#or put my dignity on the line to go up against corruption :3

[scribbly-dee]

Inspired by this post

I adore corruption arcs, so I graded how well the non-archivist characters would have damned humanity if they had been the archivist.

Sasha James 11/10, would be an ideal archivist, this plus her height is probably why the stranger monster targeted her before she could peak

I have a soft spot for any au that knows Sasha has never seen a brain cell in her life and that any unhinged!Sasha au is really just a regular Sasha au. Picture it with me. Sasha and Jon have parallel archivist tracks, until Sasha (my beloved show off) decides: you know what would make me more efficient at snooping? Becoming a Human Google. And things accelerate. The Web doesn't even need to bother with subtly magic lighters, it slaps all 14 marks on her at once by pulling up next to Sasha in a windowless van with "free secrets 👍" written on the side.

After the Unknowing, Sasha takes over the institute from Elias instead of Martin and Peter. With Tim dead, Jon in a coma, Martin lonely-snatched, Melanie compulsively homicidal, Daisy in the coffin, and Basira on autopilot, she quickly bonds with Rosie, the ultimate nosiness enabler. Sasha is a fully marked archivist for a good long while, but doesn't start the apocalypse right away because she's eager to read ALL the ominous notes Elias left, so the watcher's crown statement is in her to-be-read pile. When the apocalypse starts (Rosie: "Hey, Sasha, I just read something extra fucked up that Elias wrote, wanna see?" Sasha: "God yes."), she books it to become the pupil with Rosie as her anchor. Mayhapse an anchor-archivist polycule with Archivist Jon and Martin? Mayhapse Jon is just a normal eye avatar here and deeply invested in all of Sasha's eyepocalypse statements, so it's Sasha and her plus-three? Mayhapse it's a race across the eyepocalypse wasteland between Archivist Sasha and Archivist Jon to usurp Jonah and become the pupil?

Tim Stoker 2/10 dude's here for a good time, not a long time

The only way I see this working is if Elias disguises not-stranger clues as circus related so Tim is motivated to investigate. Otherwise, his archival assistants are way more curious than him and disobey his direct orders to 🍹chill🏝. Jon, Sasha, and Martin inadvertently bring marks home to him like cats bring home dead birds. He asserts his agency when he decides the best course of action? Actually? Just blow up the archives. This unfortunately puts him in a false sense of security, and Elias makes him read the watcher's crown statement by cat fishing him on grindr and sending the ritual as a dm mid conversation.

Daisy Tonner - 9/10 archivist, would have started doomsday before she was at the archivist job long enough to use her PTO

Daisy already had a lot of experience hunting down fear-entity-related people in sectioned cases, which means she possibly canonically already has all the marks from just hunting avatars who use their powers in self defense. The reason she lost one point is because she's too much of a jock to read, only nerds are culpable to watcher crown statements, so this would be the only delay but oh what a delay it will be.

Melanie King - 7/10 archivist, points awarded for achieving her breakthroughs by smashing her head against a wall until she literally breaks through, points deducted for doing so in full clown makeup.

If Jon got a handful of marks by just asking anoying questions in the same room as an avatar, imagine how much faster Melanie would get marks by bringing her trademark Chaotic Brat personality on fear entity investigations. The apocalypse would have started in like two seasons: one season to hire her off the streets and establish shakey, complex relationships with her new assistants (Jon and Sasha put in the time with the institute but were passed over on this promotion for some random YouTuber (plus they're tighter with Tim and Martin, so proletarian solidarity against the boss)).

Then a second season to stab every mark and get stabbed in return. Melanie would blitz through all 14 marks because what precious little impulse control she starts with is slowly replaced with slaughter juice. One fun moral ambiguity to explore could be if Melanie tries to use her new, dangerous Eye/Slaughter powers to revive her reputation and platform in the supernatural community now that she can, ya know, identify supernatural things for the first time ever. Does she acknowledge her entire career up to her hospital episode apparently only investigated fake sightings? A better question to ask is whether Basira, Tim, and Jon ever let her live down how Ghost Hunt UK's professional dignity was contingent on the legitimacy of her sCiEnTiFiC gHoSt eQuIpMeNt in those episodes, so the temperature spikes set to dramatic music were well and truly just temperature spikes and dramatic music. Sasha found a clip of that music playing as Melanie narrates "it's a message... from the other side..." and made it as her text tone.

Also, it would be hilarious if Melanie tried to kill Jonah on sight in the panopticon, once again botched assassination attempt number 1,963,538, and then Jon quietly snuck in to finish the job on his first try just like in canon.

Jon: "What, like it's hard?"

Basira Hussain 3/10 archivist, her eye alignment manifests as office gossip, like a normal person

Basira has the most formidable super power of all: the power to nope tf out of any conversation or plan she wants. She therefore would probably take 10x longer to start the apocalypse than any other archivist because her fatal flaw is refusal to directly engage with a lot of personally difficult things (like the slaughter bullet surgery she organized, Daisy In General, etc). The marks will be slow going if she resists putting her safety on the line or invests time in making good plans (which is smart, but unhelpful for dooming humanity). She would for sure still get marked and end the world because once she's convinced of a plan (aka Elias convinces her of a plan), she's ruthlessly efficient. So I'd stay out of her way that last year or two, she marks the entities right back at them.

Martin Blackwood 2/10 archivist, considering a prerequisite for creepy eye avatar staring is the ability to make eye contact.

S1 Archivist Martin would probably dote too much on the employees under him to be hugely susceptible to Elias' isolation-dependant manipulation. Any progress Martin inadvertently achieves toward the watcher's crown goal would have to be contingent on it helping his loved ones, which is perfect fuel for a "corrupted by good intentions" arc. This would be key because Martin has superb bullshit and manipulation detection, making the marks are tricky but not impossible to orchistrate considering Jon can't stay put in a safe corner for 10 minutes and Martin's mother would refuse to stay with him where she's safe from avatar threats.

Imagine the petty drama when Jon and Sasha learn he got the promotion they wanted because he lied on his CV.

Other than that, Martin would be even worse about pit stops on the apocalypse road trip than Jon because his Kill Bill mode would have no off switch. Does Archivist!Martin and his anchor Jon ever reach the panopticon? Eventually, but not until after they lose points for significantly reducing the apocalypse fear quantity. Would Annabelle survive to deliver her cryptic MaCHiNAtIoNs and achieve the Web's goal? Hard No, additional point reduction for neutralizing the multiverse invasion. Points potentially earned back if Martin's Web connection is strong enough to come up with the multiverse invasion plan on his own, though.

Georgie Barker 4/10, as a fearless coward, all the fear she feeds to the entities would be khaki flavored. They'd get their apocalypse, but they probably wouldn't enjoy the meal.

Similar to Basira, Georgie has the super power to Fuck This Shit I'm Out. She would overall be a subpar humanity damning archivist; a major archivist success factor of Jon's is that he has enough affective empathy to be afraid with every statement giver he reads, so when Jon archives a statement, he unintentionally contributes to the fear soup seasoning. Combined with how Georgie doesn't want anything to do with entity drama, so any corruption specific to the watcher's crown would stagnate. Even her casual exposition conversations would go like

Georgie: "I've connected no dots."

Melanie: "you've connected a lot of dots??"

Georgie: "I've connected shit all dots."

The reason she gets one more point than Basira is because Georgie's fatal flaw is the passive observer quality the Eye tried to stoke in Jon. Her level of engagement oscillates between two extremes, impulsive over commitment and judging from a distance. This would probably lead her to geting involved just long enough for her involvement to become irreversible, at which point she would try to cut that shit out of her life after it's trapped her. She'd linger, barricading herself on the margins of this problem as the marks that are targeted at her slowly tally up until boom. Apocalypse is on and she only half understands what's happening.

Georgie would wander around an apocalypse hellscape confused, but vibes and physical health fully intact. Anchor!Melanie would have quite the emotional journey starting with Georgie on that pedestal Melanie placed her, and ending with a slaughter avatar stabbing the person who convinced her to work on her slaughter inclination.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #martin blackwood #basira hussain #daisy tonner #melanie king #Georgie Barker #Tim Stoker #sasha james

[coldsoupbowl-blog]

For The Sake Of Better Times (Ler Hawks/Lee Dabi)

This has been a long time coming bruh. Hope you like it Eevee my heart and soul was poured into this. Love you and everything that you do <3

When you see big bad villains on TV or on the big screen, you usually see them in the midst of an incredible battle. Guns blaring, fiery explosions, big declarations of their victory over the hero. All of these big productions of turning the world into something that fits their own worldview, even if that worldview is broken and demented. One often wonders what's going on behind the mind of someone who has that worldview; one who sees a perfectly fine place as disgusting and corrupt. Because they've been through the disgusting and corrupt, and they know that not everyone's glass walls have been shattered as theirs has. The big explosions and wide killing sprees and wild maniacal laughter of a textbook villain is nothing compared to the wild currents blurring their mind and storming their heart.

  The League of Villains, a villain organization made up of powerful quirk abusers and double agents had no current agenda as of today. Most of the patrons that made up the alliance were residing in their hideout, a hollowed-out building that was restored to resemble a bar service. One of the villains that participated in the League, Dabi, occupied a bar stool and watched the latest news intently from the flat screen in the corner of the room.

 A new interrogation method against villains was being proposed by the Hero Commission, the spokesperson reported, an interrogation method that would take a sensitivity-heightening quirk and develop it into a mass-produced serum. This serum, once administered, would take the subjects five senses and heighten them to make nearly any stimuli incredibly uncomfortable. Using this, tools and extra manpower would be unnecessary seeing as how the subject would be sensitive to almost anything that would be thrown at them.  

 Dabi rolled his lidded eyes at this. What a pathetic way of saying that the Hero Commission couldn't handle the enemies as they came, they had to power them down as well as they could to get the upper hand. Taking advantage of the villain's five senses just for interrogation purposes seemed inhumane. Another patron to the League of Villains, Himiko Toga, didn't have the same reaction to this news, however.

 "Ehehehee!~ Doesn't that sound so thrilling, Dabi-Kun? Being unable to resist anything the interrogators decide to do to your unwilling body, whether you liked it or not? What if the interrogator is cute, all of your forced reactions will be the product of their actions against you! Ooooh, my heart is pounding!~" Toga smiled dreamily and twirled around like a princess, although Dabi didn't know any princesses who wielded knives with dried blood crusted over the blade. Toga threw herself onto Dabi's shoulders and pinched the spikes that his onyx hair naturally made when it was tousled like this.

 "Say you agree with me, Dabi-Kun~ We can be freaks together!" Toga's voice dropped to a seductive mutter in Dabi's ear, but this had no effect on him. The villain wasn't attracted to girls like Toga, or girls of any nature, now that he was finding out. He was about to reply, surprisingly, before he felt a finger slide down his side. He felt the pressure end at the top of his hip, but to this, he only gazed at Toga's hand to make sure the blonde villain didn't pull anything. Toga visibly pouted when the male villain didn't give her the reaction she wanted.  

 "Dabi-Kun! You're not ticklish? Why nooot? No tickles for big bad Blueflame?" Toga's fingers started to wriggle over Dabi's left side, but he simply watched. Watching the fingers slide over his cotton shirt made a memory flashbang in his mind, but the vision soon slid away once he thought about it. The bored villain slapped away his partner's hand and signaled the barkeep, Kurogiri, for a drink.

 "I don't have time for kid games like those." He said simply. This caught the attention of a certain personality in the room, a personality that not everyone was excited to see, but his presence was necessary nevertheless. The number two hero on the Pro Hero Charts, Keigo Takami, or Hawks, peered up above the couch he was seated on to get a glimpse of the onyx villain. The double agent's amber eyes shone in the dim lighting as something that the villain said piqued his interest.

 "Oh boo. You and Shiggy-Kun aren't ticklish like I want you to be. This place would be so much cuter if you were! Maybe I can steal a few of those serums from the Hero Commission and turn you into my little-" Toga daydreamed out loud, but a swooshing sound interrupted behind her, like a pile of feathers were thrown onto a chair. In a sense, they were. The double agent Hawks had selected a barstool to sit in next to Dabi, which Dabi groaned at. Hawks gave Toga a warm smile despite their different lines of profession.

 "Himiko, Shig-Man needs to see ya in his office. Said it was urgent, and you know he hates to wait. Maybe he overheard your serum idea and wants to play a prank on Twice." At this, Toga swooned and gave a girlish squeal of excitement.

  "Oh, how exciting! I already know the table I want to strap him into!~" The blonde villain skipped out of the room, humming a sweet song despite her knife scraping up the plaster on the walls as she ran past. Hawks watched her leave and shook his head, turning back to see Kurogiri handing Dabi his drink.

  "So, Staples, when you say that you don't have time for certain kid games, what exactly are those kid games? Are you saying that you played different games when you were a kid?" Dabi threw the conniving man a sideways glance as he finished the sip of his darkly colored drink.

  "Staples? The hell kinda name is that? It's Dabi, and nothing more. Secondly, you don't get to know the kid games I played when I was younger. Because I didn't play any of them." Dabi's tone was quiet but forceful. Sometimes that was scarier than being loud and upfront. Hawks, or Keigo, drummed his fingers over the wooden barkeep. Dabi's response didn't scare him, not this time anyway; it riled him up. His crimson wings were puffed up and clearly agitated like an upset bird.

 "So what did you do over the course of your childhood then? You didn't pop up in the gutter at 24 years old and just start blowing shit up." Keigo was needling for something; he didn't know what it was exactly, he just wanted to get any indication that Dabi had been happy at least once in his life. Maybe happy with a childhood friend-

  "Let it alone before I turn you into a burnt chicken wing," Dabi growled and shoved his barstool back to stalk out of the room. Kurogiri watched silently. Keigo's left leg bounced as he thought up an idea to look inside Dabi's past. There was something that the blonde hero was looking for, and maybe with enough pressure, Dabi would give it up. Keigo sniffed and looked up to the television, the Pro Hero Eraserhead speaking on the panel about the developments of the sensitivity-heightening serum.

 "-serum is now being trial-tested against our own strongest participants. This project will put an end to cruel and unusual interrogation methods. The Hero Commission recognizes that these villains are wicked, yes, but they still deserve to be treated with a level of dignity and respect that these new developing methods will offer. Thank you very much for your time." The tired hero stood from his chair and bowed towards the reporters who were all asking their questions at once. Keigo's wings suddenly perked up with an incredible idea.  

