you scoffed, trying to mask it. “You do realise chairs are meant for one person, don’t you?”

Yet, unwilling to have him see how he was sliding under your skin, you turned and settled yourself against him. His muscled chest brushed against your back, his legs firm and solid as your seat.

“And yet, here we are,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His hand settled at your waist - an anchor, not a cage. “Now, let’s see if we can salvage your poor, neglected pumpkin.”

You scoffed, grabbing the carving tool. “Fine. Show me your masterful technique, Your Highness.”

The title came out sharper than intended, but Loki only chuckled, low and indulgent. He leaned closer, his shadow engulfing yours, and reached around your shoulder to guide your hand. His fingers slid over yours, his grip firm but not harsh. “Relax,” he murmured. His voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “You grip it like a weapon. This is art, not war.”

You bit back a retort and let him guide you. His body was close enough that his every movement brushed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Together, you began to carve into the pumpkin, slow and deliberate. His free hand flexed against your waist, your free hand steadying the canvas.

As the shapes emerged, you realised they weren’t ordinary designs. They were runes.

Norse runes. Delicate, intricate, and entirely unreadable to you.

Loki worked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his hand steady as he traced the lines with your hand.

“What does it say?” you asked eventually, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured, “You’ll see. Keep holding it steady."

The tension between you grew with every passing second. His touch lingered long, his presence close. Every shift of his body beneath yours was impossible to ignore, every brush of his breath against your skin a reminder of just how thin the line between teasing and something real had become.

When the carving was done, you slipped off his lap, feeling the need for a the brief moment of distance for your sanity, and retrieved a candle from the sideboard.

But the room felt colder without him holding you.

You lit the wick and placed the candle inside the pumpkin, watching as the light filled the carved runes, casting jagged shadows across the table.

You turned back to Loki. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on you as though he could see straight through to your very thoughts.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. This time, you sat side-on. His hands settled instinctively, one on your back, one on your knee, holding you steady. With his height, your faces were almost level, but you still had to look ever so slightly up.

“What does it say?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between you.

“The name of a great warrior,” he said, his tone mockingly reverent. “Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.”

You arched a brow, your lips twitching. “Let me guess. Your name?”

His grin widened, and the silence was answer enough for you.

You rolled your eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet undeniably fascinating,” he countered, his voice a low purr. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, more tender. Relieved. "There it is." His words were almost a sigh.

You tilted your head, raising a brow in question.

“I was beginning to fear you didn’t know how to smile.”

The intimacy of his words rendered you speechless for several, long seconds. Your mind faltered, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“What? You don't remember what happened like... twenty minutes ago? I recall laughing to the point of tears, thanks to you.”

“That was different,” he said simply, his tone quieter, earnest.

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken things. His hand moved in slow, deliberate patterns against your back. “It must be exhausting,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to sympathy. “Always bracing for the next crisis.”

His sudden sincerity caught you off-guard. You fidgeted with your hands, stained with pumpkin pulp, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“Isn’t it?” His hand stilled on your back for a moment before continuing its slow, soothing movements. “You are allowed moments of meaningless joy. To partake in frivolity. It doesn’t make you weak.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft and humourless. “I take it you didn’t buy that I was embarrassed about the pumpkin?”

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Not for a second.”

You looked up, straight into him. "But you let me go."

His gaze fell to your lips, as if he were already missing your smile. Mourning it. Plotting a witty remark or flirtatious comment that might see its return.

He then looked back to your eyes, swallowing harder than usual, his voice now gentle. “I thought you were due for some mercy. You... seem to have very little for yourself.”

The words settled over you like a weight, heavy and undeniable.

And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

"It feels wrong," you admitted in little over a whisper. "To... do things like this when so many people-" The breath caught in your throat and you had to look back at your hands, sniffing to buy some time. "It's selfish. Carving pumpkins. Decorating. Laughing at stupid things. People are out there suffering, and I’m here playing holiday games. Safe.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate movements along your back. It brought you far more comfort than you'd ever admit out loud. Not yet, at least.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, the usual sharp edges dulled. “You cannot bear the weight of your world every hour of every day. Even the strongest flame falters if it is not tended.”

The rawness of his words cut through your defences. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but your lips twitched as you tried to deflect. “You know,” you muttered, half-laughing as your head dipped, “getting tickled to death felt a lot less exposing than this conversation.”

His chest vibrated with a low chuckle, and when you glanced up, his smirk had returned, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I’m happy to oblige,” he drawled, his fingers curling against you as if preparing to pounce.

You shot him a warning look, though you couldn’t quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, wouldn't I?” he teased, his hands still hovering ominously close.

"No," you shook your head, that twitch turning into a smirk. "I sat with you of my own free will. Trusting you. You won't jeopardise that."

The playful glint in his gaze softened slightly as he settled back, studying you with a quiet intensity. "The little rabbit may just be a fox after all," he mused, ceding his advantage.

He studied you for a good, long while, you both sitting in a comfortable silence as he traced idle patterns against your back, his thumb brushing your knee.

Finally, you swallowed your nerves, and broke the silence. "Thank you. For your help.”

You looked back to the table, eyes roaming over what he'd carved with your hand;

The name of a great warrior. He'd said. Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.

"Runes are... actually quite beautiful."

He hummed softly in agreement.

You turned your head slightly, eyes still on the sharp lines. "What would my name look like?"

Then, you looked up at his face, and your breath caught.

His eyes were alight, faintly glittering from the flickering candle inside the artwork. Something between a smile and something far more satisfied curled onto his lips as he nodded at the runes.

"Exactly like that."

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

first time anon but long time lurker and as always I find myself back to your blog(s). Was going through your masterposts (mainly hp but I look forward to diving once more in meta and fics about twilight too) and was wondering how come that nobody pieces together the clues and realises that lupin is a werewolf? (name aside, the bloke was disappearing and feeling poorly around every full moon and was for 7 years in a castle with the same people and nobody expect his dorm mates noticed??)

My question is, is wizardkind this oblivious/stupid/reliant on magic and looking things at surface level?

Would love to hear your thoughts about it bc I agree with many things in your meta posts and I'm kinda curious.

have a good day ✨

Because why would he be?

Why's There a Werewolf on Campus?

Why would Hogwarts be housing a werewolf? The idea, I imagine, would be untenable to anyone. And if they were unwittingly, surely, they would have noticed and done something about it? Lupin was able to remain hidden because he had extra support from Dumbledore as Headmaster. Dumbledore made it so Lupin had a place to hide during his transformations, so there was no wolf rampaging around the halls.

To suspect somebody's a werewolf, you have to say to yourself, "The staff knowingly is supporting a werewolf on campus" and that's if they suspect anything in the first place. Which they really don't have any reason to.

And even then, remember for most people that aren't Harry living in Harry canon, Hogwarts is supposed to be a safe and wonderful place. It's not supposed to be filled with horrible monsters/death around every corner. The idea of a werewolf being on campus would be something that would be as anathema to there being a troll on campus!

Remember that in canon, the HP parents were appalled when they found out that Lupin was a werewolf, and the man was immediately sacked.

He Ain't the Stereotype

Lupin, especially at a young age, would not look like what wizards and witches would think a werewolf would. While the whole point is that werewolves can be anybody, a young boy (even if he is scarred) who's still growing just isn't going to match the haunting image of Fenrir Greyback for people.

People are not going to look at his face and thing "WEREWOLF". In fact, given how sickly he acts (and unless these people are aware of how werewolves actually act around the full moon), they're probably going to think, well, sickly.

Who Notices Anyway?

Harry and the other students in canon notice that Lupin seems to be sickly/become regularly sick. Roughly once a month (but remember that the modern western calendar doesn't exactly line up with the lunar cycle) Lupin looks awful, and then he disappears for a few days and Snape comes to lecture them and says, "YOU LITTLE FUCKS EVER THINK ABOUT WEREWOLVES?!"

And even then, the HP students don't put it together (see above, why would their professor be a werewolf), even when they're looking up at the sky every night for astronomy (and either tracking the lunar cycle or else on non-overcast nights at least getting a chance to observe it).

And these are people in a position where they see and notice the man regularly. He is professor to all of these students; he is a person that everyone in the school will notice when he's absent and when he's not.

Lupin as a student would not be. First, the only people who would really notice him missing, consistently, are those he shares classes with, which is going to be mostly Gryffindor. Even then, most people are not going to be looking for him specifically, so you really narrow it down to a) people in Lupin's year and b) Lupin's friends who care.

Those who do know that Lupin is regularly sick--well, it's just that, the dude has magical tuberculosis or something. He's clearly only just healthy enough to attend Hogwarts, but every once in a while, he pushes it too hard and woops has to go on bedrest for a little while. If he's not seen in the dorms, people either assume he's in his dorm room (which people outside of the inhabitants don't have much reason to regularly enter) or he's in the Hospital Wing.

