#and in any event i would really not call this a deliberate concerted effort at anti-choice messaging

[aeide-thea]

[cw for (non-)discussion of abortion in (fan)fiction]

stories are so interesting bc like. truly there's so much going on there wrt like. what it actually occurs to us to Examine vs what it doesn't

anyway that could be a preface to a million different sorts of posts but i'm just thinking about how the other day an author i'm subscribed to dropped a fic in a Hashtag Problematic fandom with an extensive disclaimer at the beginning abt the terms of their continued engagement with said fandom

and then there was a scene in the fic where like. a married couple find out unexpectedly that the wife is pregnant, and they've already got a few kids and seem quite taken aback at the thought of another, and the medical professional who's revealed this to them is like, 'we can get you hooked up with more reliable birth control after the baby gets here, haha,' and i was like. literally why are you jumping to 'after the baby gets here' before they've actually given you any clear cues abt whether they want it to get there at all! because frankly 'we've got the number of kids we wanted and i'm not up for having any more' is a really excellent reason to get an abortion! that comment put pressure on one side of the scale in a way that frankly i thought was totally inappropriate!

and it's just like. i feel pretty confident the author did not intend this as anti-choice messaging—it seems much likelier to me that in their head it was just like 'these characters are Married and Popping Out Sprogs and of course they'd just tack on another one no problem, let's get back to the real function of this scene, namely character/relationship development for our main pairing!' but. the impact of it is in fact anti-choice, in that it doesn't make explicit or even any room for the idea that there's even a choice to be made here; and in fact, while i get the sense that the scene is intended to establish, among other things, the medical professional's Skill at Diagnosis, it actually made them look less skillful in my eyes, because to me a really critical piece of competence in this context is 'not leaning on the scale when you present options'?

and anyway it just got me thinking like—the author had this whole disclaimer at the beginning abt Engaging With This Fandom in 2023 but like. where's their disclaimer abt having produced what's effectively, if subtly, an anti-choice narrative, at a time in which abortion access in the US is becoming increasingly, horribly restricted? because frankly at least with the fandom i knew what i was getting going in!

[blarrghe]

"Watching me while I sweat from exercising" for Dorianders because... of reasons? XD

Up on AO3 or uner the cut! (the formattinig is probably better on AO3 tumblr is the actual worst)

--

Befriending Magister Dorian Pavus continued to be the worst decision Anders had made since the one that had landed him in Tevinter in the first place. Not at the least because being friends with Magister Dorian Pavus was, on a scheduling level, practically impossible. It was almost maddening, how neither of them ever seemed to have any blighted free time. There was Dorian, very important and very busy, always rushing off to meetings or press events or fundraisers or galas, only available for a quick coffee or for trying to convince Anders to go out clubbing at two in the morning. Which, frankly, he had less than no interest in doing — for several reasons, only minimally to do with the fact that the music gave him a headache (the thought of standing by and watching Dorian dance and practice his smarmy lines on attractive club goers made up most of the rest of it). And then there was his own life, overflowing with unkempt medical notes and overdue bills, and a schedule packed with night shifts and on-call hours that made maintaining a regular sleep schedule impossible, never mind a social life. But despite all that, it was nice to have someone to talk to again. Someone passionate and revolutionary and witty and… just about as lonely as he was, so better not to go messing it up. Better to try to maintain this one terrible friendship — the only one he had that wasn't with a "work friend", or a cat. It was just a really difficult thing to do, between the unrepenting workdays and restless nights filled with dreams of his beautiful Maker-damned face.

 Dorian, however, was remarkably good at being his friend. He always managed to make time. Drew it out of thin air, it seemed, conjured it up like magic between his press conferences and business trips. He had this impossibly serendipitous way of always seeming to send a text offering to meet for coffee right as Anders' break was coming up, and thanks to his own life of impossible hours he was always amenable to a spot of caffeine well into the evening. Other times, he'd offer up an address, saying "meet me here tonight if by the end of your shift you're still alive", and Anders would reply "doubtful", and then show up later anyway to the movie theater, or concert hall, or burlesque playhouse, only to fall asleep in his seat once the lights went down — which, at the burlesque playhouse at least, everyone seemed to find incredibly amusing.

 Today, his shift would be finished at an uncommonly early hour, having started at one that was painfully so. And even though his work-to-sleep ratio for the week was currently hovering at around four to one, when a text came in from Dorian during his break that read simply, "lunch later? Meet me if you have an hour free." He cheerfully replied "I'm off at noon!" And decided to postpone his much-needed afternoon nap. Friends with Dorian, he smiled, terrible decision.

  ----

Anders did not work out. Whatever strength he had he came by naturally, by way of pushing hospital equipment around and running up and down stairs all day. His calves, as a result, were particularly firm, and he had defined, if skinny, biceps. His core was probably strong enough, what with the constant balancing act that was keeping up with his daily life, but if he had wanted abs he would probably have to do something about his diet; more protein, fewer sugary carbs, meals that weren't eaten while standing on a city bus. But a personal beauty routine had always been low on his priority list. If he was looking to impress someone, he usually tried to get his bad jokes and the somewhat trashy rebel-mage aesthetic (which he also came by naturally) to do the job for him. It was not, historically, the best strategy. But he also wasn't looking. Dorian, on the other hand, had beauty routines for his beauty routines. Apparently the way to make up for the sleeplessness of a busy life was to exercise regularly, drink exceptionally expensive vitamin concoctions (despite the fact that his friend, who was a doctor, had told him repeatedly that the vitamins in such quantities were oversaturated, contradictory, and essentially useless), and to apply a laundry list of products to one's skin and hair — that, at least, seemed to work.

And so it was that when Anders showed up at the designated spot, practically asleep on his feet and slouching eagerly off the bus towards the promise of an hour of good company and food, that he discovered that the place Dorian had instructed him to meet at was not a restaurant, or even a coffee shop, but a gym. A gym with wide glass windows facing the street, so that the gorgeous, obviously affluent, gym-membership-holders could sweat it out while on display for the benefit of all the less beautiful and less lucky passersby. Or perhaps it was the other way around, and rich people got a kick out of running in place for their health while watching working folk run breathlessly after the busses that pulled up to the dirty old bus shelter on the street outside. Anders didn't know, he didn't go to gyms. But Dorian did; he went to this gym. He paid an exorbitant membership fee and wore a tight t-shirt branded with the gym's logo while he ran himself sweaty on a treadmill, spraying fancy water into his mouth like he was advertising the stuff, and towelling himself off with the clean white towels provided while still running, panting with the efforts of his impressively athletic exertions. This, Anders discovered by staring at him as he did it, through the clear glass window from the street, his mouth falling open and throat going dry until Dorian spotted him, and he snapped his mouth shut while his cheeks went red. Dorian's cheeks were also red, a bead of sweat dripping down over one in a long glistening trail from his temple. He pressed some buttons on the treadmill, slowed down to a walk, smiled, and waved. Anders, like a dumbfounded puppet on a string, raised his hand and dropped it again, in some approximation of returning the greeting.

Ten minutes later, Dorian met Anders outside the door of the clean, white and minimalist setting of the gym's lobby with his regular (still tight) clothes on and his damp hair fragrant with some kind of rich, flower-infused cream.  

"You got here faster than I expected, sorry you had to wait."

"Good bus timing," Anders shrugged, pointedly not looking at him. One intolerable sensation at a time, and he still smelled amazing.

"You know there's an app for the schedules, GPS tracking and everything." Dorian commented. Why he knew that, when he'd probably never taken public transportation in his life, Anders couldn't guess. But then, Dorian was infinitely more organized than he was; good with schedules. Anders, meanwhile, struggled to keep his own thoughts straight, never mind the kinds of itineraries that Dorian kept. So he just nodded along, certain that he would never remember to check, or even download, the recommended app.

Dorian led them up to the intersection, and pressed the button at the crosswalk, every simple movement somehow upright and deliberate. "So, lunch? I'm starving, there's a great place across the street."

Anders glanced back at the gleaming white and chrome of the gym, and the equally sleek boutiques to either side of it. He frowned, fingering the well-worn leather billfold in his pocket. "How great?" He asked, cautiously.

"Great as in healthy, all vegan food and local produce and the like." Dorian smirked at him, and Anders made the mistake of looking at it. He blushed, and frowned some more.

"Oh, great." He said, with very little enthusiasm. A twelve dollar salad and one of those ludicrous vitamin waters, just what he and his malnourished billfold needed.

"You're a doctor, you can't live on cup noodles and granola bars all the time. It sets a bad example." Dorian berated, lightly, in return.

"At least cup noodles have salt." Anders protested, "Maybe too much, but that's better than none at all. And you know organic is just a buzzword, not everything organic is healthier. And the hoops of getting branded "Organic" just make it harder for actual family owned farmers, who grow perfectly healthy crops, to market to sellers," he ranted about it, albeit halfheartedly, until Dorian sighed and shook his head.

"Which is why I said local, not organic. And I've been, I promise they use seasonings. You really think I'd debase myself by dining somewhere that didn't know how to properly use spice?"

Anders grunted, still disapproving.

"It's good, really. You'll like it there, they have cats."

"They have…?" Anders spun to watch Dorian, squinting in confusion at him as he brightened the world about him with another one of those obnoxiously perfect smiles.

"Cats, they're all very tame. You can sit with them while you eat or play with them afterwards. An endeavour of the local animal shelter to help encourage adoption, as I understand it." Dorian explained casually. Then the light changed and he set off walking. Anders followed, significantly less grumpily, though now his stomach was turning flips for an entirely different reason besides hunger.

Forget Kirkwall, actually. Befriending Dorian was, hands down, the absolute worst decision he’d ever made.

[mayquita]

Damn You For Making Me Love You (6/15) - Don't Stop Me Now

Thank you so so much, for your likes, reblogs, kudos and comments. It means the world to me.

Beta-Reader: Thank you so much, @ultraluckycatnd​​ I couldn’t have asked for a better beta. Thank you for all your effort, your suggestions, your advice and for always being there when I needed you.

Special mention to @saraswans​​ and @onceuponaprincessworld​​​, thank you so much for your perpetual support and for believing in me and in the story. Thank you again to the moderators of the event, @captainswanbigbang​​​ for giving us this opportunity and making this possible. You all are the best :)

Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones are close friends and co-workers. And both are in love with each other. The problem? They keep their feelings secret not only to the other but also to the rest of their friends. When Elsa, Emma’s best friend and Liam, Killian’s brother and Emma’s boss find out, they decide to form an alliance and work as a team with a clear goal, to get Emma and Killian to take the next step in their relationship and confess their love for each other.

Rating: M

Word count: ~ 10700 (98k total in 15 chapters)

Ao3 / FFnet

About this chapter: New flashback from Killian’s point of view, new performance … and new attempt on Liam and Elsa’s plan. If last week's episode was one of the shortest, this is the longest. I may have gotten carried away a little by the flashback... Sorry? I hope you like it, anyway :)

//

Chapter 5: Don't Stop Me Now

Killian - Two and a half years ago

Music had always been a constant in Killian's relationship with Emma. In fact, he had been playing the guitar and singing when they first met. The memory of that first meeting always accompanied him everywhere, to the point that he kept it as something precious. 

It was impossible to forget that first moment when she entered the premises and how the lyrics of the song he was singing seemed to acquire a new meaning because of her. Certainly, she had looked like an angel, with a kind of ethereal aura surrounding her due to the way the bar lighting fell on her. That particular verse — You're just like an angel — had ended up being a kind of prelude since Emma had become the savior angel not only of The Kraken, but also of himself. 

The first look she had given him would always be etched in his memory. He had found himself unable to take his eyes from the fire of her emerald gaze. To say that he fell in love at that very moment would be an exaggeration, but he would never deny that something stirred inside him when their eyes connected. He had definitely felt a kind of electricity enveloping them.

That feeling had not only not faded away but had increased as he got to know Emma. A rather difficult task, considering that she was a reserved woman, reluctant to open herself to others. There was something about her, though, a halo of mystery surrounding her, along with her determination and her incredible talent, that kept him completely bewitched.

His brother Liam, faithful to his standard of taking care for people in need of protection of some kind, took her under his wings from the beginning in such a subtle way that Emma didn't seem to notice. Little by little, she began to trust them, letting her true nature out to bloom and with it, causing his growing feelings towards her to increase even more.

No doubt the music in its different forms had helped to strengthen his feelings since it was as if his passion had always been the soundtrack to all the experiences he had begun to share with Emma. Something that wasn't surprising considering that they spent most of their time in the bar and that he was a musician. Still, he soon began cataloging his favorite songs based on the memories associated with Emma.

The Eye of the Tiger would always be connected with one of their first conversations, back when they barely knew each other and he tried to absorb any bit of information that she allowed herself to reveal.

Livin’ on a Prayer was playing in his favorite pizza shop the first time Emma had decided to accompany them after closing the bar. She even dared to joke with them by using the song's lyrics as an excuse, alluding to the fact that she hoped that the waitress who was serving them didn't have a life like the one of Gina in the song.

The song that opened his first performance in The Kraken was Sweet Child O’ Mine, chosen by Emma. In fact, she was in charge of supervising his entire repertoire and collaborated with him on everything related to his performances on Saturdays in Concert.

There was a song that stood out above the others, though. He had soon learned to respect Emma's reservations about being open to the idea of them as a couple. He also knew that he should be patient with her, perhaps because he had been harboring feelings towards her from the beginning. She had intrigued and seduced him in equal parts, with that look full of determination, her fierce expression, and her disarming smiles. His need to know more about her was overwhelming at times, but he restrained himself, waiting for the right moment. 

The long-awaited moment came on a Monday night one and a half years after they met Emma for the first time. The evening had begun as usual, with a session of Netflix and pizza at the Jones brothers' apartment.

When the show they were watching ended, Liam decided to go to sleep, saying that he had to get up early the next day. Neither Emma nor Killian were in a hurry to call it a night, so they decided to check the set list of songs that Killian would sing next Saturday, putting the player on a low volume so as not to disturb Liam.

Killian couldn't help smiling the moment he recognized the first song by simply listening to the first chords. Don't Stop Me Now had always had that effect on him to the point that Liam had used it as a resource on several occasions when he had needed to lift Killian’s spirits. The song also seemed to have the same effect on Emma, as her lips curled into a bright smile as she began to hum the song softly.

"What?" she asked when she noticed he was staring at her.

His smile widened before answering. "Nothing, it's just that... I feel aliiive."

He chanted the last words, emulating Freddie's tone and causing, of course, Emma to roll her eyes. Still, a reluctant smile tugged at her lips before she decided to play along, much to his pleasant surprise.

"Let me guess, are you having a good time?"

"Oh yeah, I'm having a ball."

They both looked at each other for a few seconds before bursting out laughing while Freddie's voice accompanied them. It was a delight to see Emma in this way, so carefree, so relaxed, so he tried to make his brain work to continue creating situations like this that would allow her to shine even more than she normally did.

On this occasion, it seemed that he wouldn't have to make any effort because once the laughter subsided, their eyes met again, a mischievous spark crossing her gaze.

"Do you know what would make us have an even better time?" She paused deliberately while arching an eyebrow conspiratorially.

"Enlighten me, love."

"Alcohol."

That's how they ended up sharing shots — rum for him, tequila for her — while they continued to check the repertoire and sing along.

It was obvious that they were, in fact, having a good time. What Killian hadn't anticipated was that the ingested alcohol helped play into a sudden wave of nostalgia hitting him in the most unexpected way.

"I love this song," he commented as they listened to Another One Bites the Dust.

"Really?" she asked skeptically, narrowing her eyes. "It doesn't seem to suit you. I would say it's rather a bad-boy kind of song."

"Are you implying that I'm not a bad boy, Swan? Because maybe you would be surprised to know some aspects of my past." He was aware that it was the alcohol in his system that was speaking for him, making him use a tone that was perhaps too suggestive as he gave Emma a look full of intentions.

He wasn't surprised to see Emma rolling her eyes again before turning a little on the couch to stare at him more closely.  "So you've been a bad boy, Jones? Now I want to hear that story."

His brain had become numb enough to make him not care about the consequences of what was about to happen. After a brief hesitation, he took a new shot to drag down the emotions that struggled to emerge as he remembered his past and started to tell his story.

He told her how after his father's abandonment when he was barely fourteen he had entered a rebel stage, constantly getting into fights, smoking, drinking, and even committing some minor crimes.

He also told her that it was his brother who took him out of that spiral and put him back on the right track but that his good behavior was short-lived, much to Liam's despair.

He didn't even hesitate to tell her about Milah, ignoring how his pulse quickened and his heart hammered in his chest at the mere mention of her name. It was as if he had been accumulating all those emotions inside and finally found a way to release them, so he decided to hold on to that opportunity.

"Milah was my first love. I fell in love with her when I was just twenty years old. She was a few years older and came from a failure of a marriage, so she was looking for adventures and new experiences. It was something that I could offer her at that time although that would mean going back to my old habits. We were behaving as if we had the world at our feet and we could achieve whatever we set out to do."

Before continuing, he cast a sidelong glance at Emma. The expression on her face was indecipherable, but she was watching him closely, so he felt confident enough to keep baring his soul.

"I proposed to her a year later. Although Liam never expressed it openly, he never approved of my relationship with her. Anyway, our relationship was not meant to be since we were only engaged for six months." His voice trailed off while he took another sip of his drink, drowning out the intense emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. 

Emma reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. The corners of his lips moved slightly upward in appreciation before continuing. "She died in a car accident and… well, let's say that my brother acted like my lifeline in those days. His perpetual support was the only thing that kept me afloat. And since we're using nautical metaphors, The Kraken served to anchor me to try to forge a future, at least professionally." He didn't mention that his heart was still healing six years later, but Emma's sympathetic look seemed to indicate that she had caught the hint.

Silence fell on them for a few seconds while he felt the pressure in his chest loosen, as if he had freed himself of a burden after his confession. He expected some kind of words of encouragement from Emma and was even prepared for some expression of pity towards him. What he didn't expect was that she also decided to open her heart.

She seemed hesitant, struggling with herself, until after an almost imperceptible nod of her head, she downed the contents of her glass in one swallow and looked at him, her eyes showing a special glow.

"Well... Since it seems that this is a confession kind of night, here goes mine. I was also a bad girl. I mean, that's how they usually catalog you when you're a foster kid and you don't seem to adapt well to anything or to anyone. In my case, I was determined to live up to that description." She sounded quite restrained, but Killian did not miss the hint of bitterness in her voice. Before he could offer any gesture of support, she continued. "I ran away when I was sixteen and, like you, I got into some trouble. A few months later, I met this guy, Neal, and let's say we didn't use the most legal methods to survive."

Killian already knew from previous conversations that Emma was an orphan. She had also dropped some glimpses into her awful romantic experiences, but always without going into details. Until now.

"I fell for him like an idiot. Maybe that's why it hurt a lot more when he decided to run away and even worse, he got me involved in a crime he had committed years previously." Her voice trailed off as she clenched her jaw and averted her gaze for a moment. He debated whether he should reach for her or not but before he decided, she hardened her features and continued speaking in an unexpressive tone. "I would have ended up in prison had it not been for the fact that I was a minor and my social worker decided to take pity on me. She worked hard until I got included in a program that would help me graduate from high school and prepare me to gain entrance into college."

Only when she paused for another drink did Killian realize that he had been holding his breath. He also noticed that he had his right hand curled into a fist to the point that his knuckles turned white, such was the tension he felt when he heard Emma's story. He was aware that there was still more to come, but at least the worst part seemed to have passed since Emma's expression eased a little, much to his relief.

"And that's where the Arendelle sisters come in. Anna was my roommate during college but Elsa lived relatively close to the campus and we saw her quite often. You already know how Elsa is, always wanting to take care of others. For some reason, she seemed to be fond of me and took me under her wings, involving me in all kinds of activities and inviting me to spend every vacation together with them."

Killian liked Elsa. She was a kind, caring person, who always had a gentle smile or words of encouragement for the people around her. He was aware that the connection between Emma and Elsa was stronger than that with Anna, probably because they were more alike and because Emma saw Elsa as a kind of older sister since Elsa was four years older. He was thankful that chance or fate had put the two sisters in Emma's path, thus giving her the support she deserved after a childhood marked by loneliness.

"Well, that seems like it hasn't changed over time. I mean Elsa and her tendency to take care of the people around her."

"You're right, of course. In fact, during the time I was in New York after finishing college, she called me constantly to make sure I was eating enough." She sounded annoyed but the smile that appeared on her face was full of affection. "Speaking of New York," she paused for a moment, her expression becoming more serious. "We're already reaching the last chapter of Emma's pathetic life." She let out a humorless laugh before continuing. Once again, he was tempted to reach for her and offer her some comfort, but he restrained himself once again to let her resume her story. 

"I went to New York for a job opportunity and I soon met this guy there, Walsh. Everything went well for a few months until the company I worked for went bankrupt and I discovered that Walsh was cheating on me. So I took my belongings and returned to Boston with Elsa with a broken heart and hardly any savings. And you already know the rest."

"Well, I would say that our lives are no longer pathetic, Swan. Look at us, running a successful business and fulfilling our dreams in some way, me with my music and you with your creative magic and your pictures."

"It's not that bad," she admitted reluctantly while her lips twisted up in an attempt at a smile. At least the bitterness seemed to have disappeared from her voice and her features had softened. "Look at us at... " She paused for a moment while she looked around with a confused expression on her face until she spotted her phone and grabbed it, looking at the screen "...at almost two in the morning, listening to our favorite music and a little drunk.  And we don't have to get up early tomorrow, which is pretty fantastic and besides... At least for my part, I have my heart sealed so there is no risk of anyone breaking it again. So everything is fine, isn't it?"

Killian felt his heart drop into his stomach after hearing her last words, but he chose to ignore the feeling of disappointment that threatened to emerge, focusing again on Emma. She looked beautiful with her flushed cheeks and her emerald gaze intensified by her slightly watery eyes. Her innate beauty was undeniable, although he suspected that alcohol — and the moment of confessions — had something to do with those two aspects. Her speech had also become a bit slurred, so, although they hadn't drunk that much, he wondered if it was time to stop. Again, Emma surprised him before he could even open his mouth.

