#from people who think certain adjustments are for ''fringe groups'' or whatever

[lesamis]

📠

one thing i like about the new job is that public service really drives home how diverse and interesting any random sample of people actually is. you kind of can't keep thinking that there's one single way in which ordinary life typically goes when you're dropped into the middle of other people's lives on a daily basis. like within two weeks at a public service job in the most boring town imaginable someone will come in and be like hi i'm blind, can i have some adjustments for my advanced degree. hi my grandmother died, can i have an extension. hi i moved here from taiwan literally two months ago and misunderstood some instructions, can i repeat this process. hi i'm competing at the olympics, can i put my studies on hold.

there's just this certain kind of rhetoric that wants to make you belive that A Normal Person is this or that and their life goes this or that way, when really there's no limit to the chaos of human experience or to the endlessly new-shuffled variations of Circumstances and i'd defy anyone who believes otherwise to keep believing it after one day in public service

[im-fairly-whitty]

The Witcher Wolf: The Road to Kaer Morhen

Geralt and Jaskier have successfully retrieved Ciri just in the nick of time, but now must travel to the safety of Kaer Morhen with her and Mousesack the druid while Nilfgaard is searching for them. 

Geralt's ability to turn into a wolf comes in handy, a mysteriously magical death unearths the beginning of a mystery he can't resist chasing, and he realizes that for Ciri's sake he must face the heretofore unaddressed relationship failings of his past.

Chapter 1 - By the Fireside

Geralt had spent the majority of his life on the road, had been accompanied by all manner of companions over the years and experienced every kind of weather imaginable. He’d traveled with plenty of provisions and none at all, had traveled with a destination in mind and wandered aimlessly for weeks. He’d hurried toward and away, traveled openly and secretly, on foot on hoof on boat and on one memorable occasion, wing.

But he had never in all his decades experienced anything quite like the past three days as he traveled with his bard, his child surprise, two horses, and a druid. A journey made all the stranger in that he was fleeing toward Kaer Morhen in early autumn instead of the first fringes of winter, and with what amounted to an entire peculiar family instead of entirely alone.

But perhaps the thing Geralt had least anticipated about this journey was the fact that every moment he and Jaskier had to themselves had to be stolen, and even then Ciri was more likely than not still the topic of conversation.

“I’m just not sure it’s all that safe.” Jaskier said quietly, adjusting his grip on his horse’s reigns and looking back over their shoulders to where Mousesack and Ciri were walking behind them. The group was dismounted for now to rest the horses as they walked, giving Geralt and Jaskier a moment out of earshot from the other two. “We don’t know anything about any group of refugees we’d come across other than that they’ll be tired and desperate. We’d have to be sure not to ruffle any feathers, any negative attention could be disastrous.”  

“True, but we need to get more supplies, as well as news of what’s going on in the war effort, if Nilfgaard is looking for Ciri and where.” Geralt said, the hand not holding Roach’s reigns idly tracing along Jaskier’s back as they walked, just for the sake of touching. “And the only way to do that is if we mix with the refugee camps. We’ve been traveling parallel to them all morning, when they stop at the next town we should stop with them, just for the night. No one will notice a few more displaced travelers in town if we’re among a crowd of them.”

“They might if it’s the White Wolf; Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier said, letting his hip bump Geralt’s, a soft touch of playfulness despite the weariness of their little group from constant alertness. “You’re too memorable darling.”

“And whose fault is that?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mine, I accept full responsibility for the brilliance of my hard-earned success in remaking your reputation.” Jaskier said with a smile. “But that does mean you’ll have to be a wolf, leaving Mousack to do the rummaging about for information since I’d rather not be separated from Ciri and I don’t think she’ll be up for much.” Jaskier’s smile faded. “The poor girl’s hardly slept since Cintra, and we can’t risk her having one of her nightmares if we end up spending the night among the refugees.”

“We’ll only stay if the camp seems safe.” Geralt promised. “We’ll take turns staying awake beside her to wake her if things get bad again.”