No one's going to notice that when Lupin disappears exactly coincides with the full moon plus or minus a few days.

Except, of course, his roommates who do see that whenever this happens--his bed is empty at night. Where exactly does he go? If he's going to St. Mungo's, why doesn't he say? James, Sirius, and Peter were in a unique position to notice far more about Remus's habits, the truth of where he is or isn't, than anyone else in the castle.

And if Anyone Did Think It, Which Why Would They...

Remus has his roommates and friends to cover for him, which I'm sure they did. They ensure anyone who thinks to ask that Remus is totally in their dorm room, sick as a dog (hur hur hur).

And why would they have reason to lie about this?

Similarly, this requires McGonagall and Dumbledore to be witting and lying, as if Remus was simply sickly, they would surely know and have made arrangements for him being in the hospital wing all the damn time/having to skip class so much.

And why would they have reason to lie about one of their students being a werewolf?

TL;DR

It's such a preposterous concept to most people, that they have no reason to ever even suspect that Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

They probably thought Lupin had wizard consumption.

[merymoonbeam]

people call elriel cliche because of 3x3. I mean where are all the sisters ending up with brothers books I am seem to be missing???. anyways... but if elriel is endgame it means sarah wrote the books that well that they are all fated.

like from this first acotar quote:

“May the Immortal Light shine upon thee, sisters,” said the pale-robed young woman directlyin our path. (acotar)

to these:

“My father,” Rhys said, swirling his wine once—twice, “saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned.” (acomaf)

He gave her that grin I realized likely meant trouble was coming, but said to me, “No. I don’t—not beyond a heaping pile of the killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through.” Rhys sat forward like he’d object, but Cassian forged ahead, “Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a halfbreed. We were stronger, faster—like the Cauldron knew we’d been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys’s mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight.” (acomaf)

Amren shook her head, hair swaying. “Nothing is a fluke. The Cauldron’s power flows through Nesta, and could use her as a puppet without her knowledge. It wanted those weapons Made, and thus they were Made. It wanted Rhysand to have them and thus the blacksmith brought them to you. To you, Rhysand, not to Nesta. And do not forget that Nesta herself—and Elain, with whatever powers she has—is here. Feyre is here. All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own. Feyre alone doubles your strength. Nesta makes you unstoppable. Especially if she were to march into battle wearing the Mask. No enemy could stand against her. She’d slay Beron’s soldiers, then raise them from the dead and turn them on him.” (acosf)

especially to this:

Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it. "What if the Cauldron was wrong?" Rhysand blinked. "What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question. "The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

which this quote directly parallels to Feyre questioning in acowar, questioning who decides it.

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” “I’d keep that question from Lucien.” “I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …” (acowar)

all these quotes hinting that it is all "not a fluke" . Maybe it is all for a reason you know.

also if you don't get it...being mates is not even the question here. it is not even about that. it is about who is fated to be together when we all know sometimes mate pairings are wrong:

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some … preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

[wisecura]

pretty p.1 w.1688

Geto x gojo-reader

You're Gojo's cute little sister

masterlist

p.2

Being the little sister of The Satoru Gojo was one thing. It came with a lot of kickback from the elders and your family. You were always expected to be somewhat on a similar skill level as him. And you weren't necessarily weak by any means, but your big brother wasn't anything anyone could compare themselves to in the first place. But, it didn't help that you were close in age- you being only two years below him, and that you looked so similar- the white hair and blue eyes were an inherited trait. The family just couldn't hide the disappointment in your skill gap, and it was easy to say they tried to treat you as lesser than. Keyword - tried. 

It was a whole other thing having Toru as your big brother. He couldn't get enough of ya, and did nothing to hide his favoritism towards his cute little sister. Even if that meant putting both the elders or his family back in their place. Protective could be a gross understatement in how he treated you. And how could he stand silently when his cute little sister was being harassed - by even the house maids. 

From the very first day his mother came and introduced you to him as a baby swaddled in her arms. He was fascinated to find out that he was going to be a big brother. He still had no clue what that meant, but as the two of you grew older, everything clicked into place. 

You remember how closed off he was for the first few years of your time together. Not towards you, but just towards people in general. So getting to see him develop his personality beyond aggressive and slightly egotistical (which honestly resulted from your constant hounding at him to be nicer), was truly a blessing in your books. You thought he’d never grow out of that phase, it always resulted in the maids being scared of the both of you. You didn't mind as much when he was around. Most of the household seemed to have a small vendetta against you, and you'd be playing stupid if you said you had no idea why. You were weaker than Satoru. And you didn't hit a margin of their standards for you by a long shot. They all seemed to treat you very poorly. But not with your big brother. He seemed to protect you from most of the harsh words, and even harsher punishments they tried to sling your way. As long as he was around, you were safe. Once he got a bit older, understood his position better, and felt fed up enough, he was finally able to make his case. 

“Your responsibility? Ha! Don't make me laugh. You all have been nothing but a bunch of hypocrites, treating her like garbage since she was four-” 

“Satoru, you're being unreasonable, she’s being raised to know her place in the cla-”

“Unreasonable?” His eyes seemed to glow, ready to end this once and for all. “Me? Unreasonable? Let me make myself perfectly clear. From this moment forward, my sister will be under my care. None of you are allowed to approach her, scold her, teach her, anything.” His eyes narrowed in on the old man across the table. He could tell he was intimidated. He knew he had the upper hand here. The threat only inches below the surface of his words. I'm stronger than you, old man. 

It became known that day forward that no one was allowed to exert authority over you. Which left you largely ignored by the family. Soon enough it was time for him to leave for school. 

Satoru would be leaving soon for school and he wanted to ensure you were safe while he was gone. He was tempted just to bring you along with him. 

“Toru,” you sang “are you excited to be going to school soon?” You excitedly jump on his back, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. He’s always sure to leave his infinity off when you're around him, knowing you liked to plan “surprise attacks” on him. You had always been with Satoru, as he had always been with you. Being apart like this poses many problems for you. Loneliness being the biggest one. He chuckled at your cute antics and carried you around the garden on his back, your feet kicking out back and forth. He was your best friend, and soon you wouldn't be able to walk here like this with him anymore. Satoru chose to ignore your question, figuring that whatever answer he gave would probably make you sad. This likely would be the last time for the next year that he'd hear your happy voice calling out to him. 

“We’ve got to do something fun before I leave!” He finally spoke. “I’m gonna miss you so much, imouto.” Your arms wrapped around him tighter. 

It was finally the day for Satoru to leave for high school. Staying in the dorms away from home would be heaven if he weren't leaving behind something so precious to him. He decided that when you were ready for high school, he would rent a place closer to the school. You'd both just stay there instead of coming back here. Until then, he would come back for your sake. 

You sorely missed Toru while he was gone. You took this time to practice your cursed technique, hoping to not be an embarrassment when you joined him in school. Your older brother was so cool and strong. You could only hope to catch up halfway before you got there. Toru would come back for the summer, and you could sense that he was happier not at the clan house. He told you all about the friends he's made while being gone- including some dude named Geto Suguru (he spoke a lot about him), and you showed him how much you've improved in your cursed technique. At the time you really didn't think much of what he talked about, but it intrigued you all the same. You were rarely let out of the manor, let alone allowed to make too many friends. You couldn't imagine what these people could be like. They surely wouldn't be better than your big brother, and you were sure to tell him so. Knowing how much you looked up to him didn't do his ego any favor. He really was the best big brother. 

And just like that- you were finally enrolled into Toru’s school. Finally let outside the manors' high fences. And to say you were ecstatic to finally be following your big brother would be an understatement. This time you'd be leaving with him, and you'd get to see the campus you longed to see. It was automatic enrollment when they heard you were Gojo Satoru’s little sister. Purely on recommendation, and of course Sartoru’s sway in the jujutsu world. You just needed to do a short interview and you’d surely be set to go.

Rolling up to the campus you saw how beautiful everything looked. Your brother's words didn't do it justice. Stepping outside of the car, both you and your brother made way to the dorms to settle in. You would be in two different classes, but you still get to see him regularly. 

Interview aside, meeting your new classmates was a pleasure. You had two others joining you as first years, both boys. Ugh. No girls? They looked nice enough. You couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable at how they looked at you when they first saw you. 

Kai, who was the taller of the two spoke first “You a Gojo?” He circled you “Definitely fit the look”

You backed away, not fully understanding his meaning. Kazuo, the shorter of the two, spoke next - “What's your cursed technique like?” He looked almost like a puppy you thought. Very cute. Definitely not cuter than my big brother though. You easily engaged in conversation with the two. You could tell you wouldn't mind being in their class, they seemed like plenty of fun. 