 '''''''''''''''''''''''''

 "Yeah, Shig said he wanted us in the conference room. Something about this sensitivity-heightening serum has him rubbed the wrong way." Keigo relayed onto Dabi, who was walking right next to the conniving hero. The hero's heart was racing. Two days after the incident at the bar, the number two hero had pulled some strings with the scientists creating the serum and had them form it into a gas. He had them make it under confidential means. It was the chloroform gas that was the hard part to set up-

 "Whatever it is, let's get done with it. I got shit to do." So short and to the point with him. Keigo was jealous of Dabi's straightforward demeanor. Alright, the room was almost here. Just a little bit further before Dabi realized that they were needed in the conference room that was on the other side of the building.

The golden double agent and the onyx villain walked into a decontamination hallway, the doors on either side locking and bolting shut. Dabi looked visibly confused before it was replaced with his usual bored expression. The villain turned to the hero for an explanation. Keigo shrugged nonchalantly.  

 "You know the boss. Every precaution is not nearly enough..." Dabi had turned his back on the hero as he narrowed his eyes towards the chambers that held the decontaminating spray. There were black nozzles screwed onto the chambers that hadn't been there before. Dabi's cyan eyes flew open as a thin vapor began to seep into the chamber. Keigo had just clamped a mask over his own mouth and nose as Dabi was already losing consciousness, his knees striking the floor and his hands sending out small defensive flames. Keigo relished a quick moment of pride as he watched the hardened villain choke on the powerful gas, his head already rolling to the side in defeat.

 The hero knelt down beside Dabi and held his cheek; the insane murderer looking almost innocent in his peaceful rest. "Poor Dabi. You'll realize soon enough that I'm doing you a favor. You and I both need to find out what happened to Touya Todoroki.."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''

 The room was cold, freezing even, as if the cold air were needles sticking into his skin. He was too aware of his surroundings even with his eyes closed; the biting leather strapped over his arms and legs, his soft cotton shirt now a lead weight on his chest, his soft aerodynamic hair now a dense mat on his forehead. It was incredibly bizarre and uncomfortable; it was like he was feeling everything all at once. And not just feeling; The dim lights in the room were bright enough to him that they stabbed into his shut eyes, he could taste the acrid gas that had knocked him out on his tongue despite it being hours since that had happened, the low buzzing of the generator outside of this holding cell was a high enough frequency to give him a headache. The skin stitched between his scarred skin and pale skin were like live wires sparking against his nerves.

 "Sensory overload, must be absolute hell. I can't imagine what it must feel like. Then again I'm not really interested in finding out. Oh, and don't try to get yourself out with your flames. Not only will it hurt like hell against your sensitive skin, but your quirk has been canceled out anyway. I totally didn't have some guests over while you were konked to help me set this up...and take pictures of you." The voice that was speaking to Dabi sounded like he was fighting back a laugh. It was also damn loud and obnoxious, more so than with this sensitivity-heightening serum coursing through his veins.

 Dabi's lidded eyes opened with a furiousness in his pupils so honest that Keigo swallowed nervously. Dabi had his arms strapped outward on either side of him, his palms face up and clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Leather straps were pulled tight over his biceps, forearms, and wrists. A belt laid dangling by the side of the table in case his midsection needed restraint, and his legs were held down at his thighs, above his knees and his ankles. Keigo couldn't help but look him over a few times; the villain looked like he was made just to be on this table and in these restraints.

 "Let. Me. Out. Before I set your skeleton on fire." Dabi growled, and pulled on the restraints. They were tight and unforgiving, no wiggling room here. Whatever was in that serum also made sure to sap him of his strength; the once strong villain felt as if he were made of liquid. Keigo shook his head and tsked, walking over to place a hand on Dabi's belly. The hero's light hand felt like a five-pound weight on the sensitive villain. Dabi watched the hero's every move, although it didn't feel like nearly enough to prepare him for what was to come.

"Tsk tsk, little blueflame. You really think I'd set you free after everything I've done to get you here? Not to mention," Keigo's luminous golden eyes looked up to Dabi's cyan ones, a hardened seriousness in the pupils, "that you're a convicted child abductor." Keigo removed his hand from Dabi's chest, and Dabi took in a deep breath once Keigo had looked away. The villain felt as if a  weight had been removed from his chest. This serum was horribly effective; it almost made him sick.

 Keigo turned back to Dabi and cracked his knuckles. Dabi started to sweat; he had no idea just how elevated his nerve endings were and how they would receive everything, but he felt like all of his nerves were standing on the edge of his skin, just underneath the surface. Despite his anxiety, Dabi cleared his throat and shook his head.

 "I'm no child abductor. That brat from UA was Shigaraki's project. I knew the kid was bad news from the start." His voice came out evenly, thank God. But this didn't convince Hawks. Keigo walked back over to Dabi and inspected his restraints. The fun must be about to start, Dabi involuntarily thought in his head. He took choppy breathes, wondering what torture would be first on the docket.

"Nah ah ah, not Bakugou. I'm talking about Touya Todoroki. He's been missing for about 10 years now. He came from a loving family with siblings and friends alike...but he suddenly disappeared. And you were the last one to have been seen around him." Dabi's heart flipped at the name. He didn't know why, he's never heard the name before. But something settled in his stomach like a fluttering of butterfly wings. Keigo placed his hands flat on the table on either side of Dabi, the warmth of his skin was even felt against Dabi's hypersensitive nerves.

 "You're gonna tell me what you did to Touya Todoroki, even if I have to force you." Dabi looked at Keigo like he was a crazy person. He's never taken a kid named Touya, but his body felt like it remembered the name even if his brain didn't. Dabi cleared his throat and hardened himself before looking back up at Keigo.

 "Whatever you do won't get the truth. You have the wrong guy, and even if I did have any idea what you're talking about, I wouldn't give you shit." Keigo chuckled darkly at this and set his bare fingers up to Dabi's triceps and traced along the muscled lines in his skin. Keigo hardened his own expression, flat gold disks looking into even blue plains, and smirked at Dabi's immediate reaction. The villain had twitched and jolted in his chair, his fists balling up and his muscles flexing underneath the leather straps.

 "We'll see about that. Oh-ho-ho, we'll see." The blonde hero kept his smirk on his face as Dabi tried to worm away from the alien sensations; Keigo lightly tracing his fingers underneath the villain's twitching arms. Dabi hasn't felt a sensation this light in years; he's completely forgotten anything could feel so gentle and tingly.

 "Ya know Stitches, this sensitivity-heightening quirk caught my eye for a reason. The scientists who developed it reported that nerves the subject thought had gone dormant years ago were suddenly reawakened, like the kindles of a dying fire bursting into bright flames in a split second." Dabi's fingers knuckled, his breath hitching as Keigo's fingers skittered nearest to his open armpits, but scuttled back at the last second. Dabi shuddered and let out his breath silently. Keigo however, soaked in every delicious reaction with a sadistic hunger.

 "At first I thought, "There's no way hardened lowlife criminals could be so sensitive to such small stimulus. Bright lights, loud music, gross smells-" Keigo took both of his pointer fingers and circled them around the outer rim of Dabi's armpits, which made Dabi's eyes fly open and suck in his breath. The damn tingles were climbing in his arms and fluttering in his chest, like there was a swarm of butterflies caged in behind his ribs. "-light touches~ Oh don't tell me these light touches are doing anything for you, are they? They're already drawing out such animated expressions from the most stoic man I've ever seen stalk this earth."

 Dabi's stomach was jumping, like he was going uphill on a rollercoaster, just waiting for the descent. The onyx villain's fingers relaxed, however, once Keigo drew his own fingers away from the sensitive spot. Keigo quirked his lips and held his chin, in a thinking pose before the restrained criminal. The blonde hero resembled a butcher standing over a cow carcass, wondering which part of the animal he was gonna slice up first. Dabi swallowed in a dry throat as he chose his words cautiously. As he opened his mouth to speak, Keigo pointed a finger to the ceiling as he thought up what he wanted to say with a delighted grin on his face.    

 "Of course. There just so happens to be a word for this phenomenon, these light touches that feel like they're taking over your body~" Keigo suddenly swooped in close to Dabi and layered all ten of his fingers onto Dabi's raised individual ribs. Dabi's eyes stared right into the double agent's unreadable expression as the fingers started to press in.

 "It's called 'tickling', the kid games that you were dissing earlier. Looks like we have all the time in the world to play them now, right little blueflame? And you're just sensitive enough to enjoy them this time with me~" Keigo's fingers shook into Dabi's ribs, each finger taking up a bone and vibrating into it. Dabi winced instinctively, but instead of pain, he found maddening consistent tingles. Ungracefully, the villain let out a snort and started letting out frantic giggles. His muscled arms pulling on the restraints and his legs hitched up to try and curl into a ball.

 "Pffmmt- H-Hahahawks! S-Stohohop thihihis nahahahaow!" Deep baritone laughs rumbled out from Dabi's chest without his consent. There was no restraining or trying to keep back his giggles. Keigo's fingers were like lead weights scribbling on his hypersensitive skin. Keigo had a proud look on his face; he was half-expecting for something like this to simply not work on Dabi. But it seemed the exact opposite was true. This was working a little TOO well; with the hardened criminals face bright and squinted in a look of happiness.

 "Mmhmm... If you wanna tell me what happened to Touya Todoroki, I'd be more than happy to help you. On the other hand, though, it looks like you're missing some ribs there, kid. Wouldn't want ya walking around with half an empty ribcage, now would we~" Keigo narrowed his eyes with a smirk on his face as he started from the top of Dabi's ribcage and made sure to scritch each bone and count loudly enough for the villain to hear.

 "Ooone...twooo...threee-" "Keihehehego stohohohop!" "Mmmm...I don't think 'stop' is an acceptable number, I'll have to start aaaall the way back at the top~" With Dabi's arms spread on either side of him, every time he bucked to rid himself of the sensation just pushed the hero's lead fingers into his sensitive skin. His skin felt as if Keigo's fingers were actually about to reach inside of him and count the bare bones of his skeleton.

 The blonde hero took a moment, stilling his fingers, to watch Dabi's reactions to his stimulus. A bright smile infused with mirth was spread across his face; his eyes already glittering over with tears, and his fluffy hair crowned his head to make him look like a bashful giggling kid. His cheeks were dusted over with a light pink from all his hard chuckles. Keigo bit his tongue to keep back the truth; he wanted to blurt it all out for Dabi so they could hurry up and reminisce together.

 The hero covered up his torture stopping by becoming all business and suddenly gripping Dabi's chin to force him to look up into his golden eyes. Dabi was woozy from his lack of oxygen, a dumb smile still plastered across his face. It made Hawks' heart do kickflips, but he couldn't speak to that now.

 "Touya Todoroki was declared a missing person 10 years ago on October 25th, 2010. What did you do with him? Is he still alive? When is his birthday?" Keigo threw all of these questions at once at the dumbfounded villain. The villain tried to jerk his head out from the hero's grip but the hero held on tight.

 "I told you already you fucking dumbass birdbrain! I never abducted any kid! The squirt probably got hit by a train or was bullied to death by some bastard schoolkids!" That last yelp of desperation left his chest without him realizing what he said. Bullied to death....bullied?  Something about that doesn't feel right. Like...it's true. Maybe the kid was bullied. It's almost as if... I've experienced it-  

 Dabi's thoughts were suddenly scattered with his own bouncing cackles; Hawks' fingers gripping his slender sides and squeezing into them. Hawks made sure to hold onto his bottom ribs and taze them while his thumbs squished into the criminal's skin. Dabi jerked on his leather restraints as the cords of his neck stood out on the surface of his skin from his insane laughter.

 "GAHAHAHAD!! STAHAHAHAP!! I DOHOHON'T KNOHOHOW SHIHIHIT!! I SWEHEHEAR!!' The criminal's eyes screwed shut tightly in his laughter, the vibrations so deep and pronounced that it felt like it was inside of him. Dabi's knees pulled up and slammed back down on the table in an attempt to do anything to get out of this situation, but his restraints were too tight. Keigo had a VERY amused look on his face at this recent development.

 "Swearing already?~ That's cause for celebration, isn't it? Bravo to our modern scientists for creating something so malicious that it made our hardened criminal swear within the first five minutes~ Although, it doesn't answer my question. Where is Touya Todoroki? What color is his hair? What outfit was he wearing on the day you captured him?" Keigo threw nonsense questions at Dabi to see how he would react to them. Of course, Keigo already knew all of the answers, in part anyway, but he wanted to see how this villain would crack under the pressure. The hero's fingers vibrated in Dabi's lowest ribs as his thumbs massaged in two places on his lean belly. Keigo tried not to look for too long at the villain's contracting abs.

 Dabi's limbs were restless in their quest to try and weasel their way out of this situation; his legs and arms squirming and wrestling against the restraints. Dabi's fists balled up to try and fight the maddening tingling sensations, and his hips bucked up like the bronco he was only to slam down on the table once more. Keigo felt like he was tickling the riding bull you find in dive bars and the like.

 "I SAHAHAID I DOHOHON'T KNOHOHOW THE FUHUHUCKING KID!! YOU GAHAHAHA!-" Dabi's deep rumbling laughter soon turned into high pitched hysterical giggles. Keigo's crimson wings had accidentally fluttered over the criminal's belly as he had shifted in his place. Keigo looked back at his magnificent wings and soon had a horrible look shadow over his face. The hero's fingers stilled once more as he plucked a feather out from his own wing. Dabi's cyan eyes were rolled to the back of his head as he laid limp on the table; his mouth open and sucking in as much oxygen as possible.

 "I don't think that's gonna cut it, Patches. I want real answers, not this tippy-toe bullshit you keep pulling on me. I'm gonna get what I'm looking for even if it means I have to kill you." His voice was deep and serious enough for Dabi to perk up and look at him. Dabi didn't care about dying; he even welcomed it at this point just to get out of this damn table. Dabi turned sharply towards his collarbone and coughed into his shoulder. A regular cough wouldn't hurt unless it was a virus, but Dabi's hyper-sensitive insides made this cough burn up his parched throat. The villain looked back with a newfound seriousness and tried not to look too terrified at the slim wiggling feather in the hero's hand.