Geralt had known logically that Ciri was a child of the Elder Blood, having known Pavetta’s powers, but waking the night before to the soul curdling screams of a child that put a flock of sirens to shame had been more than enough to put all of them on edge. Geralt had been able to get to her side and gentle her awake before any lasting damage was done to them or the horses--creating a serious sense of deja vu of a certain banquet long ago--but as Ciri cried herself back to sleep in his arms he had traded wary looks with Mousesack and Jaskier over her shoulder.

Keeping a child safe was one thing, keeping a princess hidden was another, but keeping a traumatized little girl who had the ability to scream a forest to the ground because of bad dreams was only going to make things even harder. According to Mousesack this was the first time the girl’s powers had properly manifested, but something he’d been watching for for years.

“Well, with Mousesack handling the errands that leaves the three of us just standing around.” Jaskier said. “If we’re really going to risk it then we need something less suspicious to do than than just hovering on the edge of camp, we don’t want to make these poor people more nervous than they already are.”

“And what do you propose?” Geralt asked. “Sitting down with your lute to teach the children to make flower crowns while Mousesack asks around for news and supplies?” Geralt said.

But at that Jaskier only raised his eyebrows, tilting his head and rubbing his chin thoughtfully with a smile.

***

“Look! I found more daisies!” Exclaimed Elenor, a little refugee girl whose shoes had seen better days.

She dropped her armful of the yellow and white flowers on the grass and the gaggle of children circled around eagerly grabbed them to add to their own flower chains.

“Well done Eleanor.” Jaskier said warmly, continuing to strum the gentle tune he’d been calmly playing for the last hour. “And they’ve got lovely long stems too, just perfect. Adam, could you help Nora with her pansies? I think she’s having a bit of trouble.”

Geralt huffed quietly, twitching a furry ear as one of the children leaned over to excitedly bestow yet another finished chain of flowers over his head. When Jaskier has first sat down only a couple timid refugee children had dared venture over to the bard and his wolf, but now Geralt was sure his braided collar was entirely obscured by chains of buttercups and dandelions and whatever else the children had scrounged up in the nearby fields.

Geralt’s chin rested on his paws as he allowed young hands to pet him, but he could still see the weary eyed parents watching from a distance. At first many of them had seemed wary, but now they just seemed relieved and grateful to see their children smiling and giggling over something again.

A feeling Geralt could relate to as he looked up to where Ciri was leaning against Jaskier’s side, one hand in Geralt’s fur as she dozed lightly. Coming into the refugee camp had been a risk, but at least being around the relaxed chatter of other people seemed to calm Ciri more than the tense silence of being on the run in the woods.

“Does your wolf eat children?” A little boy with a torn shirt asked Jaskier, sounding entirely unconcerned as he threaded the stem of a buttercup into Geralt’s thick fur. “My mum says wolves eat children who misbehave.”

“Regular wolves perhaps, but not this one.” Jaskier said. “My wolf is special, he only protects people who are in trouble, he’s far too handsome to be a monster.”

Geralt huffed in amusement, but his tail thumped lazily against the ground behind him as he leaned his head against Jaskier’s knee.

“Did yours and Fiona’s house got burned too?” A very little girl asked, her voice nearly too soft to hear over Jaskier’s gentle strumming. “My mum says we might never go back home, that dad isn’t going to come back.”

The children all fell into a somber silence, doubtlessly each thinking of what it was they were fleeing from, a heavy reality that couldn’t be forgotten in an afternoon of music and flower crowns.

“Yes, Fiona’s home got burned too.” Jaskier said softly, of course unable to sugar coat, but still able to at least validate and gentle. “It’s made us very frightened and tired, and angry at the people who did it too. I’m afraid it’s not a very nice way to be feeling, is it? Especially when the grown-ups seem to feel that way too?”

The little girl shook her head, her bottom lip trembling. Geralt carefully got to his feet, crossing the circle of children to sit beside her, whining gently as the little girl turned and hugged his neck tightly, burning her face in his fur.

Several of the other children reached out to pet him as well and Geralt settled down at their feet, content to lay there as the scents of fear and sadness slowly mellowed. Not disappearing, but no longer sharp as the children had something soft and good and pleasant to think of for perhaps the first time in several hard days.