Then you ran into Satoru on campus. 

“Toru!” Your face lit up when you saw his tall lanky form. You went to surprise attack him again, as he fell forward. He caught his footing, surprised to see you, but soon smiled back with the same enthusiasm. 

“Guys this is my little sister” He ushered you face to face with two upperclassmen. A boy and a girl. The girl introduced herself, and you recognized her name instantly. The healer! The boy on the other had stood almost as tall as your brother, only he seemed more intimidating. His black hair swept back in a bun, and his eyes piercing through you. Frightening. You were stunned for a moment after actually locking eyes with him, you hadn't noticed your brother calling your name. 

“Aw, Suguru, looks like my lil sisters gotta crushy-wushy on ya!” He squeezed your cheeks together, causing your face to light up bright red. “Shut up, Toru!” You smacked his hand away and attempted to attack your brother for embarrassing you like that. Satoru continued teasing you ruthlessly.  Suguru stared for a second, not believing his eyes when he saw you. Satoru had described a small child when talking about you. 

He definitely didn't expect you. White hair pinned up in a half up-half down style, your blue stunner eyes that rivaled even your brothers, and features that would take down a model. You were a Gojo after all. You were basically a more lovelier version of Satoru. What did he expect when his best friend said that his baby sister was joining them at the high school this year? 

“Satoru, enough teasing. You're gonna make her cry.” He poked, his voice had a teasing lilt to it. 

“‘M not gonna cry!” You basically screeched. Your face and ears were both tinged with red at this point and he was pretty damn sure you looked close to crying. He couldn't stop the thought that automatically popped into his head. Pretty. The two boys both broke out in laughter.  

p.2

masterlist

[quartz-tsw]

Demo | Forum

You are a high school student passionate about writing interactive fiction novels. Grammar, story structure, character design, and story design are foreign concepts to you, but that won’t slow you down because you have passion and the power of friendship on your side. A tragic accident sends you into a coma, transporting you into the world you have created.

Explore a world filled with bugs, excessive stats that cancel each other out, and ambiguous choices. Romance one-dimensional characters, overcome poorly designed challenges to escape the hell you’ve created, and become the Strongest Writer!

The game is primarily narratively driven, even though there will be silly challenges sprinkled here and there. Some random elements are present, but they won’t stonewall your progress. You will never be forced to replay an encounter because you had a bad die roll. Ridiculously difficult or poorly worded mini-games will pop up here and there. But the ones that have “correct” solutions are accompanied by a skip button that can be used without any punishment.

You will have a mobile base of operations, a castle that can fit in your pocket, where you can grow plants, make potions, train with your companions and decorate your rooms. After you reach a certain point in the game, time will advance when you complete quests, making the plants grow. The plants can be used for brewing potions that will add more flavor to future encounters but aren’t a prerequisite for progress.

At the end of each chapter, you will enter a dream-like state where you can communicate with the Real World via a powerful artifact. However, the communication is limited to sending updates to the game you’re trapped in and reading the player’s feedback on the forum.

After the first part of the game, you will get to have a say on how the Empire grows over the course of the story by voting on policies. These policies will get enacted if you and your crew complete quests that will sway the citizens in your favor. You will be free to tackle specific issues from a progressive or conservative lens without having the game punish you for making the wrong choice. Scratch that. Whatever you choose will have catastrophic consequences on the Empire but in different ways. By the end of the story, the Empire will be in crisis.

The game is split into three parts: Escape from the Underworld, Rise of the Empire, and Fall of the Empire. In the first part, you will escape the Underworld, the hell of your fictive world, with the aid of your fully customizable romanceable companion, Olympia/Olympus. You will gather a party of virtuous souls and traverse the Great Barrier into the surface world. Upon escaping the Underworld and entering the MC’s fictional world, the “Real” World, you and your companions become Immortals, overseeing the fate of the Empire for centuries to come.

At the time of writing the story, the MC was sick of all the medieval fantasy stories that resort to misogyny for the sake of realism, so they wrote an “inclusive” setting that “solves” inequality issues only on a surface, superficial level. The Empire is a mishmash of Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece under constant assault by progressive barbarian hordes who enslave and torture citizens equally, regardless of gender, race, or sexual orientation. Political decisions in the Empire are ultimately made by a supreme ruler, Caesar, but every citizen has a right to express their grievances and opinions in the Forum (an actual roman style forum, not an online one).

As generations pass, you and the Immortals will oversee the Empire grow from antiquity to a steam-punk future near its decline.

Olympus/Olympia

age: unknown/ timeless

race: unknown

gender: player selectable

appearance: custom

Olympia/Olympus is the first immortal that the MC encounters in the Underworld. The self-proclaimed soul mate of the main character, Olympia/Olympus, is the primary romantic option for the player. Kind-hearted, straightforward, overpowered, and with a non-existent sense of personal space, Oly will accompany the MC almost everywhere. The only times when you will be apart is when you have to do challenges alone.

Bellona

age: 27

race: human

gender: female

appearance: average height, athletic build, olive skin, brown eyes, long brown hair in a high ponytail.

Bellona is one of the finest warriors of the Empire, who knew no equal on the battlefield until she found her end at the Kālá’s hand, whom she managed to take down with her to the Underworld. Abandoned at a young age by her parents, she had to learn to fend for herself and develop a can-do attitude that no one rivals. Impulsive by nature, she has no regard for diplomacy - her creative swear words are common in any heated discussion. The one thing she hates more than whining and weakness is others picking on her friends, even for the most trivial things.

Athena

age: 30

race: human

gender: female

appearance: tall, slim build, fair skin, green eyes, undercut, blonde hair.

Athema is a scholar, politician, and equal rights activist. She died at a banquet where a political adversary poisoned her wine cup. Outspoken and articulate, her opinions have sown the seeds of critical thinking within the Empire, prompting a vocal minority to question whether the Empire will be remembered as a bastion of enlightenment in history or a shameful asterisk. Competent in rhetorical debates, she never backs down from a winning argument, even if it means losing political currency. Although she stands her ground firmly in intellectual standoffs, physical confrontations are a no-go for her, looking for cover at the first sign of danger.

Hera

age: 22

race: human

gender: female

appearance: petite, light skin, heterochromia eyes (blue and green), braided, black hair.

Hera is a quiet, reserved young woman whose life ended in mysterious circumstances. She does not remember how she died or does not want to tell anybody. Although she does not enjoy getting involved in politics too much, she is convinced that the best way to organize society is through clearly defined gender roles. Family is the most important thing to her, and she hopes that she will be able to start one as soon as possible. Her cooking and organizing skills are unmatched, which is why she was often employed by wealthy nobles to host their lavish banquettes.

Vulcan

age: 46

race: human

gender: male

appearance: burly, gray hair, groomed silver beard, dark skin 

A respected inventor, this reclusive self-reliant man found his end at the hand of an ambitious experiment to replicate the sun in his forge. Even though he feels more at home with his inventions than with people, he is kind and gentle despite losing his temper from time to time. Vulcan will be the main driving force behind the rapid technological advances that the Empire will go through during the game, and you will have a say in what innovations take priority.

Plutus

age: 33

race: human

gender: male

appearance: tall, thin, blond messy hair

This neurotic treasurer got on the wrong side of a knife after uncovering a circle of corrupt aristocrats who were siphoning gold out of the treasury. His obsessive compulsion to account for every penny spent makes him an excellent financial advisor for your team. His expertise will be invaluable in growing the Empire over the centuries.

Kālá

age: unknown

race: unknown

gender: unknown

appearance: short legs, wide hips, elongated torso with thin, long arms, large hands. Dark skin, black eyes, bald. Wears extravagant clothes.

Little is known about them besides their affiliation with the Barbarian hordes and unorthodox fighting style. Before the encounter with Bellona, Kala was undefeated in combat. Has the role of the main antagonist of the story.

Olympia/ Olympus will be the only RO with which you can have a meaningful, long-term romantic relationship. There will be the possibility of having flings with minor, episodic, one-dimensional characters. But you will not be able to be in a relationship with other immortals (but that does not mean you can’t try). As far as the attraction to Oly is concerned, you have multiple options: regular attraction, no attraction, “platonic” attraction, “asexual” attraction, too much attraction, and attraction once you get to know each other better. There will be no explicit sex scenes, but you can expect bizarre scenes that kind of resemble it.

[the-blorbo-project]

Blorbos at Conference!

Long time, no update, but this project is moving forward! This weekend, we're at a conference hosted by the Society for Cinema and Media Studies, or SCMS, presenting as part of a panel devoted to fan studies.

Why do panels matter?

First and foremost, it's a way to get research before a bunch of other researchers while it's still in progress. This helps catch poorly formed ideas, surface new good ideas, and share what's coming up with the fan studies research communities. It's also good for our humble PhD student CVs!