 "Ask the multiple personalities dude or the blonde psycho bitch! They're always up to some random bullshit that doesn't involve me. I only live by Stain's ideologies and live up to the expectations to make the future he wanted to be realized. Child abduction isn't gonna make that future happen!" Even Dabi could hear the desperation in his own voice; he wanted to kill Hawks for making him so vulnerable. Especially while the hero was looking down at him with that damn lazy smirk, like this was all too amusing for him.

 Keigo took a long breath and twirled the feather in between his fingers; his lips quirked in that thinking look once more. Dabi's eyes couldn't tear away from the hypnotizing piece of tickling equipment. The blonde hero could tell that Dabi was getting shrill, and distraught at that. He was getting there; with just a little more pushing Keigo could possibly unlock Dabi's memories and make him see that HE was Touya Todoroki himself. That's what all of this was.

 "Mmmm... not convinced. Sorry, when it comes to child abduction cases like these, pointing fingers won't help when I know YOU'RE the child abductor. Just a matter of time until you wanna admit it to me. But hey, at least it's fun torture and not a messy one, right? A few things I have to do before we get started up again though-" Keigo stepped forward and tucked his feather in the crest of Dabi's ear like he was holding a pencil there.

 "Hold onto that for a second," Keigo said simply as he lifted Dabi's thin cotton shirt and lifted it up over his head.

  "As soon as I get out of these restraints, you're bones are gonna be liquefied inside of your damn disgusting body." Dabi hissed, while Keigo wasn't paying attention to that and staring directly at Dabi's impressive toned six-pack. Dabi followed Keigo's gaze and blushed deeply at the realization. Keigo suddenly snapped out of it and reanimated himself.

 "Oh, well, in that case. I'll just put more on you so that doesn't have to happen!" Keigo flashed Dabi a squinted smile and took the straps that lay on either side of Dabi's hips. Keigo pulled on the leather belt tightly so now his midsection couldn't buck in any direction. The belt also helped pull Dabi's diamond navel taut. Dabi's belly and entire torso were unmarked with his scars; the scars only curving over his sides and disappearing under his pants. Keigo also noted that Dabi's hips were deep and indented, like someone pressed their thumbs into them. They must be really warm and hopefully very sensitive at this rate-

 Keigo cleared his throat and stole back his feather with a wink while he was face to face with Dabi, to which Dabi attempted to headbutt the birdman. It was then that Dabi realized that with the belt now strapped just above his belly button, any wiggling room that he had before had just evaporated.

 "Realizing just how fucked you are? And the effects of the serum don't start depleting until the victim's body has cooled down. The victim's body cooldown tells the serum that the job has been finished and the Hero's have the information they're looking for. Until then, it lasts as long as it needs to." After Keigo's helpful explanation, Dabi then noticed just how hot his body actually was, like he was running a high fever. Which meant that the serum was probably running at it's highest potent capacity to keep him horribly hyper-sensitive to any and all touches. Keigo watched the realization play over Dabi's face as he stepped forward and started circling his wiggly feather over Dabi's belly button.

 Dabi jerked immediately and clamped his teeth down to prevent any giggles from slipping out. Keigo watched with a newfound sadistic hunger; he watched with the sudden drive to make this man shout his lungs out and regret ever forgetting about his childhood best friend.

 "This can all stop if you just tell me where the kid is. Just give me a location and I'll send the heroes on their way. I got a phone right here. I got heroes at my disposal. We're just waiting on you, Patchwork." Keigo continued to circle and even started sweeping his feather across Dabi's strip of belly like he was dusting a piece of furniture.

  Dabi shook his head and kept his laughter caged in his chest. The single feather was so tingly that he wanted to crawl out of his skin. "I mmph- I t-tohold yohou! I- grrmmph- I-I don't knohow ahahanything about the kid! I never heheard his nahame before!" Dabi involuntarily thought back to Touya Todoroki's name, the damn kid that he was being tortured over. In Dabi's haze, he thought he remembered the Bakugou brat having a friend named Todoroki-

 "Wahait wait wait! I-I-I remember something! I reeheemehember sohohomething I promise!" Dabi pleaded, Keigo taking immediate pity and stopping his red wiggly feather. Keigo pointed his feather like an accusing sword towards Dabi's face.

 "If the information is bullshit, you're getting a second dose injected right in your belly button. Imagine that hell burning in your stomach. Think about this wisely." Dabi swallowed what felt like cotton balls in his throat. He didn't know if Keigo was bullshitting or not, but he also didn't know if he could trust his own memories. He's never been able to remember too much of anything past his twenties... Dabi's shaking fingers hardened into fists as he hardened his resolve to get out of this table.

 "Okay okay... The Touya kid has a brother right? Todoroki? What's the half and half kid's name? Shoto? Yeah, it was Shoto. Go fucking torture him for answers instead of me you damn prick! He knows more about his own brother than I do-" At the sound of the repeated use of the word 'brother', a flash of red hair jumped past Dabi's vision. Keigo shook his head and was starting to step forward to tickle the criminal's belly once more before Dabi hurriedly stopped him. "Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah, hold on, hold on! The Touya kid had red hair! Instead of half and half like his brother, he had all red hair." And white hair with red strips, and blank white hair like the snow- Dabi involuntarily remembered this as well, but before he could grab onto it, it slid away.

 Keigo had a pleased look on his face, however. Dabi was starting to remember bits and pieces of the past, and that's what Keigo wanted. Just a little bit further, and hopefully he would remember who he was.

 "Finally, we're getting somewhere. Unfortunately, no cookies for you. We know Touya had red hair, his family comes from a line of gingers. We need to know where the kid is, Dabi. And you're the only one with the answers. So let's hear 'em." Dabi fought the urge to protest as Keigo willed about six of his feathers to detach from his wings and dust over Dabi's belly, while Keigo's fingers gripped his sides and scribbled his manicured nails into them. Dabi pulled on his restraints and cackled loudly into the sound-proof room.

 "CHRIHIHIHIST!! I DOHOHON'T KNOHOHOHOW AHAHAHANYTHING!! LET ME GOHOHOHO!!" Dabi's eyes screwed shut as his mouth was agape with his hysterical laughter. Both Hawks and Dabi were unaware that the reserved and quiet male could produce such sounds. Dabi's veins stood out like cords against his neck as his chest heaved in with his laughter. Such small stimulus is driving him insane, Hawks thought to himself. Six of his feathers from his crimson wings were dusting over his belly and his navel, while his fingers scratched and scraped over the villains pronounced ribcage. Sure, maybe it was a little intense in terms of tickling, but he thought that this would be too easy for the hardened villain. Apparently not; Hawks could see that Dabi was fighting for breath already.

 "HAHAHAHAWKS I SWEAHAHAHAHA-" Dabi cut his own laughter short with a hard snort. One of the fluffy crimson feathers had started twirling itself into Dabi's stretched navel. There was nowhere that the villain could twist on the table to escape its feathery clutches. Hawks cracked half a smile. Even if he were to take his hands off the villain's ribcage to halt his fingers tickling, which he did; Dabi still produced the same amount of crazed hysterical cackles from just the feathers tickling. The double agent stood with his arms folded and watched his childhood best friend laugh an insane amount.

 The villain had tousled his onyx crown all over his eyes; the once fluffy hair now a dense mop against his forehead. Dabi's smile was agape enough that Keigo could see his glinting incisors. His biceps flexed and struggled; the sweeping of the crimson feathers not ceasing for a moment. They traced over his waistline, the deep cavernous dips of his hip indents, fluttering over the small pinch of skin underneath his navel. Keigo stood fascinated by the scene, while Dabi's eyes started rolling in the back of his head.

 "-AHAHAHAP!! I'LL-I'LL TAHAHAHAHALK I PROHOHOMISE!" That roused Keigo out of his stupor. He forgot that Dabi was in an extremely sensitive situation. The agent quickly halted his feathers and lifted them up from Dabi's belly. The feathers had worked so fervently that the villain's hypersensitive skin was a baby pink on the surface of it. Dabi sniffed back his tears of mirth and heaved in delicious clean oxygen. It was ice cold in his lungs, but the villain much preferred it over the sweaty ticklish hell he was just subjected to.

 "Alright, Staples. Get to talking then, or there's gonna be a lot more feathers where that came from. You don't want these puppies all over you in the situation you're in." Keigo flapped his wings and shook them out to showcase his entire wingspan of crimson ticklers, all individually flowing and wiggling delicately in the air. Dabi gave him a death glare, but even the feathers made him gulp. The villain flexed his fingers as he tried to think up of something that this douche didn't already know about the kid. Keigo could see the villain's brain working to think up a bullshit story just to appease him. That just meant more tickles for-

 "He-He was 15 when he went missing. His father had abused him when he was young and he was shunned by his siblings. His mother tried to protect him but-" But she was crazy. And no one protected him. He was the forgotten one, the one who faded into the background. And no one had a problem with that.  

  Dabi choked on his words, clearing his throat and clearing his mind. Keigo watched with interest as Dabi had spilled all of this information from thin air. Even the villain looked confused, he didn't know where this revelation came from.

 "Mm-hmm, quite the truth serum this stuff is, isn't it? Just a little bit more and you can get off this table and get yourself an ice cream." Dabi shot his gaze up to Keigo's eyes and pulled on his restraints.

"N-No! No more I can't handle it! It's too much! Don't do this!" For some reason Dabi didn't even sound convincing to his own ears. Maybe because even he knew that no matter how much pleading he tried, he wouldn't get out of this until he coughed up more information. Keigo looked quite amused by the display, however. That fox's grin was back on his face.

 "Come on now, it can't be that bad, little patch~ It's just some tickling afterall." Dabi's heart stopped when Keigo walked up to him and gently placed his fingers on Dabi's waistline. "Little kid games, right Blueflame? You can handle it." Keigo suddenly gripped Dabi's right hip and squished his thumb inside, making Dabi curl up and giggle like a schoolboy.

  "Gahahahad! Hahahaha-Hahahaow mahahahany tihihihimes?!" "How many times what? How many times do I have to tickle tickle tickle you before you get the gist of your situation? You're not getting out of this until I get my answers, kid. So cough 'em up, before you cough up a lung." Even holding Dabi's hip like this made the villain squeal out. His hips bucked and shook in their binds, which only drove the hero's thumb in further to his divet.

 "I dohohohon't knohohohow anything! I-I cahahan't rehehember!" Hawks could see that Dabi was actively trying to remember something, he wasn't lying in a situation like this. And Keigo wasn't wanting him to remember his childhood trauma or to relive it in any way, he just wanted his childhood best friend to remember him. Hawks took a deep breath in his lungs and decided to up the anty. Hawks sent four crimson feathers up to Dabi's stretched armpits, the wiggling plumes fluffing over the villain's soft divets. Dabi started to shriek, but Hawks suddenly slid his hands down to Dabi's thighs and squished into the soft material.

 Dabi must have unlocked a second quirk along with his Cremate abilities, because Hawks had never heard such an unearthly howl thrash itself from Dabi's chest. Keigo winced from the piercing sounds from the villain as Dabi's eyes were screwed tightly in hysterical cackles with tears budding in the corners of his eyes. The feathers twisting and fluffing in his stretched armpits along with Hawks kneading up and down his toned thighs had the villain in tears. Dabi didn't know which way to buck, to twist, to jump on the table. He was stuck either leaning into the fluffy feathers for more relentless dusting, or to literally push himself into his captors hands for closer and more effective squeezing.

 "Looks like you're in a pickle, bud. I say just cough up the information and be done with the whole thing but, to each their own, right? If you like it, you like it. I won't judge, I'm having way too much fun~" Keigo had his thumbs fixed to the villains inner thighs as his other eight fingers splayed out as wide as they could stretch to squeeze and grip the skin underneath Dabi's jeans. Dabi wanted to tear his hot tingling skin off with how insane the sensations were.

 "SHUHUHUT THE FUHUHUHUCK-GAHAHAHAHAD!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHA!!" Dabi was screaming at this rate, the man's throat parched and raw from the yelling. Keigo rolled his eyes at the exclamations of his victim when something silver flashed in his eye. Keigo thought it was probably just the restraints glinting off the light in the room, but it was Dabi's stitches that caught his eye. Keigo suddenly had a stroke of curiosity and reached behind him to pluck a feather from his wings and swiped the fluffy appendage across Dabi's silver stitch.

 It was liked the criminal was electrified, his body jolting like it touched a live current and his insane cackles jumped an octave with the single swipe. Dabi's stitches had already been sensitive to touch even before he had the serum in his body. Now the nerve endings underneath the stitch felt like it was intertwined with the silver itself. Keigo bit his lip at the torture that was to come. Watching Dabi writhe on the table with the feathers in his armpits, Keigo sent six feathers to every visible stitch on the mans body and let the appendages fluff and dust and wriggle all over him. They were twirling in his ears and driving in his collarbones; they were doing figure eights in his armpits and dragging up his triceps; they were skating down his sides and writing nonsense with their quills down the lines of his abs.

 "GOHOHOHOD!! SAHAHAHAVE MEHEHEHEE!! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!! I-I'M DHYHYHYHYING!!" It was a horribly dramatic thing to exclaim that Keigo should have listened to, but the way the bird saw it, if Dabi still had breath in his lungs to shout, then he should be fine. Keigo's never seen such a contorted face on anyone before. It was a mix of childlike happiness and mirth with pure anguish and torture. But, whatever gets the truth out, Keigo supposed. It was only a matter of time before Dabi choked on the truth. And Keigo could never get enough of the sight of Dabi's abs contracting with every giggly laugh harvested from his chest.

 "KEHEEHEEHEE-KEIGO!! KEHEHEHEEIGO PLEHEHEHEHEASE!! STOHOHOHOHOP!! I-I REEHEEMEMBER!! STAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIHIT!!"  Dabi suddenly erupted his confession once Keigo neared his bucking kneecaps with his own fingers. Keigo's feathers and hands suddenly halted; the villains heart bursting through his ribcage. The poor captured man had aching ribs and a sore stomach, and his limbs were irritated from pulling on them for so long. Hawks stood with his hands on his hips. His entire body shivered with flashes and icicles, his searing hot sweat sliding down his icy back. It was complete hell, but the stimulus was enough to break the barrier of his lost memories. This was it. Dabi just needed to remember where he came from and who he used to be. Maybe he'd be more cheerful, or at least a little more...anything, at this point.