Her gaze shifted back to the phone she was still holding, her brow furrowed in an expression of concentration as she slid her finger across the screen, as if she were looking for something. The living room remained silent for a moment until she got up from the couch and the first notes of a song began to play. A well-known song. Again. 

Don't Stop Me Now. The song that had started this entire cathartic night.

"Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time, I feel alive and the world I'll turn it inside out, yeah and floating around in ecstasy." 

Emma Swan was singing to him with a soft and suggestive voice as she stared at him. Killian remained still, watching her performance with rapt attention as he pressed his lips together to keep his mouth from hanging open. She wasn't an angel anymore, she was a goddess and he was totally at her mercy.

Well, his thoughts might run a little wild due to his state of semi inebriation, but then Emma offered him her brightest smile as she raised her hand holding up her glass and making the gesture of toasting. "Come on, we're having a good time." She hummed again as she grabbed his hand and pulled him up. He had no choice but to oblige, of course.

It was in this way, singing and dancing in unison to the rhythm of the music, when Killian was finally able to admit his true feelings. He was in love with Emma, that incredible woman, who had risen from her ashes and who, despite the darkness she had gone through during her early years, now was able to bring light to the people around her. His heart was finally healing, although it was evident from Emma's words that it would still take her a long time to reach that level, if she ever got it. Still, he set himself a goal, to try to keep Emma in the light and not let anything or anyone ever hurt her again.

"What the hell are you doing? It's two in the bloody morning!" Liam's unexpected angry voice brought him back to reality. He snapped his head in the direction of the voice and found his brother leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, and a scowling expression on his face.

Although the music was still playing, the two of them suddenly stopped singing as they looked at each other and then at Liam. When he heard a giggle from Emma, he couldn't hold it anymore. A chuckle bubbled in his throat as the two of them looked back at each other and finally burst out laughing.

"Ha, ha. It's not funny, guys," Liam grumbled as the wrinkle in his brow deepened, causing their laughter to grow even more intense.

"Come and join us, Liam." Once the laughter subsided Emma gestured to Liam with her hand while offering him a glass of rum. "We're celebrating."

"Don't be an ass and have some fun even for just one day. Or night," Killian added while smirking at his brother.

"What are we supposed to be celebrating?" Liam ignored him and instead stepped forward and grabbed the phone to stop the music. Next, he focused his gaze on Emma as his features softened. It was obvious that his brother had a soft spot for her, and he didn't really blame him. The funny thing was that he had never felt jealous of his brother because, in his eyes, the relationship between Liam and Emma was rather fraternal, as if she were his little sister, which sounded a bit weird considering his own affections towards her…

Stop. Bloody hell, he was definitely drunk.

"We're celebrating—" Emma stopped for a moment while waving her hand as if she were holding a microphone, "that we're having a good time," she hummed, emulating Freddie's voice.

"So don't stop us now," Killian sang, going along with her.

Liam let out a deep sigh before raising his eyes to the ceiling while hissing, "Dear Lord, give me patience." Then he grabbed the glass Emma was offering him. "Why are we toasting now?"

"To us," Emma responded by raising her glass.

"And because a broken heart means that it still works," Killian ventured to add as he cast a sidelong glance at Emma for her reaction. Her head snapped in his direction as she held his gaze for a moment, her cheeks tinting a soft pink hue. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything out loud, his brother came forward.

"Did I miss something?" Liam asked, his narrowed eyes flicking from him to Emma.

"Nothing," Emma hurried to answer after throwing Killian one last furtive look. "It's just that your brother seems to become a little sappy when he drinks."

Liam grinned, any trace of his previous anger faded from both his voice and his face when he found his favorite entertainment, messing with Killian. "He definitely can't hold his liquor."

"I'm still here." This time, it was his turn to sound moody. "And I can definitely hold my liquor."

"Whatever you say, little brother. Come on, we're going to toast one last time and then I'm dragging you to bed." Killian rolled his eyes, holding back a harsh retort. He instead focused on Emma again.

"Since it's so late, I guess my old brother would agree with me that you should stay overnight. You know there's room for you, Swan."

In response, Emma raised her glass, her lips curved into a wide smile. "Let's make a toast to us and to the succulent breakfast that Liam is going to prepare for these two poor hangovers."

This wouldn't be the first time Emma stayed for the night and, although Emma wasn't a morning person, it was always a pleasure to see her sleepy face first thing in the morning. While their glasses clinked together he hoped that these special moments would be repeated more often. He was willing to experience this sweet torture as much as possible.

//

Killian - December 2019

Saturday night. The adrenaline rushed through Killian’s veins and his whole body vibrated in anticipation of what was to come that night. He could almost feel the touch of the guitar strings on his fingertips, and how his vocal cords tensed, impatient to begin to work out their magic in the form of a melody.

This state of excitement was not something new to him. On the contrary, it was his usual condition on his concert nights. Everything was possible when he was on stage, he could feel it on every fiber of his being. He felt so alive in those moments, freer to express his feelings through the music. He felt powerful, able to get anything he set out to do. Well, almost everything.

The sounds around him brought him back to reality. He was behind the bar, following his usual routine on concert nights. He forced himself to act that way every Saturday night as a means of distraction, to keep his excitement at bay.

And tonight was not going to be any different. In front of him, two young women waited for their drinks. He offered them his trademark smile, a flash of white teeth and curled lips as he unfolded all his charms over the two customers. They, in turn, gave him bright smiles and suggestive glances, full of promise.

He was fully aware of the effect he had on the female clientele —and also on some male clients of course— but this kind of seduction game was just a part of his job. At the end of the day, he always went home escorted by his two favorite people in this world. His brother and his... well, his friend. For this reason, although his smile was directed at his avid clients, his gaze had only one goal, Emma Swan.

She was stunning that night, slipping through the crowd as she took photos right in front of him, teasing him like a bloody siren. Her choice of attire did not help to calm his agitation, but rather the opposite. She wore a tiny black top and black leather leggings, which, along with the heels she was also wearing, made her legs look slender. Her golden hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, which enhanced her features, making her even more desirable. A bloody siren.

He couldn’t take his gaze away from her. His eyes watched all her movements through the room and she seemed fully aware of his scrutiny. Maybe he was just imagining things, but the truth was that her suggestive movements were driving him crazy, especially when thinking that a little later they would have to share the stage.

His lips curled into a smile at the thought of their next performance together, his mind bringing to his memory the moment he unveiled the mystery and informed her of the song they would sing tonight.

 //

He hoped he had made the right decision. 

After their kind of impromptu and then failed date the night before, Killian was going to meet Emma early at The Kraken to begin rehearsals for their upcoming performance. As he waited, his mind relived, again and again, some of the moments experienced the night before.

Emma had come to the restaurant wearing the same bloody dress from two months ago when they met by chance in that bar. Killian suspected that she was aware of the effect her attire had on him, yet he did his best to hold her gaze and keep his eyes from straying a little lower. ‘Bloody hell’. The sole image of her impressive neckline was enough to make his blood run hot in his veins.

Something different was happening between them. It was such a subtle change that Killian still couldn’t identify its meaning, but from that fateful day that he confessed his feelings about Emma to Liam due in part to Belle's betrayal, it was as if his attraction to Emma had multiplied. He felt freer now that he didn’t have to hide in front of his brother's eyes. The hope that his feelings might be reciprocated became more and more intense, as Emma was closer than ever; more affectionate, more tempting. Maybe it was only a matter of time. Or maybe it was just his imagination and Emma still saw him as just a friend.

The temptation to choose a romantic song as an instrument to express his feelings had been strong. After the experience with ‘Because The Night’, the idea of following the pattern his brother had started was quite attractive. He had even created a list of possible candidate songs. But this time, he couldn’t use his brother as an excuse as to the choice of the song. This time, the weight of the choice fell entirely upon him. Maybe he would be exposing himself too much, risking her picking up the hidden message and pushing herself away, raising her walls again.

No, he couldn’t take the risk, not now that her walls were so low that the line between friendship and something else was so faint. He would choose a fresh, positive theme that would at least allow them to have fun on stage, but that at the same time would have a somewhat deeper meaning which he expected Emma to grasp.

Killian grabbed his guitar and began to play the first notes while clearing his voice and trying to adjust the tone to the song. Just then, the front door of the premises opened with Emma appearing there in all her splendor.

Emma Swan was not a morning person. Killian became aware of that fact shortly after meeting her for the first time. It was a day where they had to take inventory at The Kraken at a time when ‘it should be forbidden to get out of bed’ (her words). Her complaints and sulky expression softened only when she had ingested a sufficient dose of caffeine. This time wasn't going to be any different, of course. Her features were still marked by sleep, her eyes slightly swollen, and her lips pursed in an adorable pout.

She grunted something like "morning," and dropped into one of the bar stools, burying her head in her folded arms on the counter. Killian couldn’t help but smile as he set the guitar on the stage and moved behind the bar. He pulled out the to-go cup of coffee he had previously bought and gave her a gentle squeeze on her arm to get her attention. 

Emma raised her head enough for her eyes to detect the cup. "I'm still blaming you. Coffee is not enough." She pointed at him with an accusatory finger, but grabbed the cup and brought it to her lips, her throat emitting the most delicious sounds as a sign of appreciation for the hot liquid.

A few minutes later, Emma seemed to have recovered enough. A small wrinkle still remained on her forehead but she straightened her back and, at last, she focused her gaze on him.

"I need a reminder. At what point did this one-time thing become something else?" Her tone still had a harsh hue, but though her words were meant to be a reproach, her voice seemed to hide some amusement with the whole situation.

"Since we started using it as a business strategy, maybe? Or because you and I had a good time up there?" he offered, pointing toward the stage. Then he leaned over the counter, invading her personal space. "Or perhaps because it's the perfect excuse to spend time with a devilishly handsome guy?"

Emma rolled her eyes, a faint smile adorning her lips. "We already spend all our time together, I do not need any excuse." The fact that she had not denied the devilishly handsome thing didn’t go unnoticed by him, a wide smirk pulling up the corner of his lips.

"Shall we start the rehearsals now that the caffeine has taken effect?"

Emma let out a puff of air through a loud sigh. "Okay, if it has to be... Can you just tell me which song we are going to sing?"

Killian cleared his throat as he gave her a mischievous look. Then, he just hummed.

“Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time I feel aliiiiive”

Her eyes widened in recognition, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. Good. That was what he intended, for her to grasp the implications of his choice.

"Seriously?"

“And the world I'll turn it inside out - yeah

And floating around in ecstasy”

"You're serious, aren’t you? You want me to sing ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’? Why?" She seemed pleasantly surprised by the choice, but Killian did not miss a hint of disappointment in her voice. He tried not to read too much into it, but still, the idea that she might be somewhat disappointed because she expected a more romantic song caused his stomach to make a small somersault.

Killian stepped out from behind the bar and approached her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her to her feet. "Because we already have experience singing this song together. Because it brings me good memories. And because we'll have fun."

"We'll have fun," she parroted his last words as she tilted her head slightly, seeking his gaze, her eyebrow raised in question. "There's something else, right?"

Killian wagged his eyebrows at her, schooling his features so as not to betray the delight it meant to him that she knew him so well. "Well, I've prepared a musical base that can fit well with our voices. Besides, there may be another surprise..."

"Like what?"

She was both intrigued and excited; he could tell both from the slightly demanding tone of her voice as well as the intensity of her gaze, so Killian decided to go a little further with the game. "I'm thinking maybe it's a good idea if we leave the surprise for Saturday..."

"Don't you dare, Jones." She cut him off while hitting him in the chest with the palm of her hand. "I won't get on that stage without knowing what I'll find on it."

"Oh, but sometimes facing the unknown can be exciting, Swan."

"Just tell me."

"If the lady insists..." Killian let out a heavy sigh of resignation to give more effect to his confession. "I'm going to play the piano."

Her eyes widened in surprise as she stared at him with a strange expression on her face. "You mean Saturday on stage?"

He nodded his head, holding her gaze. "This song brings me very good memories, although some may be somewhat blurry. You know what I mean..." Before continuing he winked at her to emphasize his words. Her reaction was as expected, she offered him a look of complicity as she bit her lower lip in an adorable and yet so tempting gesture that he had to suppress the sudden urge to kiss her. "What do you say, Swan? Are you willing to create new memories with me and with the help of the piano?

The bright smile that blossomed on her face did nothing to mitigate the desire to finally taste those lips. Her response also did not help in the least, to be honest.

"But no alcohol is allowed before going on stage, okay? I intend to remember every detail of our performance." This time it was she who winked at him before separating from him and heading towards the stage.

He needed a few seconds before reacting, unable to decide if that game of seduction recently initiated by Emma was innocent, hiding a promising meaning or, on the contrary, was just a way to torture him. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, she went up the stage first and held her hand out to him. "Shall we begin then?"

Bloody hell. He was so fucked up.

 //

“Killian! You start in five minutes.”

Liam's voice coming from the other side of the bar brought him back to reality. Killian shook his thoughts away for at least a while, looked in his brother's direction, and nodded his head. 

Killian didn't miss that while serving, Liam was chatting animatedly with Elsa. Fortunately, she had already recovered from her cold, and, in her words, she wouldn't miss their performance for anything in the world. Actually, Killian had begun to suspect — he was totally blaming Emma for this — that her usual presence there lately had another explanation.

Elsa even had come up with a plan for the next day that included the four of them. A soft chuckle escaped from his lips when Killian remembered Emma's reaction to this new plan, looking at him while raising an eyebrow in a barely subtle gesture, as if she were saying, ‘See? I told you so!’

Killian paused for a moment to observe them. Liam and Elsa were totally focused on each other as they chatted as if they were sharing something confidential. Killian wondered if maybe he should ask his brother about this change in attitude towards Elsa. He wasn't quite sure what the most appropriate way to approach the subject would be, given that Liam's relationship history was rather sparse.

He shook his head making a mental note to share the news with Emma later. Now he had to focus on his performance. He went into the office to pick up his guitar and tune the strings before starting. When he came out, he headed toward the stage. The pre-performance adrenaline ran through his veins, his muscles tensed in anticipation.

Emma was already waiting for him in her usual spot, on one side of the stage, a wide smile of encouragement drawn on her face. If things were different, he would kiss her senseless before climbing the stage. For now, though, he could only settle for a tight embrace. Their bodies joined for a few seconds while he buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled her intoxicant scent. He had become accustomed to these hugs as a prelude to his performance. It was as if the contact with her body gave him the necessary energy to give the best of himself up on the stage.

Before pulling away, she gave him a soft kiss on his cheek as she lightly squeezed his arm. He, in turn, took two deep breaths and smiled back as he nodded. He was prepared. Emma held up the camera as she told him, "Don't think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second."

"I would despair if you did, love. I'll see you in a while up there." He winked at her before walking to the center of the stage where Liam was already announcing the performance.

As the public began to clap and cheer, Liam stepped aside and patted his shoulder. Killian turned his head, looking for the sound engineer, and nodded subtly. His heart pounded against his rib cage as the music began to play, wrapping the entire room. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, his gaze sought Emma. 

There she was, in the middle of the crowd, right in front of the stage, camera in hand. She smiled at him as she nodded. 

That was all he needed. 

His fingers slid over the strings of the guitar, creating the first chords as his vocal cords began to vibrate, and from there the magic appeared in the form of a melody.

For the next little while, he devoted himself to the music. He let it flow through his body, as the public accompanied him enthusiastically, chanting the songs, and cheering him on with applause and whistles. 

Despite being focused on music, he kept track of Emma's movements. She, in turn, kept taking pictures of the crowd, but above all, took many more of him. He couldn’t wait to have her by his side. Although he would never acknowledge it, Liam's idea of Emma singing with him had been brilliant, on all levels.

He continued to sing a couple more songs, moving around the stage and encouraging the audience to sing along with him. Tonight there was something in the atmosphere that made him feel more exhilarated than on previous occasions. He let himself go and enjoyed the most of the moment. After one last song in which he gave everything of himself, the moment to share the stage finally came.

The last musical notes still echoed in the room when he grabbed the microphone with both hands and set out to introduce Emma.

"Thank you all, you are the best!" he shrieked, his breathing trying to normalize after the last song. "We still have one last performance as an encore for this special night. I ask for the loudest applause to welcome a great and talented person, a good co-worker, and the best friend that anyone can have. I present to you all, Emma Swan!"

She was ravishing tonight, he thought as he watched her step onto the stage. He was going to have a very hard time concentrating while Emma looked at him in that intense and suggestive way. Her lips curved into a smile he wanted to erase with his own lips on hers. But he was a professional first, so before the music began, he gave her a brief hug as he handed the microphone to her. He could feel she was nervous; this was new to her, after all. In an attempt to reassure her and before he took his place at the piano, he whispered in her ear, "Remember the rehearsals, love. Let yourself go, everything will turn out well." He squeezed her arm slightly, Emma nodding with a small smile. Then he walked over to the piano, trying to pull himself together.

Once more, he closed his eyes for a second, put his hands on the keys and, after two deep breaths, began to sing.

Their performance was everything he had imagined and more. Killian was especially inspired with the piano that night even though he hadn’t played the instrument for some time. That night, though, his fingers slid over the keys as if they had a life of their own. His voice sounded totally tuned, fitting with Emma's to perfection.

Perhaps her presence was what inspired him to give the best of himself. She was a goddess on stage. Maybe it was his partial vision because of his feelings for her, but the truth was that she was a natural up there. Once the initial nerves were over, she got into the performance, encouraging the crowd to sing with them. She jumped around and gestured towards him at times, like during the line ‘give me a call’ in which she simulated she was holding a phone while holding his gaze. He was surprised that he could be so attuned to the music with such distraction in front of him.

When the performance ended, his heart was beating frantically against his chest, his body was sweating but he felt elated, the discharge of adrenaline had had its effect. He couldn’t resist the temptation and pulled Emma towards him, wrapping her in a tight embrace to which she responded with the same enthusiasm, to his satisfaction. After a few seconds, they separated a little, but they held their arms around each other's waists. The public was still roaring and cheering around them, so they thanked them with a bow as they waved their hands.

Before leaving the stage, though, Emma had something prepared. She grabbed the microphone again, addressing the audience, her voice still sounding slightly breathless after her performance.

"Thank you very much to everyone for joining us tonight, and we hope to see you again next week for a new session of 'Saturdays in Concert.' Remember, you can visit our website and leave your comments there. And you can also choose what song you would like us to sing together next time. Thank you!" Emma applauded the audience, getting well deserved new cheers. Killian was impressed with this brilliant woman. She not only was able to shine on top of a stage but had the ability to seize the opportunity to boost their business. His admiration for her grew at times.

The ovation of the crowd accompanied them on their way to the bar, where Liam and Elsa were waiting for them. His heart swelled in his chest as he saw the proud smile his brother was wearing. Liam's approval meant the world to him, after everything he had done for him in recent years.

"Very well done guys," Elsa greeted them with an amused smile. "You two make a great team up there."

"You don’t have to thank me for having this great idea," Liam added, waving his hand in front of them.

Emma snorted at Killian’s side at Liam's words and he was about to reply, but then he realized that Elsa had looked away as her lips curled into a thinly concealed smile. He followed her gaze, seeing that what Elsa was watching was his hand and Emma's, which had remained entwined since they left the stage.

That didn’t seem to matter to Emma since she made no attempt to free her hand, so he ventured, giving her a slight squeeze, while his thumb brushed her palm. Far from pushing him away, she turned her gaze to him, her lips drawing a small smile, matching his own. He then looked at his brother, who was giving him a penetrating look that contained a special glow. He could also notice that Liam nodded almost imperceptibly. It was as if he were telling him, without needing to express it aloud, that he was following the right path on his journey to win Emma's heart.

//

Two hours later, all the customers had left The Kraken with the exception of Elsa, who had even helped them clean up after closing. Ruby and Robin had also left the premises, so there were only the four of them left, a picture that was becoming quite common lately, something that he didn't mind at all.

They were now sitting at the bar sharing shots to celebrate another successful night. It was nice to share these moments of camaraderie with the most important people in his life. The addition of Elsa to the small group was an incentive, as it had been like a breath of fresh air, giving them the opportunity to carry on new experiences.

And that was what they were talking about at that moment, about the new idea Elsa had suggested as a plan to hang out together. The idea of going ice-skating at an outdoor artificial ice rink that was open during the winter hadn’t seemed too attractive at first. Killian had barely skated previously and felt a bit clumsy in that aspect. But little by little, he began to see the advantages of the plan. Since both he and Emma seemed to have the same level of clumsiness, perhaps they would have to hold on to each other to avoid falling to the ground. 

Yes, it was definitely not a bad idea. Not at all.

"I'm not sure I like that plan." Emma, sitting next to him, didn’t seem so convinced. "I mean, it's freezing outside, and I don't want to fall on the ice. Just thinking about it makes me shiver." She groaned as she crossed her arms and rubbed them with both her hands as if she wanted to warm herself up. Her lips pursed into a pout that was meant to show annoyance, but which Killian found adorable.

"Oh, come on, Emma, we'll have a good time. Don't be afraid of falling. Besides, exercise will make you warm up quicker," Elsa encouraged her.

"Well, guys, I don't know about you, but I'm starving. What do you say if we close and go to the restaurant next door? You're coming with us, aren't you, Elsa?" Killian raised an eyebrow at hearing his brother refer to Elsa directly. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but all this looked promising.

That's how they ended up at a twenty-four-hour restaurant eating pizza at two in the morning. They chose a booth away from the entrance, with Elsa and Liam sitting together on one side, while Emma and Killian were on the other side. Sleep seemed to have abandoned them all despite the hour, no one was in a hurry to go to bed. Instead, they chatted nonchalantly about any subject that went through their heads, making the half-empty premises fill with their voices and laughter.

At some point, Killian put his arm around Emma's shoulders as she placed her hand on his thigh, close to his knee. It was an innocent gesture, just a display of affection between two close friends. He was aware, though, that the image they gave to the rest of the people was quite different. Anyone who saw them that way would think of them as a couple. But as long as he could maintain that confidence and closeness with Emma, he couldn’t care less what people might think about it.

What he had with Emma now was so precious that he wasn't going to risk losing it by acting hastily. He had the impression that Emma might feel more for him than a simple friendship, especially if he compared it to her relationship with Liam, the other person closest to her. However, her fear of ending with a broken heart again kept her paralyzed. 