The Findings

Of course, the most interesting part is what, actually, we're presenting, AKA the findings! They're a work in progress, and the hardest part is the coding (talked about here). Therefore, I'm focusing on what I could do deep analysis on relatively quickly. (note: these images don't have image IDs because I summarize them below, but they're graphic representations of what I talk about in the text).

The majority of survey respondents were young: about 39% were 18-22 and 32% were 23-27. A further 17% were 28-32, about 8% were 33-37, and then it got progressively smaller from there. Shoutout to all 3 respondents who were 63 and over! So glad you're here.

In terms of social media usage, most people used tumblr - unsurprising, since that's where we got our most traction for the survey. Discord was the second most likely. Part of a later analysis will be seeing if these terms are more likely to be used by different age groups or on different platforms, which is cool.

Almost everyone surveyed had heard of these terms. Blorbo was the most-used and meow meow was least used, but very, very few respondents had not heard of these terms at all. This may be in part due to how we used them in our survey recruitment, since we did want to find people who knew what these terms were so that they could define them for us.

These numbers slope slightly down because something broke when we imported them into NVivo (a coding software) and frankly I don't understand it well even when it actually works, let alone when it breaks.

Here's a little visual of the terms you suggested for characters. Unfortunately, NVivo crashes every time I try to exclude words from this word bubble (like "term"), so it's not as clear as I'd like it to be, but there are some interesting ones. Particularly interesting are the cluster of gendered terms; husbando and waifu, malewife, sexyman, boy, girl, etc. I want to do some analysis of this because it parallels some preliminary coding results. Y'all also really find your blorbos scrunkly/skrunkly/scrungly, huh?

I also want to figure out how to tell the visualizer that "glup" and "shitto" go together, because "shitto" all by its lonesome over there is cracking me up.

Qualitative Findings

Like I said, the coding is...so far from done. That's mostly due to some Ao3-author levels of life disruption from both of us. BUT! I can tentatively say a couple of things:

There are notably clear definitions about these terms. We weren't sure if there even really was a definition of "blorbo", but it clearly refers to a very specific kind of one-true-character. By contrast, comfort characters are associated with experiencing positive emotions, and meow meows are more likely to be evil or morally grey (but you love them though).

Unsurprisingly, your characters make you happy. We're distinguishing between general positive emotions, attachment, relatability, and one-true-character belovedness. Also sexiness, but that (surprisingly) hasn't come up that much.

There are a couple of ways in which darker themes come up. Villains remain beloved, but a recurring theme is also using tragedy or trauma in fiction as catharsis.

Finally, there's a lot of playful and tactile language. "Rotating him in my mind" really is that common.

Additionally, I'm really interested in the role of gender. Many of you referred to your blorbos/meow meows as your guys, with some of you clarifying that it was "my little guy (gender neutral)". Others noted that most characters you'd seen people describe as blorbos or meow meows were men/masc. This did not come up for comfort characters. Analysis of the characters you consider exemplars of each definition will help flesh out this analysis.

Still to Come

SO much. Who are these characters? Is a specific character exclusively a meow meow, or are they also a common comfort character? What types of positive emotion are associated with each type? Are these character types or do they speak to a fan's individual (or a fandom's communal) relationship with a character?

Additionally - we didn't ask about neurodivergence, but many of y'all referenced it. I'm looking forward to exploring that as well.

That's all for now! I present this live in about two hours. If you're somehow following this account AND at SCMS, please come by!

[fruitsofhell]

People shit on Elemental for its race/culture allegory looking even more reductive and rigid than Zootopia's on the service, but I think it actually used it super well. It feels a lot more like a very broad and fable-ish metaphor than the sort of hard world-building with direct racial parallels found in Zootopia. Zootopia aged poorly cause it was so fucking direct in its parallel imagery to real world oppression with the police angle, whereas Elemental is just generally about the experience of being an immigrant. The way it uses the infrastructure of the city being actively built for some and harmful to others is really clever, I adored how they used that.

It also helps greatly that Elemental was written by a POC from the perspective of the marginalized because it helps make the metaphors feel more cohesive. The choice to make Judy the main focus as a perpetrator of the systemic predator oppression that greatly mirrors real world anti-blackness aged like milk to me, it screams white guilt complex. And the fact it spends a lot of time not engaging with forms of prejudice besides the bunny oppression until it gets to that feels very flat. Elemental immedietly explains its main allegory very strongly and from the perspective of those it affects, so there's no fluff or time spent ignoring the issues from the privileged perspective.

Literally the thing that will instantly kill your fantasy oppression metaphor is being white guilty about it or not thinking super hard about what you're paralleling if you're going to be as blunt as Zootopia. Stuff like accidentally giving the oppressed group a reason to be oppressed as you do with the predator-prey dynamic. It's just the biggest fucking red flag and shows little understanding of why these systems exist irl. In Elemental the metaphor obviously uses a lot of imagery to show that the fire people are meant to be east asian-coded, but beyond that its content just being a story about class and immigrant families. About being from different worlds and feeling like they're impossible to combine, because of experiences and backgrounds, which is expressed as being fire and water.

Unlike being a bunny and fox, that imagery is a bit less loaded and can be turned into a sort of mutual harm as it is in the film with Wade being at risk of evaporating as muxh as Ember is at risk of being put out. And, in the end, it's found that water can just bubble a bit as the metaphor for a compromise. Which is fine enough and where the more fable-ish approach to the allegory became clear to me.

It's also used very cutely for their personalities too in a way that comes back to the background divide - Ember being fiery, anxious, and high-strung from pressures of supporting her community, and Wade being all blubbery and emotional but mellower because he lives in a supportive upper-class family. Its just a lot cleverer on a couple of levels than the bumbling between 'predators are black and brown people but also their oppression is bad but also they are dangerous but also its cause of a conspiracy, and also small prey are kinda like white woman and theres intersectionality but its shown horribly'.

Despite Ember's racial coding, no matter how you code Wade's family it doesn't matter because it is simply about - 'you live in a city that has integrated for you, and I don't' - which could apply to an upper-class family of any background, cause it's more of a class thing now. Even if he was black-coded (which Ive seen from fans likely because of his VA, I dont remember if he was in the films text), it still works cause their ARE affluent black families whom by nature of having been here and integrated are in that privileged role over a poorer immigrant family of any other race.

Allegories for class or upbringing usually age better, the systems that create those are a lot more basic and less loaded to parallel on a surface level than racism or misogyny. Not that they CANT go really deep, but it's easier to not come off as blatantly offensive as long as you're not like a eugenicist about it.

[s3janus]

Never thought the first thing I'd post here about tbosas would be Strabo Plinth analysis, but here we are

On a surface level, the most morally reprehensible thing Strabo does is provide the Capitol with munitions during the first rebellion and then move his family to live in the Capitol after its all over. Its the reason his relationship with Sejanus is so rocky, after all

But what I like about it is that if you really try to get into his head and justify it in the way he probably did himself, his choice to do this actually makes a lot of sense. From a perspective other than just "Oh, he did it because it was a good opportunity to make money, since District 13 was no longer providing nuclear weaponry for the Capitol." That's possible, but I think it's deeper than that

The way I see it, Strabo's decision to side with the Capitol was probably more of a survival strategy than anything. For him and his family

Strabo no doubt felt guilt over what he did. You could imagine him being completely cold and desensitised to the actions of the Capitol, I guess, but he had firsthand experience of what it was like in the districts whilst the war was happening. Even if he was living in a more privileged area. After all, if things were going to shit in the Capitol, it was probably ten times worse in even the best areas of the Districts. He saw the damage that the Capitol was causing and no doubt witness deaths over the events of the war, likely even deaths of people close to him

So, why would he help them?

Well, I think that if you look at the war from the perspective of the Plinth family, the outcome would most likely be a lose-lose situation. If the Capitol won, conditions would likely become even worse in the Districts. (Which ends up being the case.) But if the Capitol loses, well, what's the plan moving forward? He couldn't be sure of how well thought out the rebels ideas were, if they even knew what was going to happen, should they win. But things would likely become worse for a time due to a lack of proper structure. And the Plinth's, already living what seemed to be a perfectly fine life in District Two, would have a lot to lose, should shit hit the fan. Their munitions empire, for instance. Would a new, rebel controlled society even allow for independent munitions manufacturers? There's no telling.

These were likely the outcomes which Strabo was considering. And he wasn't only worrying for the wellbeing of himself and his company. If his munitions empire fails, if he loses his fortunes, well, he has a young son to care for. Say what you will about Strabo and Sejanus' relationship, a lot can be said about it, but Strabo seems to, on some level, want what's best for his son. Would Sejanus be able to thrive in a newly founded society, potentially without a munitions empire to back him up?

So perhaps, if you're looking at it like this, the best decision may be to side with the Capitol.