 Dabi's head was laid back on the table, his body slightly curled up in the small defense he had. His eyes were rolled up to the whites in exhaustion. But in the swirling chaotic blackness behind his eyelids that he was used to, he saw something new. Something he hasn't appreciated in a long time.

 Summer, the scalding heat on the back of my neck, the taste of ice-cold popsicles, the sand inbetween my toes. Being the kid with the dad who pushed them the highest on the swingset. My scraped knees and elbows patched up by the smiling boy. The summer festival and the exploding fireworks in the infinite sky above me.  My best friend who stood there to watch when nobody else would. Keigo, my best friend. His toothy smile and his squinting eyes; his untied shoelaces and messy hair. He never left my side. But  I left his.

 Suddenly I don't feel so heavy. I don't feel so alone, so burdened with this weight on my chest. Because I know Keigo is there. He always was.

 "And I always will be, Touya." Dabi slowly looked up to see Keigo with a gentle smile on his face. Dabi hadn't realized that he was speaking aloud. Hawks turned to Dabi's right arm and started setting free his aching wrist. But after this newest revelation, Dabi didn't feel hurt anymore. He felt like a completed puzzle; the lost piece that made him whole was finally inserted. Dabi held his wrist to his chest and rubbed over his tingling body to rid himself of the leftover sensations.

 "T-Trauma's a bitch, huh? It...Itmade me forget my best friend, the only one who was truly there for me. I'm...I'm sorry about that, Keigo." Keigo shook his head, his bangs swaying back and forth. "Please, don't be sorry. It's your dad that should apologize. I just wanted you to remember everything that was bright in your life, and not live in this bleak purgatory. You have friends and people who care about you. And you used to smile all the time, you know. I know it's not your fault that you forgot who you were and you forgot how to smile. But now at least, maybe you can put your past to good use in the future."

 Dabi nodded, understanding Keigo's words better than he would have thought. Keigo extended his hand out to Dabi to help him off of the table. Dabi hesitated for a moment, a good second passing before he grabbed it and hopped off the table. Dabi was still slightly curled and hunched even as he walked, his defenses still not lowered after that episode.  

 "Don't worry, it's all over. No more tickles, I promise. Unless you kinda liked it, then I can give you more. I thought I saw you leaning in for some more now and again on the table. You also remember how ticklish you used to be and you still are, right? I mean, I thought something this childish was gonna work on ya dude, but your vocal cords must be thrashed-"

  "Yeah, you know what, Keegs, I think I remember just how ticklish you used to be as well when you were a kid. Care to test it out?" Dabi picked up one of the syringes off the table filled with the swirling blue sensitivity serum with a horribly antagonizing look in his eyes.

 Keigo gulped and ran for dear life.

#icanttellyouhowlongthistookme notcomplainingthoyoudeserveitbabe hopeyoulikeitmerrycrimin

[cto10121]

Top R&J Adaptation Pet Peeves

Adaptation is hard. Really, really hard. Shakespeare especially knew it; he was one of the best adapters for theater ever, and he himself adapted R&J from Arthur Brooke’s Tragedie of Romeus and Juliet. Since then Shakespeare’s play itself has been given the adaptation treatment and hooo boy, are there doozies, misses, and fascinating failures. Most are published fanfic flops, like the ones I reviewed for my blog, but others tend to be more complicated than that. So without further ado, let’s dive into the Top Adaptation Pet Peeves I’ve personally encountered, or simply tropes and patterns I find annoying.

The two families/groups not being alike in dignity. Yes, I’m looking at all the productions and adaptations that decide to switch the whole rival houses dynamic for a race or class one. The ones who pit a marginalized group against another marginalized group, like Romiette and Julio (Black/Hispanic respectively) are fine-ish. West Side Story also does this, but unfortunately the whole “white ethnic” gang is no longer a thing now, as most non-WASP ethnic white groups are considered functionally white nowadays, so it does become a problem re: the Puerto Ricans being the underdogs to the white ethnics. Some have done a poor/rich, privileged/marginalized dynamic, but you just can’t do it with R&J; it breaks the equality of the pairing. By far the worst of these is the anime Romeo X Juliet, which had the evil Montagues be the corrupt ruling power who usurped the throne from the Capulets (????). Look, the whole point is that the two groups’ differences are superficial and stupid, and that they are more alike than different. This doesn’t work if one group is favored/discriminated against over another. It also leads to disturbing implications—namely, justifying a dangerous and destructive feud and intergroup violence and hatred in general. Another side effect is that it ruins the mutuality of the lovers by bringing in unequal power dynamics where it isn’t needed.

Juliet as a #girlboss/badass/“strong female protagonist”. Many adaptations do some measure of this by having Juliet resist even the first mention of Paris, talk back to her parents and the Nurse, and, for Gong’s These Violent Delights (Juliette Cai as the dagger-wielding daughter of a gang) and the anime Romeo X Juliet, (Juliet crossdressing as the vigilante the Red Whirlwind) actually kick ass and generally “strong female protagonist”-it up. I think this is largely a reaction to Juliet’s canonically marginalized position as a sheltered 16th century maid, mistaking the passivity and lack of agency of her status as a character trait. As a result, we get CrouchingTigerHiddenDragon!Juliet. Just no. The original Juliet, as everyone should know like their own name, was no shrinking violet, but neither was she a YA/anime shonen dominatrix either, and I feel she wouldn’t be even in an AU. Also, by this point it’s so cliché. Juliet is so well-written as she is; why stuff her into this Katniss Everdeen peg?

Juliet as an immature ~bby. Not so much adaptation!dumb, thank goodness, but I’ve seen this small trend in play productions that take the “Juliet-is-thirteen” thing waaaaaay too seriously and either have a tween-looking actress or make the actress play Juliet a facsimile of what a thirteen-year-old is supposed to be like. I especially will never forget the Orlando Bloom production that had poor Juliet deliver her “Gallop apace” on a swing. Awful.

Mercutio being turned into either 1) wacky, comic relief gay or 2) a mystical/sad tragic gay. Mercutio occasionally gets done dirty in either of those two ways and it’s sad. That French Canadian film Roméo et Juliette is by far the most damning offender of the latter take. I don’t like either trope, and I certainly don’t like it for Mercutio, for whom it doesn’t really fit. Also, I feel it’s important to note that as the Prince’s kinsman Mercutio is the most higher ranked and privileged of the three, his being forced into a “sad, tragic gay” mold feels ludicrous. Even his death comes about because he wanted to avenge Romeo’s honor (or, well, more like he really wanted a fight), not because he was Bury Your Gay’ed. Cocciante’s Giulietta e Romeo musical does something unique and has him as an omnipotent narrator, which works a little better than it should, but overall it’s also a miss. Mercutio is Romeo’s foil and a fun side character; outside of that, it’s hard to make him work without changing his character entirely.

Romeo being turned into 1) an immature woobie/“cinnamon roll,” 2) bumbling hero, 3) a himbo/idiot, or 4) evil (!!). My poor boi has been done the dirtiest in so many different ways, it’s hard to quantify or even name them. They range from flattening his character a little to “romantic idiot” to full-on Ron the Death Eater-ing him (yes, that’s a thing, twice!! See Juliet Immortal et al. Or rather not). The last two are mostly in the realms of salty fanfic, thankfully, but the himbo idiot and woobie still inform some actors’ performances. Needless to say, I hate all of this. Romeo is no idiot, himbo or not, and he is as mature as the rest of the youths (he is at least praised by Capulet as a “portly gentleman”). Canonically he is shown to best Mercutio in a game of wits and explicitly restrains himself from revealing himself at Juliet’s balcony. Act 5 shows him coldly but effectively convincing an apothecary in less than a dozen lines to break the law and sell him poison. I don’t exactly know from what stems this woobification of Romeo. Actually, no, I do. Romeo may be climb high orchard walls, playfully roast his friends, talk about how chastity vows are stupid and hope Juliet would cast off that pesky virginity of hers, and kill two characters all he likes, but as soon as he weeps immoderately over being banished/separated from Juliet and the possibility of her not loving him anymore, he renounces his Man(tm) card. Hello, gender roles-based sexism! God, I hate you so much. Please die.

“It’s a dark, ~crazy world!!! Verona is a violent, crass, tacky, dangerous hellhole!!!” Okay, so this is mostly shade thrown at Baz Lurhmann and the Hungarian version of Presgurvic’s RetJ, (the latter more fondly than the former) but it still disappoints me. The whole “fair Verona” thing aside, I think it’s clear that Shakespeare’s Verona is supposed to be a violent, steamy clusterfuck, but with the veneer of wealth and prosperity and genteel good taste that papers over the cracks. It’s the whole appearance vs. reality thing. I still think French RetJ does Verona best, and fortunately most productions and versions get it as a “quaint pretty small town is actually a hellhole” thing (hell, I think even that Gnomeo and Juliet movie made the suburban lawns nice). I just like the contrast, what can I say?

“Benvolio, Mercutio, Tybalt are more interesting than R&J, let’s make it all about them instead!!!1” This is the weirdest thing, but I think there were some web series (at least one, and no, not Jules and Monty) that literally did this, a weird modern Tycutio AU. But in general, adaptations that overdevelop the feud and the whole Benvolio-Mercutio-Tybalt thing at the expense of R&J are a no-go for me. I like the three and they all have their little crannies of character nuance, but they are less developed and the feud drama less interesting overall than R&J. I also don’t like the ships with any of the three, Bencutio and Tycutio being the most popular set-up. Canonically Mercutio and Benvolio spend most of their time either searching for Romeo or talking about him and how much he’s changed. As for Tycutio, Mercutio disdains Tybalt’s dueling skills and overall they don’t seem to know each other well personally. Both ships have no chemistry with each other and are firmly into fanon territory.

“R&J’s love was like a cinnamon roll, too good, too pure for this world…” Some adaptations, uncomfortable with some of the high-scale eroticism of the lovers, tend towards this. They’re teen sweethearts, high school, if you will, so let’s make them as cute and chaste and ~uwu as possible. Romeo X Juliet tends sickeningly towards this, but that just might be the demure Japanese culture informing the text. But I don’t know. R&J are not exactly horndogs, but they’re not dead either (horny bird metaphor, anyone? Also Juliet’s whole famous I-wanna-bang monologue). It’s secretly condescending too, in that it tries to put down and dismiss R&J as puppy love…puppy love that leads them to an uncompromising position and a double suicide, but okay. Sounds fake, but okay.

“R&J was just lust and it’s kinda their fault, actually—” Nothing will make me loathe your adaptation quicker than this. Fortunately most adaptations know enough not to go that far, but Baz Luhrmann’s version definitely has some of this vibe, along with some forced comedy. Kill it with fire.

#romeo and juliet #cristina metas #rj meta #r&j meta #this is so many decades’ worth of salt #i’ll probably remember others i didn’t talk about

[relationshipsandpolitics]

Part 3

Since I last posted, we’ve gotten word that a certain rich asshole is going to enter the race.  Now, I could do 500 words on why this guy is awful, but it would sort of go against my belief that just because someone is really rich does not mean we need to pay extra attention to them and their thoughts.   This guy is not winning the nomination, won’t even poll about 3% in most states, and overall is not worth the amount ink that will surely be spilled on his campaign.  Next.

Joe Biden. Elizabeth Warren, Bernie Sanders

So we are down to the final 3.  One of those 3 objectively should have been culled much earlier.  If I was doing this purely based on the level of support for each candidate, this guy would have been cut about 8 candidates ago.  But Joe Biden is still the front runner, consistently leading national polls and absolutely killing it in several early primary states like South Carolina.  Biden remains popular among black voters, who serve as the lifeblood of the Democratic party. Even though his policies and personality suck, he is unique from all the other shitty centrist candidates.  So he gets his own takedown.

Joe Biden is a very old man hoping to blind the voters with his connection to President Obama.  And for the most part, it’s working like a charm. Forget the fact that he is a rambling, incoherent mess during campaign stops.  Forget his abysmal views on race, including his support for segregated busing and racist colleagues.  Forget the fact this guy railroaded Anita Hill and still can’t sufficiently apologize to her.  Forget all the bad parts of Joe Biden.  That’s what he is banking on.  Biden is trying to win not based on policy or his strategy for improving the lives of everyday Americans.  No, he is trying to win by painting a false image of who he is and how electable he would be.  Biden is basing his entire campaign on appealing to low-key racist white suburbanites who don’t want to pay more taxes.  That’s his base.  And it’s not an awful strategy.  But it highlights something terrible about the Democratic voter.

The average Democratic primary voter appears to support progressive causes.  They want to see Social Security expanded.  They support a $15 minimum wage and gun control.  They support paid family leave and some form of universal health care.  But the average Democratic voter of a certain age, race and class level doesn’t want to fight for those things.  Because while they agree with those policies in principle, they won’t be that affected by them, and more importantly, would have to pay more in taxes.  So they say they support these goals yet refuse to put any skin into the game to achieve them.   The other possibility is that they would support enacting these policies and paying a bit more, but they don’t think anyone else would and thus think we need to support the least-controversial candidate.  No one really likes Joe Biden, or if they do, no one can really identify what exactly he is running for.   Even though health care remains a joke in this country, Biden isn’t arguing to make it better.  He isn’t supporting a wealth tax.  What is this man running on except a vague idea about returning dignity to the American worker.  Yet voters still support him, either because they know he actually won’t change anything (except make it ok to be gay again) or because they think not changing anything is the only way for a Democrat to win.

The American voter (not just Democratic voters) collectively is a stupid person.  They personally want a politician to enact massive change to better their lives, yet believe the ideal candidate is a moderate who won’t do anything major, and still someone in doing nothing substantial, will improve their lives.  Then, just to double down on that stupidity, they will vote the opposition party into power in Congress to ensure nothing happens, all because they love compromise. Of course, the last thirty years of politics have shown that bipartisanship is a myth.