He just had to be patient and show her again and again that he wasn't going anywhere. And these new opportunities offered by both his brother and Elsa were bringing them closer. For that reason, the plan to go skating was so attractive. It was the perfect excuse to maintain the physical contact between them, something to which he found more and more difficult to resist himself.

Perhaps if he added an incentive to the experience, it would improve even more. The corners of his lips rose slightly as an idea settled on his head. "What do you think, guys, if we make a bet?"

The three of them looked at Killian with the same expression of confusion on their faces. Once he got their attention, he continued.

"The first to fall to the ground tomorrow will have to pay for a round of drinks for the others."

The first to react was Elsa, who smirked while rubbing her hands together. "I like that idea. I know that no matter what happens, I'm going to get free drinks tomorrow."

Liam, though, didn’t seem so convinced. "We aren't especially skilled in this matter. I don’t get the point. It's very likely that the first thing that happens as soon as any of us step on the ice is that we fall."

"You know I like a challenge, brother. What do you say, Swan? Are you aiming to get this idiot to buy us some drinks?" As he spoke, he held his arm even more tightly around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him.

"Yeah, we're gonna beat you, Liam."

"Hey, that's not fair. This is supposed to be an individual competition and you two have already allied against me," Liam grumbled, frowning as he pointed to both of them.

"Don’t complain, you have an expert to help you stand up. You're going to help my clumsy brother, aren't you, Elsa?" Killian cocked his head slightly, his teasing words disguised in an innocent tone.

Elsa's cheeks flushed furiously, raising Killian's suspicions that something between them could come up. He would be glad if that happened. Liam had been so focused on taking care of him in the first place and then running the business and trying to keep it afloat that he had barely had time for himself. Elsa was perfect for him, sweet and calm but with great determination. Maybe Emma was right and they just needed a little push…

Liam's sigh brought him back to reality. He seemed to have resigned himself because then he held up his beer. "Okay, do we have a deal?"

Everyone toasted as a way to close the deal. The friendly talk still went on for a while. Killian hoped the next day's plan would bring them at least as good a time as they had experienced today.

//

It was a cold, Sunday afternoon. Killian adjusted the beanie he wore to protect himself from the cold and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm himself. He could feel his fingers were almost frozen despite the protection of his gloves. The idea of ice-skating was no longer so appealing to him, especially as the cold filtered through his bones as he waited for the lasses. They were late.

"There they are, at last." His brother gave Killian a nudge to catch his attention as he pointed to them.

Bloody hell. Emma was impressive on that Sunday afternoon. She wore a beanie, her golden hair falling in curls and framing her features. Her cheeks had a rosy hue, her bright eyes and her gleaming smile were enough to warm both his body and his heart.

The two brothers greeted the two friends with kisses on their cheeks. After a brief chat, they all approached the skating rink and slipped on their skates. The moment his feet came into contact with the ground, he had to cling to the railing to avoid falling. Bloody hell, this was going to be more complicated than it seemed at first. How on earth would he stand on only two blades on that slippery rink?

Killian looked around; both Liam and Emma had the same problem keeping their balance. Emma's expression even showed a little panic. Fortunately, Elsa soon came to their rescue. Since she was the expert on the subject, she stood before them, prepared to give them a little lesson. Elsa taught them the basic motions, showing infinite patience to their endless questions and reassuring all their fears. Killian listened attentively, feeling somehow like one of the children Elsa taught to skate. He was willing to absorb everything she could offer him if that would help him stay up long enough not to be the first to fall.

"Okay guys, so far we’ve only done the theory. Now let's start practicing slowly. You two look at our movements," Elsa said to the two brothers. Though her words held their usual soft tone, she imprinted a touch of firmness in her voice. "Emma, come with me."

"What? Why me?" Emma cringed a bit at his side, her panicked expression became more evident.

"Come on, don’t be afraid. I won’t let you down." Elsa's soft, reassuring voice seemed to have an effect on Emma. When Elsa held out her hand to her, she seemed hesitant at first, but then grabbed her friend's hand firmly.

That's my girl, he thought with pride. The two women moved in front of them, Emma emulating Elsa's movements as she tried to keep her balance. The addition of Emma to this kind of masterclass was an incentive, no doubt, since it was the perfect excuse for him to observe her carefully. Once Elsa made sure that the three of them had assimilated the basics it was time to move to the next level. She offered Emma her hand again. "Now let's skate a bit through the skating rink. Slowly, just so you can gain confidence, okay?"

Emma nodded hesitantly but gripped Elsa's hand firmly. Both began to move away with slow movements at first, Elsa holding Emma's hand as she did her best to move without falling.

Slowly, Emma was gaining confidence in her movements, adding a little more speed as she slid down the rink. Killian couldn’t take his eyes off her, following her every move. He felt bewitched by her rosy cheeks just as much from the exercise as from the cold of their surroundings; by her hair dancing in the wind as she moved. And by her smile, hesitant at first, but that was widening as her confidence increased. She was a goddess and she seemed to perform a show just for him. 

At least it was what he deduced when he realized that Emma took any opportunity to look for his eyes, her gaze so intense that it could take his breath away.

"Close your mouth little brother." His brother's voice filled with amusement brought him out of his reverie.

He finally turned his gaze from Emma and fixed it on Liam as he mumbled. "I don’t know about you, but I'm trying to learn not to be the first to fall. The bet is still up, older brother." His lips curled into a smirk as his eyebrow rose defiantly.

Liam snorted at his side but didn’t reply to him. They both continued to stare at the ladies in silence. A few minutes later, the two lasses skated in their direction, both of them clearly excited as they approached.

Maybe it was the speed or maybe Emma still didn’t have complete control on the skates at all. Regardless, the truth was that she rushed directly at him with so much momentum that Killian had to hold onto her with one hand and cling to the railing with the other to avoid both of them ending up on the ground.

"Easy, Swan. You don’t want us to lose the bloody bet before we start playing."

"Whoa, it's been incredible." Emma made no attempt to move away from him, to Killian's satisfaction. It was a delight to see her with that level of emotion, vibrating in his arms.

"Okay, next level." After catching her breath, Elsa continued. "Since Emma is no longer a beginner, I'm going to take Liam now, while you, Killian, let Emma guide you. Remember, guys, it's important to keep the balance point; don't lean your weight on the other person, use your joined hands as support to keep your balance. And don't be afraid, let yourself go and have fun!”

Killian had to admit that he had some respect for the ice. He had always preferred water in its liquid state and found it much less dangerous to sail in a rough sea than to slip on the damn slippery ice. But he liked a challenge. He had set a clear goal, that he and Emma would stand for longer than Liam. And, if to beat his brother he had to skate, so be it.

"What do you say, love? Do we show these two what we can do together?" As he spoke, he offered her his hand and she took it with determination and a smile drawn on her face.

"Sure, let's go."

Emma grabbed his hand and they began to move, moving away from the safety offered by the railing. It was much more difficult than he imagined; he had to make great efforts to avoid falling to the ground. Still, having Emma by his side was an incentive as she managed to convey the confidence he needed to keep moving.

They began to move faster, the grip on the ice felt firmer, and Emma's support helped keep his balance. Once overcoming his initial fears, Killian found himself enjoying the experience more than he imagined at first.

The initial cold he felt was gone. The mixture of exercise and seeing Emma with that carefree, happy expression as she gripped his hand while occasionally smirking confidently, was enough to warm him.

Killian looked for his brother and found him a few steps ahead of them as he tried, and almost failed, to keep his balance. Despite Elsa's help, Liam didn’t seem to be having a particularly good time. He moved his free hand up and down, unable to control his body on the skates. Killian's lips curled into a smirk. It was only a matter of time before Liam fell to the ice.

After a few minutes, the self-confidence he felt was such that he dared to let go of Emma for a few seconds. She wanted to take a picture —how not?—, so she let go of his hand while looking for her phone and skated away a few steps to get a better angle. After taking a couple of photos, she came up to him again, with somewhat hesitant movements as Killian reached out and pulled her to him. He held her in his arms as they regained their balance. When they found their stability again, Emma held up her phone to take a couple of selfies of the two of them together, immortalizing the great moment they were experiencing.

"It's my turn now, Swan. Hold on there for a moment." Killian felt the need to take a picture of Emma to capture the joy they both were feeling. He skated slowly, moving away from her, took his phone out of his pocket, and took a few photos, capturing the image of Emma all excited, vibrant, and joyful.

Just as he began to approach her again, something happened that froze his heart and paralyzed him completely. Killian watched in horror as a damn reckless guy swooped past Emma at full speed, causing her to fall to the ground, her head and shoulder slamming into the icy surface.

"Emma!" A gasp escaped his throat as he staggered, suddenly feeling the damn skates as an obstacle to reaching her. When he finally got to where Emma lay on the ground, Killian knelt, his gaze traveling frantically over her face to determine her condition. "Emma, love, are you alright?" He didn’t bother to hide the worry in his voice. It was at that moment that he discovered she was bleeding through an open wound just above her left eyebrow.

Emma looked confused, but fortunately, she hadn’t lost consciousness. She tried to sit up, but a wince of pain crossed her face as she reached for her left arm. "Shit, my shoulder hurts like hell."

"Do you think you can get up, love? You're going to get frozen on that bloody ice." Killian realized that it was hard for Emma to fix her gaze, so his worry grew, his heart caught in his throat.

Liam and Elsa arrived at that moment, Elsa kneeling at his side with concern marked on her face. "What happened?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "We have to get her out of here, her clothes are soaking from the ice. Liam, can you help us?"

When Killian looked up at his brother, his gaze met the damn asshole that had caused the problem. He was a little away talking to a group of people, totally oblivious to what he himself had caused, laughing and having a good time. The sight of the unconcerned dude in contrast to Emma's pitiful situation was too much for him.

A sudden rage seized Killian, clouding his reason. "I'm going to kill that asshole," he mumbled as he sat up abruptly, arms on both sides of his body, his hands curled into fists and his jaw clenched. He felt an urgent need to discharge all of his fury and worry in the form of a punch to the face of that guy with the aim of erasing his stupid grin.

Just as he was moving toward the guy, something slowed him. His brother seemed to see his intentions, because he reached him in an instant, his firm grip on his arm preventing his advance and causing him to turn. "Hey, Killian, look at me."

Killian forced himself to take two deep breaths, trying to calm his inner rage. Reluctant at first, he finally looked at his brother. When Liam seemed sure of getting his attention, he began to speak in a slow voice. "Believe me, brother, I'm the first one who wants to go for the guy who's harmed Emma, but we have a priority. She needs you now."

The mere mention of Emma’s name was all he needed to come to reason again. He took a deep breath once more, trying to slow his racing heart, letting his fury fade away. Killian nodded then and knelt, taking his previous place beside Emma.

He searched her gaze for any hint of her condition. She looked back at him, but her eyes had lost all of their previous vivacity. "Emma, let's get you up. Do you think you can walk?" She nodded in silence, the corner of her lip raised slightly in an attempt of a tiny smile.

Killian's heart broke when he saw her in that state. A few minutes earlier she was full of life and now she was barely able to stay conscious. It was as if the fall had drained all her energy. Although his inner rage still persisted, he tried to put all his efforts into ensuring her well-being.

They managed to get her off the rink and reached a nearby bench. Emma had started to shiver, so he didn’t hesitate and took off his coat, something that took longer than desired since his trembling fingers refused to cooperate. He then put it over her shoulders while rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm her up.

Elsa was trying to plug the wound over her eyebrow, but this one was still bleeding and from the grimace on Emma's face it looked like her shoulder was still aching. They had to take her to the hospital.

He searched her gaze again. "Emma, love, we're going to take you to the ER, so they can check your shoulder and head, okay?"

She nodded again and finally spoke, her voice coming out as barely a murmur through a small smile. "It seems that I lost the challenge and it’s my turn to buy you all a round of drinks."

A wave of affection swept over Killian, along with an almost irrepressible desire to take her in his arms. He felt unable to hide his feelings and at that moment, he couldn't care less.

//

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think :)

What to expect in the next chapter? Just a reminder, this is not an angsty story... We'll know the consequences of Emma's accident and we'll also have the opportunity to learn a little more about both Liam and Elsa's backstory.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I enjoyed reading your answer about your very British Conservatism being influenced by the ideas Edmund Burke and of course Burke became famous for his opposition to the French Revolution and the ideas therein. Given that you are a British conservative living in Paris and Bastille Day is soon upon France (July 14) was the French Revolution really a revolution or just a changing of the guard ie removing one elite (the nobility) to make room for another elite (the bourgeois)? Was it just Burke who thought that or other prominent philosophers?

I will have to say more about the conservative beliefs I hold at another time because it’s more than just following the ideas of Edmund Burke, great though he was. Because while certainly he is good bench mark to understand Conservative ideas and he has become a standard bearer for modern political conservatism, his ideas and legacy remains fiercely debated and the question of whether he was a philosopher at all in the traditional sense of the term is also hotly discussed by scholars.

What we can say with somewhat more certainty is that he was arguably the first one who was ‘forced’ to articulate Conservative principles and ideas on paper. But Conservatism didn’t begin with Burke because he was articulating what was already known to past generations and to his contemporary peers. There was no need to systemise a way of thinking and get it down onto paper. So at heart conservatism isn’t a rigid set of ideological beliefs but a state of being rooted in experience, common wisdom, custom, and what Burke called ‘the nature of things’. For Burke the so-called French Revolution went against the nature of things.

According to the standard narrative, the French celebrate their National Day each year on July 14 by remembering the storming of the Bastille, the hated symbol of the antiquated ancien regime. It was at this key point that the united people took the law in its own hands and gave birth to modern France in a heroic revolution.

But was it a revolution?

In Burke’s time opinion was divided all across Europe to interpret the seismic upheaval in France. It really depended on where you were living and under what particular regime.

I can’t go into a whole survey of thinkers and their thought and opinions they held but let me settle on one interesting one figure only because he’s such a fascinating thinker whose ideas continue to influence our moral and political philosophy. I’m talking about Immanuel Kant (1724-1804), the famous German philosopher and prominent thinker of his time.

In the view of Immanuel Kant there was no real revolution. He understood it as an unlawful and violent toppling of the old regime. Writing in the wake of the events, he concluded that the King, by a very serious error in judgment had unintentionally abdicated and left the power to the people. Kant agnostically asked: was it really a revolution, or not?

Every thinker writes within the context of his times and Kant is no different. Kant’s view has often been derided as a sneaky way to justify the revolution without being seen in public as doing so. Defending the revolution publicly could attract the King’s ire. The Prussian king, like all Europe’s sovereigns, feared the advancement of the revolution, and endorsements by opinion leaders might hasten that outcome. Kant, who was a professor at Königsberg, was Germany’s premier philosopher. He had many followers and defended a highly idealistic moral theory with clear affinities to the ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity. Thus, fear of censorship could have been Kant’s reason for misrepresenting the event as something else than a revolution.

But perhaps Kant’s interpretation was quite sincere?

If we explore Kant’s politics in context the first thing to notice is the scope of his argument: it was about the events of 1789, not the various (and bloody) transformations of the next decade. Moreover, the events he had in mind resembled a fairly orderly democratic transition. King Louis XVI was facing a disastrous debt crisis and his juridical institutions were recalcitrant to establish new taxes to make up for the debt. To solve the situation, the absolute monarch invited all male taxpayers over 25 years of age to elect deputies to a representative assembly (called the Estates-General), which was to deliberate about solutions to the debt and on how to improve the state’s wellbeing in general. This proto-democratic assembly met at Versailles on May 5, 1789.

Almost immediately, it became apparent that this archaic arrangement - the group had last been assembled in 1614 - would not sit well with its present members. Although Louis XVI granted the Third Estate greater numerical representation, the Parlement Of Paris stepped in and invoked an old rule mandating that each estate receive one vote, regardless of size. As a result, though the Third Estate was vastly larger than the clergy and nobility, each estate had the same representation - one vote. Inevitably, the Third Estate’s vote was overridden by the combined votes of the clergy and nobility.

The fact that the Estates-General hadn’t been summoned in nearly 200 years probably says a thing or two about its effectiveness. The First and Second Estates - clergy and nobility, respectively - were too closely related in many matters. Both were linked intrinsically to the royalty and shared many similar privileges. As a result, their votes often went the same way, automatically neutralising any effort by the Third Estate.

Additionally, in a country as secularised as France at the time, giving the church a full third of the vote was ill-advised: although France’s citizens would ultimately have their revenge, at the time the church’s voting power just fostered more animosity. There were numerous philosophers in France speaking out against religion and the mindless following that it supposedly demanded, and many resented being forced to follow the decisions of the church on a national scale.

Beyond the chasm that existed between it and the other estates, the Third Estate itself varied greatly in socioeconomic status: some members were peasants and labourers, whereas others had the bourgeois occupations, wealth, and lifestyles of nobility. These disparities between members of the Third Estate made it difficult for the wealthy bourgeois members to relate to the peasants with whom they were grouped.

Because of these rifts, the Estates-General, though organised to reach a peaceful solution, remained in a prolonged internal feud. It was only through the efforts of men such as Emmanuel-Joseph Sieyès (1748-1836) that the members of the Third Estate finally realised that fighting among themselves was fruitless and that if they took advantage of the estate’s massive size, they would be a force that could not be ignored.

The summoning of the Estates General assembly was usually thought of as a revolutionary act, since the King had not intended to relinquish his absolute power. He had just asked for advice on how to run the country. But according to Kant, the King’s intentions were of no consequence. Once he had committed the error of setting up a representative organ he was no longer the sovereign ruler. Absolutism relied on the notion of the monarch as the sole representative of the people (which otherwise would be a disorderly multitude). Once the monarch abandoned that task he could no longer claim to be the ruler, and his sovereignty automatically “passed to the people”. So while the Estates General assembly was rigged to give veto power to the nobility and the clergy – the defenders of the old regime – the Third Estate acted in concert and asserted its power upon the assembly. Asserting its sovereignty, the assembly started preparations for a new constitution enshrining the values of liberté, égalité, and fraternité.

Kant’s view was not so controversial at the time. Edmund Burke (1729-1797) too thought the King had abandoned absolute sovereignty, something that pleased the conservative publicist, who was sceptical to absolute power whether in the hands of the king or the people. But Burke and Kant disagreed on what came in its stead. Burke concluded that power reverted to the ancient constitution of the feudal society that existed prior to royal absolutism. That society had dispersed power among the church, the nobility, the commoners, and the king. Kant, however, did not consider government of such mixed nature to be a real government at all, but just a collection of groups and persons pursuing their private interests.

Moreover, the representative assembly Louis XVI had convoked was elected by the people (or at least the propertied males) and was to represent not just special groups but also the nation as a whole. This was perfectly in line with Kant’s view of popular sovereignty as the ultimate source of justice in any government. He shared this view with Emmanuel-Joseph Sieyès  who was not just the most influential French popular leader but also an admirer of Kant. Like Sieyès, Kant did not hate monarchy. He simply considered that once the popular assembly had been set up, the King was reduced to a constitutional monarch, with no right to reverse the process. The popular uprising that followed in the summer of 1789 and that culminated with the storming of the Bastille was not a revolution since sovereignty was already with the people. It was just the result of popular fears that the monarch would claw back the power he had abandoned.

For Burke, he undoubtedly did see it as a revolution. But interestingly he described the Revolution as a ‘democratic revolution’. Indeed he called this “new democracy” a “monstrous tragicomic scene” – monstrous because it was deforming the body politic, tragicomic because in its attempts to establish democracy it was undermining democracy’s own principles. At first, Burke seems to claim that the revolutionary government is democratic only in facade. “I do not know under what description to class the present ruling authority in France… It affects to be a pure democracy, though I think it is in a direct train of becoming shortly a mischievous and ignoble oligarchy.” Burke here seems to suggest that democracy is a cover for an oligarchic class rule in France (the bourgeois). But he doesn’t stop there because he is also quick to acknowledge almost immediately that democracy is emerging in France, and it is quickly on its way to degenerating into a tyrannical government of the masses. “If I recollect rightly, Aristotle observes that a democracy has many striking points of resemblance with a tyranny. Of this I am certain, that in a democracy the majority of citizens is capable of exercising the most cruel oppressions upon the minority whenever strong divisions prevail in that kind of polity.” Thus, Burke presents the revolutionary government as, on the one hand, an oligarchy pretending to be a democracy, and, on the other hand, a true democracy, in which the masses exercise tyranny through “popular persecution.”

For Kant it can be argued that he saw the French Revolution as not a violent revolution by the courageous masses, but a democratic transition. Burke would of course disagree. But I think both would agree for different reasons that the events that led to the French Revolution was set in motion by the king himself.

So perhaps one can agree with both that the real French Revolution began not on 14 July but 5 May 1789 when King Louis XVI summoned the Estates-General for its first meeting since 1614.

Thanks for your question.

[jbuffyangel]

Entertainment Weekly Arrow Article

We never get any big articles of Arrow, so yeah I am posting the whole damn thing. There were some interesting little tidbits and of course discussion around Emily Bett Rickards’ exit. Is it wrong that I am low key pissed that of course Arrow gets the cover of EW after she leaves? Is it also wrong that while I’m happy Arrow is getting some attention, I’m annoyed it wasn’t an Olicity cover? Cuz that’s where I am at. (X)

How Arrow saved the TV superhero — and why it had to end

As 'Arrow' prepares for the end, Stephen Amell and the producers reflect on its origin story and preview the 'Crisis'-bound eighth and final season. 

Stephen Amell is dreading the eighth and final season of Arrow, though you wouldn’t know it on this hot, sunny July day in Los Angeles. Wearing Green Arrow’s new suit, the CW star seems perfectly at ease as he strikes heroic pose after heroic pose on a dimly lit stage. But once he’s traded heavy verdant leather for a T-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap, his guard drops and the vulnerability starts to creep in as he contemplates Arrow’s last 10 episodes, which was set to begin production in Vancouver a week after the EW photoshoot took place and premieres Oct. 15.

“I’m very emotional and melancholy, but it’s time,” Amell — who is featured on the new cover of Entertainment Weekly — says as he takes a sip from a pint of Guinness. “I’m 38 years old, and I got this job when I was 30. I’d never had a job for more than a year. The fact that I’ve done this for the better part of a decade, and I’m not going to do it anymore, is a little frightening.”