If the Capitol won, and Strabo had helped them, then it would be safe to assume that him and his family (his son in particular, consdiering young adults were being made targets of the Capitol's aggression and Sejanus would be reaching that age in only a matter of time. He couldn't have known that the hunger games were going to happen, however, he could have predicted that people of Sejanus' soon-to-be age range would face punishment if it all went poorly) wouldn't be faced with such severe punishment as other district people

So, even if it means turning his home against him, even turning his son against him, Strabo may see helping the Capitol as his only option. I can see no way that the Plinths wouldn't have suffered if he didn't.

His decision, whilst arguably immoral, was likely the only thing he could think to do in order to assure the safety of both himself and of those close to him. Like I said, he does care about Sejanus. That's shown in a few small ways, if you ask me. Particularly from the fact that when they did move to the Capitol, the main thing he wanted was for Sejanus to have a good education

If you're looking at it this way, and he did make the choice to help the Capitol out of a desire to protect Sejanus, it would make sense that the thing he would want once that protection has been assured would be something to allow his son to thrive (In theory.)

The whole thing likely came from a lack of any other reliable options and a need to assure Sejanus' safety, rather than purely for monetary gain. Even if the decision wasn't necessarily right, I think he did it for the right reasons

Ah, I love a morally grey character

[fuzzyhenry]

Doug being a dog

This is Doug, a mid-50s fellow who lives a life of solitude. He spends his days operating heavy machinery at the local salvage yard and his evenings downing canned beers and shouting at his old boxy television. Tonight, he lounges in his ratty wife-beater and faded boxers, a can of malt beer in one hand, the remote in the other.

I phase through the window, unseen and unfelt. I hover above Doug, admiring the sweaty sheen on his brow, the slight redness in his cheeks from the alcohol, the unkempt beard that hides the double chin quite poorly. It's a picture of middle-aged abandon that calls to me more than any other.

In an instant, I swoop down. A jolt goes through Doug. His beer can slips from his hand, spilling lukewarm beer onto the threadbare carpet. He groans, shuddering as his eyes roll back. For a moment, his body tenses, as if in some unseen struggle. Then his eyes flutter closed, his body goes limp, and the once-rowdy man is quiet. He's asleep now, but his body... oh, his body is wide awake.

Now, I'm Doug, or rather, I'm in Doug. The feeling of physicality, of being bound within human flesh once again, is intoxicating. His heart thrums in my - his - chest, a rhythmic symphony that underlines the grandeur of the human experience.

I stretch Doug's arms, chuckling at the not-so-admirable 'beer belly'. I run my hand through his chest hair, coarse and thick. The sensation is magnificently grounding. I flex his leg, feeling the weight and strength of his muscles.

Turning to a dusty mirror hanging skewed on a wall, I admire my new 'self'. Doug's flushed face, his twinkling eyes hidden under bushy eyebrows, the rough beard. I pull up the grubby wife-beater, revealing a furry belly, and let out a hearty laugh. The sound echoes in the small house, a symbol of my delight. "Alright, Doug, let's have some fun now," I murmur, standing up from the recliner. His body's a bit wobbly, a bit unsteady, but that's part of the charm. "He's Doug, huh? What if Doug were a dog?" I muse.

Hauling off his wife-beater and yanking down his boxers, I'm now fully exposed. His body, heavy and moist with sweat, thrums with the exertion of the possession activity. I turn around on the spot, just like a dog would before settling down, and I lower myself onto my haunches.

Now, sitting on the grimy carpet like a loyal pet awaiting his master's command, I throw my head back and unleash a hearty, "Woof!" The sound reverberates through the quiet house, a perfectly surreal backdrop to the silent night beyond the walls.

I hoist a chubby leg up next, just like a dog would, and I start to pantomime licking it. I drag Doug's broad, coarse tongue along the length of the hairy limb, my laughter punctuating each exaggerated lick. The taste of perspiration, mingled with the faint hint of grease and motor oil, is potent. "Oh, we're not done yet," I say, a devious glint in Doug's eye. The house is my stage, and I'm the sole performer in this bizarre, one-man show. I throw my hefty body down on all fours. Doug's knees and palms press into the worn carpet. His hairy back is level, his rear end slightly hoisted - a perfect imitation of a dog on his daily walk. I begin to move, every motion exaggerated. I crawl on all fours, the creaking floorboards under fat, hairy palms and knees adding a rhythm to my movement. Doug’s naked body shuffles around, with his considerable behind swaying with each forward motion. Down the narrow hallway, past the modest kitchen, around the worn-out dining table, and back into the living room. I cover every possible surface, from the front door to the last nook and cranny of his humble dwelling. I even pause occasionally, sniffing the air dramatically, cocking Doug's head as if hearing some distant, dog-like call. I pant heavily, playfully wagging the imaginary tail, my belly jiggling with laughter at the ridiculous spectacle I make. Feeling the heady rush of the bizarre game, I take it a step further. I stumble towards the closed windows, peering out into the quiet neighborhood. Then, lifting my head, I mimic a series of barks, "Woof, woof, woof!" Each sound echoes through the room, a robust confirmation of my playful antics, a middle-aged man masquerading as a suburban canine. After my performance by the window, I saunter towards the kitchen. Noticing the refrigerator, I smile with a devious intent. I throw open the heavy door and the musty aroma of leftovers wafts out. Half-eaten sandwiches, remnants of cold Chinese takeout, a piece of cake - the fridge is a treasure trove. I dive in, literally. I don't bother with hands; I'm a dog, after all. Lowering my face to the plate, I begin to wolf down the food with a voracious appetite. Mouthfuls of sandwich, slurps of noodles, a big bite of the cake - I devour everything directly with his mouth, my laughter muffled by the food. The crumbs scatter on the fridge's shelves and the floor, falling from Doug's scraggly beard and landing on his protruding belly. Doug's heavy-handed chewing and savage eating style mimic that of a hungry animal, making the scene even more hilariously absurd. (part1)

[ayebibs]

I just finished Veilguard. I have so many thoughts. Very raw and unpolished under the cut. I have no one to talk about this with so my dash must suffer. Probably will ramble on more later too.

Tldr; I am highly critical but I had a fun enough time and still love dragon age.

Definitely felt the loss of my world state choices. Especially if this is a soft relaunch and I may never have my characters or thedas mentioned ever again.

Hot take, I don't care for Morrigan that much. She's fine and I like her, but I love Varric more and would much rather have seen other past companions. Someone give me back fenris and merrill. Also, why is Isabela in basically every game. I like her but? I cannot determine the reason. Am I missing lore?

Speaking of Varric, I clocked his death immediately (no one but rook ever spoke to him?) His death felt cheapened by the poorly executed twist for me. Disappointing and annoying to me.

So much good lore (and much of it wasted). Why did everything feel so surface level except in the crossroads? That part of the narrative was so much tighter. So much could have been done with the Titans, in my opinion, and I think so little of that was explored.

Such a satisfying ending, but the rest of the game could be such a slog sometimes? Like, the ending lowkey reminded me of Origins and fighting the darkspawn and archdemon with the help of the people you built relationships with along the way, which was very cool. But I felt like all of those faction relationships were very shallow. Maybe we should have been able to talk to more people (with menus and branching dialogue) in the factions and do more sidequests to feel more attached?

So much marketing about the focus on companions but the romance was less of a focus than it has ever been and I didn't feel connected to, like, anyone except for Davrin and Assan. I didn't feel a single ounce of regret with my choices (I'm sorry, I don't get the hype around Harding... she was fine in inquisition but really didn't stand out to me. She had little depth imo as well...). We barely got to talk to them and learn their history and likes outside of caracitures of who they were. Yes, I get it Neve is a noir detective, Lucas is coffee man and spite is coffee demon, bellara is quirky and autistic coded. And none of those things make well-rounded characters.

Really wished I had romanced anyone but Lucanis because I thought he was bland (sue me) and Zevran doesn't exist for whatever is going on in that revisionist take on the crows. Also, I hate the sleeping together before the final battle trope. So much of that build up and romance should have happened earlier. The romance simply felt new to me and I didn't feel invested at all.

Speaking of revisionist history, how the hell was the enslavement of elves in tevinter barely mentioned? Or racism? I saw an excuse about someone having to write that and like... bffr. You can't just ignore hard topics. That is where the depth and nuance in dragon age comes from (not nuance in slavery mind you, but think fenris' opinion on mages because of his history). As the inquisitor, my lavellan constantly experienced racism and I loved it because I am female minority and have experience with those issues. Working around it or plowing though sometimes was gratifying and fun. I don't people see racism in a video game and automatically think "oh no bioware is racist?" If that's the issue.