The American voter is both very ignorant and very naïve.  We accept that.  But it’s tougher to accept that from our politicians.  At a recent fundraiser for millionaires, Biden touted his sincere belief that when Trump goes, Republicans will have an epiphany and start working with him to make our country better.  Folks, this is disqualifying.  The sheer insanity of that belief needs to be a deal breaker.  Biden, in the very same speech to the very same contingent of rich assholes, said that he personally called dozens of Republicans to get Merrick Garland on the Supreme Court.  The Republicans said no and pulled a move so disgusting and unprecedented that we will never see something worse in our lifetimes.  And this was all before Trump was even nominated.

Joe Biden is an idiot. He also is in the bag of the rich. He regularly attends fundraisers hosted by lobbyists for some of the most nefarious industries.  His campaign is mostly funded by Wall Street and Health Insurance.  And how do you think he’ll govern once in office?  Will he go after these bad actors?  Or will he appoint them to his Cabinet?  Remember, this is the guy who worked in an administration that wanted Larry Summers as Fed Chief.  He appointed Timothy Geithner as Secretary of the Treasury.

Joe Biden would continue the worst aspects of Obama’s administration without all the good stuff. He’d be in his late 80’s by the time his second term ended, too.  For the love of all that we hold holy, we cannot nominate Biden.

It is now time for the top two candidates.  I would happily vote for either of these candidates, so my choice for one is not a slight on the other.  Each candidate has issues, but they are minor compared to what they bring to the table. So I urge you to vote early and often for either of them.

Elizabeth Warren, Bernie Sanders

A presidential candidate should make you excited to vote for them.  It can’t just be “I can’t vote for the other guy so I guess you’ll do.”  It’s a recipe for disaster.  People need a reason to take a couple hours of their day, find parking, wait in a long line, deal with eighty-year old volunteers who yell at you to close the curtain more, and then go into work and deal with their daily amount of shit.  People need a reason to see the process of voting as exciting.  

I think Bernie and Elizabeth are the only two candidates one can reasonably get excited about.  I’m not saying everyone will be excited by them because a lot of people don’t support their policies.  I call these people assholes.  But can anyone honestly say they are excited to vote for Amy Klobuchar or Joe Biden? Even if you support their bland policy proposals which consist of “we need better jobs but fuck if I know how to do that.”

But which one to choose?

I’m going to start with Bernie.  The negatives against him are one of perception rather than reality, but in politics its not the truth that wins out but what you can convince people the truth is. And Bernie will definitely be portrayed as an out-of-touch Socialist.  While the youngins like the word “socialism” the majority of the electorate is still scared to death of the term because they equate social democratic government as the Soviet Union and bread lines.  In other words, most people are stupid.   Sanders best hope would be to hammer home how amazing European countries are, the benefits they enjoy without all the negatives that Republicans conjure up in places like Venezuela. Unfortunately, Republican messaging still rules the day.   Even if you could strap a person in a chair and explain point by point why Sweden and Denmark work as social democracies, they still wouldn’t get it.

Trump will absolutely attack Bernie for being a socialist, and the problem compared to the other candidates he would attack for being a socialist is that the suburban Democratic voters would actually believe him.  Bernie absolutely will upend the system, and a lot of people are still benefiting from that system.  People like my parents.  They have a good amount of money but are not rich.  Taxes going up on them will impact their daily lives, and most of the benefits Bernie is advocating for would not benefit them.  There is a lot of good research out there that suggests the key for Democrats to win across the board is to get the suburban moderate vote. And there is a legitimate argument that Bernie will not get that vote.  Now, one can say that those voters would never vote for Trump. But you must remember a very important thing about politics: white people can get pretty racist when they think you’ll take money away from them.

But here’s what I love about Bernie.  He is entirely genuine in his advocacy for the poor and working class. Most politicians say they care, of course.  They give a speech supporting raising the minimum wage or not cutting Medicaid. But they also tie themselves with rich donors and businesses whenever they can.  They support the poor until there is a good reason not to.  Not Bernie.  He’s been singing the same tune since the sixties.  He doesn’t care if it isn’t popular. He’ll make it become popular. Bernie almost single handedly shifted the conversation on universal health care.  We are talking about paid family leave and free college because of him. And the man deserves credit for that.

Bernie has been hit a lot from the Democratic establishment.  People are still sore that he had the audacity to challenge Hillary Clinton.  Even though he endorsed and campaigned heavily for her after dropping out in 2016, there is still a narrative that he sabotaged her campaign.  Let’s be clear, though.  The reason why the establishment Democratic contingency dislikes Bernie is because he thinks they are just as corrupt as the Republicans.  Which is true.  Democrats work out of the same bubble as Republicans.  They rub shoulders with the same Wall Street donors. Try calling up your Democratic Senator to get an in-person meeting.  Now look at who does get those meetings.  I support Bernie because he actually is trying to change our corrupt political system.  A politician can’t work within the given system without being corrupted by it. The system is a cancer that needs to be destroyed.  

Bernie has said some dumb things and has held some dumb positions.  This can’t be denied.  He’s been accused of being a racist, sexist and homophobe.  Some of this is absolute bullshit and some of it is based on dumb things he’s said.   But judging by the policies the man has supported, the votes he has taken, and what he has said during the 2016 and 2020 campaigns, does anyone honestly believe him to be a racist, sexist or homophobe?

If you are having a tough time getting behind Bernie, I’d ask yourself the following questions:

Do you honestly believe he would pursue anti-women and anti-reproductive rights policies?

Do you think a more robust paid family leave policy, along with a policy promoting affordable childcare, would significantly benefit women?

Do you think Bernie would restrict LGBTQ rights or would he expand protections for this group?

Do you genuinely believe Bernie would support or champion policies that would discriminate against black people?  

Do you think health care is a crisis in this country and everyone should have access to it? If so, do you think Bernie makes the situation better or worse?

Do you think a president should fill his administration with people from the financial and insurance industries?  Do you think Bernie would do this?

Do you think millionaires and billionaires should be taxed more and more money should go into programs that help the poor and middle class?

Should college be free or at least much more affordable?

Ask yourself these questions.  Don’t worry about whether he can get them passed.  Truth is it will be tough for any Democrat to get anything passed.  I’d be looking at which candidates are most willing to use executive orders (hint: it’s Bernie).

We can’t keep hedging our votes on what’s practical because the truth is everything is doable with enough willpower.   Think about how insane Social Security is as a legislative success.  We taxed everyone, rich and poor, to provide money to senior citizens for the rest of their lives.  That’s insane, and we did it.  Same with Medicare.  If you think are country needs massive changes to secure our future, vote for the candidate who is advocating for massive changes.  That candidate is Bernie Sanders and…..

Elizabeth Warren.  Everything good about Bernie can also be said about Elizabeth Warren.  This is a person who literally created an agency designed to help consumers go against corporations.  Warren has correctly diagnosed the problem for wealth and income inequality and a lot of the bad shit that’s been happening to the American worker. Corporations suck. Rich people suck. They both need to be taxed way more and we need to use those funds to give benefits to the poor and working class. Warren has a plan for pretty much everything, and that is a great thing.  She doesn’t talk in platitudes about restoring dignity to the working class. She identifies the problem and comes up with an actual solution.  

And for her efforts she gets skewered by her opponents and the media.  When Pete Buttigieg says we should invest more in affordable housing, no one pushes back on exactly what that means.  But when Warren releases a comprehensive plan to pay for Medicare for All, she is eviscerated.  Her plans should be critiqued, but they should also come with the acknowledgement that she has put in the work and is way more open with the American people than the other candidates.  The media and voters need to start making candidates pay a price for not articulating actual plans for their policy goals.  

Warren is fucking smart and driven.  She has the brain and energy to do the job.  She’s not a crackpot; she’s an advocate for the little guy.  Honestly, there isn’t much to criticize Warren on outside of how she will pay for her policy proposals.  But the media will attack what little they have while giving Trump and the more moderate Democrats a pass.  When Trump or Biden talk about strengthening the military, no one will ask what that means and how much it will cost.  But when Warren comes up with a tax plan to pay for free childcare, every single pundit will pounce the second some study comes out that her funding is off by a few million.

Of course, the dumbest part is the idea Warren needs to fully fund any proposal.  Right now, the economy has been doing great for about five years.  And in that whole time, we’ve been running huge deficits.  Maybe government spending without offsets isn’t such a big deal. Warren can’t say that because the media won’t allow her to.  It would be great if Warren could just say “things are going great now despite a trillion-dollar deficit, so why not get free healthcare for a $2 trillion-dollar deficit?”

That’s what I love most about Warren.  The lines of attack against her are so shitty.  Bernie has legitimate concerns that the Republicans will easily exploit. The best they can do with Warren is attack her policies, which are broadly popular.  And with Warren, you get a bunch of different contingencies that will come out for her.  You have women and those who want to see our first female president.  You get progressives excited about finally having a candidate who advocates for them with a fighting chance.  And because she is being so careful not to raise middle class taxes, I think you get a lot of the suburban vote.

I think Warren can win this thing.  She articulates the message well, she lacks genuine baggage and when compared to Trump, she comes off even better.  

So who is my final pick? I’m going with Elizabeth Warren. Not only does she hold most of the same policy positions as Sanders, but she also is fundamentally opposed to the corporate interests that got us to this point.  And I think she can better cajole moderate Democrats to support her agenda.  Finally, I think she comes with less baggage.

What I would love to see, based on the polling, is for Warren to either win or come in second by a close margin to Biden or Buttigieg.  Sanders would drastically underperform, at which point if New Hampshire was also going poorly, he could drop out and swing all his support to Warren.  That would make her the clear front runner. Let’s see what happens.

  Elizabeth Warren

#elizabeth warren #bernie sanders #joe biden

[raulsparza]

The Not-Quite-A-Fall

Crowley’s painful transition from Heaven to Hell. Mr. 'hung the stars' is burning out. Read on AO3 here

Notes:

Thank you thank you to the wonderous Ray (coffeespoonfull on tumblr) for helping with edits and questioning my confusing af metaphors.

I’m about as good as Newt when it comes to technology so I couldn’t figure out how to put proper footnotes in (sorry)

Work Text:

To describe it as a fall (1) may be a bit dramatic, and yet not entirely untrue.

1. Fall (verb): move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher level to a lower level

He was fired, essentially. Demoted “without control.” Moved to a different office, with a different boss, and different work expectations. It’s all very bureaucratic, isn’t it?

“Saunter vaguely downwards” makes it sound more like his choice. Like he wanted to stray from heaven and their tight grasp. He had been heading over the line, edging his way out on the tightrope further and further. It was almost fun to push his limits, ask his questions. But he was never too worried about losing his position. He helped pin the stars to the sky. Created massive balls of energy and light that would be poetic inspiration for years to come. Something like that doesn’t go unnoticed, and it hadn’t. Crowley’s wings had been speckled with gold from that point forward. Covered with stardust.

No, he felt fairly comfortable around the Almighty (2), or the Metatron at least.

2. The Almighty doesn’t make too many direct appearances, understandably so. Though it sure was nice the time She came around for a second-that-felt-like-a-week as the-then-angel gestured towards his magnum opus, feeling the gears churning in Her head as She worked out the impact a creation like that may have, the smile spreading on Her suspiciously stoic face.

And Crowley didn’t intend to abuse his power, he just felt it would allow him to be a larger part of the discussions. See, he had his place there, and having a secure place somewhere allows you to press against the edge and wonder what might be outside. You don’t tip your head out a 30 story window if you aren’t confident the glass will stop you from plummeting. “Sauntering.” Falling.

This embarrassment was never his plan, though. Where was this written? Was this Divine, was this necessary? Crowley huddled on the ground, shrouded by his wings. His middle-of-a-star white and golden flecked wings. He felt as though he had been kicked. The pit of his stomach, the center of his being burned with shame. He had just hoped to help expand the human project. He wasn’t looking to change it completely, just explore the Creator’s boundaries a bit. But it was too much. The Almighty was protective, and Crowley had pushed too far. The fabric of their relationship stretched and then it ripped and Crowley was laid bare. Exposed. No longer trusted. No longer valued. No longer Good.

They say malice drips, but this had been a slow collection. The words gathered in the messenger angel’s mouth as he explained what was going on, like the last drops of honey hanging from the bottom of the bottle, collecting before they all come out at once. This malice was forceful, thrown, hitting Crowley directly as he worked to keep his posture. How do you tell someone they’ve fallen? “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

He saw Gabriel, his partner, his mentor and prodigy all at once, almost take a step forward, an almost comfort. Crowley stood straight and nodded his head curtly. No more words exchanged as he started walking down the corridor. His back rim-rod and his jaw set ahead as he walked, walked, don’t look back.

And now here he was, at the almost-exit. He crouched down on the ground to gather his thoughts. He couldn’t quite bring himself to complete his goodbye just yet but he wasn’t being antagonistic, wasn’t being forceful, so they left him. He was thankful he was alone, and at the same time he knew he had to leave soon. He’d never personally seen a demon cast out, but word gets around. Tales are told. Demons can’t survive in Heaven. They ache, they burn, they burn. All stars burn out, eventually.

Huddled on the ground, Crowley made himself smaller, grasping at any last semblance of safety or comfort he could find. His wings shrouded him. The wings that brought him pride and satisfaction, compliments and good favor. The wings he knew were about to change.

Almost as instantaneously as he thought it, it began. He saw the feathery tips began to crackle, stinging with electricity. Like a piece of paper lit with a match, the ashy black inched outwards. No orange flames were visible but Crowley felt the heat. He watched it, mesmerized, horrified, focusing as his being changed. It was unbearable and he twitched. Convulsed. The black spread.

He stood and his body screamed, ached, his legs felt like lead and his back was on fire. The pointed heat of his wings sped down into his hips, and out into his arms. How could Heaven have turned on him like this?His employers, his family, his home were all the opposition. Crowley was the opposition.

A few feathers fluttered down around him, singed. They smelled of smoke and must. He coughed and felt the motion ripple through him. White hot and burning. Everything burned.

He felt the need to collect the feathers but didn’t think he would be able to stand again if he dipped down. Instead, he focused on getting out. He was close to the door, the edge, the waste disposal. His mouth pulled back in a grimace, a mockery of a smile, as he willed his body to start walking, moving, leaving. Slowly, clumsily, he made his way out.