Developed by Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, and Andrew Kreisberg, Arrow debuted in the fall of 2012. The DC Comics series follows billionaire playboy Oliver Queen (Amell), who, after years away, returned to now–Star City with one goal: to save his home-town as the hooded bow-and-arrow vigilante who would become known as Green Arrow (it would take him four seasons to assume the moniker). What began as a solo crusade eventually grew to include former soldier John Diggle (David Ramsey), quirky computer genius Felicity Smoak (Emily Bett Rickards), lawyer-turned-hero Laurel Lance/Black Canary (Katie Cassidy Rodgers), and the rest of Team Arrow. Together they’ve defended their city from a host of threats — dark archers, megalomaniacal magicians, and the occasional metahuman — while Lost-like flashbacks revealed what Oliver endured in the five years he was away, first shipwrecked and then honing his skills around the world to become someone else, something else.

The premiere gave The CW its most-watched series debut since 2009’s The Vampire Diaries. But before they launched Arrow, Berlanti and Guggenheim had to suffer through a failure: 2011’s Green Lantern, starring Ryan Reynolds. The duo co-wrote the script but lost creative control of the film, which flopped. So when Warner Bros. Television president Peter Roth approached them in late 2011 about developing a Green Arrow show, they were wary. After much deliberation, Berlanti and Guggenheim agreed, on the condition that they maintain control. Says Guggenheim, “As long as we succeed or fail on our own work, and not someone else’s work then maybe this is worth a shot.”

Their take on the Emerald Archer — who made his DC Comics debut in 1941 — was noteworthy from the beginning. Taking cues from films like The Dark Knight and The Bourne Identity and series like Homeland, the writers imagined a dark, gritty, and grounded show centered on a traumatized protagonist. “As we were breaking the story, we made very specific commitments to certain tonal things, such as ‘At the end of act 1, he has his hands around his mother’s throat.’ And, ‘At the end of act 2, he kills a man in cold blood to protect his secret,’ ” says Guggenheim.

A hero committing murder? That was practically unheard of then. Having Oliver suit up in a veritable superhero costume by the pilot’s climax was radical too. Sure, the Marvel Cinematic Universe was deep into Phase One when the producers were developing Arrow, but TV was traditionally more apprehensive about comic books. Smallvillefamously had a “no tights, no flights” rule and only introduced superhero costumes in the last years of its 10-season run, and there weren’t any masked avengers running around NBC’s Heroes or ABC’s No Ordinary Family, the latter produced by Berlanti (Let’s not even mention NBC’s The Cape, which was essentially dead on arrival and never did get its six seasons and a movie). But Arrow not only fully committed to the idea of someone dressing up like Robin Hood to fight crime with a bow and arrow, it introduced a second costumed rogue, the Huntress (Jessica De Gouw), in episode 7.

“It’s just comic book to the extreme and the fans seem to really love it,” says Batwomanshowrunner Caroline Dries, a former writer on Smallville. “They still maintain it very grounded, but it’s very different with everyone in costumes. The appetite for superheroes has changed in my mind in terms of like they just want the literal superhero [now].”

Not that the team wasn’t meticulous about creating Green Arrow’s cowl. “We had to have so many conversations to get it approved, but that’s why we got [Oscar winner] Colleen Atwood [Memoirs of a Geisha] at the time to [design] the suit,” says Berlanti. “We were determined to show we could do on TV what they were doing in the movies every six months.”

“It’s really easy to make a guy with a bow and arrow look silly. We sweated every detail,” says Guggenheim, who also recalls how much effort it took to perfect Oliver’s signature growl. “I actually flew up to Vancouver. On a rooftop during reshoots on [episode 4], Stephen and I went through a variety of different versions of, basically, ‘You have failed this city,’ with different amounts of how much growl he’s putting into his performance. [We] recorded all that, [I went] back to Los Angeles, and then sat with the post guys playing around with all the different amounts of modulation.”

That process took eons compared to the unbelievably easy time the team had casting Arrow’s title role. In fact, Amell was the first person to audition for the role. “It was Stephen’s intensity. He just made you believe he was that character,” says Guggenheim, recalling Amell’s audition. “We had crafted Oliver to be this mystery box character, and Stephen somehow managed to find this balance between being totally accessible in a way you would need a TV star to be, but he’s still an enigma.” After his first reading, Amell remembers being sent outside for a short time before being brought back into the room to read for a larger group: “I called [my manager], and I go, ‘I know this is not how it’s supposed to work, but I just got that job.’”

In the first season, the show’s chief concerns were maintaining both the “grounded and real” tone and the high quality of the stunts, and investing the audience in Oliver’s crusade. Beyond that, though, there wasn’t much of an over-arching plan, which allowed the show to naturally evolve — from introducing more DC characters, such as Deathstroke (Manu Bennett) and Roy Harper (Colton Haynes), sooner than they initially intended (the shot of Deathstroke’s mask in the pilot was meant as a harmless Easter egg), to promoting Emily Bett Rickards’ Felicity from a one-off character in the show’s third episode to a series regular in season 2 and eventually Oliver’s wife. Even the whole idea of a Team Arrow — which, over time, added Oliver’s sister Thea (Willa Holland), Rene Ramirez/Wild Dog (Rick Gonzalez) and Dinah Drake/Black Canary (Juliana Harkavy) — was the result of the writers allowing the best ideas to guide the story. “Greg used to say all the time, ‘You have a hit TV show until you don’t, so don’t save s—,’ ” says Amell.

Also not planned: Arrow spawning an entire shared universe. “We went on record a lot of times during the premiere of the pilot saying, ‘No superpowers, no time travel.’ But midway through season 1, Greg started to harbor a notion of doing the Flash,” says Guggenheim. “I’m a very big believer that it’s great to have a plan, but I think when it comes to creating a universe, the pitfall is that people try to run before they can walk. The key is, you build it show by show.” And so they did. First, they introduced The Flash star Grant Gustin’s Barry Allen in the two-part midseason finale of Arrow’s second season. From there, Supergirl took flight in 2015, then DC’s Legends of Tomorrow in 2016, and Batwoman is due this fall. “It’s like the hacking of the machete in the woods and then you look back and you’re like, ‘Oh, there’s a path,” says executive producer and Berlanti Productions president Sarah Schechter. But even though Arrowis the universe’s namesake, Amell doesn’t concern himself with the sibling series outside of the now-annual crossovers. “I never think about any of the other shows,” he says. “I want all of them to do great, but they’re not my responsibility. My responsibility is Arrow, and to make sure everyone from the cast to the crew are good.” His sentiments are seconded by Flash’s Gustin: “I don’t understand how he does it — his schedule that he maintains with working out, the conventions he goes to, the passion he has for it, and the love he shows towards fans. He’s always prepared. He cares more about that show being high quality than anybody else on the set.”

That said, the universe’s expansion precipitated what is widely considered to be Arrow’s best season, the fifth one. After focusing on magic in season 4, the show returned to its street-crime roots as part of “a concerted effort to play not just to our strengths but what made the shows unique,” Guggenheim says of balancing their four super-series in 2016. “Because Arrow was the longest-running Arrowverse show, we were able to do something that none of the other shows could do, which is have a villain who was basically born out of the events of season 1,” he explains of introducing Adrian Chase/Prometheus (Josh Segarra), whose criminal father was killed by Oliver. “That gave the season a resonance.”

It was midway through season 6 when Amell realized he was ready to hang up Oliver Queen’s hood. “It was just time to move on,” the actor says of pitching that Oliver leave the series at the end of season 7. “My daughter is turning six in October, and she goes to school in L.A., and my wife and I want to raise her [there].” Berlanti persuaded him to return for one final season, which the producers collectively decided would be the end. “We all felt in our gut it was the right time,” says Berlanti. Adds Schechter, “It’s such a privilege to be able to say when something’s ending as opposed to having something just ripped away.”

But there’s one integral cast member who won’t be around to see Arrow through its final season. This spring, fans were devastated to learn Rickards had filmed her final episode—bringing an end to Olicity. “They’re such opposites. I think that’s what draws everyone in a little bit,” showrunner Beth Schwartz says of Oliver and Felicity’s relationship. “You don’t see the [love story of] super intelligent woman and the sort of hunky, athletic man very often. She’s obviously a gorgeous woman but what he really loves is her brain.” For his part, Amell believes the success of both Felicity and Olicity lies completely with Rickards’ performance. “She’s supremely talented and awesome and carved out a space that no one anticipated. I don’t know that show works if we don’t randomly find her,” says Amell, adding that continuing the series without Team Arrow’s heart is “not great. Arrow, as you know it, has effectively ended. It’s a different show in season 8.” And he’s not exaggerating.

The final season finds Oliver working for the all-seeing extra-terrestrial the Monitor (LaMonica Garrett) and trying to save the entire multiverse from a cataclysmic event. “[We’re] taking the show on the road, really getting away from Star City. Oliver is going to be traveling the world, and we’re going to go to a lot of different places,” says Guggenheim. “Every time I see Oliver and the Monitor, it’s like, ‘Okay, we are very far from where we started.’ But again, that means the show has grown and evolved.” Adds Schwartz, “This is sort of his final test because it’s greater than Star City.” Along the way, he will head down memory lane, with actor Colin Donnell, who played Oliver’s best friend Tommy Merlyn in season 1, and Segarra’s Adrian Chase making appearances. “Episode 1 is an ode to season 1, and episode 2 is an ode to season 3,” teases Amell. “We’re playing our greatest hits.”

But season 8 is not just about building toward a satisfying series finale. “Everything relates to what’s going to happen in our crossover episode, which we’ve never done before,” says Schwartz. Spanning five hours and airing this winter, “Crisis on Infinite Earths” will be the biggest crossover yet and may see Oliver perish trying to save the multiverse from destruction, if the Monitor’s prophecy is to be believed. “Oliver [is told] he’s going to die, so each episode in the run-up to ‘Crisis’ has Oliver dealing with the various stages of grief that come with that discovery,” says Guggenheim. “So the theme really is coming to terms, acceptance.”

If there’s one person who has made his peace with Oliver’s fate, it’s Amell. “Because he’s a superhero with no superpowers, I always felt he should die — but he may also not die,” says Amell, who actually found out what the show’s final scene would be at EW’s cover shoot. “I cried as [Marc Guggenheim] was telling me. There are a lot of hurdles to get over to make that final scene.” Get this man some more Guinness!

[mayuuunaise]

fic: pretty in punk

a/n: i pounded out roughly 5000+ words instead of making lesson plans :’))) it was so fun and easy to write though!! post s02e05

fandom: b-project: koudou ambitious read on: ao3 | under the cut

Truthfully, Tsubasa is immensely grateful that her fretting and worrying is all due to one big misunderstanding on both of their parts. Though, she is a tad bit concerned and equal parts guilty of contributing to said misunderstanding via misconceived expectations in the first place.

Yuuta tells her it’s fine; it’s nice to have a half-day off playing with the other boys after all. It’s not often their schedules and off days line up so perfectly. Tsubasa should know this, considering how much she spends time looking at spreadsheets and calendar apps just to make sure she can make it through the day without splicing her body in half over simultaneous schedules. Still, she can’t shake off that hint of disappointment in Yuuta’s usual cheer that has set her on edge for the duration of the work day.

It’s the pink-haired idol’s turn to record, and while Kaneshiro is busy making adjustments to the song arrangement, she takes the chance to gather information from his other teammate.

“Aizome-san, excuse me,” Tsubasa gingerly sits at the edge of the sofa, in between the other two members. “Do you mind if I asked you something?”

Aizome sends her one of his usual sly smiles, the one where the corner of his mouth twitches just so. “Is it for a date? Because I would say yes in a heartbeat.”

“What— no, err,” Tsubasa clears her throat and shifts awkwardly in her seat. Aizome seems quick on the uptake because he trades in his amused grin for a softer expression as he tilts his head to the side and chuckles. After a year of working with him, Tsubasa really should know better. Shaking off the flush from her cheeks, she leans a little closer to the idol. “Actually, well, it’s about Yuuta-kun.”

“Talking about another man really isn’t my style, Tsubasa-chan.”

“I just, well, I’m wondering if Yuuta-kun is that big of a fan of Justice Hoover?” She deliberately ignores Aizome’s comments and presses on, fiddling with her cellphone. “If I knew, I would have — err… I mean, Shuuji-san would definitely bring back a souvenir if we asked, right? Yuuta-kun just looked…really disappointed, I want to make it up to him.”

Aizome blinks slowly at her before barking out a short laugh, quickly covering it with the back of his hand. His bright blue eyes dart to the young man in question asking for one more run through of his own solo lines in the recording booth. Tsubasa doesn’t quite understand, but she feels as if she should be a little embarrassed, though is hesitant to ask Aizome if there’s anything wrong with what she’s saying.

Two misunderstandings in one day is clearly enough.

“It’s not really about Justice, and really he’s not as upset as he seems,” Aizome starts. “Though, I guess a part of him is just happy enough that you’re not going to the concert with someone else.”

“Please don’t tease me like that, Aizome-san…”

“Who says I am?” Aizome leans a little closer to her, and Tsubasa can almost take a whiff of the rose-scented conditioner he most probably used after the soccer game. Instinctively, Tsubasa leans back, her spine a little straighter as she prepares herself for another one of the blue-haired idol’s flirty banter. “I’m not afraid to say I’m very happy you’re not going on a date in a VIP room for some foreigner’s live concert.”

“Aizome-san…” Tsubasa trails off before pouting. There’s a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach already telling her that the male isn’t willing to divulge everything so easily. “But I still want to make it up to him. I mean, part of the whole futsal match was because I said something that led to expectations.”

“Tsubasa-chan, it’s not your fault and you know it.” Aizome assures her, a soft smile playing on his lips. Yuuta is almost at the end of his solo parts of THRIVE’s latest song, and Tsubasa feels that this isn’t really something she can freely talk about when the boy in question can actually hear it.

“But still, isn’t there’s something I can do?”

“I’m sure if it’s you, anything would be okay, Tsubasa-chan.” Aizome whispers with a smile that tells her he’s being vague on purpose. The older man expertly shifts the topic immediately when Yuuta steps out of the recording booth, excitedly asking them why they looked so cosy while he’s been hard at work recording his parts over and over again. Tsubasa doesn’t really understand, but Aizome sends her a wink over Yuuta’s shoulders, which only sends the pink-haired young man into another hyperactive frenzy. Kaneshiro has to raise his voice in the recording booth for the both of them to stop fooling around, it’s so distracting sheesh.

Tsubasa asks other people, like Aizome later suggests, but ends up with vague answers that leave her a little more confused than usual. She figures that the person closest to Yuuta aside form his teammates is Ryuuji, but the younger boy simply refuses to give him any more info than is strictly necessary.

“Shouldn’t you figure that out yourself?” Ryuuji pops another bubblegum flavoured chupa chuls in his mouth, waiting for Kitakado to return from hair and makeup. Tsubasa wonders briefly if she should be counting how many lollipops the idol actually consumes in a day, and if she should be mildly worried about it even, but brushes the thought away when Ryuuji narrows his pretty fuchsia eyes at her. As if he knows exactly what she’s thinking and he’s having none of it.

“But, I’ve been trying to think about it properly myself, and nothing came up.” Tsubasa sighs, flipping through her phone’s note sections to check on what else KitaKore needs before their music video shoot. She shouldn’t really be complaining in front of him, it’s entirely too unprofessional. Ryuuji’s incredibly blunt personality makes it easier for her to open up and be honest though. “And Yuuta-kun really has been working very hard lately. I wanted to do something for his efforts.”

“Are you saying we aren’t working as hard as he is?” Ryuuji points the frosty pink sphere of candy near her nose in what seems to be a menacing manner, though the scent of sweet bubblegum fills her nostrils and dispels the dread from the pit of her stomach.

“No, no! Of course not! I would never—”

Ryuji chortles a little bit, before popping the chupa chuls back into his mouth. “I’m kidding. But you’re lucky I was the one who heard that, the other groups might not be as forgiving you know? Nor would they be as generous—they’d be scrambling to get a reward from you as well.” Ryuuji smirks and leans back against the cushions, obviously enjoying how much discomfort he’s giving her at the wall she’s just backed herself into. “But— I do agree, Yuuta has been working himself to the bone lately. Are you praising him that much, Tsubasa-chan?”

“That’s not—”

“Korekuni-kun, Kitakado-san is ready for the group take. You’re needed on set in five!” A staff member cuts them short, popping her head in the dressing room and tapping the watch on her wrist for emphasis. Tsubasa calls out an affirmative almost immediately. Ryuuji sighs and stands up, toying with the lollipop stick in his mouth as he mutters something about ruining his fun.

“Well, when it comes down to it, you’ll know what he wants, Tsubasa-chan,” Ryuuji comments flippantly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in amusement. “And if you don’t, I’m sure you’ll be enough.”

“Good afternoon! I hope I’m not intruding.” Tsubasa calls out, closing the door to THRIVE’s shared apartment behind her. She’s starting to toe off her boots when she notices the uncanny silence that’s usually absent from the rowdy trio’s afternoons off. “Hm? Are the others out? But the door was unlocked…”

Kaneshiro seems to be the only one in the living room, ears covered with his earphones and eyes staring intently at his laptop screen before flitting down at the sheet music in his hands. Tsubasa attempts to clear her throat, knowing fully well how much Kaneshiro dislikes it whenever anyone bothers him when he looks as focused as he does. It doesn’t work, and while Tsubasa debates over stepping past the receiving area awkwardly, Kaneshiro finally looks up and looks a bit surprised to find her company.

“Ah, Sumisora, what are you doing here? You should have said something, geez.”

“The documents for your next live event just came in, I wanted to give it to the group as soon as possible.” She lifts the manila folder as evidence, before scanning the vicinity for signs of any other humans in the house. “I’m sorry, should I have come at another time?”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll just give it to them when they come back.” Kaneshiro makes the motion of cleaning the desk of his stuff, before Tsubasa tries to stop him to say she won’t be here for long anyway. The brunette stands awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck and red eyes darting from the kitchen back to her. “So…uhhh, do you want some…tea or something? I’m sure Aizome has something in there that you’d like.”

“Mm, coffee would be fine, if it doesn’t trouble you!” Tsubasa isn’t entirely sure that Aizome wouldn’t throw a fit should Kaneshiro rifle through his tea collection, even if it is for her. Kaneshiro nods, visibly more relieved from not having to make the effort to prepare tea properly, before shuffling into the kitchen. Tsubasa isn’t quite sure what to do with herself and awkwardly shifts from foot to foot, contemplating on joining him in the kitchen or just staying in place.

“Sit down, you’ve been running around the whole day again, haven’t you?” She hears Kaneshiro grumble under his breath, back turned towards her as he moves to reach for one of the guest mugs he has probably seen her use the most. She squeaks out a quick yes, thank you, excuse me, before sitting near the edge of one of THRIVE’s sofas, taking a quick peek at the music sheet he’s been working on before she arrived. Ah, Kaneshiro has already begun arranging their setlist based on the little information she has given them the week before; as expected.

A glint of light reflecting catches her eye just as she’s about to comment, and Tsubasa is immediately drawn to the dark album case thrown haphazardly on their coffee table.

“Hm? Kaneshiro-san, isn’t this the band that performed with you in the Raijin festival last year?” Tsubasa picks up the cd case and admires the album jacket before flipping it over to scan through the song list. Some have been playing on the radio recently, and she recognizes the single they’ve been promoting with as a punk song some of the younger kids like to listen to.

“Yeah, Ashu has been listening to this a lot lately.” Kaneshiro places her mug on the coffee table in front of them, hers significantly lighter compared to the deep brown of his own. She thanks him before looking back at the album in awe. She doesn’t think she can imagine Yuuta, all bubblegum pop pink, jam to the harsher beats of a punk rock group. Then again, THRIVE’s wild music has been more rock band inspired lately.

“Eh, really? I didn’t know Yuuta-kun was interested in punk bands.”

“Well, Ashu liking punk rock isn’t the most surprising thing in the world, you know. The guy can listen to whatever he wants.” Kaneshiro shrugs nonchalantly, but she has to admit that it’s true. She picks up her mug of warm coffee, and wonders how big the difference between them knowing her and her understanding them really is. “There are lots of things that you don’t know about us.”

“Ah, but that just makes me want to work harder and understand all of you more. I do want to get to know all of you better—” Tsubasa is interrupted by Kaneshiro almost choking on his hot drink. She panics — just a little, she’s grown from her anxious newbie days after all — and starts patting his back and asking what’s wrong. Kaneshiro refuses to answer, but the tip of his ears are stained as red as his eyes. Instead, he shifts the topic back to the next live event and the music arrangement he has been working on before she arrived.

In the end, Kaneshiro’s words seem to have stuck the most, and she wonders if Nishiyama Takanori might be a bit more familiar with the punk rock scene. Tsubasa ends up making calls to a few people and working overtime in order to arrange Yuuta’s schedule just right for her surprise to work. She apologizes quietly to Yuuta when she fills in another early morning schedule to compensate for an earlier day off.

This will be worth it, she has to believe that at least.

THRIVE’s schedule is set to start early for their live event when the tickets arrive in her mailbox that morning. Momo had helped her with booking tickets online at a concert auction the week before, Tsubasa being far too busy running around between sets to properly search for one physically. The red head isn’t too amused at the special treatment Yuuta gets, but Tsubasa assures him that she’ll be sure that MooNs gets their own day off to play around sometime soon.

(Momo laughs softly when he tells her that’s not really the point. Tsubasa doesn’t really have time to dissect what exactly he means before he tells her that he looks forward to her making it up to them as well for how hard they’ve been working.)

“Everyone, good job out there!” Tsubasa is ready with cooling towels and colds water bottles when the unit gets back in their dressing room, still full of energy and adrenaline from a live performance. They’re absolutely glowing like this, hyped up from the fans and flushed from the rush of a good set. Tsubasa really, really thinks she’s far too lucky for landing a job like this.

“Thanks, Tsubasa-chan! Did you see me do that drum solo? Did you, did you?” Yuuta laughs as he picks up his water bottle from her awaiting hands. Kaneshiro practically growls when he slaps a towel over the pink haired idol’s face.