Geralt opened one eye to see Jaskier watching him with a soft expression, Ciri still asleep at his side. Geralt wagged his tail once in acknowledgment, then turned his attention back to the children around him, doing his best to be what they needed most right now.

It certainly wasn't the first time in the last two years that he’d provided comfort in his wolf form, and he’d found it to often be more satisfying than any contract.

 ***

Geralt remained a wolf until sundown, becoming a great favorite among their corner of the refugee camp until he trotted off into the trees. Jaskier had explained to the children that it was time for him to leave for the night to go take care of his wolfy errands, and he had been bid several teary farewells.

By the time Geralt wandered back to camp—now dressed in light armor and a cloak with a deep hood—the campfires were crackling quietly and everyone who was fortunate enough to have a tent was in it. Some adults were still awake and speaking quietly to each other across their own fires, but Geralt could hear easily the rhythmic song of crickets and the night breeze over them as the camp quietly dozed in exhaustion.

“Welcome back, Wolf.” Jaskier whispered, shifting as Geralt came to sit with him at the base of the oak tree near their fire.

“Ciri asleep?” Geralt murmured, sitting behind Jaskier and pulling the bard into his lap, loosely wrapping his cloak around them.

“She is, Mousesack just relieved me of nightmare watch duty.” Jaskier said. He yawned like a cat as he stretched, then settled to curl up contentedly against Geralt’s chest. “You’ll be up next, but not for a couple hours.”

“We need to find something for her.” Geralt said, frowning. “Some kind of sleeping draught perhaps once we aren’t traveling and she has a safe roof over her head again.”

“I imagine the roof alone will do as much good as a potion.” Jaskier said, his voice deceptively light. “I know I’ll sleep better once I stop seeing Nilfgaardian helmet wings in every swaying tree branch.”

Geralt bit his lip, but hesitated to say anything. Jaskier had been sleeping almost as badly as Ciri, but whenever Geralt had shaken him awake he’d only said he wasn’t ready yet to talk about what he’d seen.

He knew Jaskier had been trying to grieve for the death of his spymaster friend as quietly as possible--what with all the danger and hurry their little band was still in--and had been doing his best to give the bard space despite his own questions.

And so instead of pushing Geralt only held him a bit closer as they watched the fire for a long moment of calm silence.

“I first met Wilhelm when I started visiting Ciri on her birthdays.” Jaskier said quietly, capturing Geralt’s attention. “In hindsight it was probably because he knew we traveled together and he wanted to keep an eye on me, at least to begin with, but we always had at least a few exciting nights together whenever I was in town.”

Geralt kept quiet as Jaskier paused, only his thumb moving to stroke back and forth across the bard’s shoulder as he waited for him to continue at his own pace.

“When he came to get me out of the dungeon he had a sword with fire runes in it.” Jaskier said, taking a shaky breath and letting it out slowly. “I’ve only ever seen you carry runestone swords, but it was glowing like anything. He got us nearly to the back gate but there were too many soldiers in the way and so he...” Jaskier swallowed, evidently experiencing a rare moment of words failing him as he struggled to push past the emotion in his throat. “He, ah, he decided to create a distraction so I could sneak past. It was...it was awful Geralt, I, I never...”

“You saw him die?” Geralt prompted carefully, not wanting to push too hard.

“I...don’t know.” Jaskier said, brow furrowed tightly as he stared into the flames of the campfire, shadows flickering across his face. “He lit himself on fire, Geralt.”

Geralt jolted a bit in shock. “He what?” He could believe the spymaster had given himself up to save an old friend, but he hadn’t pegged the spymaster as being insane.

“Not, not like with a torch.” Jaskier said, looking up at him. “He literally lit himself on fire, as in from within himself. He said his mother had been a witch who dealt with fire magic and that’s why he had an igni sword.” Jaskier flexed his hands unconsciously. “He said he’d never really used fire magic before because he didn’t know how to control it, but then he did anyway. It’s like he became fire, I could see it in his eyes Geralt, in his veins. He was in pain, but he still went and fought the soldiers, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Neither have I.” Geralt said, frowning as he mentally flipped through the short list of fire related creatures he’d ever heard of. “He wasn’t just channeling it out from him like a mage? It was actually inside him and didn’t kill him instantly?”