Davrin was my favorite companion and i really wished I had romanced him. Might replay as a grey warden man and do that because I think that would be very cool plot wise. I think I also got what I wanted out of his companion quests. Like, they answered what I wanted and had a satisfying ending.

Also, I liked Bellara so much more than I thought I would, especially because I chose her at the very end and she becomes blighted. Her dialogue is very rough though and not appropriate for the tone of this game 97% of the time.

Still cannot get over how bad the dialogue was. Truly egregious. Very anachronistic and took me out of the story nearly every time some characters opened their mouths. The main offender being my Rook who could literally only be nice and very "go team." She sounded like my manager trying to convince me that our job is made of one big, happy family no matter what dialogue I chose. Also, I wanted to throw my controller at my monitor every time Neve said "the job."

Taash's storyline really could have been something great because there were glimmers when I really loved them, but the anachronistic phrases and lack of skill with their storyline really killed it for me. I have a lot of thoughts on this because I really think it was EXTREMELY lazy and showed a real lack of care for either nonbinary rep (which can still happen with own voices) or simply writing for a piece of existing media. I could think of many easy ways to improve it. Some glimmers are even in the game. Like when the spirit addresses Taash as cousin instead of sister? Why not more of this? Also what was with the push ups for misgendering and then immediately being like, oh saying sorry a bunch makes it more for the person who fucked up? Like... the pushups are different?? And definitely don't draw more attention to an insulting or dysphoric moment?

All that aside, I was decently happy as a solalavellan girlie. I can 100% see why people don't like Solas and might have chosen endings that end badly for him, but I feel strongly that he was the best written character in he last two games.

Had a fun enough time. Happy the game finally got made. Ending really saved this from being a 5/10 for me. Would rank around 7/10 rounded up.

Don't think the game needs a dlc, but there is always a part of me that wants to play through rebuilding in the aftermath of a near world ending fight that destroyed everything. Like, take me to Ferelden. Is my husband, the king, okay?

Desperately, desperately hoping that there is another game that is a true return to form to the first three games (yes, even 2 because the characters are so, so well loved) and more like the ending of veilguard. Also that we get a return of world states meaning something. Hate to be that bitch, but genuinely hoping Baldur's Gate raised expectations for story-based, rpg games and Bioware survives to bring back my favorite game series to what I loved so much.

Fingers crossed the next one (is made at all) doesn't take 10 years.

[creaturefeaturecommando]

Might be a controversial take but if they ever do another Xiaolin Showdown reboot, can we get actual Asian voice actors instead of Tara Strong doing a stereotypical Asian accent and also not have Tom Kenny do a stereotypical “Brazilian” (I put it in quotes because it doesn’t even sound Brazilian because Rai sounds like a Cholo from America doing a bad surfer impression) accent ? And even though Kimiko’s and Chase’s voice actors had at least a little dignity not to do stereotypical accents, I’d still rather have them have new VA’s who are Asian.

And who’s idea was it to color a lot of the Asian characters yellow ? I’ve seen people argue that Omi’s skin color isn’t supposed to be “offensive” but it’s literally not just Omi, Grand Master Dashi is also colored yellow and even Chase has a yellow tint in his skin from before he became evil, he only became pale when he turned evil so it wasn’t just “Trying to make kids appeal to Omi by being colorful” like I have seen some people argue on here, like they were deadass coloring Chinese characters yellow, I’m surprised that they didn’t color Master Fung yellow.

The show was great and all but is obviously dated and from its time so they didn’t even take into account what they were doing but then again they had a second chance to correct their mistakes in Xiaolin Chronicles but Xiaolin Chronicles was just… a dumpster.

But if we ever get another reboot, which I doubt they’ll ever do because Chronicles was such a chronic failure, they need to have some POC in the room and just reevaluate. The original show is great and is still near and dear to my heart, I would just, idk, not like to cringe every five minutes during a rewatch and think about how poorly something aged because the show has so many flaws. On surface level people always praise the show for its diversity when it really didn’t handle that diversity as well as they remember, like most 2000s cartoons.

[thisurlwasnttakenbutnowitis]

Every Epic Rap Battle of History ranked

All right folks, sit down and strap in, cause this is gonna be a long one. So I recently got to rewatching Epic Rap Battles of History, as I do once a year or so. As I was watching through them all, I started to feel tempted to rank all the battles in a tier list. However, once I had ranked them, I felt like I needed to explain my reasoning for each battle's placement, and one thing led to another until eventually I had churned out this 14k word monstrosity. So here we go, I will be ranking all 86 current Epic Rap Battles of History from worst to best, explaining my thoughts on each one, as well as giving my opinion of who won the battle and what I thought the best line in each one was (which is not necessarily delivered by who I think the winner is):

F TIER

86. Sarah Palin vs Lady Gaga

Winner: Lady Gaga

Best line: "Governor of Alaska? That's like the principal of a home school."

This one is just terrible, plain and simple. I honestly don't think many people would disagree with me that this is one of the worst. The best I can say about it is that the person they got to play Sarah Palin looks and sounds the part pretty well. But everything else just falls flat on its face. A matchup with no chemistry, lyrics that are purely surface level with no deeper meaning, oh, and some poorly-aged jokes about "transvestites" for good measure. Frankly I'm surprised that Henry VIII vs Hillary Clinton was scrapped because it didn't meet Peter's and Lloyd's standards, yet this somehow managed to make it through all the way to becoming a finished product.

(For reference, I won't be officially ranking Henry VIII vs Hillary Clinton since it wasn't released as a finished, official episode, but it's honestly better than anything I'm putting in D or F tier. It'd probably fall somewhere near the bottom of C tier.)

85. Adam vs Eve

Winner: Adam

Best line: "It ain't Summer, Eve. Don't try to play me like a douche. You wanna bite on my fruit? Well, you can swallow the truth."

Honestly I would consider this the most painful episode to watch. As bad as Gaga vs Palin is, I would rather sit through that than this shit any day of the week. The only reason this ranks higher is simply because the lyrics are a bit more clever. Emphasis on "a bit", because only 5% of the lyrics have anything to do with the titular Biblical characters, and the other 95% are generic "man vs woman" lines using the most tired stereotypes you can imagine. "You're a slob", "Well, you're naggy". There, that's the whole battle summed up for you. What a waste of Jenna Marbles as a guest star.

84. Bruce Banner vs Bruce Jenner

Winner: Bruce Banner

Best line: "After battling me, you're gonna always be pissed. So the Hulk will stay forever, neither Bruce will exist."

There's a reason this video has the highest dislike-to-like ratio of any battle in ERB history. I mean, part of that is probably transphobes being mad at the existence of a trans person being acknowledged, but that alone wouldn't make it so hated if the battle was otherwise good. But as you can probably guess, it's not. For a video that was meant to show allyship to the trans community, how did no one on the staff point out that it might be a bad idea to directly compare a person transitioning to a comic book character transforming into a monster? This was just a bad idea from the start.

The first half of the battle is decent, but once the two do their transformation scene, it completely falls apart. On one hand, it feels like they were too scared to make Hulk really pack a punch with his lines out of fear of coming off as transphobic, so they just gave him barely any lines at all. But one of the lines he does have honestly still comes off as pretty transphobic: "That painted face don't give you class, just one more thing Bruce do for cash". Yikes. And then Caitlyn proceeds to have the most long, rambling verse in ERB history that doesn't have a single line that says anything with any substance except for the last one.

Look, I appreciate that at the heart of this battle was an attempt at showing love for the trans community. It had good intentions, but it's pretty clear that the idea and writing came from two cis dudes who were out of their element, and it really should have been shot down at the concept phase.

D TIER

83. Justin Bieber vs Beethoven

Winner: Beethoven

Best line: "There's a crowd of millions waiting to hear my symphonies. You wanna be a little white Usher? Here, show 'em to their seats.

Man, remember when hating on Justin Bieber was a whole-ass personality trait? I would know, that was me. From the start, this is clearly made to be a one-sided battle with how deliberately annoying Bieber's portrayal is. Peter's version of Beethoven is actually pretty decent though which is what stops this from slipping down into F. It's also a nice touch that a remix of Beethoven's 5th symphony is the background music, though it does get points deducted due to the music not even attempting to switch to something different when Bieber is rapping. Just goes to show how much this battle was made to be stacked against Bieber.

82. Ash Ketchum vs Charles Darwin

Winner: Charles Darwin

Best line: “Your shit-talking mouth is the origin of feces!”

From one annoying portrayal to another, we have Ash Ketchum. I don't think that this one was intentionally made to be bad though. But God, Ash is insufferable here. Completely interrupting the song to make a joke about barnacle dick, and let's not forget the cringiest line in series history - "You've got candy raps, Reese's pieces", a line that has absolutely nothing to do with either character and could have at least been marginally fixed by just changing it to "Rhesus pieces", as in Rhesus monkeys, which Darwin actually did study.