Without control. The lack of tangible direction bounced in his head, somehow managing to make itself heard amongst the screaming, burning, invisible fire that wracked his body. His peripheral vision landed on darkness now. His wings were no longer light, reflective. They were ragged and gaping and hollow and black. He stood straighter.

As much as the entirety of him felt ancient and decrepit, he made sure not to stumble. He wouldn’t fall out of Heaven. He couldn’t. They were letting him leave with a shred of dignity and he was going to hold onto it for as long as he could.

He felt the staircase at the end of the corridor before he saw it. The first thing that felt Different. He didn’t realize Heaven had a comforting thrum to it until it wasn’t there. The familiarity had vanished and he felt suffocated by the atmosphere of, well, of evil, he supposed.

Sucking in a muggy breath he took a leaden step forward, down, down the stairs. Uncooperative angel-rejects were literally pushed out of Heaven and fell through the air until they landed in a heap at Hell’s doorstep. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure why they didn’t take this route with him (he was here for being uncooperative, after all) but maybe his defiance was of a different nature, or maybe they just wanted to give him one last work perk as he took his leave. He wouldn’t have minded the fall though, necessarily, as this descent felt unending, every second, every inch, reminding him that his life was changing.

He couldn’t miracle his way down because he was cut off. Unconnected. Heaven had disowned him and Hell had not yet claimed him. He was a demon in technicality but not yet in practice and so he stood and walked, every lift of his leg ricocheting pain throughout his calves and hips. His back seared, and his nose tingled with the smell of burning flesh. He moved down. He had nowhere else to go.

Maybe Hell wouldn’t be so bad. If he was sent here for pushing the boundaries, maybe he could be even more creative. He was just transferring offices. It wasn’t as if his entire identity was being corrupted. He wondered, briefly, if Heaven would get rid of his creations. Snuff out his stars, erase his impact. What an example that would set, huh? Sounded like something they would do. But more likely, they would keep them. He would be a shameful rumor, a wound infecting everyone’s curious minds. Oh the angel that made these, well…he’s not here anymore.

Crowley coughed and waved his arm as a fly buzzed into his face. He saw the walls oozing…something, and took a deep breath to steady himself, which unfortunately felt like swallowing a far too potent mix of liquors.

Again his glance wandered towards the wings that hung behind him, seared and marked. An embarrassment. What stood out even more so, now, in this damp and dingy staircase, was his stark white robe. It wasn’t part of him, it hadn’t Changed like his wings, like his tongue, like his eyes (he was suspecting). No, it stayed, a flashy beacon to alert Hell of their newcomer. To serve as a reminder of the place, the life, he was leaving behind. The life he was exiled from.

Suddenly Crowley felt hate boiling inside of him as well, mixing nicely with the electricity still stinging, the remnants of the fire still searing. If Heaven didn’t want him then he didn’t need them. He couldn’t mope about this change too much (3) It would be good to embrace it. To accept it. To explore it.

3. But he would, it would come in spurts and he would feel overwhelmed with homesickness and it would make him nauseous and tired. He would feel exposed and try to curl up inside himself even more.

He found a rhythm as he walked through the pain, his legs off kilter and held high, marching him forward, down, down, down. And then, from a higher level to a lower level, he had arrived. The pain relegated to mere background noise as he took another sharp, deep inhale, placed his hand on the white-hot, steel-black doorknob, and opened the door.

#good omens #good omens fic #crowley #anthony j crowley #mine

[artandteaandstuff-blog]

Princes and Princesses - Part 4

Summary: Sequel to Kings and Queens. | Actor AU | Emma is finally getting used to life in the spotlight, thanks to hit TV show Kings and Queens. She has many people to help her along the way; her son, her friends and her boyfriend, Killian Jones. But changes are going to have to be made on Kings and Queens, and the world she’s getting used to is about to turn upside down, leaving her questioning if she ever really understood it at all.

Read it on FF.NET

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read Kings and Queens.

Tagging some peoples right here:

@swanandapirate @kmomof4 @katie-dub@ofshipsandswans@dreadpirateemma @weplaydumbb @alys07@broadwaysprincess@storybrookeswans @teamhook @revolutional-procrastinator@snarkycaptainswan4 @galadriel26 

Let me know if you want to be tagged! Or let me know if you would like to be un-tagged.

Chapter 4

It's not the light that wakes Emma up, even though it pours through the room, spilling out onto the floor. It's not the birds chirping, though they're loud enough to wake the whole street. And it's not the heat, though the room is stifling in the summer morning.

It's the continuous vibrations of her phone against the beside table. Still half asleep, she reaches blindly for it, fumbling on the surface. Eventually she manages to grab it, swipes it, and brings it up to her ear. It's warm.

"Mmm… 'lo?"

"Emma fucking Swan, where the fuck are you?" booms Grumpy from the other end of the line. She jumps, but it does the job - it wakes her up.

She sits up, pulling the covers with her, wrapping them around her chest. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how you haven't shown up for work and you were supposed to film an hour ago. Now we're so behind. We need you now. Where are you?" His voice trembles with anger and Emma trembles with it.

"I- uh-" Her eyes find the clock on the bedside table. It's 9:00. She's three hours late for work. "I am so sorry."

"Are you at home?"

"Yeah, I slept in?" She's not sure what else to say. She knows he won't believe anything else she says though as soon as the words leave her mouth, she can think of a million other excuses. She could be sick, she could have a family emergency with Henry. Her car could have broken down. The possibilities are endless.

"Thought so." His words are still cutting. They make Emma wince. "Killian with you?"

Emma looks over at Killian's form. He's laid on his front, giving her full view of his back, his head is turned away from her, the covers hardly covering him - except where it counts. She's surprised he hasn't woken up due to Grumpy's shouting, but he's dead to the world.

"Uh… no?"

"Don't lie to me. I saw the paper this morning - you were out on a date last night. Do me a favour and save the fucking for when you're off, okay?"

She hears Belle's gasp of, "Leroy! You can't say that!" from the other end of the line.

Emma opens her mouth to speak but he's still going at it. "I can say what I like. It's like working with teenagers."

"You can't speak to them like that," Belle continues, her voice muffled. "What they do outside of work is none of your bus-"

"It is if it's holding us up." To Emma, he spits, "Get ready. Have showers, do whatever. Just get here within the hour, for God's sake."

He hangs up without saying goodbye and Emma is left to stare at the phone with a slightly open mouth. She throws it across the bed, frightened it might bite her. Or worse, in case Grumpy rings again. She shakes her head, trying to shake away the embarrassment, but it doesn't work.

"Killian," she says, horrified.

He doesn't move; he doesn't even make a noise.

"Killian."

Silence.

She throws a cushion at his head. "Killian, get up. God's sake."

Like a statue coming to life, he groans. "Good morning to you too," he murmurs into the pillow, his voice thick with sleep. She watches as he uses his arms to hitch himself up, the muscles in his back quivering as he does so.

He turns to face her. His mouth is faintly stained with her lipstick, as is his neck and his shoulder. She touches her fingertips to her own mouth, knowing she probably mirrors him.

"You need to get up," she says.

"But I'm exhausted."

"Killian-"

"Shh, I'm blissfully happy. I could melt into the bed. I could never move again. In fact, I think I might not." He closes his eyes. "Why aren't you? Last night was-"

"I don't care. Get up."

"You're killing my buzz."

She throws another pillow at his head. "This isn't a joke. Look at the time."

His eyes travel lazily from her face to the clock beside her. His eyes widen when he takes in the time. He sits up, the bed groaning underneath him. His eyes flicker from the clock to her face.

"Bloody hell," he hisses.

"Grumpy just called me. He's going to destroy us."

"No… no, he won't." He runs a hand through his hair, which is already sticking up in all directions. "Because we'll tell him that there was a family emergency. Your boy- he was throwing up all night. You were up with him. I was… uh, helping."

She gives him a look. "And you honestly think he'll believe that? We just have to get ready and get there as soon as possible. They're already running super behind because of us." Her heart is pounding in her chest. "I need a shower."

She gets up, pulling the covers around her, wrapping them around herself like a bath sheet. It's not that she's shy of her body - she never has been - but she's shy of him looking at her body, as strange as it seems.

Killian gets up too. Without the covers, he stands, stretching, completely naked. Why are you so relaxed, she wants to scream at him. Any other time, it would be fine. Today, it's infuriating.

"Okay, let's go." He follows her.

She turns, placing a hand on his chest. "Hang on, what?"

"Come on, love, be sensible. We need to shower together to save time. Simple."

Just like that, he walks past her into the bathroom and turns the shower on. Shaking her head, she follows him. As it turns out, they take even longer.

By the time they get on set everyone has stopped for a break. The majority of actors are in the cafeteria. Emma spots the usual suspects sat at a big rectangle table in the middle of the room. They're chatting between each other, eating apples, stuffing sandwiches in their mouths, sipping on coffees.

She notices a few actors she doesn't recognise sat on another table. They're making polite conversation, but not talking how her table usually talks. She just has time to see a woman with half black, half white hair and a man with a whole load of stubble before her eyes fly back to her table.

Will turns around and looks right at Emma and Killian as they cross the room.

"Whaaaaaay-" he shouts, loud enough for the whole set to hear. "They've arrived!"

Everyone turns to face them. Emma's face flames but she flips her hair over her shoulder and holds her chin up high. The whole table claps and cheers, banging their feet on the floor and their hands on the table as they approach.

"Alright," Killian snaps as he slides into a chair. Emma follows suit. "Alright, enough. We're avoiding Grumpy."

"Yeah, you don't want to face Grumpy," Elsa says before taking a sip of water. She watches Emma with amused eyes. "He's going to skin you alive."

"I don't doubt it," Emma says.

"Not you, Emma. Killian. You're his favourite and he thinks Killian has corrupted you enough." She smirks. "And after this morning…"

"Speaking of this morning," Robin snorts. "How was your date?"

"It was grand, thanks," Killian says, with as much dignity as he can muster. "I had pasta, Emma had ribs."

"But what did you have for dessert?" he chortles.

"Something you haven't had for a long time, mate."

That shuts him up. Robin takes a bite of his apple, throws Killian a glare and leans back in his seat. Emma's lips twitch into a smile. The whole journey to set, her heart was pounding. Now she's here, she can relax a little bit. Her shoulders begin to untense, even more so when Killian drapes an arm around her and kisses her forehead.

They run into Grumpy when filming. Emma's surprised when he doesn't say anything, but then she realises why. Isaac stands near him, trailing him, watching his every move with that weird, cat-like grin.

They're in the throne room. Emma's hair is already weighing her down, thanks to the amount of product Ariel put into it.

Killian looks dashing in his costume. She loves it when he's wearing his full king-ly outfit, complete with the long jacket and golden embroidery. He looks so handsome. She wonders if she can convince him to steal it, if just for one night.

Grumpy is in the midst of talking to Will, who has a scene with Killian in a minute. Their heads are bowed together, muttering quickly and quietly, which is a first for Grumpy. Isaac resides near them, hanging on their every word.

Emma narrows her eyes as she watches him. She turns to Killian to comment on him, only to find his eyes are on Isaac too. They're also narrowed, dark with mistrust. That's when Isaac turns his head and looks directly at them. Emma doesn't look away. Isaac does.

After Grumpy finishes talking to Will, he makes his way over to them. Here we go, thinks Emma. She braces herself for whatever lecture he's about to give, ready to apologise and promise to never be late again, meaning it.

But he doesn't lecture them. He just looks between them.

"You guys ready?" he asks. "You remember what you have to do for this scene?"

"Yeah."

"Aye," says Killian. When Grumpy turns away, Killian grabs his arm. "Listen, I'm-"

Grumpy waves him away. "Don't worry about it, brother. We filmed another scene in your place. You can make it up tomorrow."

Killian releases his arm, his face mirroring the surprise on Emma's. That face quickly darkens when he sees Isaac walking towards them, his feet hardly touching the floor. He comes up a stop between them and looks between their faces, still wearing that smile.

"Good morning. I haven't had a chance to speak to you yet, but you're Emma Swan, aren't you?"

She frowns. "Yeah…"

"I thought I'd come over and say hello. I'm trying to speak to each person individually, but I've been looking forward to meeting you the most, Miss Swan. You're even more beautiful in person."

Her skin crawls. "Thanks…"

He clasps his hands together. "I look forward to working with you."

"Yeah, me too," Though she's still frowning.

She looks at Killian, wondering if Isaac is going to mention him at all, or even look at him. When it becomes apparent he won't, Killian holds out his hand.

"Killian Jones," he says. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I know who you are." His face remains expressionless as he shakes his hand. "You're the one who was late yesterday during my introduction."

"Ah, about that-" He scratches the back of his neck.

"A misunderstanding, I'm sure." He gives an icy smile. "The same misunderstanding as this morning, I take it, when you were three hours late for work?"

Killian gives an awkward laugh. "What can I say-"

"I hope you know, Mr. Jones that I don't appreciate laziness, not when I'm in charge. I expect everyone to work to a schedule. Call me… demanding, but I guess being a writer had taught me how to properly utilize deadlines."

For once, Killian is stuck on what to say. He frowns at him, staring. Isaac stares back with beetle-like eyes. It's unforgiving.

"A-actually," Emma begins, looking between the two men. "I was late too. It was my fault, actually. Don't blame Killian for this."

"Yeah," says Grumpy. Emma hadn't even realised he was behind them until he steps into view beside Killian, patting him on the back. "Killian is never late. He's always early, in fact. Am I right, brother?" There's an awkward silence where no-one says anything. "He's one of our best actors, in professionalism and performance."

Isaac's cold eyes move from Grumpy to Killian. "That remains to be seen." He turns on his heel and walks off, over to Will who's in the midst of going through his lines.

Emma, Killian and Grumpy all look at each other.

Emma doesn't meet any of the new actors until later in the day, during a break from a scene. She stands in the cafeteria line, browsing the menu, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. She doesn't really want a hot meal - she's too warm, especially in her costume.

Maybe a sandwich will do. It's a shame they don't serve ice lollies.

"Can you recommend anything?" comes a male voice from beside her.

Emma turns to see a man with dark hair and a dusting of stubble looking up at the menu. He folds his arms and looks back down at her, raising his eyebrows.

"I'd say don't get the soup. Especially the carrot soup. It's bland."