“He became the fire. It was in him.” Jaskier said, huddling closer as the haunting memory doubtlessly replayed before his eyes. “He seemed sure it would kill him soon...but he did it anyway.”

“And you’re sure he wasn’t a trained magic user?” Geralt asked, his brain now seizing onto the puzzle.

A mage could create and channel fire, but not become fire without suffering immediately suffering the deadly consequences. A very powerful one might be able to stave off the effects for a few moments, but certainly not someone as untrained as Wilhelm, especially if he hadn’t been carrying any additional tools. What the spymaster had done had to be something entirely different than anything Geralt had seen before, and he’d seen an awful lot.

“Wilhelm de Drobiazg, spymaster of Cintra. Master of words and people and tipsy banter, but not magic.” Jaskier said, his voice getting quieter and sadder, the scent of grief descending heavily now around them.

“Drobiazg?” Geralt asked, his attention catching on the name.

He’d heard it somewhere before...but where?

“That was his name? Drobiazg?” he asked, torn between knowing Jaskier had reached the end of his energy for the subject and the familiar spark inside him that always took interest in unsolved questions.

Jaskier nodded silently, eyes closing as he wrapped his arms around Geralt tighter. He was done for the night, that much was clear.

Geralt pushed away his questions and shifted to pull Jaskier closer, tucking the cloak around them more securely. Maybe he’d get the chance to ask more questions later, but really the spymaster’s fate ranked exceedingly low on the list of concerns Geralt should be spending his energy worrying about. For now trying to make sure Jaskier got a decent night of sleep was at the very top of that list.

And besides, apart from Jaskier, he’d likely never hear of the dead spymaster again.

-------

Sure, Geralt.

[bngtanah]

I’m (not) With The Band. | o6

summary: Adrienne is an indie producer who is hired to help co-produce BTS’ next album alongside their resident producer; Suga. Despite the initial opposition on both ends, the pair spend time together, share a few stories, dreams and aspirations and begin to hit it off really well. Wrapped up in the whirlwind of late nights and heated disagreements and reconciliations, Min Yoongi and Adrienne Rolle find themselves growing closer and closer. One night they decide to cross the barrier between personal and professional and do their best make a relationship work against all odds.

pairing: idol!Yoongi  x OC

word count: 4.8k genre: drama, romance, smut(eventually)

chapters: prologue| o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11|

warning: fluff, workplace relationship, slow burn, sexual attraction, ambw, developing relationship, hand holding, mentions of alcohol, karaoke, jealousy.

a/n: so i’m still not sure if anyone’s actually reading these multichapter fics. I may stop uploading them if there’s no interest but I’m not sure at the moment. hmmmm, anyway here’s the latest!

Yoongi never knew what to do with himself on his days off.

Any amount of free time he ever had was always spent in a studio, practice room or curled up in his bed trying to allow his body to catch up on hours of missed sleep. So in a sense his days off were never really 'his', there was always an interview to be given, a meeting to go to or some song or dance move to tweak that required his attention. Today, however, was different. He and the rest of his band members genuinely had the entire day off to do whatever they wanted within reason and Yoongi was drawing a blank on just how he was going to spend the 10 hours he had to indulge himself. Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook all suggested the seven of them do something together while the older boys seemed content with doing nothing but lounging around their dorm with the option of having dinner together later that day. Yoongi was unusually on the fence about his decision; had this been any other day he would have jumped at the chance to stay in bed all day but if he made the choice to stay at home he wouldn't get the chance to do the one thing he knew he wanted to do today which was see Andy.