I was actually one of the many people suggesting this matchup before it happened, and I remember when the battle finally came out, I tried to convince myself that I liked it more than I actually did, because hey, cool, they did an episode about Pokemon! I love Pokemon! But the more I look back on it, the more I realize how disappointing it is as a Pokemon fan. Mat4yo of the YouTube series "Chisel This" (which does in-depth analyses of the lyrics and musical structures of ERBs, highly recommend checking it out) was brought in as a Pokemon expert to assist on this battle since it was a series Peter and Lloyd weren't too familiar with, and while that did result in a couple of semi-obscure Pokemon references such as the old man glitch or how Ash had not caught a Ghost type up to that point, ultimately most of what he wrote ended up being scrapped, and the rest of the Pokemon jokes ended up being the lowest-hanging fruit that Pokemon fans had been hearing jokes about for over a decade at that point. "Haha, Pokemon battles are like dog fighting". "Haha, Professor Oak fucked Ash's mom". "Haha, Pokeballs, it's funny because we said balls".

Just like the last one, Peter's portrayal is the one thing keeping this from slipping down to F.

C TIER

81. John Lennon vs Bill O'Reilly

Winner: Bill O'Reilly

Best line: "You're Paul McCartney's bitch with less talent than Ringo, and I'd rather suck George Bush's dick than Yoko Ono's."

The battle that started it all ranks near the bottom, but that does go to show that they just went up from here (for the most part). Probably ties with Gaga vs Palin as the matchup that most makes me go "How did anyone even think of this, what link do these two even have". I'm guessing the theme of both battles is meant to be a conservative vs a liberal? I dunno. There's really not much to say on this one. It's pretty basic, but I get it. It was the first of its kind and was apparently produced on a budget of only $50. By those standards, it's all right.

80. Donald Trump vs Ebenezer Scrooge

Winner: J.P. Morgan

Best line: "Don’t panic, Scrooge, but you’re about to crash. I’m J.P. Morgan, the Ghost of Rich Dudes Past! Who’s properly rocking the Monopoly mustache! Yo, I own the railroad, I run these tracks!”

This one is weird in hindsight, made in a time before Trump's voice and mannerisms became burned into everyone's minds. I don't think anyone would disagree that Lloyd's later portrayal of Trump was way more accurate. Peter's impression here is basically just yelling. Speaking of portrayals as well, this is the first battle involving frequent guest star Zach Sherwin on this list, and I have to say, even in mediocre battles like this one, he always knocks it out of the park as whoever he's playing. I don't think there's been a single bad Zach appearance.

This is a battle where I think the idea was really solid, it just didn't turn out as good as maybe it could have. Telling the story of A Christmas Carol through rap battles, while also switching out the ghosts for other iconic rich people was a pretty brilliant move on paper. Just, I dunno, I feel like this is the weakest of the ensemble battles. I think what it comes down to is that it was a bit too ambitious for the budget they had at the time. Something like this would have benefited from being in season 5 or 6 when they could really go all out with sets and special effects. I mean, they go through the iconic scene of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come showing Scrooge his own grave, but it all takes place in Scrooge's bedroom and we don't even get to see the grave.

A sidenote about this one too is that Donald Trump actually saw it and responded to it. I wonder if he ever saw any of the later ones starring him.

79. Elon Musk vs Mark Zuckerberg

Winner: Mark Zuckerberg

Best line: "I've been looking up your family, it gets dark, my God! Couldn't clean your daddy's laundry with Apar-Tide pods."

It's kinda funny that these two actually have more in common now than they did when the battle came out thanks to Musk's takeover of Twitter. I feel like I'm placing this battle lower than most would. Lyrically, it's very clever (rhyming "sprinkle tossed in" with "Winklevoss twins" may just be the smartest rhyme in series history), but I just don't really like the portrayal of either character in this. They're both just kind of obnoxious, which is true to life admittedly, but still.

I was going to say "This was the first battle after they broke off with Maker Studios and went independent, and it definitely shows in the visuals department, because the special effects are rough". And while still think the shots of Musk flying to Mars look pretty bad, I don't think it has to do with the split with Maker Studios; because the very next battle that came out after this one was Freddy Krueger vs Wolverine, and that is still possibly the most visually impressive battle they've ever done. It probably had more to do with the fact that this was considered a "bonus battle" rather than the true season 6 premiere, so it probably was just given a shoestring budget so that the actual effort could go into Krueger vs Wolverine. It's gonna be a while before we talk about that battle, so I think it's safe to say that sacrifice paid off.

78. Columbus vs Captain Kirk

Winner: Columbus

Best line: "Why don't you boldly go someplace you've never gone before, like India, or any destination you actually set sail for?"

I'm noticing I'm saying "I think this character's portrayal was annoying" quite a lot in these bottom 10 spots, but it makes sense that that would really sink a battle for me when I find half of it hard to even listen to. So, yeah, Lloyd does a William Shatner impression that completely breaks the flow, and it's funny as a joke but not very fun to listen to as music.

A sidenote about this one is that I always misremember it as being a season 2 battle. I think for whatever reason it was the one season 1 battle that never popped up in my recommended until season 2 was already underway.

77. Gandalf vs Dumbledore

Winner: Gandalf

Best line: "I leave mics in flames, torched by Gandalf. Touch mine, Dumbledore, and scorch your other hand off!"

This was another battle that could have benefited from coming later, both from a writing and visuals standpoint. Early ERBs were very short with lyrics that didn't run too deep, and both of these characters come from universes with such rich lore that there's so much more you can do with (this was the first battle where both rappers were fictional, actually). Fortunately, both universes would get time to shine with more clever writing, thanks to JRR Tolkien vs George RR Martin and Harry Potter vs Luke Skywalker. The visuals for a video between two masters of magic also definitely leaves something to be desired. This was another one that should have been held off on until about season 5 or 6. They probably would have relied less on the "Dumbledore is gay" jokes if that had happened too, so that would have been another plus.

76. Batman vs Sherlock Holmes

Winner: Sherlock Holmes

Best line: "You're shamed and traumatized and haunted by the vast disgrace of watching like a passive waste as momma died and daddy was dispatched with haste!"

And here we have another bad portrayal, one that's so infamous that even ERB itself has acknowledged it. Peter is not a good Batman, just plain and simple. It's a shame that it brings an otherwise good battle down. Zach Sherwin kills it as Sherlock Holmes, and the actor for Dr. Watson also does a great job. Even Robin's part is fun. Outside of Batman, the only part I don't really like is how Sherlock interrupts the song to think about what he's about to do for his second verse. I get that it's in-character for him, but it kills the pacing.

75. Hitler vs. Vader 3

Winner: Hitler

Best line: "Screw you, you big black cunt! I'll kick your balls and your face: a war on two fronts!"

The final entry in the iconic Hitler vs Vader trilogy, and the weakest one in my opinion. I think it's pretty clear that they were running out of things to say about this matchup by this point. I mean, hell, part of Vader's verse is taken up by Boba Fett coming in and just bragging about himself rather than saying anything about his opponent. Feels like it was just there to take up time.

74. Donald Trump vs Joe Biden

Winner: Donald Trump

Best line: "Your campaign's like your family: crash and burn."

This was a battle that was very clearly affected by Covid. Aside from the animated Harry Potter vs Luke Skywalker, this was the only battle to come out in 2020. I appreciate that the team put together what they could in the midst of the raging pandemic, but as a consequence, it doesn't have the spectacle of the other presidential battles. What was once planned to be a battle royale with Bernie Sanders and Ronald Reagan joining the fight was cut down to a simple one-on-one, with Abe Lincoln not even making an appearance. As such, while the matchup does feel more fairly written than Trump vs Hillary, it also just has less overall to remember.

Some parts of this battle have aged interestingly looking back on it three years later: Trump condemning "looting and violence" right before January 6th happened; also him saying that Roe vs Wade would get repealed, which ended up happening despite Biden winning. And 200k being given as the death count for Covid at the time, woof, if only it had stayed that low.

73. Oprah vs Ellen

Winner: Ellen

Best line: "So if battling me is your intention, I better mention, you're bout to get licked by a lesbian."

Well, this one hasn't exactly aged gracefully with what we now know about Ellen DeGeneres and how she ran her talk show, but I'm not going to hold that against this battle. What I will say is that this is a battle that I constantly forget exists (side note: in the time between writing this and going back through the list to insert the images, I had already once again forgotten this battle existed). Two current-day celebrities who are both rivals in the same field just isn't much of an exciting idea for an Epic Rap Battle of History; there just isn't too much you can do with that and it shows here. I will say though, the casting on both Oprah and Ellen was great, the two actresses definitely exude all the charisma that the real women do on their shows.