“You idiot, that improv almost ruined the whole set.” The brunette huffs, downing almost half of the cold water in one go.

“Ehhh, but it was fun! The fans thought so too, they were super hyped up, you know?”

“Yuuta, it’s best you talk about these things before hand.” Aizome chuckles before smirking at the disgruntled expression on Kaneshiro’s face. “You know our Goshi doesn’t like being surprised.”

“What did you say!?”

“It’s true, isn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re giving Yuuta such a hard time?”

“Mou, come on now, it’s fine! The live was great, we kicked some major butt out there!” Yuuta laughs before subtly separating the two from getting too close with each other. Tsubasa admits that it’s always so amazing to see Yuuta simultaneously be the reason THRIVE argues in the first place and the reason why they drop it.

Tsubasa laughs, “You all seem to be getting along well, as usual.”

“Hmph, what part of this looks like ‘getting along well’ huh, Sumisora?” Kaneshiro slumps in the seat across from her, arms crossed over his chest as he cools down. Aizome takes the seat next to her, chuckling a little before pulling up his compact mirror. Aizome doesn’t even look at them, but continues the conversation anyway as he readjusts the stray wisps of his blue hair.

“Now, now, Goushi, it doesn’t do well to be such a sore loser.”

“Why you—”

Yuuta has him back in his seat before he has a chance to say anything more. His hands are firm on the shorter young man’s shoulders, “Relax, Gouchin! We should be congratulating ourselves, that was a super awesome set.”

“Yes, it was. I could see how excited the fans and even some of the staff members were when I was in the wing.” Tsubasa compliments before bringing out her cellphone, quickly tapping through a few things before finding the calendar application that she usually uses. “And because of all the hard work that you’ve been doing the past few weeks, Shuuji-san decided to give you guys an early long weekend.”

Noises of disbelief come from the three, asking if she’s serious about it. Truthfully, she had to almost beg Shuuji for the day off, the president only giving up under the condition that she’d be on call still just in case any surprise, extremely important events arise.

“Your last schedule is only until tomorrow at noon, afterwards you’re free to spend the day as you please.” Tsubasa informs them. Aizome already seems to be making scheduled dates from the looks of his rapid typing, and Kaneshiro asks until what time the studio they often frequent is open. Yuuta seems to be the most excited, listing down all of the things he could do for the next few days, which reminds her that she really should give the tickets to him as soon as she can before he makes any set plans that could conflict with the concert’s schedule.

Tsubasa digs through her canvas bag, trying to get a glimpse of the familiar sakura-print ticket holder she normally uses. Her eyes light up when she manages to find it, “Ah, Yuuta-kun—”

Yuuta pauses mid-listing, and turns to her. The others pause whatever they’re thinking of as well and copy his movements, evidently curious as to what she needs. Tsubasa feels a little flustered under their expectant gazes, she really should have thought this out more. Maybe Ryuuji is right, and the boys really would be demanding their own rewards for working just as hard.

(A voice in the back of her head that sounds suspiciously similar to the younger of the KitaKore duo tells her, of course Ryuuji is right, you idiot)

Yuuta snaps her out of her thoughts when he calls her name, and Tsubasa flushes just a little, hand gripping the ticket holder hard enough that it creases.

“That is, uhm…!” Tsubasa decides ripping the band aid right off is better than prolonging her agony in any other way, matter, or form. Her hand shoots out from her bag, gripping the sakura-print cover tightly between her index finger and thumb. “Here!”

Yuuta blinks back at her, big amethyst eyes full of confusion. Tsubasa tries very hard not to look at the other two members of THRIVE when he gingerly plucks it from her hands. “Mm? What is it, Tsubasa-chan?”

“They’re, uhm, tickets…” Tsubasa drifts off and tries desperately to avoid THRIVE’s various levels of accusatory stares. “…to-to a band called Ominous Them? They’re playing in the Shinjuku area soon, and Shuuji-san told me you’ve been a fan of them for a while now—”

Tsubasa finally looks up to find Yuuta’s amethyst eyes practically sparkling in excitement, mouth open in a bright grin that only seems to highlight his prominent canines even more. Kaneshiro rolls his eyes and slumps in his seat, though his own gaze flits back and forth at the tickets creasing in their youngest’s vice grip.

“Tsubasa-chan, do you mean it?” Yuuta laughs and whoops louder, jumping up and down in excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…!!”

Aizome gives her a look from the corners of her eyes, but really, Tsubasa is just relieved to see the pink-haired idol so happy about it. She finally releases a sigh of relief and smiles contentedly at him. “I’m glad you’ll have fun then, Yuuta-kun.”

“Eh, but you’ll be coming too, won’t you?” Yuuta pauses, genuinely confused when she blinks up at him blankly.

“Oh, I thought you might want to invite someone else to enjoy your day off with—”

“Then, Tsubasa-chan! I pick Tsubasa-chan to watch this with!”

“Come on now, Yuuta, you can’t just bother Tsubasa-chan like this.” Aizome reprimands him gently. Yuuta, in turn, gives him a big childish pout. He looks ready to throw a tantrum if the need arises.

“Ehhh, but there’s no point if Tsubasa-chan doesn’t come with me.” Tsubasa can feel her face heat up at his words, what does that even mean?

“Come on, Ashu, don’t be so rude. You don’t even know if she likes music like that.” Kaneshiro huffs and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest in the process. Aizome hums in agreement.

Kaneshiro’s words seem to have hit him somewhere where it hurts, because Yuuta’s expression falls at the realization of the possibility of her not actually wanting to spend her day off with him. “But, uhh… if Tsubasa-chan doesn’t want to go, then I guess—”

“No, it’s not—!! I would be honoured if you wanted me to come with you, Yuuta-kun!”

Yuuta’s face perks up immediately as he jumps up with a loud whoop. The pink haired idol does a little dance in his place, chanting alright, alright, alright! in various levels of excitement. Tsubasa wonders if she should be worried about attending a punk rock show for the first time, especially when Kaneshiro snorts and mouths a sarcastic good luck from his seat across her.

Whatever Tsubasa imagines a punk rock live concert is, it’s definitely not much like the real thing. The walls have been painted black, from what she can tell by the parts not hidden behind various band posters and vandalism at the very least. Her nose wrinkles as it catches a whiff of a weird mix of smoke, cheap cologne and stale beer. Tsubasa fingers the hem of her pastel sweater, awkward and out of place in this sea of dark reds and black.

Her eyes flit over to Yuuta beside her, practically thrumming in excitement. Yuuta, whose bubblegum pink hair has been hidden discreetly and expertly underneath a knit beanie (something in her gut tells her he probably borrowed it from Kaneshiro). Yuuta, whose easygoing personality has instantly scored him some friends from waiting in the line outside together. Yuuta who definitely must not feel any awkwardness infiltrating his body in spite of the new environment. Tsubasa envies him, just the slightest bit.

She bites the bud of self-doubt before it grows any further.

“Have you gone here before, Yuuta-kun?”

“No, not here.” Yuuta shakes his head, a few stray strands flying out to frame his freckled face. He reaches out to tuck it back, exposing the dangling piercing on his right ear. “Gouchin and I snuck into one before we debuted! That was a fun experience.”

Before Tsubasa can ask any more, the distant buzzing of chatter suddenly rise to screams and cheers as the band shuffles their way to the stage. Yuuta joins in beside her, but otherwise makes no move to enter into the fray of people flocking the edge of the stage. How weird must it be for Yuuta, whose everyday job is to stand on the other side, to be now hanging back with the crowd? The brunette claps politely as the front-liner taps twice on the mic with a lazy grin, sweeping his wild hair back with a free hand.

“I’m seeing a lot of familiar faces here in the crowd.” The vocalist notes, scanning through the sea of people. Tsubasa wonders if he can even see anything against the glare of lights? She would have to ask the boys later on if it really is true that you can see the faces of the fans past the third row. “Which is always a fun thing you know?”

Tsubasa can practically feel Yuuta buzzing, all grins as he shouts along with the fans. The drummer plays a haphazard beat before hooting, revving and riling up the crowd even more.

“Shinjuku, are you ready to rock!?”

The band launches into song immediately after, and the sound sends her to almost another world entirely. Kaneshiro has warned her about the intense volume that punk rock music brings with it, Aizome almost teasing when he asks if he’s that worried about her. Really, though, Tsubasa doesn’t think any of his warnings ready her for anything as powerful as this.

It’s loud and chaotic, and the images that flash across her head are too fast for her to properly process. The whole thing makes her a little dizzy, as if they want to throw everything at her all at once.

But she feels so, so alive.

When the brunette turns to Yuuta, the pink haired idol can’t stop his body from moving. He looks at her, and then back to the crowd. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that tell her he’s up to something, but the bright smile on his face convinces her that whatever it is he asks, it’s something that she’d eventually want to fulfill. Yuuta reaches out a hand to her, all wild mischief and sincere heart.

“Do you trust me?”

Tsubasa says yes in a heartbeat, and before she has time to think twice about what Ryuuji would inevitably call a very stupid decision, Yuuta pulls her in and leads the way towards the crowd gathering in front. The brunette can faintly hear the younger man deliberately telling her not to let go of his hand, no matter what happens. (she’s awkward and shy in an unfamiliar environment, of course she’s never letting go of the hand of the one person she actually knows in this punk rock fest)

Bodies press close to each other in a weird form of companionship that Tsubasa has never really seen. And although she’s nervous, her heart beating loudly against her chest, Yuuta makes sure to grin in support, you’re doing great, Tsubasa-chan. Yuuta leans in close, the only way he’ll be able to let her hear him of course, and the blood pounding behind her ears gets even louder. “Just dance! Come on, dance with me!”

“How—What do I do?”

“Whatever feels natural!”

He takes her hands, careful of how his numerous accessories press against her skin. Yuuta begins jumping up and down, not so much as a dance step as it is just making sure that he gets to exhaust his energy and move around. Tsubasa awkwardly follows his lead, steps a little mismatched. Yuuta starts banging his head, making her laugh in delight seeing fluffy bubblegum pink hair flying wild and free, his beanie almost off of his head when he’s done. She can feel the sweat dripping against the back of her neck, incredibly aware of how many other bodies there are in this mosh pit, but Yuuta has the uncanny ability to somehow take all of her attention unapologetically.

She has never seen a Yuuta this free and so genuinely happy.

Yuuta bounces in time to the beat and somehow Tsubasa matches his pace. His grin is somehow extra-blinding before he throws both of their hands up and lets out a loud “Whoo!”

And maybe she actually does feel that this is kind of fun—

But then he accidentally does let go of her hand, and Tsubasa is swept away in the crowd of people shoving and dancing and way too into her personal space; where’s Yuuta?

Shoulders and elbows. Digging into her sides and almost hitting her head. One burly man apologizes for accidentally pushing a young girl almost half his size. One tattooed woman screams for more music too close to her sensitive ears. Too close for comfort. This is far too much she can handle. Where the hell is Yuuta? And—

Tsubasa can’t breathe—

Someone wraps a hand around her wrist and she’s about to scream bloody murder until her bright red eyes meet a spray of familiar freckles. Tsubasa doesn’t know if she wants to cry out in frustration more or melt in absolute relief over finding her idol (or is she technically the one who has been found?). Shuuji-san would skin her alive if she tells him she lost THRIVE’s moodmaker in a sea full of people wearing various pointy accessories.

“Yuuta-kun, please don’t scare me like that!” Tsubasa has to shout over how loud the music is and how many people are cheering as the band transitions into a new song.

“I’m so, so, so sorry, Tsubasa-chan!” Yuuta at least looks as apologetic as he sounds, his hands squeezing her wrists as if to remind himself that she’s right there still. “I didn’t mean to lose you, I promise!”

Tsubasa nods and uses her free hand to wipe away the unshed tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Yuuta sighs in relief, shoulders sagging before smiling softly at her. He takes away her hand from her face and slips his palms over hers firmly holding on.

Tsubasa feels her face heat up and is thankful for all of their jumping around just moments before. “Yuu, Yuuta-kun?”

When the brunette looks up, Yuuta doesn’t quite meet her eyes, his own amethyst ones flicking all over the place before they finally rest on their entwined palms. “This is… just so I can make sure I don’t lose you again. Is this okay?”

The rapid beating of her heart tells her it’s not okay, but she’s held hands with him before, and it really isn’t that weird, right? So Tsubasa nods shakily, and lets herself be overwhelmed by the bright beam Yuuta gives her in response.

“Do you still want to dance in the mosh pit?” Tsubasa knows how much of a good person the idol is, and it’s further cemented by the fact that she also knows if she says no, he’ll pull the both of them out even though he looks like he still really, really wants to play.

And isn’t this supposed to be a reward for Yuuta working so hard?

Tsubasa nods, and barely mouths a just for a little bit more, before Yuuta whoops and hollers. He pulls her close and immediately finds the beat again. Tsubasa doesn’t suppress the laugh that bubbles in her throat as the energy from everyone eventually infects her, and she’s up and about and almost as bouncy as Yuuta.

[bnrobertson1]

EXCELLENCE IN PRODUCT PLACEMENT

Death Stranding* is a wowing mind-fuck of an experience, surreal and mundane and draining and invigorating. Unafraid to constantly show you Norman Reedus’ bare ass while pontificating on the nature of modern existence, the game is unlike any before it, a venerable nightmare for marketing people and gamers expecting something more tried-and-true. 

Choose a Caption!: “I intend to help all of humanity through these apocalyptic times. But first, a peek of me bottom for the ladies.” -OR- Reedus Rump: Kojima’s Metal Gear-esque Weapon to Appeal to Women. 

Death Stranding is also the host to the best piece of product placement in recent memory. The product? Monster mahfucking Energy** drink, a (demonic?) elixir that boosts main character Sam’s stamina when consumed- a life-giving tonic with only 160g of sugar. You don’t drink water in the game, you drink Monster. Hell yes. For a game about wandering the wreckage of a nuclear-ish event, it’s a masterful touch, eloquently capturing our need as humans to technologically improve everything (yes, even the liquid responsible for life), a destructive compulsion that is the vertebrae and driver of the game’s narrative. Many in the press find this shameless money-grab to be tasteless, but the fact Coca-Cola (a corporation!) undoubtedly paid millions to get it so prominently in the game only speaks to its preposterous-yet-probable presence. It’s probably too subtle to be a Kojima-nod to the futuristic satire of Idiocracy, but Monster Energy will undoubtedly go down as the real world’s Brawndo (just without the electrolytes).    

*More Thoughts on Death Stranding (BEWARE NON-SENSICAL SPOILERS): God Bless Hideo Kojima, the man goes for it. Arguably video game’s most beloved auteur and inarguably the one who most wants to be referred to as “Kubrikickian” and/or “enigmatic,” the mastermind behind the beloved Metal Gear games proves incapable of working small or with gloves with his Death Stranding, leaving both fingerprints all throughout and editors’ calls unreturned. Hours-long cut scenes waxing philosophical about technology’s dooming yet liberating role in our future? Check. 4th wall breaking, star-fucking pop culture references? Check. Singular gameplay whose laborious nature quite soundly proves larger points about things ranging from literary theory to the gig economy? Check. Check. Check.

But between the preposterous acronyms, convoluted packing systems, and Conan O’ Brien cameos, there glimmers dots of genius. Those willing to wade through the oft- incomprehensible industrial-military-complex babble are rewarded with “Holy Shit” moments, those boundary and/or sense exploding things of which Kojima is King. Death Stranding is no different, and although the game never reaches the heights of the Metal Gear games, there are specific parts that unleashed that goosebump wave of awesomeness. The bolo gun that wraps up your enemies instead of killing them, your ability to hog tie the unsuspecting with an elastic strand, the focus on oil and blood as the life force of all things- these are but some of the elements of the game that really work, dripping into the game at just the rate where you keep interested but not overwhelmed.

But the best moment in the game is in a cut-scene where your baby companion (did I mention Kojima is weird?) literally stops bullets with its mind to save you. Now, the prior sentence shouldn’t make sense, and probably doesn’t. But the real nonsensical thing is just how powerful it hit. In a game about loneliness and the brutal nature of existence, this self-less act is totally unexpected but gives you the real feeling that someone has got your back (even if it proves to be a futile gesture). It’s effect was reminiscent of similar film sequences. After about 15-months of Covid I would say the point was comforting in a way I was not anticipating whatsoever. 

Being the only one of my friends insane enough to finish the game’s deliberate but nonetheless grotesquely overlong runtime (60+ hours of fetch quests!), my fellow Metal Gear fans have asked: is it worth playing? To which I really don’t know the answer. It’s absolutely bold and tries to tell a tale that could only be told in the video game medium, but then again, video games aren’t particularly great ways of telling stories. At points it felt like its design was made to be played in the pandemic: it’s time-consuming, meditative, and at times utterly mind-numbing. At its peaks, the game is reminiscent of Grandaddy’s The Sophtware Slump, another generally somber post-technological tale, albeit with less alcoholic robots and more characters named things like Die-Hardman. It’s not nearly as *fun* as other AAA titles, but then again the diametrically different approach of Doom Eternal didn’t inspire a couple thousand words.    

**I can’t remember my first cigarette, beer, or kiss but I do remember the first time I had a Monster Energy drink. Due to some mental, emotional, and physical deficiencies, I was unable to fly for about 6 months- just the thought of driving to the airport turned my anxiety- and palm sweat- on like a firehose. But knowing this fear was simply incompatible with modern life, I gave myself a building block of a goal- make a flight from my then-home of Austin to somewhere close enough that I could rent a car and drive home. I chose Dallas because I had an incentive: to see obscure musical group Nine Inch Nails*** performing at one of the Metroplex’s many arenas.

Getting on the plane took some assistance- specifically in the form of about 2 grams of Alprazolam. The barbiturate calm pressed the right buttons beautifully, having me giggling about clouds as opposed to obsessing about how we were in a speeding steel cylinder 7 miles above the surface of the earth. But when we landed in Dallas about 30 minutes later, the ease evolved into a potent sleepiness. Which is fine if you’re headed to a hotel, or virtually anywhere else in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, but not so much when you’re about to see an Industrial concert with 8,000 other people not exactly known for their chill. Plodding along, I finally made it to the concert, hoping to order a Red Bull as big as its namesake to get me out of blah bliss and into banging. The venue only sold Coke products, so in my apathetic exhaustion, I decided to order a Monster, an energy drink to that point I identified with redneck culture and thus avoided. Finding the whole thing pretty funny- and strongly buzzing off the fact that I had somehow faced my fear and gotten on an airplane- I figured there was probably no better place on earth to try a tall boy Monster Energy Drink Zero Sugar than FUCKING DALLAS, ie, the Monster Energy Drink of America.

The flavor I ordered was in a white can and poured out looked like some sort of large sea mammal had just bricked into a cup. Disgusted but not discouraged, I grabbed the glowing goblet like it was the reins of a dragon and took it by its mighty wing, by which I mean swig. Surprisingly tasty, I thought. Not the Pepsi-fied version of Red Bull I was fearing. The house lights then were dimmed, indicating it was game time. I wisely bought another Monster and went into the show, thinking 32 oz of liquid electricity was exactly what I needed to match Reznor’s energy.

You’re goddamn right I took a picture of my first Monster! 

Whatever chemistry was going on in my body was probably bad, because it felt awesome. Even though Nine Inch Nails had performed a majority of my favorite stuff the night before (their first of two nights in Dallas), the concert was as engrossing as was hoped- the loudness and lights simultaneously pummeling and transcendent. While it goes without saying that it wasn’t for everyone, the entire 3-hour ride back to Austin I was laughing like a maniac, having won a small battle (flying) and getting a big reward for my efforts (NIN). So, when anybody asks me what the ludicrously huge can of white can of energy drink I’m proudly, obnoxiously enjoying tastes like I am genuine when I tell them: “Carbonated Capri-Sun. And Courage.”      

*** I had been scared of NIN growing up too, specifically the video for “Closer” which made my 10 year old guts squirm like worms with its hanging meat and imagery that was confusingly gory yet sexual. I also went to a conservative all-boys school where wearing NIN stuff was rarely allowed, and when it was you’d be shamed by one of the change-petrified cliques that ran the place. My position softened a bit after the landmark Johnny Cash cover of “Hurt,” but what confirmed my fandom was when I heard “The Hand that Feeds” on a Chicago strip-club sound system- since then, they have soundtracked much of my life. Lesson: There lies wisdom in Strip Clubs.      

[xtruss]

Campaign Chronicles

What Happens if Donald Trump Fights the Election Results?

Stealing a Presidential election in America is difficult, but it has been done before.

— By Eric Lach | August 21, 2020 | The New Yorker

Donald Trump has disputed the popular-vote results of a Presidential contest he won. Now he leads a concerted effort to undermine public confidence in the upcoming election.Photograph by Saul Loeb / Getty

On the night of November 7, 1876, as the results of the Presidential election between Samuel Tilden, the Democratic governor of New York, and Rutherford B. Hayes, the Republican governor of Ohio, began to come in, America, in its centennial year, was barely holding together. Reconstruction was faltering. The economic collapse that followed the Panic of 1873 had left millions out of work, and provoked strikes and labor unrest across the nation. The outgoing Republican Administration of Ulysses S. Grant had been embroiled in a series of corruption scandals. A few months earlier, Sioux warriors had defeated General George Custer and his troops at Little Bighorn. Hayes, whom Henry Adams described as a “third-rate nonentity,” had earned the Republican nomination, in large part, by being the one candidate all factions of the Party could agree on. Tilden and the Democrats seemed poised for an easy victory. As the historian Eric Foner writes in “Reconstruction,” his history of the period, “political corruption and the depression became Tilden’s watchwords; issues many Republicans feared would suffice to carry the election.”

Before Election Day was over, it was clear that Tilden, who, in his previous career as a Gilded Age corporate lawyer and reorganizer of bankrupt railroad lines, had earned the nickname the Great Forecloser, would comfortably win the popular vote. He needed only a single vote in the Electoral College to put him over the top, and results were outstanding in Florida, South Carolina, and Louisiana, where white citizens routinely used violence, intimidation, and fraud to keep their Black neighbors, most of whom were loyal to the Republican Party of Abraham Lincoln, from voting. With the prospect of Democrats taking the White House through disenfranchisement at hand, Republicans moved to steal the election outright. “With your state sure for Hayes, he is elected,” Party leaders said in an Election Night telegram to their cronies in the three Southern states. “Hold your state.”