He hadn't seen her in person in almost a week since she accompanied them to the commercial shoot and he almost lost control of his senses. They spoke over the phone or through text messages to exchange ideas and demos of new tracks but Yoongi didn't trust himself to be alone with her in his current state. He could still vividly remember the sensation of her touching him, her soft palms pressing against his biceps and gently moving over his skin. The memory took hold of him at the most inopportune times and made him lose focus on whatever he was doing at that moment. More than once he found himself being stirred awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and a hand he didn't remember moving in his sleep wrapped around his shaft. Needless to say, he had it bad for Adrienne and his desire for her was only getting worse by the day.

"What do you think Yoongi?"

Jin asked and Yoongi's eyes went wide. He hadn't been listening to any of their conversation, even though he was sitting in the circle with everyone else. Once again the thought of Andy had taken over his thinking process. The way everyone was looking at him he assumed that he was meant to be the tie breaker in some sort of resolution that probably decided what they were going to do for the day.

"I really wasn't listening" Yoongi finally answered and scratched the back of his neck, "What's the question?"

"Ah, hyung if you're spacing out already maybe you should just go back to bed," Namjoon said with a small chuckle, although he was probably just trying to garner support for his choice of staying home.

"They want to go to Lotte World, for god knows what reason," Jin started.

"They've added new attractions!" Taehyung and Jimin interjected simultaneously.

"Whatever, the rest of us just want to stay here, what are you going to do?"

Yoongi ran his fingers through his fringe and pretended to be deep in thought, he personally had no desire to be surrounded by a bunch of strangers and children today but going to an amusement park seemed like something Andy would love if he knew her as well as he thought he did. He was certain that she hadn't been any farther than a few blocks away from the BigHit building and her apartment since she moved here and that was almost six months ago.

"If you guys are going to the amusement park, why don't you take Andy along with you? She mentioned something about wanting to explore the other day didn't she?" He replied flippantly, just gauge a reaction without making it obvious that he wanted her to come.

"She did say something like that," Jimin nodded "Would she want to go to an amusement park though? I thought she meant something like exploring the city."

"I think she would like it, she seems like the type to enjoy places like that doesn't she?" Namjoon responded hastily before Yoongi had the chance to answer and everyone else nodded in agreement, "Y'know...if you're going to invite her shouldn't we all go?" Namjoon didn't have a convincing reason for why they all should go just because Andy might be coming along but after his suggestion, Hoseok begrudgingly agreed to tag along and Jin complained about not wanting to be left alone in the dorm to clean.

That left only Yoongi, who shrugged and turned his head away from the group to conceal the small hint of a smile that attempted to fight its way onto his lips. Taehyung and Jimin cheered, loudly, and shared a hi-five once it was decided that everyone would be going just like they originally wanted and Yoongi was already standing to his feet and backing away from the group to call Andy before Namjoon had the chance to steal that opportunity from him as well.

"Yeoboseyo?"

This time, Yoongi allowed himself to smile and duck his head down just slightly at the sound of Adrienne's voice which he always found amusing. Her Korean skills were slowly getting better, and she had a marked improvement compared when he first met her,  but due to her accent, the way she pronounced certain words always sounded like she was singing a song. It was cute.

"Andy? Are you busy today?"

"Hello to you too Yoongi-ssi, I'm doing well thanks for asking," She replied dryly, " Uh, no I don't think so...I'm at the studio right now so that's all I planned on doing today.," Andy paused, "Why?"

"Well the kids want to go an amusement park and I'm being dragged along, so I wondered if you might want to come as well...? It would give us a chance to talk about some of the songs, right?" He quickly tacked on at the end to avoid seeming eager.

"An amusement park? That sounds so fun but someone might have to come get me, I got lost trying to find my apartment last night" Adrienne laughed and Yoongi grinned silently.

"I can do that," He offered while moving from the common room of their dorm into his bedroom to get dressed, "And you should be more careful going home in the night, why didn't you call someone?" He meant to sound concerned but his words only came off as chastising which made Adrienne groan softly.

"I found it eventually, leader-nim" She teased and snickered when Yoongi imitated her groan, "I'm a big girl I can take care of myself."

"Well, you should have no problem finding the amusement park by yourself then? I can leave you to it?"

"Hey...don't joke about that I'm really looking forward to going now."