72. Donald Trump vs Hillary Clinton

Winner: Hillary Clinton

Best line: "You wanna talk about misogyny? Your Bill's worse than Cosby. He left a mess on that dress like you left in Benghazi!"

And just squeaking by the previous Trump election battle, we have the original one. This one is clearly much more biased against Trump, barely saying anything bad about Hillary and making Trump out to be a massive prick. Which, okay, is true, but in the context of a rap battle, a rapper's own lines generally shouldn't make them look worse. Honestly though, this battle is just more fun and energetic than Trump vs Biden, and that's why it's slightly higher.

71. Hulk Hogan vs Kim Jong-il

Winner: Hulk Hogan

Best line: "You're a freak, a phony, a Rice-a-roni jabroni! I'm gonna bounce you like a check for my alimony!

Before every fanmade rap battle beat the idea into the ground, this was the OG of introducing a surprise third rapper into the mix. This one is just funny. "Beijing is in China, you blond asshole" still gets a kick out of me. This is another early series matchup where the two rappers have absolutely nothing in common, but this one turned out better than you'd think from just looking at the title. Also love the re-edited version of this that brings the special effects up, though sadly it couldn't make Peter's muscle suit look good.

B TIER

70. Billy Mays vs Ben Franklin

Winner: Billy Mays

Best line: "You following me, camera guy? Cause it's about to get furious. You're gonna love my nuts 'til you're bi-focal-curious!"

I wonder if younger fans of ERB even know who Billy Mays and Vince Offer were. It's a sad thing to think about. The ending of the battle where Billy Mays just straight-up dies and Vince comes in to close it out is iconic. Ben Franklin's lines are kinda whatever, it's the salespeople that steal the show, but that's kinda to be expected. Also the person they got to play Billy Mays is perfect.

69. Doc Brown vs Doctor Who

Winner: Doctor Who

Best line: "You're not a cat with nine lives, you're a pussy with thirteen."

Admittedly I'm not too familiar with Doctor Who, so I'm certain some references went over my head on this one. Despite that and my love for Back to the Future, I've gotta hand it to the Doctor. Having him die and regenerate halfway through the battle was a cool idea, and both actors that portray him are really fun and embody the charisma I know the character is known for. The joke about how Doctor Who's special effects suck and you can see a hand manipulating the TARDIS in the background I think is one of the funniest jokes the series has ever done.

68. Dr. Seuss vs Shakespeare

Winner: The Cat in the Hat

Best line: "You bore people to death! You leave a classroom looking like the end of MacBeth!"

This is a battle that would be a lot higher were it not for one thing. Well, two things actually - Thing 1 and Thing 2. The first three verses are utterly fantastic - Shakespeare's first verse written in iambic pentameter, the Cat in the Hat hitting with some of the most clever lines in season 1, and of course, Shakespeare's iconic rapid-fire second verse. And then… Thing 1 and Thing 2. Purely awful. Painful to listen to. Any time I rewatch this battle, I turn it off once Shakespeare is done.

67. Nice Peter vs EpicLLOYD 2

Winner: EpicLLOYD

Best line: "I'm trying to make art, motherfucker, you're trying to find a rhyme for 'erection'!"

This battle feels like it was made more for the crew of ERB than the audience with all the inside jokes about production. It's also noticeably meaner and more personal than NP vs EL 1, and I remember it made me worried just how much resentment the two apparently had underneath the surface. This battle was put out to announce that the series would be going on hiatus, and the way it came off with how sick and tired Peter and Lloyd were of everything, I honestly thought ERB might never come back. Thankfully that wasn't the case. I'm sure it was all in good fun, but man, the frustrations the two expressed in this felt so raw, and I'm sure a lot of that anger was genuine.

66. Frederick Douglass vs Thomas Jefferson

Winner: Frederick Douglass

Best line: "You got a self-evident truth of your own: You let freedom ring but never picked up the phone!"

Like Banner vs Jenner, this is another battle that felt afraid to throw any real punches towards one of the rappers. Jefferson's first verse is mostly just talking himself up, then the whole thing kinda just becomes a soapbox about slavery. It's really kinda lame how Jefferson's entire second verse is solely dedicated to defending himself.

This battle was ERB's one real attempt to push themselves as an educational series, as evidenced by the fact that this is the one and only battle to release a censored version so it could be shown in classrooms, and I think that's kinda why this one comes across a little preachy. That being said, it's certainly not bad.

65. Frank Sinatra vs Freddie Mercury

Winner: Freddie Mercury

Best line: "So kiss my ass, Frankie, but you'll have to wait in line."

Here we have a great performance paired with a lackluster performance to make a middle-of-the-road battle overall. Obviously Freddie had more charm than Sinatra, but man, Sinatra's portrayal in this is so boring. The fact that more than half of his disses are just gay jokes doesn't really do him any favors either. Peter's Freddie Mercury though is amazing, and I love how Freddie gets to rap in a style unlike anyone else in the series that mimics the iconic sound of Queen.

64. Nice Peter vs EpicLLOYD

Winner: Nice Peter

Best line: "I drew a mustache on your face and you played a mean Hitler. Take the mustache away, you look more like Bette Midler."

This was the season 1 finale and it was a perfect tribute to everything that had been done so far. Seeing flashes of every character the two had played up to that point was so cool, and it was fun to see the two creators duke it out, albeit in a lighthearted, clearly joking way. It's very interesting to compare the tone of this to the rematch, showing how attitudes change when a fun project with your buddy becomes your job, and how that can leave you feeling jaded over time.

63. Bob Ross vs Pablo Picasso

Winner: Pablo Picasso

Best line: "I am the greatest, the modern art Muhammad Ali. I melt faces, call me MC Dali."

Peter and Lloyd both make really funny foils here, and the visuals of this one really stand out, as to be expected from a battle with two painters. Picasso giving out his ridiculously long full name followed by a deadpan "Back to you, Bob" will always be hilarious.

62. Sir Isaac Newton vs Bill Nye

Winner: Sir Isaac Newton

Best line: "You wanna battle, guy? That's a crazy notion! When I start flowing, I stay in motion!"

Been a fan of Weird Al since I was a young one, so obviously I loved seeing him in this. He definitely stole the show here as he so often does. Not too big of a fan of Bill Nye or Neil DeGrasse Tyson's verses though, and I don't really know why Peter went for that kind of voice with Bill Nye.

61. Jeff Bezos vs Mansa Musa

Winner: Mansa Musa

Best line: "Here's a nugget of advice to get your union problems handled: Want workers that don't piss? Hire some camels!"

Another battle where one rapper blows it out of the water while the other is just okay. Scru Face Jean, a YouTube rapper who had previously done reaction videos for ERB, portrays Mansa Musa and had a hand in helping write his character's verses, and it definitely shows. Every one of Musa's lines is brilliantly crafted with super clever wordplay. Jeff Bezos meanwhile… ehh, more misses than hits in my opinion.

60. Abe Lincoln vs Chuck Norris

Winner: Abe Lincoln

Best line: "I read up on your facts, you cure cancer with your tears? Well tell me Chuck, how come you never sat down and cried on your career?"

This is a certified classic. This is also another completely random season 1 matchup but I think this battle is so iconic that I don't even question it. While Chuck Norris jokes aren't exactly funny anymore, I still get an ironic kick out of the absurdity of this battle. I actually got introduced to ERB through a teacher showing some videos to the class. While we got through Einstein vs Hawking with no issue, the teacher immediately turned it off at the line "I wear a black belt on the beard that I grow on my dick" in this video.

59. Miley Cyrus vs Joan of Arc

Winner: Joan of Arc

Best line: "Je suis la fille en feu; call me Katniss Everdeen!"

This was the absolute favorite of a high school friend of mine, she's probably the only person to have listened to this battle enough to be able to recite it by heart. Can't say I particularly love it, but I also don't seem to hate it as much as most people. I think it's pretty good! Joan of Arc being a devoutly religious person really contrasts well with Miley Cyrus and kind of acts as a stand-in for the moral outrage that Miley was facing at the time. Both actresses also nail their roles. As much as this battle was clearly a "headline of the moment" battle, I still think it holds up decently today.

58. Stephen King vs Edgar Allan Poe

Winner: Edgar Allan Poe

Best line: "Masque of the Red Death? Barely blood-curdling. Pit and the Pendulum? Not even unnerving. Perving on your first cousin when she’s 13 years old? Now that’s disturbing.”

My main disappointment with this battle is just how many more lines King gets than Poe does. Especially with Poe's second verse being so fast, it just leaves King feeling like he's taking up way too much screen time. King's second verse also isn't all too great. That said, both of Poe's verses are good, and King's first is really fun with all the puns he makes with his book names.

All right folks, so I’ve actually gotta split this list up into 3 parts since Tumblr only allows 30 images per post. Click here for part 2!