In Florida, the two Republicans on the three-person election board—Samuel McLin, the Florida secretary of state, and Clayton Cowgill, the state comptroller—systematically approved and rejected results, district by district, to swing the election in their party’s favor. “If the canvassing board had simply accepted all the local returns, Tilden would have prevailed by 94 votes,” Edward Foley, an election-law professor at Ohio State University, writes in “Ballot Battles,” a survey of disputed American elections. “In its decisive 2–1 rulings, however, the board selectively invalidated Tilden-favoring returns because of technicalities, while refusing to invalidate Hayes-favoring returns despite clear evidence of actual fraud.” In this way, a narrow Tilden lead was transformed into a narrow Hayes lead. Similar events unfolded in South Carolina and Louisiana. “The result was manufactured by a deliberate manipulation of the count,” Foley writes.

Democrats were outraged. What ensued is a mostly forgotten episode of American misgovernment that has lately been haunting Foley and other academics, as well as a loose network of bipartisan ex-officials, activists, and think-tank types, who are now contemplating the potential for a disputed election in the present day, at our own fraught political moment. The three Southern states in 1876 each sent Congress two pieces of paper, one from Republican electors certifying that Hayes had won the election, the other from Democratic electors certifying that Tilden had. The crisis these pieces of paper provoked, as Congress tried to reconcile their competing claims, pushed America’s constitutional order to its breaking point—or perhaps, looked at from another angle, it was a reflection of an order that had already broken down.

The Twelfth Amendment, which lays out the procedure for electing the President and Vice-President, says nothing about what Congress should do in the event that states send competing election certificates. Republicans controlled the Senate, and Democrats controlled the House. The two chambers established a commission to try to break the impasse. The dispute went on for months. (Back then, Administrations were inaugurated in March.) With Inauguration just days away and the prospect looming of a country with two people claiming the Presidency and no actual President, House Speaker Samuel Randall presided over a debate described decades later in a history of the crisis as “probably the stormiest ever witnessed in any House of Representatives.” Congressmen reached for their revolvers, and women in the gallery, “fearing a free fight,” ducked out of the chamber.

The tension broke only after William Levy, a Democratic representative from Louisiana who had been in on negotiations between the Southern states and Hayes’s camp, finally signalled that a deal had been struck. Tilden and the Democrats would concede the White House to Republicans, allowing Hayes to effectively steal back the election. Rising to speak in the House chamber, Levy called upon his fellow-Democrats “to join me in the course which I feel called upon and justified in pursuing.” The price that Democrats exacted from Republicans, though, was incalculably high: the drawdown of federal troops in the Southern states, the end of Reconstruction, and the consignment of Black citizens to a century of violent repression. “The negro will disappear from the field of national politics,” The Nation wrote at the time. “Henceforth, the nation, as a nation, will have nothing more to do with him.”

The Hayes-Tilden crisis was resolved, Foley told me recently, “at the expense of America’s commitment to its own citizens.” Unlike the 2000 election, between George Bush and Al Gore, where the dispute was contained in the courts, the 1876 dispute spilled out into the broader political system, and its outcome was openly determined by a naked struggle for power between the two ruling parties. “Because many of us have a living memory of 2000, we think that any election dispute is going to look like 2000,” he said. “Where, in fact, I think that kind of gives us a false sense of what might happen. I think there are now conditions in place that may cause this year’s election to be more like 1876.”

It has been difficult, throughout Donald Trump’s Presidency, to immediately know which of his declarations represent constitutional danger and which are merely attention-seeking bluster. “I think mail-in voting is going to rig the election,” Trump told Fox News’s Chris Wallace during a recent White House interview. When Wallace asked if the President was suggesting that he might not accept the results, Trump, with hands raised, replied, “I have to see. I’m not going to just say yes.” The President’s intermittent musings about postponing the November election have so reliably set off rounds of breathless news coverage that Marc Elias, one of the Democratic Party’s go-to election lawyers, was compelled to write a blog post in March titled “No, Trump Cannot Move the General Election.” Similarly, in response to the persistent speculation that an electorally defeated Trump would spend Joe Biden’s Inauguration Day holed up in the Lincoln Bedroom like Tony Montana at the end of “Scarface,” the Biden campaign in July issued a pithy statement saying, “the United States government is perfectly capable of escorting trespassers out of the White House.”

But Trump’s threats about rejecting the results come November are not idle. In 2016, Trump disputed the results of an election he won, ludicrously claiming that his popular-vote shortfall was the result of illegitimate ballots cast by millions of undocumented immigrants. Four years later, the President is at the head of a concerted effort to undermine public confidence in the upcoming election. Trump has denounced efforts to expand the mail-voting systems that will allow millions of people to cast their ballots safely in this pandemic year. He has ignored calls to provide election administrators with much-needed additional funding to safeguard voters, staff, volunteers, and the vote-counting process. And he has overseen the crippling of the U.S. Postal Service at a time when its work will be critical to the success of the election. “It’s just a question of overload,” Richard L. Hasen, a law professor at the University of California, Irvine, and the author of “Election Meltdown: Dirty Tricks, Distrust, and the Threat to American Democracy,” said. “We have problems with voting machines; we have problems with incompetent election officials. There is foreign interference. Layer on top of that the covid-19 crisis. Layer on top of that a President who is a norm breaker.”

In June, the Transition Integrity Project, a newly formed group devoted to evaluating how a disputed election might unfold, hosted a series of “war games” to play out various scenarios for what might happen on and after November 3rd. Zoe Hudson, a former Open Society Foundation analyst who serves as the director of the project, told me that the idea was to “socialize” potential risks. “Surprise doesn’t work for us,” she said. “We really need people to understand that this will be an unusual election year.”

More than a hundred people participated, most of them prominent names in academia, politics, and the media—Foley was there, as were the former Hillary Clinton campaign chairman John Podesta, former Michigan governor Jennifer Granholm, and former Republican National Committee Chairman Michael Steele. Participants assumed roles as members of the Trump or Biden campaigns, state officials, and the media. The games, which were played under the Chatham House rule—participants are allowed to discuss what happened as long as they don’t reveal who in the room said or did what—proceeded by turns, with certain developments determined by dice rolls. “One of the big takeaways on all sides is that what you have here potentially is a situation where neither side accepts a loss,” Adam Jentleson, a former aide to Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid who participated in the war games, told me. “And that’s a very difficult circle to square.”

While Americans have grown accustomed to Election Nights that unfold like Super Bowls—tune in at 5 p.m. for the pregame and turn off the set at midnight after one side or the other hoists the trophy—the surge in absentee voting brought on by the coronavirus pandemic will likely frustrate that expectation this year. Counting absentee ballots is a slow, laborious process, and, in a number of states, the counting cannot begin until the election is over. In primary elections this spring and summer, states without past experience counting large numbers of absentee ballots have struggled to process them. In New York, the state Board of Elections took six weeks to declare Representative Carolyn Maloney the winner of the congressional Democratic primary in the state’s Twelfth District. Her challenger in the race, Suraj Patel, filed a lawsuit, citing a number of issues with the count, including thousands of mail-in ballots being disqualified and tens of thousands being sent out too late for voters to realistically return on time. Maloney suggested that Patel was playing into Trump’s hands by questioning the legitimacy of an election. Patel and his campaign understandably bristled at the charge. Count every vote, they have insisted. Address the problems now so that they don’t plague us in November.

It’s one thing for an election dispute to play out in a little-noticed congressional primary. When similar disputes broke out in the Transition Integrity Project’s games, with the future of the entire country on the line, the effect was pure mayhem. In the first scenario, the results from three states—North Carolina, Michigan, and Florida—remained too close to call for more than a week. On Election Night, Trump’s campaign called on Biden to concede, citing in-person-voting returns, which looked good for the President. But as the absentee ballots in these states were counted, the numbers swung toward Biden. This was “blue shift,” a phenomenon observed by Foley and other academics in recent elections, wherein in-person-vote totals have tended to skew Republican, while absentee voting has skewed Democratic. Blue shift is what kept the Democratic House wave in 2018 from being immediately apparent on Election Night—the mail votes cast in California that fall took weeks to count, an outcome that former House Speaker Paul Ryan, a Republican, described at the time as “bizarre.” This year, with Trump explicitly making mail voting a partisan issue, the blue shift is likely to be especially pronounced. And Trump is, in turn, expected to denounce this easily explainable phenomenon as nefarious.

As the votes were being tallied in the game, Trump pounced. The team playing as his campaign called on the Justice Department to use federal agents to “secure” voting sites and tried to enlist state Republican officials to stop the further counting of absentee ballots. The Biden team, in response, called for every vote to be counted and urged its supporters to attend rallies calling for the same. During subsequent turns, Trump tried to federalize the National Guard, and both parties sought to block or overturn results in key states. Eventually, North Carolina was declared for Biden and Florida was declared for Trump, leaving Michigan as the deciding state—there, a “rogue individual” destroyed ballots believed to be favorable to Biden, leaving Trump with a narrow lead. Michigan’s Republican-led legislature certified Trump’s victory, but the state’s Democratic governor, Gretchen Whitmer, refused to accept the result, citing the sabotage, and sent a separate certification to Congress.

It was 1876 all over again. Both campaigns called for their supporters to take to the streets. Trump invoked the Insurrection Act. Republicans in Congress declared that Vice-President Mike Pence, as president of the Senate, was entitled to choose which certification from Michigan to accept as legitimate. Democrats, of course, rejected that argument. “There was no clear resolution of the conflict in the January 6 joint session of Congress,” the game summary reads. “The partisans on both sides were still claiming victory, leading to the problem of two claims to Commander-in-Chief power (including access to the nuclear codes) at noon on January 20.” The game ended there.

Another scenario, in which Trump won a clear victory in the Electoral College but lost the national popular vote by an even wider margin than in 2016, also ended in chaos. Biden withdrew his Election Night concession and asked the Democratic governors in Wisconsin, Michigan, and North Carolina for recounts. The governors in Wisconsin and Michigan took the 1876 course again, sending a slate of electors to Congress that conflicted with those sent by their states’ Republican-controlled legislatures. Republicans, unsuccessfully, tried to cajole moderate Democrats to break from their party and back Trump’s victory. “At the end of the first turn,” the summary reads, “the country was in the midst of a full-blown constitutional crisis.” Congress, once again, failed to resolve the standoff before Inauguration Day. “It was unclear what the military would do in this situation,” the transcript says. According to the Times, near the end of this scenario, Podesta, the former Clinton campaign chairman, called on California, Oregon, and Washington to secede from the Union.

Even a scenario that led to a peaceful transfer of power was, at certain moments, politically perilous. In one game, Biden won the election by a narrow but clear margin. Trump’s campaign persuaded the Republican-controlled legislatures in Michigan and Pennsylvania to send Congress conflicting election certifications. Attorney General William Barr announced that the Justice Department would begin investigating “voter fraud” and took steps to stop ballot counting. But, as the game went on, Senator Mitt Romney convinced three of his fellow Republican senators to break ranks and support Biden. A dice roll determined that four million people would participate in pro-Biden street demonstrations. The Joint Chiefs of Staff discussed resigning in protest at Trump’s increasingly desperate behavior, and those discussions were leaked to the press. As power began to slip away from the President, right-wing media turned increasingly toxic, and his Administration devolved into a frenzy of document destruction and corrupt pardonings. Biden called on the House and Senate Intelligence Committees to investigate foreign interference in the election and announced that moderate Republicans, including the governor of Massachusetts, Charlie Baker, would serve in his Cabinet. The game ended with the Democratic Party beginning to investigate Trump and his family.

These war games were hypothetical imaginings of extraordinary circumstances. But an election in a pandemic year with a President declaring in advance that the vote will be rigged are extraordinary circumstances. “One big takeaway is that leaders really need to know what exactly their powers are, and what the powers of others are, and think through some of these options in advance,” Rosa Brooks, a law professor at Georgetown University who helped convene the Transition Integrity Project, told me recently. “Because if things go bad, they’ll go bad very quickly, and people will have to make decisions in an hour, not in a week.”

The contours of the upcoming election are already being fought over in the courts. Since the 2000 election, with its hanging chads and butterfly ballots, America has seen an explosion of election-related litigation, from an average of ninety-four lawsuits a year to an average of two hundred and seventy a year, according to an analysis by Hasen, the author of “Election Meltdown.” This year, there have already been some two hundred election lawsuits filed over covid-19-related issues alone. In May, the Trump campaign and the Republican National Committee doubled their legal budget, to twenty million dollars. “Bush v. Gore exposed shortcomings in our system in a very visible way,” Rebecca Green, an election-law professor at William & Mary Law School, said. “And so people started pushing back and testing it.” This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Green said. “We do disputed elections in this country. We have processes in place. We have law. It’s not the Wild West where we’re left without direction on how this should unfold.” She added, “I really worry about public confidence being undermined by this constant drumbeat of meltdown.”

The biggest cases so far have centered on mail voting. At the state level, efforts to address this year’s unprecedented voting challenges have largely been bipartisan efforts—as many as forty-five states will allow voters to mail in their ballots for the November election. But in the courts, the two parties’ overarching national positions come down to this: Democrats are trying to make voting by mail as easy as possible, and Republicans are fighting to prevent that. Caught in the middle are election administrators, the local officials tasked with organizing and processing our voting systems. The Brennan Center for Justice at N.Y.U. has estimated that administrators would need an additional four billion dollars in funding to safeguard the vote during the pandemic. In the Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security Act, Congress allocated four hundred million dollars for election preparations. The shortfall will likely mean, in many cases, fewer polling places, longer lines, and slower processing of absentee ballots. Administrators have also reported trouble recruiting volunteers—the battalion of retirees that normally mind our polls and count our ballots—because many of them are wary of exposure to the virus. In normal years, election administrators and the volunteers they rely on are prone to mistakes. This year, all these issues make slow counts and frustrated voters even more likely—and create the conditions for one side or the other to dispute the outcome.

Of course, Trump has increased the chances for such a dispute by undermining public trust in the system itself. Nowhere has this dynamic been more insidious than with the Postal Service. Conservatives have been targeting the agency for cuts for years, and recent Trump Administration decisions—spearheaded by the new Postmaster General, Louis DeJoy, who is a major Trump donor—have caused a mail slowdown around the country. Those efforts have collided with an election that will rely on the Postal Service more than any in American history. Trump has made the connection explicit. “They want three and a half billion dollars for something that’ll turn out to be fraudulent,” he said earlier this month, about the Democrats’ position in the latest round of negotiations over pandemic relief. “They need that money in order to make the Post Office work so it can take all of these millions and millions of ballots.” The fear and distrust that Trump has sown has meant that, when the Postal Service recently sent a letter to states warning that some of their absentee-ballot application and filing deadlines were “incongruous with the Postal Service’s delivery standards” and too close to Election Day to guarantee timely delivery—a concern that independent election experts have raised for years—state officials grew worried that the federal government was preëmptively preparing to blame them for problems in November. “I think that many people were surprised by the tone of the letter,” Tammy Patrick, an adviser at the Democracy Fund who previously served as an election administrator in Maricopa County, Arizona, said. “I have never seen the Postal Service throw a customer under the bus before—and certainly not when the votes of American citizens are on the line.” (On Friday, DeJoy is scheduled to appear at hearings before congressional Democrats.)

After Election Day, the lawsuits are expected to shift to questions about ballot counting. Absentee ballots present bureaucratic problems in ways that in-person voting doesn’t. Even in normal election years, a large number of absentee ballots are disqualified. The reasons range from signature matching, a notoriously unreliable process, to disputes over “voter intent,” where individual ballots are evaluated for stray markings, and ballots that arrive after the deadline. “In a lot of cases, the law does give judges leeway,” Green said. “And the unenviable place where they end up is, do I stretch the law to enfranchise as many people as I can, or do I read the law strictly and end up disenfranchising people?” Already this year, the disqualification rate seen in some states during the primaries has been alarming. “The biggest potential disaster is that one candidate wins because so many votes are thrown out,” Hasen told me. “More votes are lost to incompetence than anything else.”

Rachana Desai Martin, who is leading the Biden campaign’s voter-protection efforts, told me that the campaign’s energy was currently focussed on voter education. “We want to make sure that we’re doing everything we can to put out correct information about how to vote, and that means both by mail and also in person, early and on Election Day,” Martin said. (Hasen, for his part, recently made a recommendation on Twitter. “FLATTEN THE ABSENTEE BALLOT CURVE,” he wrote. “If voting by mail request your ballot as soon as you are able and return it as soon as you can.”) Outside progressive groups, though, are preparing for all contingencies. Indivisible, the Trump resistance group founded in the wake of the 2016 election, recently paired up with Stand Up America and other progressive organizations to form Protect the Results, which will strive to get millions of people into the streets in the case of a disputed outcome. “We have to prepare for mobilization immediately,” Ezra Levin, Indivisible’s co-founder, said in a recent interview.

American elections are always messy. The Constitution does not guarantee candidates or voters the right to perfect electoral outcomes. But even a President cannot overturn an election on his own. An 1876-like scenario relies on lawmakers at the state level being willing to potentially buck the will of the voters. In this way, the days after November 3rd may offer an early clue about whether Trumpism will endure in the Republican Party. How far will state lawmakers be willing to go to keep him in office, or to back him up if he declares victory based on the vote totals before the absentees are counted, or disputes the total counts after they are? And if partisans at the state level kick the dispute up to Congress, as happened in 1876, would congressional Republicans, led by Mitch McConnell, follow their lead? “That’s the key question,” William Kristol, the former editor of The Weekly Standard and a prominent Never Trump Republican, said. (Kristol played Trump in two of the Transition Integrity Project’s games.) Even if Trump can’t successfully fight an election outcome, Kristol said, if the Republican Party goes along with his protests, they’d potentially be associating themselves with “a false and dangerous stabbed-in-the-back narrative” that could define the Party for years to come.

There are other nightmare scenarios. Foley, in particular, fears that counting delays will lead to states missing the December deadlines by which elections need to be certified to Congress. There are those who fear that Trump will exploit covid-19 to mandate emergency stay-at-home orders in Democratic-leaning cities in the final days or weeks of the campaign. There are others who point to a recently lapsed judicial-consent decree that, for decades, prevented the Republican Party from sending “poll watchers” out to intimidate voters in nonwhite neighborhoods. (“There is this real concern that officials who have been engaged in voter suppression as an electoral tactic can now weaponize covid to push that further,” Vanita Gupta, the former head of the Justice Department’s Civil Rights Division, who participated in the Transition Integrity Project, said. “Frankly, it’s all of a piece.”) And there are fears about the Portland or Lafayette Square-style deployment of federal agents across the country. Lawrence Wilkerson, a retired Army colonel and former chief of staff to Secretary of State Colin Powell, who sat in on two of the Transition Integrity Project’s games, told me that he couldn’t rule out Trump trying to drag the military into a postelection dispute. “That’s what worries me about this,” he said, “that anybody who told Trump that some action they were going to take was conducive to his retention of office would be told immediately, ‘Go do it.’ ”

As he has in other areas of American self-government, Trump has revealed how much of our democracy rests on norms rather than enforceable laws. Ultimately, the one norm that has been crucial to the resolution of past disputes is the one that Trump is perhaps least likely to observe: conceding defeat. In 1876, Tilden, from the start of the crisis, was privately prepared to concede and ultimately did so. And while the Supreme Court is popularly remembered as the decisive actor that handed the 2000 election to George W. Bush, it was Al Gore’s decision to concede, and to not pursue additional legal options, that really ended matters. In November, if Trump loses and refuses to concede, he may live up to one of his favorite boasts. No one will have ever seen anything like it. When I asked the Trump campaign what preparations it was making for the possibility of counts coming in slowly, or being too close to call, on and after Election Day, Tim Murtaugh, Trump’s campaign communications director, told me in an e-mailed statement, “We don’t know what kind of shenanigans Democrats will try leading up to November. If someone had asked George W. Bush and Al Gore this same question in 2000, would they have been able to foresee the drawn out fight over Florida? The central point remains clear: in a free and fair election, President Trump will win.”

[tirtalks]

A Glance of: Ego is The Enemy

The book Ego is The Enemy by Ryan Holiday is filled with cautionary tales of those who experienced ego at each of their stages in life: Aspiration, Success, and Failure.

This is not about ego in the Freudian sense, but the ego we most commonly see that goes by a more casual definition: an unhealthy belief in our own importance. Arrogance. Self-centered ambition. It’s the sense of superiority and certainty that exceeds the bounds of confidence and talent. The need to be better than, more than, recognized for –that’s ego.

Ego is the enemy that separates us from every direct and honest connection to the world around us. That’s why this book comes to help us to be humble in our aspirations, gracious in our success, and resilient in our failures.

To whatever you aspire, ego is your enemy

Don’t Talk, Talk, Talk –Act!

The more difficult the task, the more uncertain the outcome, the more costly talk will be and the farther we run from actual accountability.

So what is scarce and rare? Silence. The ability to deliberately keep ourselves out of the conversation and exist without any need to be validated. The only relationship between work and chatter is the latter kills the other –particularly early on in any journey.

To Be or To Do?

If your purpose is something larger than you –to accomplish something, to prove something to yourself- then suddenly everything becomes both easier and more difficult.

Easier in the sense that you know now what it is you need to do and what is important to you. The other choices washed away, as they aren’t really choices at all. It’s about the doing, not the recognition. It gets harder because each opportunity –no matter how gratifying or rewarding– must be evaluated along strict guidelines. Does this help me to do what I have set out to do? Does this allow me to do what I need to do? Am I being selfish or selfless?

To be or to do –life is a constant roll call.

Become A Student

The art of taking feedback is such a crucial skill in life, particularly on harsh and critical feedback. The ego avoids such feedback at all costs, whatever, ego is the voice that tells us we’re better than we really are. Ego dislikes reality and prefers its own assessment.

To become what we ultimately hope to become often takes long period of obscurity. Humility is what keeps us there, concerned that we don’t know enough and that we must continue to study. Become a student to place the ego and ambition in someone else’s hands.

Don’t Be Passionate

It’s all about passion. Find your passion. Live passionately. Inspire the world with your passion. Because we only seem to hear about the passion of successful people, we forget that failures shared the same trait.