"Don't start whining, I'm coming for you."

Adrienne squealed and hung up, allowing Yoongi to slip his phone into the pocket of his jacket and step back out into the common room. The boys were currently arguing about whether they should eat at the park before the rides or after instead of making preparations to leave, Yoongi informed them that he was leaving to guide Andy to park and glided out the front door before they had the chance to question him.

It only took him about ten minutes to reach the BigHit building but once he was  a few blocks away he could clearly see Adrienne standing on the sidewalk, impatiently bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"Andy!" Yoongi called out once he was closer, and then immediately remembered that he was out in public and in front of the office building where he worked and at any moment some crazy fan could descend upon him and ruin his day. He adjusted the snapback on his head and kept his head down until he was standing next to Adrienne.

"Are you alone? I thought everyone was coming?" Andy commented as she peered around Yoongi's shoulder and noted the lack of people behind him.

"They are, but it's easier to travel if we aren't all together" Yoongi reassured, "I told them to meet us at the park."

Adrienne nodded and quietly followed after Yoongi as he lead them away from the BigHit building and towards the nearest subway station. The amusement park was about an hour away from where they were by train so they needed to spend less time they spent loitering around if they wanted to make it to the park before it got too crowded.

"So did you lose a bet and have to come pick me?" Adrienne probed offhandedly as they rounded a corner.

"What? No, I offered to come didn't I?"

"Yeah....I just thought that maybe someone put you up to it."

Yoongi scoffed under his breath and glanced to the side, he assumed that she was joking around like usual but the neutral expression on her face seemed to suggest otherwise.

"Why would you think that?" He finally asked.

"No reason...." She lied, "Okay that's not true I sort of thought that you didn't like me? Like we get along fine as coworkers but I feel so close to the other boys and whenever I try to get closer to you it feels like you pull away from me a little bit? I'm probably just being silly."

Yoongi was flabbergasted but didn't allow the shock to show on his features. Her assumption was so far off from what he actually felt towards her it almost made him laugh.

"You are being silly" He retorted with a huff, "Why wouldn't I like you? Do you want me to start showing you aegyo every five minutes like Jimin?"

Adrienne shrugged, "It wouldn't hurt."

She laughed out loud when Yoongi turned to glare in her direction but stopped abruptly when his hand latched onto hers and he pulled her close to his side.

"Stay close to me" Yoongi instructed while they descended the set of stairs that lead to the subway tracks, "When it's crowded like this it's easy to get lost so try not to trail behind."

Adrienne nodded and reaffirmed that she understood what he said by squeezing his palm between her fingers twice, once again testing Yoongi ability to restrain his base desires. He knew he was playing a dangerous game by grabbing her hand in the first place but he genuinely didn't want her to get separated from him while they waited for their train.

Curious eyes followed the pair as they waded through the crowds to get to their platform. Yoongi's first thought was that someone might have recognised him which made him feel self-conscious, then he remembered that he was holding hands with Adrienne. The self-consciousness he had been feeling suddenly turned into annoyance at the thought of so many people staring at them for no real reason.

"Yoongi?"

"Hm?" He grunted, unaware of the scowl currently forming on his lips

"Are you alright? Because you're kind of squeezing my hand real tight."

"Oh.." Yoongi relaxed his grip on Andy's hand but didn't let it go "Sorry."

When their train finally pulled to a stop in front of them Yoongi lead Adrienne forward and gestured for her to stand in front of him since the car was crowded. When she did he put his hand over hers once she held on to the metal bar to steady herself and caged her in with his body. Doing his best to ignore the crackling of sparks that buzzed throughout him when she leaned back. Yoongi was a protective person by nature, he looked out for the people he cared about in small, simple ways. Yet, with Adrienne everything he did seemed so over the top to him. The fact that she thought he didn't like her still shocked him when he thought he was being so transparent.

The train made quite a few stops before Adrienne and Yoongi reached their own, allowing them to take a seat once the crowd thinned out. They made good use of the hour-long commute by sharing a pair of headphones and critiquing a new song that Yoongi had spent the past few days preparing. There was a rumour spreading that one of the songs they submitted last week had no chance of being approved so their workload didn't seem to be getting lighter any time soon.