"Noted." When they say nothing else, he holds out a hand. "Sorry, my name's August. I've just joined the cast. Today's my first day."

Emma shakes his hand. "It's nice to meet you, August. I'm Emma."

"Emma Swan, I know." His eyes seem to twinkle. He reminds her of Killian a little bit. "I don't say that to be a creep. I mean, everyone who is anyone knows who you are."

She folds her arms. "You're a fan, huh?"

"A huge fan. It was a dream came true when I realised I got the part."

They move along in the line, Emma becoming increasingly aware that she hasn't decided what she wants. "And what part is that?"

"I'm playing a prince from a rival kingdom." He grabs a muffin from the counter.

"A prince?" She didn't realise that there were going to be any new princes, or rival kingdoms, and she's read all the scripts. At her stumped expression he says, "You haven't received the new scripts yet?"

She shakes her head.

"You'll get them. I guess I got mine early because I had to audition." He shakes his head. "Man, those auditions are tough. What's the name of that director? The short one? Angry?"

"Leroy. Though we call him Grumpy." She smiles. "He's alright."

They move along the line and suddenly Emma is faced with the serving lady(?) and no idea what she wants. She picks a sandwich off the menu and orders a bottle of water. She pays quickly.

"I'll see you around, August," she says, with a smile.

"Sure. Judging by the scripts, I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

She doesn't ask him what he means by that, but is hurried along as he pays. She makes her way over to the table. It's only Graham there at the moment, everyone else in the middle of the scenes. Killian has a long one with Elsa where they'll be confronting each other on the feelings of the king's death.

Graham is dressed in costume too - old servant rags.

"Who's that?" he asks, as Emma sits next to him.

She tucks herself in. "August. He's one of the new actors, apparently. He's a fan."

"He looks a bit like Killian."

"You think?"

"He has his… aesthetic."

Emma chuckles. "I bet Killian won't like that."

"Did he say who he was playing?"

"A prince."

"A prince?" Graham looks just as confused as Emma did, the space between his eyebrows dimpling as he frowns. "Since when do we have other princes?"

"It's a rival kingdom. He said that apparently we're gonna be having a lot of scenes together." She lowers her voice as she meets Graham's eyes. "What do you think that means?"

"No idea. But I'll tell you what, Emma. I have a bad feeling about this."

Emma bites into her sandwich, trying to push down bad feelings of her own.

#cs au #cs ff #captain swan

[tipsoctopus]

Opinion: Nobody emerges with any dignity from Man City's controversial 'Allez Allez' video

As a match-going Manchester City supporter I cannot recall first hearing the bastardised version of Liverpool’s ‘Allez Allez Allez’ song. Like most chants it seemed to appear from nowhere and quickly it became established as a firm favourite in the South Stand songbook. Personally I have never sung it – or at least not all of it – and there are two valid reasons for that. Where I sit in the Colin Bell it is not possible to even shout out generic encouragement to the lads without receiving a withering stare, as if you’re up to no good. And there is a line in the song that has never sat right with me.

That is not to say that I didn’t find – and still find – the overall sentiment to the song amusing. A ribbing of Reds once again getting all carried away and believing a major piece of silverware – in this instance the Champions League of last year – was their destiny. Ultimately they ended up empty-handed while Raheem Sterling – a player who the Anfield faithful boo and hate on remorselessly – won a double. What’s not to like about such schadenfreude? Well, there’s that line but we will come to that.

Before we do though perhaps it might be necessary to whizz through a quick potted history of how the song came to be. I’ll skim because most reading this will already be very familiar with what follows.

Antagonism between Liverpool and Manchester City first intensified from a historic dislike of one another grounded in geography when both clubs became embroiled in a fiercely contested title race back in 2013/14 and the fixture schedules demanded that City travelled to Anfield late in the season. The encounter coincided with the 25th anniversary of Hillsborough and City fans were impeccable that day. They respectfully mourned during the minute’s silence. They held aloft a large banner declaring their solidarity with Liverpool.

In return the Eccles supporter’s branch coach was vandalised with stones on route to the ground. Every touch from a City player was loudly booed throughout. A loud cheer went up when Yaya Toure went off injured.

All of which – particularly given the circumstances – sickened me then and sickens me now and the response (to the latter two examples, not the coach attack) from Reds afterwards was interesting to say the least. Man up. Whatever it takes to disrupt a rival and win a game of football is fair game. Right, okay.

At the end of that season Raheem Sterling swapped a red shirt for blue and the reaction from Liverpool the club and its fans made Figo’s move from Barcelona to Real Madrid appear positively harmonious. It’s a hysteria that has only recently abated. It’s a hysteria that indirectly led to a sustained media witch-hunt of a thoroughly decent kid.

Sometime later Sadio Mane was sent off at the Etihad after inadvertently kicking Ederson in the head. Clearly there was no intention behind the incident yet it was still a red card all day long which made Liverpool supporters’ reaction to it – as if it were the greatest injustice ever committed on a football pitch – somewhat bizarre. Ederson meanwhile became a boo-boy to them for that: for having his face smashed to smithereens by boot studs.

Late last season came the most fractious episode of all when Manchester City’s team coach was vandalised so badly outside Anfield ahead of a Champions League quarter final that it required a replacement vehicle to take them home. It was a hostile ‘welcome’ taken too far and it was one too that was planned publicly beforehand with online flyers doing the rounds on social media. The Merseyside police for their part helpfully informed Liverpool fans of a change of route thus – to this writer’s perception – facilitating the attack.

As for Reds they responded to the holy rumpus that followed with mockery and pride. It was their actions, they insisted that helped traumatise the players and bring about a 3-0 victory for the home side that evening. More so they also deemed to take offence in the ensuing fall-out. There is a Manchester Evening News journalist who still today receives all manner of grief for claiming stones were thrown at the bus whereas in fact it was bottles. The offence taken at this strangely equals that of City’s at having their players attacked simply for arriving at a football match.

Regardless, their progress past City pitted them against Roma and then it was onto the final in Ukraine and, as their continental adventure continued, so their ‘Allez Allez Allez’ song that celebrated their conquering of all of Europe got louder and louder to the point where it felt ubiquitous.

So perhaps in hindsight it was inevitable that, when it all fell apart so spectacularly in the final, defeated by Real Madrid and with Mo Salah injured, a corruption of that song by City fans was always going to be penned. The lyrics to City’s version, for point of reference are below.

All the way to Kiev,

To end up in defeat,

Crying in the stands,

And battered in the streets,

Ramos injured Salah,

Victims of it all,

Sterling won the double,

And the Scousers won f*** all,

Allez, Allez, Allez.

On Tuesday evening I was out having a meal with my wife. As someone who writes about football for a living the final week of the season is obviously a hectic time and I had been working pretty much non-stop. On top of this as a City fan the toxicity between my club and its title rivals had begun to consume me, eat me up. I was banned from saying the word ‘Liverpool’ in the house, put it that way.

This then was a symbolic evening: a chance to draw a line under it all and look forward to a summer concentrating on transfers. No-one sends me threats or tries to get me sacked when I write about transfers.

Only halfway through the meal my phone began chirping incessantly as Liverpool fans asked what I made of a leaked video that had come to light, a video that showed Manchester City players singing the corrupted ‘Allez’ song. Immediately I thought this: if what they’re claiming is correct then not only will Reds be justified in feeling extremely aggrieved at this but a lot will be made of it.

My accompanying thought was of Manchester United’s Europa League win in 2016, a game that took place just two days after the Manchester bombing. That night Manchester City fans congratulated United on social media. The club did likewise and furthermore put up a tweet declaring that the city was united. Jesse Lingard meanwhile in the dressing room celebrations orchestrated a song that included the line: why don’t City f*** off home.

The sheer idiocy of this floored me.

At the earliest opportunity I watched the video and even after a few times it is unclear which players are involved, if any at all (incidentally how can an employee of Manchester City have such a rubbish phone?). That is by the by though. A group of people in the employment of City are shown singing a song that solely belongs on the terraces and even that is questionable.

The furore was swift and predominantly concentrated on two lines, the first of which is the one I’ve always had a problem with: victims of it all.

Within the context of the song the disparaging noun is quite obviously referring to Salah’s injury and the ludicrous petition that started up soon after demanding that Sergio Ramos be banned. Indeed it directly follows it in the song – Ramos injured Salah, victims of it all. In a broader sense it evokes Heysel and the sustained failure of Liverpool fans to take any responsibility for what occurred that awful evening. There are also examples given above of Liverpool fans’ propensity to react to any wrongdoing by projecting grievances of their own.

Yet here’s the thing – the only thing that matters really. When Liverpool supporters hear the word ‘victim’ they think of Hillsborough.

And how can they not when you consider the utterly egregious and drawn out fight they were forced to undertake to right the wrongful perceptions put about by the media and establishment concerning that awful day. The manner in which blame was attached to grieving innocent fans is something that will stain society for a long time to come and that was compounded when those that doubted the miscarriage of justice cast them as ‘victims’. Again that’s a stain that we would do well to not forget.

So what we have here then, should we press pause for a moment is a misunderstanding; an unsavoury one certainly but a crossing of messages nonetheless. One side means one thing. The other side interprets it another way.

Yet should we play on, the dynamic of this misunderstanding changes considerably. Because it only takes a momentary dropping of bias and the grasping of common sense to acknowledge that most people – by which I mean supporters of every denomination – are perfectly aware that using the word ‘victim’ is interpreted by Liverpool supporters to be a dog-whistle for Hillsborough.

If that is accepted what is the using of that word – along with the phrase it has a direct lineage to: always the victims, never your fault – for if not to have the ‘best of both worlds’. By this I mean the chance to sing about a trait of a rival fan-base that you feel legitimately warrants criticism or mockery, while additionally knowing deep down that they are receiving it very differently and feeling deeply offended and hurt as a consequence. If so, what kind of sick ‘bonus’ is that?

The second line that has become a serious bone of contention also concerns crossed purposes. The ‘battered in the streets’ line refers to Ukrainian ultras fighting with Liverpool supporters ahead of last season’s final. Again the context is clear from the song: Crying in the stand, battered in the streets.

Reds ,however, insist it is about the horrendous and brutal attack on Sean Cox by a Roma supporter outside Anfield thirteen months ago that resulted in the 53-year-old spending a long period in a neurological unit.

It’s not. It’s really not and City fans have told and told and told Liverpool supporters this with such regularity and vehemence that you suspect there is a contrivance to project extra, intensified offence at something where offence is justified anyway (it is after all still a celebration of their own getting beaten up).

It is hoped that Reds will perhaps question why City supporters insist on correcting this misunderstanding in such numbers. Is it because they are shamed by it being about Sean Cox? If so surely they would not sing the song in the first place (and it is worth remembering at this juncture that it is not a hardcore minority who sing the song but a large and wide demographic). Is it a ‘trick’ then, with Blues laughing away in private after convincing Reds otherwise? Again, a nonsensical suggestion because football fans don’t work in this way. We have learned from Liverpool in 2014 and through a heavily vandalised coach that the rule is whatever it takes to disrupt a rival right?

More so, City have had to take on board their own suffering when a Blue was induced into a coma after being assaulted at Schalke this season. Lastly – and this cannot be put across strongly enough – City supporters are not depraved psychopaths who laugh at individuals in comas.

Still though, as just stated, the line does refer to supporters being beaten up in Ukraine and this brings us back to the video and Manchester City players and staff singing about this. That’s not a good look. Nor is their scoffing at a fellow professional in Mo Salah getting injured.

That ultimately is my take on this regrettable incident. It’s not a good look and Liverpool fans have every right to be incensed by it.

So where does this leave us? It leaves us with a rivalry that was already toxic now worsening to a dangerous level that requires calmer and cleverer heads than my own to step in and subdue the ill-feeling.

As for me, I am looking forward to the summer now more than ever. For a chance to have a pint or three with Liverpool supporting mates without our teams encroaching into the conversation. A chance to be civilised without twenty-two men kicking around a ball making us display the very worst of our nature.

from FootballFanCast.com http://bit.ly/2EjB41z via IFTTT from Blogger http://bit.ly/2JSzbfU via IFTTT

#FootballFanCast.com

[mancitynoise]

As a match-going Manchester City supporter I cannot recall first hearing the bastardised version of Liverpool’s ‘Allez Allez Allez’ song. Like most chants it seemed to appear from nowhere and quickly it became established as a firm favourite in the South Stand songbook. Personally I have never sung it – or at least not all of it – and there are two valid reasons for that. Where I sit in the Colin Bell it is not possible to even shout out generic encouragement to the lads without receiving a withering stare, as if you’re up to no good. And there is a line in the song that has never sat right with me.

That is not to say that I didn’t find – and still find – the overall sentiment to the song amusing. A ribbing of Reds once again getting all carried away and believing a major piece of silverware – in this instance the Champions League of last year – was their destiny. Ultimately they ended up empty-handed while Raheem Sterling – a player who the Anfield faithful boo and hate on remorselessly – won a double. What’s not to like about such schadenfreude? Well, there’s that line but we will come to that.

Before we do though perhaps it might be necessary to whizz through a quick potted history of how the song came to be. I’ll skim because most reading this will already be very familiar with what follows.

Antagonism between Liverpool and Manchester City first intensified from a historic dislike of one another grounded in geography when both clubs became embroiled in a fiercely contested title race back in 2013/14 and the fixture schedules demanded that City travelled to Anfield late in the season. The encounter coincided with the 25th anniversary of Hillsborough and City fans were impeccable that day. They respectfully mourned during the minute’s silence. They held aloft a large banner declaring their solidarity with Liverpool.

In return the Eccles supporter’s branch coach was vandalised with stones on route to the ground. Every touch from a City player was loudly booed throughout. A loud cheer went up when Yaya Toure went off injured.

All of which – particularly given the circumstances – sickened me then and sickens me now and the response (to the latter two examples, not the coach attack) from Reds afterwards was interesting to say the least. Man up. Whatever it takes to disrupt a rival and win a game of football is fair game. Right, okay.

At the end of that season Raheem Sterling swapped a red shirt for blue and the reaction from Liverpool the club and its fans made Figo’s move from Barcelona to Real Madrid appear positively harmonious. It’s a hysteria that has only recently abated. It’s a hysteria that indirectly led to a sustained media witch-hunt of a thoroughly decent kid.