Passion typically covered a weakness. Its breathlessness, impetuousness and franticness are poor substitutes for discipline, for mastery, for purpose and strength and perseverance. You need to be able to spot this in others and in yourself. While the origins of passion may be earnest and good, the effects are comical and then monstrous.

The critical work that you want to do will require consideration to pursue the purpose. Not passion. Not naivety.

Follow the Canvas Strategy

The Canvas Strategy is about helping yourself by helping others. Making a concerted effort to trade your short-term gratification for a longer term pay-off. Whereas everyone else wants to get credit and be “respected”, you can forget credit. You can forget it so hard that you’re glad when others get it instead of you –that was your aim, after all. Let the others take their credit on credit, while you defer and earn interest on the principal.

Once we fight this emotional and egoistical impulse, the canvas strategy is easy and the iterations are endless.

Restrain Yourself

Our own path, whatever we aspire to, will in some ways be defined by the amount of nonsense we are willing to deal with.

Up ahead there will be: Slights. Dismissals. One-sided compromises. You’ll get yelled. You’ll have to work behind the scenes to salvage what should have been easy. All this will make you angry and want to fight back. But don’t! Take it. Endure it. Quietly brush it off and work harder. Restraint is a difficult skill but a critical one.You will often be tempted. No one is perfect with it, but we must try.

Honestly, many paths would tolerate only restraint and had no forgiveness for ego.

Get Out of Your Own Head

Our imagination is dangerous when it runs wild. We have to rein our perceptions in. Otherwise, lost in the excitement, how can we accurately predict the future or interpret events? How can we stay hungry and aware? How can we appreciate the present moment?

Living clearly and immediately taking courage. Don’t live in the haze of abstract, live with the tangible and real circumstances, even if it’s uncomfortable. Be part of what’s going on around you. Feast on it, adjust for it.

There’s no one to perform for. There is just work to be done and lessons to be learned, in all that is around us.

The Danger of Early Pride

Actually, pride –even in real accomplishments– is a distractions and a deluder. Pride blunts the very instrument we need to own in order to succeed: our mind. Our ability to learn, to adapt, to be flexible, to build relationships, all of this is dulled by pride. Most dangerously, this tends to happen either early in life or in the process –when we’re flushed with beginner’s conceit. Pride takes a minor accomplishment and makes it feel like a major one.

Receive feedback, maintain hunger, and chart a proper course in life. We are still striving, and it is the strivers that should be our peers –not the proud and the accomplished ones.

At the end, this isn’t about deferring pride because you don’t deserve it yet. It isn’t “Don’t boast about what hasn’t happened yet.” It is more directly “Don’t boast.” There’s nothing in it for you. 

Work, Work, Work

Fac, si facis. Do it if you’re going to do it.

Work is finding yourself alone at the track when the weather kept everyone else indoors. Work is pushing through the pain and crappy first draft and prototypes. It is ignoring whatever praise others are getting, and more importantly, ignoring whatever praise you may be getting. Because there is work to be done.

 To whatever success you have achieved, ego is your enemy

Always Stay a Student

As we first succeed, we will find ourselves in new situations, facing new problems. But, with accomplishment comes a growing pressure to pretend that we know more than we do. To pretend we already know everything.

No matter what you’ve done up to this point, you better still be a student. To be the humble version of you who don’t assume, “I know the way”. If you’re not still learning, you’re already dying.

Don’t Tell Yourself a Story

Whatever we do, instead of pretending that we are living some great story, we must remain focused on the execution –and on executing with excellence. We must shun the false crown and continue working on what got us here.

Because that’s the only thing that will keep us here.

What’s Important to You?

This is how ego works: we’re never happy with what we have, we want what other people have too. We want to have more than anyone else. Ego sways and can ruins us. We started out knowing what’s important to us, but once we’ve achieved it, we lose sight of our priorities.

On an individual level, however, it’s absolutely critical that you know who you’re competing with and why, that you have a clear sense of the space you’re in. The more you have and do, the harder the maintaining fidelity to your purpose will be, but the more critically you will need to.

Find out why you’re after what you’re after. Ignore those who mess with your pace. Let them covet what you have, not the other way around. Because that’s independence.

Entitlement, Control, and Paranoia

The problem lies in the path that got us to success in the first place. What we’ve accomplished often required feats of raw power and force of will. Achieving success involved ignoring the doubts and reservations of the people around us. There are legitimate stresses and anguish that come with the responsibilities of our new life. But, ego will always be the worst enemy. Ego sways and can ruins every single pieces of our life.

We don’t have any entitlement to overstate our abilities. In other way, we need to control ourselves to don’t ever force anything to be done our way –even little things, even inconsequential things. Learn to trust people so paranoia won’t get us down.

Once our path lead us to success, we have to regularly remind ourselves of the limits of our power and reach: entitlement, control, and paranoia.

Managing Yourself

As you become successful in your own field, your responsibilities may begin to change. Days become less and less about doing and more and more about making decisions. Responsibilities requires a readjustment and then increased clarity and purpose.

It is not enough to have great qualities and abilities to do everything in our own field, we should also have the management of them.

Beware The Disease of Me

The Disease of Me begins once we think that we’re better, that we’re special, that our problems and experiences are so incredibly different from everyone else’s that no one could possibly understand. It’s an attitude that has sunk far better people, teams, and causes than ours.

Let’s make one thing clear: we never earn the right to be greedy or to pursue our interests at the expense of everyone else. To think otherwise is not only egoistical, it’s counterproductive.

Meditate on The Immensity

At least once in a lifetime, we would experience what the Stoics would call sympatheia –a connectedness with the cosmos. A sense of belonging to something larger, of realizing that “human things are an infinitesimal point in the immensity.”

When we lack a connection to anything larger or bigger than us, it’s like a piece of our soul is gone. No wonder we find success empty when we’re exhausted. In that moment, ego stands in the way. By removing the ego –even temporarily– we can access what’s left standing in relief. By widening our perspective, more comes into view.

Feel unprotected against the elements or forces or surroundings. Remind yourself how pointless it is to rage and fight and try to one-up those around you. Go and put yourself in touch with the infinite, and end your conscious separation from the world. Reconcile yourself a bit better with the realities of life. Realize how much events came before you, and how only wisps of it remain.

Let the feeling carry you as long as you can. Then when you start to feel better or bigger than usual, go and do it again.

Maintain Your Sobriety

In most cases, we think that people become successful through sheer energy and enthusiasm. We almost excuse ego because we think it’s a part and parcel of the personality required to “make it big.” Maybe a bit of that overpower is what got you where you are. But, we have to stay sober and control our ego.

Sobriety is the counterweight that must balance out the success. Especially if things keep getting better and better.

 To whatever failure and challenges you will face, ego is your enemy

Alive Time or Dead Time

According to Greene, there are two types of time in our lives: dead time, when people are passive and waiting, and alive time, when people are learning and acting and utilizing every second. Every moment of failure, every moment or situation that we did not deliberately choose or control, presents this choice: Alive time. Dead time. Which will it be?

Dead time is revived when we use it as an opportunity to do what we have always needed to do. Think of what you have been putting off. Issues you declined to deal with, systemic problems that felt too overwhelming to address.

In life, we all get stuck with dead time. Its occurrence isn’t in our control. Its use, on the other hand, is.

The Effort is Enough

In life, there will be times when we do everything right, perhaps even perfectly. Yet the results will somehow be negative: failure, disrespect, jealousy, or even a resounding yawn from the world.

Depending on what motivates us, the response can be crushing. If ego predominates, we’ll accept nothing less than a full appreciation. With the right motives we can still pursue our success. With ego, we’re not.

Do your work. Do it well. Then “let go and let God.” That’s all there needs to be. Recognition and rewards –those are just extra. Rejection, that’s on them, not on us. Doing the work is enough.

Fight Club Moments

We surround ourselves with distractions, with lies about what makes us happy and what’s important. We become people we shouldn’t become and engaged in destructive, awful behaviors. This unhealthy and ego-derived state hardens and becomes almost permanent. The bigger the ego, the harder the fall.

In fact, many significant life changes come from moments in which we are thoroughly demolished, in which everything we thought we knew about the world is rendered false. But change begins by hearing the criticism and the words of the people around you. Even if those words are mean spirited, angry, or hurtful. It means weighing them, discarding the ones that don’t matter, and reflecting on the ones that do.

Draw The Line

People make mistakes all the time. We take risks. We messed up. We fight desperately and only making it worse. Ego kills what we love. Sometime, it comes close to killing us too

Let’s say you’ve failed and let’s even say it was your fault. Things happened and trouble is in anywhere. But most of them is temporary, unless you make them not so. Recovery is not grand, it’s one step ahead of the other. The only real failure is abandoning your principles.

Maintain Your Own Scorecard

This is the characteristic of how great people think. They don’t really care much about what other people thin, they only care whether they meet their own standards. And these standards are much, much higher than everyone else’s. A person who judges himself based on his own standard doesn’t crave the spotlight the same way as someone who lets applause dictate success.

Reflecting on what went well or how amazing we are doesn’t get us anywhere, except maybe to where we are right now. But we want to go further, we want more, and we want to continue to improve.

Always Love

We all have stuff that pissed us off. The more successful or powerful we are, the more protection we will need in terms of our legacy, image, and influence. There is only one best response to an attack or a slight of something you don’t like: love. Because hate will get you every time.

In failure or adversity, it’s so easy to hate. Hate defers blame. It makes someone else responsible. It’s a distraction too. Does this get us any closer to where we want to be? No. It just keeps us where we are –or worse.

Meanwhile, love is right there. Egoless, open, positive, vulnerable, peaceful, and productive.

Epilogue

Every day for the rest of your life you will find yourself at one of those three phases: aspiration, success, failure. You will battle the ego in each of them. You will make mistakes in each of them. You must sweep the floor every minute of every day. And then sweep again.

[newstfionline]

An effortless way to improve your memory

By David Robson, BBC, 12 February 2018

When trying to memorise new material, it’s easy to assume that the more work you put in, the better you will perform. Yet taking the occasional down time--to do literally nothing--may be exactly what you need. Just dim the lights, sit back, and enjoy 10-15 minutes of quiet contemplation, and you’ll find that your memory of the facts you have just learnt is far better than if you had attempted to use that moment more productively.

Although it’s already well known that we should pace our studies, new research suggests that we should aim for “minimal interference” during these breaks--deliberately avoiding any activity that could tamper with the delicate task of memory formation. So no running errands, checking your emails, or surfing the web on your smartphone. You really need to give your brain the chance for a complete recharge with no distractions.

An excuse to do nothing may seem like a perfect mnemonic technique for the lazy student, but this discovery may also offer some relief for people with amnesia and some forms of dementia, suggesting new ways to release a latent, previously unrecognised, capacity to learn and remember.

The remarkable memory-boosting benefits of undisturbed rest were first documented in 1900 by the German psychologist Georg Elias Muller and his student Alfons Pilzecker. In one of their many experiments on memory consolidation, Muller and Pilzecker first asked their participants to learn a list of meaningless syllables. Following a short study period, half the group were immediately given a second list to learn--while the rest were given a six-minute break before continuing.

When tested one-and-a-half-hours later, the two groups showed strikingly different patterns of recall. The participants given the break remembered nearly 50% of their list, compared to an average of 28% for the group who had been given no time to recharge their mental batteries. The finding suggested that our memory for new information is especially fragile just after it has first been encoded, making it more susceptible to interference from new information.

Although a handful of other psychologists occasionally returned to the finding, it was only in the early 2000s that the broader implications of it started to become known, with a pioneering study by Sergio Della Sala at the University of Edinburgh and Nelson Cowan at the University of Missouri.

The team was interested in discovering whether reduced interference might improve the memories of people who had suffered a neurological injury, such as a stroke. Using a similar set-up to Muller and Pilzecker’s original study, they presented their participants with lists of 15 words and tested them 10 minutes later. In some trials, the participants remained busy with some standard cognitive tests; in others, they were asked to lie in a darkened room and avoid falling asleep.

The impact of the small intervention was more profound than anyone might have believed. Although the two most severely amnesic patients showed no benefit, the others tripled the number of words they could remember--from 14% to 49%, placing them almost within the range of healthy people with no neurological damage.

The next results were even more impressive. The participants were asked to listen to some stories and answer questions an hour later. Without the chance to rest, they could recall just 7% of the facts in the story; with the rest, this jumped to 79%--an astronomical 11-fold increase in the information they retained. The researchers also found a similar, though less pronounced, benefit for healthy participants in each case, boosting recall between 10 and 30%.

Della Sala and Cowan’s former student, Michaela Dewar at Heriot-Watt University, has now led several follow-up studies, replicating the finding in many different contexts. In healthy participants, they have found that these short periods of rest can also improve our spatial memories, for instance--helping participants to recall the location of different landmarks in a virtual reality environment. Crucially, this advantage lingers a week after the original learning task, and it seems to benefit young and old people alike. And besides the stroke survivors, they have also found similar benefits for people in the earlier, milder stages of Alzheimer’s disease.

In each case, the researchers simply asked the participants to sit in a dim, quiet room, without their mobile phones or similar distractions. “We don’t give them any specific instructions with regards to what they should or shouldn’t do while resting,” Dewar says. “But questionnaires completed at the end of our experiments suggest that most people simply let their minds wander.”

Even then, we should be careful not to exert ourselves too hard as we daydream. In one study, for instance, participants were asked to imagine a past or future event during their break, which appeared to reduce their later recall of the newly learnt material. So it may be safest to avoid any concerted mental effort during our down time.

If you are interested in further, low-effort ways to boost your recall, you may benefit from the following strategies:

Test yourself. So-called “retrieval practice”--actively forcing yourself to remember information--is far more effective than passive reading.

“Space” your studies, leaving a few weeks between the times you revisit material. Indeed, it’s often better to wait until you are on the cusp of forgetting the material to avoid “overlearning”.

Talk to yourself. Simple describing an event cements it in your memory.

Add variety. It can sometimes be beneficial to mix up and rotate the subjects you are studying, a process called “interleaving”, rather than studying each one in a single block.

The exact mechanism is still unknown, though some clues come from a growing understanding of memory formation. It is now well accepted that once memories are initially encoded, they pass through a period of consolidation that cements them in long-term storage. This was once thought to happen primarily during sleep, with heightened communication between the hippocampus--where memories are first formed--and the cortex, a process that may build and strengthen the new neural connections that are necessary for later recall.

This heightened nocturnal activity may be the reason that we often learn things better just before bed. But in line with Dewar’s work, a 2010 study by Lila Davachi at New York University, found that it was not limited to sleep, and similar neural activity occurs during periods of wakeful rest, too.

Perhaps the brain takes any potential down time to cement what it has recently learnt--and reducing extra stimulation at this time may ease that process. It would seem that neurological damage may render the brain especially vulnerable to that interference after learning a new memory, which is why the period of rest proved to be particularly potent for stroke survivors and people with Alzheimer’s disease.

Other psychologists are excited about the research. “The effect is quite consistent across studies now in a range of experiments and memory tasks,” says Aidan Horner at the University of York. “It’s fascinating.” Horner agrees that it could potentially offer new ways to help individuals with impairments to function.

Beyond the clinical benefits, Baguley and Horner both agree that scheduling regular periods of rest, without distraction, could help us all hold onto new material a little more firmly. After all, for many students, the 10-30% improvements recorded in these studies could mark the difference between a grade or two. “I can imagine you could embed these 10-15 minute breaks within a revision period,” says Horner, “and that might be a useful way of making small improvements to your ability to remember later on.”

In the age of information overload, it’s worth remembering that our smartphones aren’t the only thing that needs a regular recharge. Our minds clearly do too.

[recalculatingthegenderwar]

Feminists use Manchester bombing to push their ideology before bodies even cold

On May 22, 2017 at approximately 22:30 local time a suicide bomber set off an explosive at the Manchester Arena in Manchester, England after an Ariana Grande concert had finished. Current count has 23 killed and at least 120 injured.

More information is still coming out as the investigation continues. However, this didn't stop writers from Slate and Salon, no more than 24-hours after the attack, from using the bombing as a springboard to claim that not only were women and girls specifically target, but they are victims of massive societal oppression.

The Bombing at a Manchester Ariana Grande Show Was an Attack on Girls and Women" by Slate's Christina Cauterucci was (assuming U.S. Eastern Standard Time on the byline) published less than 6 hours after the bombing. Even now the true motives of the bomber are still being investigated, but 6 hours after the fact Cauterucci seemed perfectly comfortable suggesting the attack was in retaliation for pop-singer supposedly challenging the big, bad Patrichary.

"Like her pop-superstar predecessor Britney Spears, Grande has advanced a renegade, self-reflexive sexuality that’s threatening to the established heteropatriarchal order. If the Manchester bombing was an act of terrorism, its venue indicates that the attack was designed to terrorize young girls who idolize Grande’s image." [emphasis added]

Cauterucci even tries to subtlety weave in undertones of rape and slut-shaming:

Grande has long been the target of sexist rhetoric that has deemed her culpable for any sexual objectification or animosity that’s come her way. Her songs and wardrobe are sexy, yet she’s maintained a coy, youthful persona; the combination has led some haters to argue that she’s made her fortune by making people want to have sex with her, so whatever related harm befalls her is entirely her fault. [emphasis added]

It's confusing what Cauterucci is even suggesting here. Is she suggesting the bomber was some kind of misogynist Grande-hater? It doesn't help Cauterucci's point that attackers didn't appear to make any concentrated effort to harm Grande. The bomb went off after the concert ended, which makes sense if your goal is take out as many people as possible (people crowd together up as they rush for exists), but not if you are trying to assassinate Grande. Cauterucci even acknowledges that the attack didn't explicitly target women and girls, just a venue where there were likely to be a many women and girls:

"The victims of Monday’s bombing will almost certainly be mostly girls and women. The Grande fan demographic also includes a number of older millennial women, gay men, and general lovers of pop music, of course, but her live concerts are largely populated by tween and teenage girls and their moms."

Of course, Cauterucci doesn't have a break down of the gender ratio of the victims, because it hadn't (and still hasn't) been released. At the time Cauterucci published her article, the causality toll hadn't even been settled (Cauterucci's article still lists the death toll at 19 and the injury count at 50). Cauterucci doesn't even try to give us hard data about the gender/age makeup of the concert or Grande's fan base in general.

Salon article is worse

A Salon article entitled "Manchester was an attack on girls" by Mary Elizabeth Williams, is basically the same as the Slate article, but dialed up a few notches. It's more emotional, more bombastic and says even less. This is impressive, since (unlike Slate) Salon waited a full 19 and a half hours after the attack to publish this gem. Almost a full day!

Williams unconvincingly tries to show that young girls are constantly crushed by societal oppression and find brief precious moments of freedom in Ariana Grande's music.

"If you just happen to not be a girl or don’t live with girls, I want to tell you how truly spectacular they are and what they’re up against every goddamn day. I want to remind you what a refuge pop music is — music that speaks to you, without judgment. That makes you feel safe and joyful in a culture that seems to purposefully and ceaselessly try to tear you down. One that seeks to punish you for how you dress, that trivializes your interests and your icons, that obsesses over guarding your purity."

Williams mentions how some people wrote some not nice things on social media (with little evidence to back it up). Perhaps a high crime in the feminist world, but less concerning to most of us, especially when the subject is a deadly bombing. Williams article mostly boils down to 8-paragraphs of emotional venting about how wonderful and oppressed girls are:

"They are so, so strong, these girls — yes, these girls with their goofy Snapchat streaks and their mermaid hair and their willingness to love things unironically. Their courage and their grace would knock you out. And if you want to know what ferocious resilience looks like, take a look sometime at a young girl and her bestie, sharing a set of earbuds and dancing, in spite of it all."

Remember all of those terrorists attacks that targeted men

In all fairness, the attacker may have targeted the concert because it seemed like they would be many women and girls there (or maybe just because it was an event with lots of people). Unlike Slate and Salon, I'm waiting for the police investigation to be complete. I don't know the attacker's motivation. My point is that neither do Cauterucci and Williams, but that didn't stop them from writing their articles less than 24 hours after the bombing.

If the bomber was trying to kill a high number of women and girls, I imagine it was increase the perceived tragedy of the attack (because under "patriarchy" the deaths of women are seen as uniquely tragic for some reason).

Of course, Cauterucci and Williams really start going off rails by trying to spin the bombing into evidence of widespread oppression of women and/or girls. Here is a riddle for you. If bombing a concert where the fan base is likely mostly female is sexist, what is a shooting at club primarily catering to gay men? You would think Cauterucci and Williams might have asked themselves this question, since they both brought up the 2016 Orlando Pulse nightclub shooting in their articles as an example of terrorist/societal oppression.

Was that attack not specifically targeting men? 45 out of 49 of those killed were men (I can't find stats on the other 53 wounded). Now you might argue, that was because they were gay, not because they were men. I guess there just weren't any good lesbian clubs to shoot up. Maybe the bomber didn't mind women, just those pop-music fan women. But rather then splitting hairs over idiotic identity politics, let's have another example. How about the Charlie Hebo Massacre where attackers deliberately and systematically targeted men:

"After culling the women from the men, the victims were mercilessly shot at point-blank range, said Gerald Kierzek, a doctor who spoke to CNN after treating the stunned survivors."

""Sigolene Vinson, a freelance journalist attending the paper’s weekly editorial meeting, hit the floor and hid behind a partition but was grabbed by a gunman who pointed his AK-47 at her head. "You, we will not kill, because we don’t kill women. But read the Quran,” the gunman warned her, before repeatedly shouting “Allahu akbar” — Arabic for “God is great.”"

The Mirror seems to provide a slightly different quote from the attacker:

"She said the man told her: “I’m not killing you because you are a woman and we don’t kill women but you have to convert to Islam, read the Qu'ran and wear a veil.” She added that as the man left, he shouted “Allahu akbar, allahu akbar.""

Another Mirror article adds even more detail:

"She said Saïd Kouachi [one of the gunmen] turned towards the editorial room where his brother Chérif had shot Elsa Cayat[a woman], another Charlie writer, and shouted: “We don’t kill women,” three times. The men then left.""

Out of the 12 fatalities, Cayat was the only women. Furthermore, it seems one of the gunmen chewed the other out for killing her. It is unknown why she was the only female victim. There is suspicion that it may be because she was Jewish.