Sometime later Sadio Mane was sent off at the Etihad after inadvertently kicking Ederson in the head. Clearly there was no intention behind the incident yet it was still a red card all day long which made Liverpool supporters’ reaction to it – as if it were the greatest injustice ever committed on a football pitch – somewhat bizarre. Ederson meanwhile became a boo-boy to them for that: for having his face smashed to smithereens by boot studs.

Late last season came the most fractious episode of all when Manchester City’s team coach was vandalised so badly outside Anfield ahead of a Champions League quarter final that it required a replacement vehicle to take them home. It was a hostile ‘welcome’ taken too far and it was one too that was planned publicly beforehand with online flyers doing the rounds on social media. The Merseyside police for their part helpfully informed Liverpool fans of a change of route thus – to this writer’s perception – facilitating the attack.

As for Reds they responded to the holy rumpus that followed with mockery and pride. It was their actions, they insisted that helped traumatise the players and bring about a 3-0 victory for the home side that evening. More so they also deemed to take offence in the ensuing fall-out. There is a Manchester Evening News journalist who still today receives all manner of grief for claiming stones were thrown at the bus whereas in fact it was bottles. The offence taken at this strangely equals that of City’s at having their players attacked simply for arriving at a football match.

Regardless, their progress past City pitted them against Roma and then it was onto the final in Ukraine and, as their continental adventure continued, so their ‘Allez Allez Allez’ song that celebrated their conquering of all of Europe got louder and louder to the point where it felt ubiquitous.

So perhaps in hindsight it was inevitable that, when it all fell apart so spectacularly in the final, defeated by Real Madrid and with Mo Salah injured, a corruption of that song by City fans was always going to be penned. The lyrics to City’s version, for point of reference are below.

All the way to Kiev,

To end up in defeat,

Crying in the stands,

And battered in the streets,

Ramos injured Salah,

Victims of it all,

Sterling won the double,

And the Scousers won f*** all,

Allez, Allez, Allez.

On Tuesday evening I was out having a meal with my wife. As someone who writes about football for a living the final week of the season is obviously a hectic time and I had been working pretty much non-stop. On top of this as a City fan the toxicity between my club and its title rivals had begun to consume me, eat me up. I was banned from saying the word ‘Liverpool’ in the house, put it that way.

This then was a symbolic evening: a chance to draw a line under it all and look forward to a summer concentrating on transfers. No-one sends me threats or tries to get me sacked when I write about transfers.

Only halfway through the meal my phone began chirping incessantly as Liverpool fans asked what I made of a leaked video that had come to light, a video that showed Manchester City players singing the corrupted ‘Allez’ song. Immediately I thought this: if what they’re claiming is correct then not only will Reds be justified in feeling extremely aggrieved at this but a lot will be made of it.

My accompanying thought was of Manchester United’s Europa League win in 2016, a game that took place just two days after the Manchester bombing. That night Manchester City fans congratulated United on social media. The club did likewise and furthermore put up a tweet declaring that the city was united. Jesse Lingard meanwhile in the dressing room celebrations orchestrated a song that included the line: why don’t City f*** off home.

The sheer idiocy of this floored me.

At the earliest opportunity I watched the video and even after a few times it is unclear which players are involved, if any at all (incidentally how can an employee of Manchester City have such a rubbish phone?). That is by the by though. A group of people in the employment of City are shown singing a song that solely belongs on the terraces and even that is questionable.

The furore was swift and predominantly concentrated on two lines, the first of which is the one I’ve always had a problem with: victims of it all.

Within the context of the song the disparaging noun is quite obviously referring to Salah’s injury and the ludicrous petition that started up soon after demanding that Sergio Ramos be banned. Indeed it directly follows it in the song – Ramos injured Salah, victims of it all. In a broader sense it evokes Heysel and the sustained failure of Liverpool fans to take any responsibility for what occurred that awful evening. There are also examples given above of Liverpool fans’ propensity to react to any wrongdoing by projecting grievances of their own.

Yet here’s the thing – the only thing that matters really. When Liverpool supporters hear the word ‘victim’ they think of Hillsborough.

And how can they not when you consider the utterly egregious and drawn out fight they were forced to undertake to right the wrongful perceptions put about by the media and establishment concerning that awful day. The manner in which blame was attached to grieving innocent fans is something that will stain society for a long time to come and that was compounded when those that doubted the miscarriage of justice cast them as ‘victims’. Again that’s a stain that we would do well to not forget.

So what we have here then, should we press pause for a moment is a misunderstanding; an unsavoury one certainly but a crossing of messages nonetheless. One side means one thing. The other side interprets it another way.

Yet should we play on, the dynamic of this misunderstanding changes considerably. Because it only takes a momentary dropping of bias and the grasping of common sense to acknowledge that most people – by which I mean supporters of every denomination – are perfectly aware that using the word ‘victim’ is interpreted by Liverpool supporters to be a dog-whistle for Hillsborough.

If that is accepted what is the using of that word – along with the phrase it has a direct lineage to: always the victims, never your fault – for if not to have the ‘best of both worlds’. By this I mean the chance to sing about a trait of a rival fan-base that you feel legitimately warrants criticism or mockery, while additionally knowing deep down that they are receiving it very differently and feeling deeply offended and hurt as a consequence. If so, what kind of sick ‘bonus’ is that?

The second line that has become a serious bone of contention also concerns crossed purposes. The ‘battered in the streets’ line refers to Ukrainian ultras fighting with Liverpool supporters ahead of last season’s final. Again the context is clear from the song: Crying in the stand, battered in the streets.

Reds ,however, insist it is about the horrendous and brutal attack on Sean Cox by a Roma supporter outside Anfield thirteen months ago that resulted in the 53-year-old spending a long period in a neurological unit.

It’s not. It’s really not and City fans have told and told and told Liverpool supporters this with such regularity and vehemence that you suspect there is a contrivance to project extra, intensified offence at something where offence is justified anyway (it is after all still a celebration of their own getting beaten up).

It is hoped that Reds will perhaps question why City supporters insist on correcting this misunderstanding in such numbers. Is it because they are shamed by it being about Sean Cox? If so surely they would not sing the song in the first place (and it is worth remembering at this juncture that it is not a hardcore minority who sing the song but a large and wide demographic). Is it a ‘trick’ then, with Blues laughing away in private after convincing Reds otherwise? Again, a nonsensical suggestion because football fans don’t work in this way. We have learned from Liverpool in 2014 and through a heavily vandalised coach that the rule is whatever it takes to disrupt a rival right?

More so, City have had to take on board their own suffering when a Blue was induced into a coma after being assaulted at Schalke this season. Lastly – and this cannot be put across strongly enough – City supporters are not depraved psychopaths who laugh at individuals in comas.

Still though, as just stated, the line does refer to supporters being beaten up in Ukraine and this brings us back to the video and Manchester City players and staff singing about this. That’s not a good look. Nor is their scoffing at a fellow professional in Mo Salah getting injured.

That ultimately is my take on this regrettable incident. It’s not a good look and Liverpool fans have every right to be incensed by it.

So where does this leave us? It leaves us with a rivalry that was already toxic now worsening to a dangerous level that requires calmer and cleverer heads than my own to step in and subdue the ill-feeling.

As for me, I am looking forward to the summer now more than ever. For a chance to have a pint or three with Liverpool supporting mates without our teams encroaching into the conversation. A chance to be civilised without twenty-two men kicking around a ball making us display the very worst of our nature.

#FootballFanCast #News

[greyheartedmoon]

Things I believe in

Ghosts Magic An all-powerful and omnipotent deity The right to religious freedom for all people, nations and parties (I celebrate the Jewish, Muslim, and Pagan communities, for example! I love you guys!) Reading good books (I really love fiction….? Wilkie Collins, Makepeace Thackeray, Deborah Harkness, Holly Black, Diana Galbadon, Jim Butcher, and so many more) That there is absolutely NO form of acceptable assault – not only in the stereotypical ‘lone woman in an alley’ form (don’t get me wrong! That is awful!), but also the casual kind: mocking a Trans individual at a bar, touching African American women’s hair and calling it ‘soft’ (tip: its fucking hair??? What were you expecting???), yelling slurs at a Muslim man in the street, etc. [I use ‘African American’ because I happen to live in America; no offense intended to African-Europeans etc. I don’t mean to imply, either, that some forms of assault are worse than others] Kittens are pretty adorable Treating members of the service community like garbage is unacceptable; they are human beings and they are providing a necessary service to society 1. Racism is very real and it definitely still exists – if you say otherwise, you are part of the problem, whether that denial is born of ignorance, stubbornness, or actual bigoted behavior(s) 2. Misogyny is very real, and it definitely still exists 3. White men DO have privilege – so do white women, if not in the same way 4. Rape Culture is a very real thing 5. Sexism is a very real thing 6. Hate Crimes are a very real thing 7. Male sexual assault is a very real thing If you denied 1-7, YOU ARE PART OF THE PROBLEM. I’m white as you can get, and it’s only by paying attention to the people around me that I’m slowly realizing this. Staying silent is staying ignorant; I want to learn. If I ever say something that offends you, please let me know. Social mores and/or other accepted behavior, if it leads to stereotyping and stigmas, should not be tolerated. Special star to assuming African Americans are criminals/poor and insulting the mentally handicapped – those just happen to be common in the city where I live, which is why I bring them up. Assumptions, when proven incorrect, should be let go. People can lose arguments, but few will admit it – that is a problem. You need to know when you are wrong, because there’s so much more to life than being right. Part of that is growth. If you do win an argument, accept it with grace. Let people finish their freaking sentences!! If you only heard 2/3s of my sentence and you tell me I’m wrong, you thought it before I opened my mouth. Big problem. Gentlemen, I am thinking especially of you…. It’s a thing. If you don’t believe me, I ask that you go to a public space and pay attention to a conversation with men and women. Notice how often the women get to finish their sentences. It’s even worse in work places. Feminism doesn’t mean hating men (though, like any social group, there are extremists who may promote such inexcusable behavior), but rather an equality for all gender groups [the well-known comparison is men and women] Prejudice is unacceptable: against people with mental illness, against people with tattoos/facial piercings, telling all young people they should just accept things, telling all elderly folks that they’re all the same…. Things like that. They’re born of learned behavior. You should know better. Challenge what you see, people, or you become part of the problem. Finger-pointing solves nothing, no matter how tempting it may actually be – try statements like ‘I am part of the problem’ rather than ‘Well, if you >[political party slurs]< hadn’t >thing<…!’ Bees deserve our protection, and they’re being ignored. Some, if not most, of the media walks a very perilous line. I won’t use the word “corrupt”, but I will say there are very potent holes in some stories, and that their attempts at editing content/story picking definitely upsets me. (This is only from my experience; I don’t mean to vilify anyone.) Unlike people who falsely offer aid and support, I mean it when I tell people my door is open. I want to listen to you. I do want to help. Message me, anonymously if you must. Not only for emotional conflictions, either. Feeling lonely, guilty, angry or sad? Struggling with self-harm? Working on a new book? Did you finish a bomb-ass painting? Did you get cast in a play? Hear a funny joke? I want to hear from you. I would legitimately, absolutely, love to hear from you. Please, please hit me up. I’m not a doctor, true…. But you are not alone. Minimum wage is not livable. If you live on MW, you are not living in most cases, but simply enduring. I make 12.00/h (when MW is 7.25/h), and I’m barely getting by right now. (I’m also supporting two people and paying more than half of the bills, as well as most of our share of rent)(Just to put that in perspective for you) It’s okay to have unpopular opinions. Just… pay attention that you don’t let that unpopular opinion warp you into a nasty person. Seriously, it’s a hard thing; I’m just learning it myself. Standing Rock did not deserve to be manipulated like it was, and this pipeline is an inexcusable and poor choice. Mental illness is hard to live with, but harder to live with if you don’t take care of it properly. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have emotional support or the odd mental health day, but I am saying that you still have to take accountability for your behavior. Americans should have free healthcare, and, unless we can get Democrats and Republicans to work together, we aren’t going to get it. I’m also going to throw in that the COST of most medications and doctor visits is ASTRONOMICALLY overpriced. Shame on you; I shouldn’t have to skip meals to see my doctor. College should be free. It is an achievable goal, but it has been swallowed and stomped on – mostly by sheer human greed. If you say you’re going to do something, do it. If you don’t want to do something, don’t agree to do it. It isn’t only yourself that you hurt by failing to do these things. Basic propriety is, sadly, going to hell – I very rarely hear ‘thank you’, or ‘you’re welcome’, or ‘good morning’. Guys…. This stuff is important. So important… and if we don’t start showing each other respect, it’s only going to get worse. Women’s bodies should not be controlled by men’s votes. (Say it with me: PLANNED PARENTHOOD DOES SO MUCH MORE THAN ABORTIONS!!!) Further, women do have a right to an abortion. There is not an equal distribution of wealth in this country. Men and women who have great money… don’t share it. They can drive a car worth more than I make in a year, but some don’t know the names of their butlers, don’t care if they take care of their employees. That is a problem. That is what leads to revolutions –and that’s where our country is slowly heading. If you use racial slurs or hate speech, I consider you a horrible person. There is no such thing as a funny joke that marginalizes a sex, gender, race or religion. If you abuse children, your partner, animals, or anyone else, I also consider you a horrible person. If you use your religion, whatever that might be, to excuse telling other people they are unworthy/they are going to Hell, I consider you a horrible person. Protesters do not deserve to be shot or run down in the streets. However, Protesters should not be destroying public property. Irresponsible and stupid behavior such as this actually harms the validity behind the cause you’re choosing to fight for, and you should expect more from yourselves. Only cowards run away from an argument – especially if they recognize they cannot win it. Whether or not you are vegan or vegetarian, respect the rights of others to choose. By all means, offer the relevant information if it comes up… but vilifying people, judging people, is not your job. It is not my job. Being disrespectful doesn’t make you edgy. It makes you look graceless and weak, to say nothing of the wincing we do as you slowly lose your dignity. Know better. Not everyone is trying to attack you. If they are, you prove them right with such behavior and I am very disappointed in you. Questioning a group is one thing. Calling them all corrupt is another entirely – this does not only include groups who suffer from hate, but also things like the US Government.