Feminists may counter these attacks don't count because they were committed by men. It doesn't matter. This is the problem with engaging feminist gender warriors. They treat the sexes like two sides in a war and one side (always the male side) has to be fault. You can't just blame ideologies or (God forbid) individuals. The point I'm making is that these terrorists attacks that largely targeted men were not considered sexist (and sexism was definitely not considered the main motivating factor), so there is no grounds to call the Manchester bombing sexist (especially when you don't know the motivation of the attacker).

The smart money is the attacker's motivate was Islamic terrorism. If so, then trying to cram the attack into a simplistic feminist gender war paradigm hinders seriously needed discussion about Islamic radicalization in the U.K.

More To Say

There is a lot more I could write about this because it touches so many nerves: how men are considered the socially acceptable recipients of violence, how tragedy is portrayed as uniquely tragic when it befalls a women("Earth destroyed - women most affected"), how men are genderless "victims" in a tragedy unless they are the villains, how feminists falls over themselves to defend an Islam that would destroy most of the basic freedoms Western women enjoy. Don't even get me started about the state of gender politics in the U.K. It's a country where vaguely defined "misogyny" has been made punishable by law and the courts punish men for rape after they have been found innocent.

There are also reports of a possible female accomplice in the bombings. What could this do the feminist narrative if it pans out?

However, I'll just stop here after pointing out that after the explosion, a nearby homeless man decided to take a break from enjoying his male privilege to help the wounded. But, you know, fuck patriarchy.

More Links

Sargon of Akhad: Never Waste A Tragedy

[tracietruong8-blog]

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[sarahburness]

5 Steps to Loving Yourself and Living Happily Ever After

We are conditioned to feel crap about ourselves.

You never hear people say “Yes, I think I’m great!” or “I love that about myself, I think it’s really cool,” or “I just really make myself laugh.”.

It just sounds a bit weird that it’s more socially acceptable to mock yourself, put yourself down and bemoan your shortcomings. It’s almost cool to appear to be broken, dysfunctional and miserable.

The trouble is that we’re forced to conform to other people’s ideas of what we should be rather than be accepted for who we really are.

We’re spat out of school after being shoehorned into categories and graded like goods on a factory production line. And then, as adults, our insecurities drive advertisers to constantly prey on our self-loathing. We’re continually led to believe that we’re too fat, too stupid, too short, too insecure, too lazy and too unproductive. We constantly compare ourselves to others and consistently find ourselves inadequate.

As adults, we continue to feel like children being told off for being too slow or too messy or not trying our best. Rather than it being our parents or teachers putting us down, we let others do it — the media, our bosses, friends and even more destructively, ourselves. We never stop bemoaning ourselves to the point that we allow those negative voices to cause us misery and permeate our whole lives.

Part of true mature thinking is to own and deal with these thoughts. You need to take control of the ones that are valid and to own the constructive criticism.

It was Mark Twain who said: “The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself.”.

And, he was right. You will spend your whole life with yourself. The quality of your relationship with yourself will have a direct bearing on the quality of your life as a whole.

It’s probably a strange thought that you are in a relationship with yourself. For many people, they are themselves and, in a haze of introspective emotion, they can’t see beyond a two-dimensional representation of their existence. It’s a childish state that many of us remain locked into.

But, to really develop, you need to separate from yourself, develop some sense of objectivity and become your own best friend. You have to distance the childish voices and impulses and to cultivate a mature view of yourself. You need to be able to look down at yourself with compassion and ultimately love and care for yourself.

Having the inner strength to talk yourself through things, the capacity to self-soothe, to be entertained by yourself and to find yourself interesting is incredibly powerful. To be able to look after yourself, respect your own point of view and be confident in your own thinking is liberating and empowering.

I’ve learned that if I can love myself, forgive my own shortcomings and try to live a happy and fulfilled life, then I can have more resources to be the person I want to be to others. It may sound selfish but if I’m unhappy, tired and drained, I’m no use to anyone. I’m less good as a parent, as a partner, as a worker and a friend. Any positive influence I can give has to start from within and if I’m not right within myself, then I’m wasting my time.

So, what are the steps to loving yourself?

Learn to love yourself from the outside – become your own best friend

Try to remove yourself from your immediate emotion and look at yourself objectively. Of course, we all need to feel emotions and be in the moment. But, being able to separate from them and simultaneously retain a sense of balanced objectivity is a valuable skill.

Sometimes we get so involved with our inner feelings that we can’t make progress. Strong emotions can cloud your judgment and having a two-dimensional sense of yourself where you are with your emotions is often detrimental to your well-being.

Become your own best friend. Recognize your emotions and try to nurture a loving and supporting view of yourself so that you can give pieces of advice and comments that are parallel with your inner self.

This sounds more complicated than it actually is. But, think of it this way:

We all have a feeling side and a thinking side and it’s just a case of recognizing and synchronizing the two to work harmoniously.

There are a number of ways to develop this way of supportive thinking. Daily journaling or keeping a diary is a good start as it helps you to reflect on the day’s events. Spending five minutes a day on reflective writing can kickstart your inner voice and allow you access to an inner dialogue that will comfort and support you.

Once you have a sense of your inner voice, nurture and develop it. Converse with it and talk to it. Having an inner dialogue can bring you closer to yourself.

See Also: Are You Your Own Best Friend Or Your Own Worst Enemy?

Spend time alone and learn to enjoy your own company

How often do you actively do things alone? There’s always a pressure to be seen with other people or to feel as if we are “Billy no mates”. However, spending quality time with yourself is extremely valuable and underrated.

So many people seem terrified of themselves and clearly don’t like being alone and can’t stand their own company. They constantly fill every waking moment with entertainment and chatter to avoid confronting themselves. To them, a moment alone in contemplation would be a horror.

But, you can’t avoid yourself. It’s impossible and the sooner you learn to love your own company, the better. As with any relationship, it takes time and effort to make it work. There may well be times when you drive yourself nuts but also times when you start to find an inner peace and acceptance that’s priceless.

Have a go at simply scheduling time to do stuff on your own. You can try going for a walk, shopping, going to the cinema or a concert. Even allowing yourself to daydream, sitting with your eyes closed and listening to music is a great way to spend quality time with yourself.

Maybe meditation would work well for you. Any activity that allows you to concentrate on your inner thoughts and feelings is valuable in nurturing your inner relationship.

Develop self-acceptance and compassion

We all instinctively spend a lot of our time comparing ourselves to other people. We are actively encouraged to do this at school and work and our performance is constantly scrutinized. On social media and in advertising, we are incessantly bombarded with images and ideas about how we should be. There’s little wonder that so many of us are full of self-loathing and feel inadequate.

In the past, we were only able to compare ourselves to people within a much smaller demographic. We didn’t have access to media, the internet and travel, so we were able to see ourselves a little more objectively.

Today, the context is essentially the whole world. Inevitably, we are exposed to the best of everything — the fastest, tallest, slimmest, most beautiful, best designed, most efficient or most stylish. It’s hopeless and demoralizing trying to compete with all of those.

We need to stop comparing ourselves to others. That’s not to say that we can’t have aspirations and dreams for development. However, learning to love our individuality is one of the most important steps to loving yourself. There’s little point in looking at what other people have or haven’t got. There will always be someone who is better and worse than you.

We need to learn to measure and celebrate our progress in terms of our own personal achievement. What really matters is that we are slightly better today than we were yesterday and not that we are better than someone else. Comparing ourselves to others ultimately erodes our self-confidence and kills our self-esteem. By all means, be ruthlessly competitive with yourself.

If we can learn to cut ourselves a bit of slack and accept that life is going to be a bit rubbish sometimes, then we will find that we’ll be much happier and much more accepting of your own limitations.

See Also: Self-Acceptance: The Key To True Happiness

Find your flow activity

All people have a gift or a skill that they are better at than others. It can be something that they love or something that gives them enormous satisfaction and pleasure. Sometimes, it feels so good that it’s almost like a guilty pleasure. When our brains are in what’s called “in flow”, we are in one of the most satisfying and fulfilling states that the human mind can be in.

Sadly, many people go through life without finding their flow activities. They never get to spend that quality time developing their skill, feeling positive about their achievement and being one with their purpose in life. If you don’t know what your flow activities are, then think about the last time you lost track of the time of day. It’s when you got so absorbed in doing something that nothing else mattered. You were just happy and at peace with yourself.

These activities are fundamentally precious to your personal well-being so you should schedule more time doing them.

Care for your mind and body

Ultimately, learning to live with and love yourself is about respect and taking the time to listen to your inner voice. It’s incredibly hard to attune yourself to the depths of your inner workings if your outer layers aren’t being looked after properly. This makes it important to look after your physical well-being, too.

Starting to make positive choices about food and exercise can have far-reaching effects on your mood and happiness. Just by being proactive about healthy eating, making informed choices, and respecting your body is a mindset that can spill over into other aspects of your life. Keep in mind that there is an incredibly strong link between physical and mental health.

If everything above just seems far too difficult and complicated, start by simply taking control of your body. Learn to care for your physical health more fully. Start to exercise and be deliberate in your eating habits. Small changes can have a big impact. The very act of deciding to take care and to regain physical control can have positive repercussions way beyond those small first steps.

In Summary

The bottom line is that you are the only person responsible for your life. You can’t escape yourself. It’s the one relationship that you can’t break off. You can’t divorce yourself, sack yourself or dump yourself. However, you can reinvent yourself so you can become better and stronger. You are stuck with yourself for life and the sooner you come to accept, love and respect yourself, the happier and more fulfilling your life will be.

  The post 5 Steps to Loving Yourself and Living Happily Ever After appeared first on Dumb Little Man.

from Dumb Little Man https://www.dumblittleman.com/steps-to-loving-yourself/

[tanya-ali]

Interview: Kate Miller-Heidke

In a way, 2014 has seen Australian singer-songwriter Kate Miller-Heidke come full circle. Her first two EPs, Telegram (2004) and Comikaze (2005) were independent – as most first releases are – but it wasn’t long before she got snapped up by Sony Music, releasing three distinctly different albums on the major label over seven years. Now, she’s an independent artist once more – albeit with a decade of experience under her belt – and her highly anticipated upcoming record O Vertigo! is set to be one of the most impressive releases of the year. It’s a different experience for Kate, and an exciting one at that. As release day creeps up, Kate feels understandably “good”, but at the same time “it feels a little bit like jumping off a cliff”, though she’s found herself “so busy that I haven’t really had a chance to dwell on it too much”.

Sony Music has been replaced as the main supporter of Kate’s work by an army of enthusiastic fans. Kate’s crowd-funding campaign through online platform Pledge Music was an undeniable success, and it’s not hard to see why. Each time I’ve seen her interact with fans after shows, I’ve been floored by her sincerity, and it only takes a quick glance at her Twitter page to see that she often engages with fans over social media. “It’s something that I always make an effort to do… I think it really makes sense. Not just because I’m a ‘niche’ artist, who can’t rely on commercial radio or any of that sort of thing, but also because I like it and I get energy back from it. It’s amazing getting to hear people’s stories about the music: it’s… I hate the word ‘humbling’, but if I used that word then I would use it there!”

The Pledge campaign involved a range of rewards from the usual (CDs, t-shirts, concert tickets) to some that lead to a “really unprecedented level of band interaction”, such as the opportunity for fans to receive a phone call from Kate wishing them happy birthday (“so, so joyful and fun to do”), or even have her play an intimate concert at their house. “I’ve just done two (house concerts), we’ve got another one next week – I think that I put up five in total – and yeah, they’re amazing. Kind of scary in a way, because I think the audience number is capped at 40, and when there’re only 40 people in a room, you’ve got time to see the whites of everyone’s eyes… It can be terrifying! And also, you know, the pressure for the person who bought the gig to like it. But – I don’t know, so far they’ve all been really lovely people.”

Having seen Kate play live a number of times, I don’t think anyone could be disappointed. “Yeah, I hope not. It would be very awkward if they complained,” she jokes, and despite the impossibility of the hypothetical, I can’t help but agree.

Although O Vertigo! is Kate’s first independent full-length album, the recording process for the album surprisingly wasn’t particularly different from her previous experiences. “I think actually, due to the unexpected and overwhelming success of the Pledge campaign, the process for recording this album has been very similar to what it was for any of the other ones. Because it went so well, I basically ended up with the same budget as I ever had on a major label. So that aspect of it was quite familiar, I mean I had the luxury of seven weeks in a studio which I think is a long time for an independent artist, so I didn’t skimp on anything.”

This record is also independent in another sense. Last year, at a People of Letters event during the annual Sydney Writers’ Festival, Kate and her husband and long-time collaborator, Keir Nuttall, presented heartbreakingly honest and moving letters delving into their working and romantic relationship. In Kate’s letter, she spoke about how the early stages of writing for this album saw her begin to move away from co-writing with Keir. By the end of the major tour they did for Nightflight, Kate’s third record, it was clear something had to change. “Keir and I had sent each other, like, insane. We were working too intensely together for too long I think, and both of us knew we needed something different. So I decided to write the bulk of this record entirely by myself. A lot of it out of the house, ‘cause we have this tiny apartment – that was part of the problem, we could always hear each other – so this time I spent a lot of time walking, singing into my iPhone like a crazy person in public.”

On Kate’s previous records, it had been “sort of like a 50-50 split” between her and Keir, and “Keir co-produced everything”. This time, Kate was the co-producer, and while Keir “still wrote some things but it was more like an 80-20 kind of delineation. I mean, he didn’t play guitar on everything either, he played it on a few things.”

This shift has led to Kate feeling differently about the songs on O Vertigo! in a couple of ways. “I had a lot more… obviously I’ve always had ownership of everything I’ve done, but this time there was a bit more creative responsibility I guess – no one else to defer to, or say, ‘What do you think about this?’ In some ways, it’s more like I’m on the line. But in other ways, I don’t know, I feel more confident than I ever have before so I kind of don’t give a shit. I do think it’s some of the best work I’ve ever done, and that’s all I can do, you know?”

There’s no doubt that O Vertigo! is a stunning, accomplished record. One thing that strikes me about it is the diversity of the tracks, something that has been apparent on all of Kate’s previous albums, but is more pronounced this time around. Songs like ‘Drama’, featuring hip-hop extraordinaire Drapht, starkly contrast with serene, aptly-named closer ‘Bliss’. I certainly can’t choose a favourite just yet – can Kate? “Well, I like them all, now… But I think I really like ‘Yours Was The Body’. I really like playing that song live too.” I saw Kate perform ‘Yours Was The Body’ live on the Sydney leg of her Heavenly Sounds tour last year, and it was, for me, the stand-out among the new tracks she played that night. The song is instantly memorable despite being so understated – “it almost feels like it’s already been written before”, simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar.

Another thing that’s noticeable on O Vertigo! is its lack of cryptic lyrics – this is the result of a deliberate effort on Kate’s part to cut down on the metaphors in her writing. This direct approach is interesting, and rare – so often, songwriters strive to do the exact opposite. “I think I was really getting off on some early 90s power ballads, and just the directness – I wanted a direct vulnerability to come through on this record, and I wanted it to be immediate. Nightflight was very thickly veiled in metaphor and it was very subtle, and very complex I think in a lot of ways – songs like ‘Devil Wears a Suit’ and ‘Humiliation’… This time I just, I think there’s a power that comes from being vulnerable, just laying it out on the table, and that idea was floating my boat, so that’s what I did.”

There are definitely early 90s vibes coming through on this record, in the best possible way, and Kate cites artists such as American singer-songwriter Martika as a major influence. “’Love… Thy Will Be Done’ was a song that I would kind of hold up as a template. I was also listening to new versions of that same theme, like the new Tegan and Sara record – well, not that new anymore – Heartthrob a lot. And sort of arty pop like Kishi Bashi, Kathleen Edwards made a beautiful record I listened to lots. I listened to lots of Yma Sumac, who’s a wacko Peruvian opera singer. Just the way she uses her voice is crazy and amazing, distinctive…”

Kate was listening to and drawing inspiration from “a fair bit of opera as well” – but she certainly hasn’t always been able to appreciate the art form. “It’s funny, but I never really learnt to like opera until a couple of years ago. My voice suited it and I thought some aspects of it were beautiful, but it’s only in the last couple of years that I’ve really listened to it for pleasure, at home.” This could have something to do with her role as the British dancing girl in the English National Opera’s production of The Death of Klinghoffer in 2012, a role she’s reprising with the Metropolitan Opera in New York this year. “I think it was a direct result of that. The people that were in that cast kind of pointed me towards some great recordings. I think just being a part of such a world class production was very inspiring.”

It’s common knowledge that Kate studied opera at the Queensland Conservatorium of Music, but her passion for music began a long time before the prospect of pursuing it through tertiary education was even on her radar. “I always loved it, I was obsessed with it. I used to come home from school and put on my mum’s records every day, and talk about music and sing incessantly to the point of driving everyone around me crazy. I don’t know, I just loved the sound of my own voice!” Although it’s hard to imagine Kate’s voice could ever have been less than impressive, she is ever-modest, saying she just sang “so much that eventually I sort of got good at it.”

It wasn’t opera that first grabbed her interest performance-wise – it was musical theatre. “When I was a kid I fantasised about being Cosette in Les Miserables - for about two years I just walked around singing ‘Castle on a Cloud’.” And this dream almost became a reality, as Kate “nearly made it in the auditions too when it came to Brisbane, but I got dumped at the last two: they told me I was over-acting,” she laughs. “So I missed out!”

Needless to say, musical theatre is one of Kate’s all-time influences. “Particularly from the 50s and 60s – things like West Side Story. In fact, all of Stephen Sondheim’s musicals.” Another is Joni Mitchell, who had a major impact on Kate’s songwriting from a young age. “She’d be the other (all-time influence). That’s kind of how I learnt songwriting… or tried to!”

Last year at Sydney Writers’ Festival, I noticed that Kate was set to speak at a number of events – including the aforementioned People of Letters. I caught many of the events she was involved with, and while most of them had a clear focus on songwriting, it was eye-opening seeing her speak about her art and thoughts in a setting other than an interview. While she seemed comfortable having the focus shifted from singing to talking in the discussions I saw her participate in, she doesn’t always enjoy it. “Look, I think it depends. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know why I’m being called upon to speak so much – I don’t feel qualified, you know? And I feel like it’s not my area of expertise. And I’ve certainly fucked it up, like going on (ABC’s) Q&A the second time, you know… I should have just stuck to being a bloody musician!” But events like People of Letters and Women of Letters are exceptions: “those are kindred spirits and the emphasis is still on the art – the art of letter writing. It’s when I’m called upon to speak about subjects that aren’t art, is where it’s dangerous.”

Kate’s mention of that infamous episode of Q&A rekindles the frustration I felt when watching it live. How did it make any sense putting a musician on the panel of a budget special, and expecting them to make a meaningful contribution? In Kate’s blog post about it, wittily titled ‘A Fish Called Qanda: Spewin’, Hey’, she explained the show’s producers had assured her that there would be a question to her about singing, and another about bullying on reality TV shows, and though she “was hoping to talk about marriage equality and refugees, those weren’t on the agenda… Still, I felt fine talking about singing and reality TV bullying”. However, “As anyone who saw it knows, we didn’t move on and the entire show was about Labor and unions and budgets and interest rates”. Personally, I found it so frustrating that a moderated panel show like Q&A allowed the situation to arise in the first place.

When I have heard Kate speak about current affairs in the past, it’s obvious she has so much to say that is valid and so important, but on this episode of Q&A they never gave her a chance, and in the process effectively discouraged other musicians and artists from going on the show or attempting to have a say. “I try not to actually speak about it because it just… like, rips out the stitches,” Kate says, half-jokingly. Though she mentioned she doesn’t feel “qualified” to speak about issues other than music, I see losing intelligent, passionate and articulate voices like hers as a loss for the wider Australian community.

The most recent Australian tour Kate embarked on was last year’s Heavenly Sounds tour, which saw her and Keir play intimate, acoustic shows in churches and cathedrals across the country. “It was lovely, it was fantastic. I’m a fan of that whole umbrella of concerts – and yeah, getting to sing in some of the most beautiful architectural places in Australia was amazing!” The recent tour led to an increased awareness “of how important the physical dimensions of the theatre, or the church or whatever are, how much of an impact that actually has on the experience of the audience. It’s huge, and actually I read about it in David Byrne’s book, ‘How Music Works’. He was saying how absolutely crucial it is – maybe even as important as the music is – just how the room’s laid out, because audience members have all these different senses that can be stimulated in all sorts of different ways.”

Kate’s played at a lot of the venues she’s visiting on her O Vertigo! tour before, such as Brisbane’s The Tivoli, The Athenaeum Theatre in Melbourne and The Quarry in Perth, and they all “have a special sort of ambience” that is bound to positively affect her upcoming shows. These shows will see the live debuts of “a bunch of brand new songs that no-one’s heard yet” and the support slot will be filled by one of Kate’s “favourite Australian bands, Sweet Jean – I would recommend not missing them!”

On the O Vertigo! tour, Kate will be accompanied by Keir and John Rodgers, “this crazy musical genius from Brisbane, he’s a multi-instrumentalist: he plays violin like you’ve never heard before, and also piano and guitar, and a bunch of stuff”. Punters can look forward to hearing “great, delicate arrangements” of songs from the new record, “and possibly a new cover!”. There will also be, of course, some ventures into Kate’s fairly extensive back-catalogue – ultimately, an “emphasis on the new stuff, but really a mixture”.

At one point during our chat, I hear a male voice on the other end of the line. Kate sounds distracted for a moment, and is then quick to apologise that Keir just walked into her room – and it's at that moment I realise that what’s most loveable about Kate is how genuine she is. The added freedom of being independent has given her a level of comfort that’s clearly contributed to her renewed sense of confidence in her work, and it’s as much of an absolute pleasure speaking with her as it is listening to her music or seeing her perform. Kate probably wouldn’t be sold on the idea of taking the world by storm – but armed with a strong sense of identity, an excellent sense of humour, and the stellar body of work that is O Vertigo!, she just might find herself doing it anyway.

Originally published March 13, 2014 for the AU review: http://www.theaureview.com/interviews/kate-miller-heidke-melbourne