Before they realised it, their stop came up and they exited the train car with the earbuds still connecting them. The park was only a short walk from the subway station and after a small altercation about Adrienne wanting to pay for her own ticket, they finally entered the amusement park. It was just as busy and crowded with children and families as Yoongi thought it would be.

Adrienne, on the other hand, seemed immensely amused by everything she set her eyes on. All the bright flashing lights and intoxicating loud music would probably be enticing to see for the first time for someone who enjoyed that kind of thing but Yoongi was already looking forward to leaving. The euphoric look on Adrienne's face was the only thing keeping him from complaining.

"So, everyone else isn't here yet," Yoongi said as they weaved in and out of the groups of people pooled near the popular rides. "What do you want to first?"

"I don't know! I have no idea what's here, you pick something."

Adrienne was practically bouncing with excitement and Yoongi wished he could share her enthusiasm. He had only been here once before so he wasn't familiar with the attractions either but one did catch his eye as he glanced around.

"Let's try this one," He gestured to his left and took Adrienne's hand once again. The crowds weren't nearly as thick in the direction they were heading but, Yoongi still felt it necessary to hold her hand. Adrienne didn't mind the action one bit.

"We can use this to see what's worth riding," Yoongi commented as the came to a stop in front of large balloon shaped ride with a basket attached. If Yoongi had been more perceptive in that moment he might have noticed how unusually silent Adrienne had become. She was almost frozen in place while Yoongi handed over the tickets then pulled her forward without even noticing the resistance. Yoongi assumed she was too excited to speak up.

His assumption changed when the balloon began to rise and he heard an almost silent and shrill scream come from beside him. When he looked over Adrienne's eyes were shut closed so tight there were beads of tears pooling in the corners. Her fingernails nearly pressing deep enough into her thighs to break the skin.

"Andy? Are you okay?" He asked softly but she shook her head vehemently, refusing to open her eyes.

"I should have mentioned this before" Andy stuttered in a hoarse whisper "I am t-terrified of heights."

"Shit," Yoongi sighed and looked around, it was too late for them to get off since they were already connected to the ceiling and he doubted the conductor would hear him over the music playing. When he look down at Adrienne again he could see that she was visibly shaking and Yoongi quickly did the only helpful thing he could think to do which was reach over and pull her against his chest.

"You don't have to-" Adrienne protested initially, "If I stay still it's not so bad, I can deal with it."

Yoongi only shook his head and shushed her as he held her body even tighter to him. "I'm sure you can but I'm here, you don't have to suffer alone." His voice was gentle and took on a tone that he hadn't used with Adrienne before, he was generally kind or unintentionally judgmental when they spoke. But the cadence of his voice at that moment was comforting and soothing. He even took it upon himself to stroke the back of her head a few times, the way she seemed to nuzzle into his touch made him stop before he got carried away.

Adrienne exhaled a shaky breath and relaxed in his embrace after a few minutes, leaning her full weight against him. She was still tense and trembling for the duration of the ride. Yoongi could feel her body jolt with fear whenever track made a turn or started to creak as he rested his chin gingerly on the top of her head. He made sure to talk the entire time; his voice soft and low as he pointed out random and incorrect facts about the park and other tourist attractions, hoping that the sound of his voice would distract her enough to put her mind at ease.

He wasn't sure if it was working but by the time they were nearing the end of the track, Adrienne had stopped trembling and Yoongi swore he heard her giggle at one of his terrible jokes. The machine jerked slightly when they began their descent and this time, Adrienne wrapped her arms around Yoongi's waist. Holding on to him tightly before the basket finally touched the ground and she practically jumped out of the contraption.

Yoongi trailed behind and frowned deeply when he watched her grab a nearby fence with both hands to catch her breath. He hated seeing her like this, especially knowing that he was partly to blame for it.

"Are you alright?" He asked from a few feet behind her, not wanting to crowd her space.

"I'm fine now, nothing to worry about" Adrienne answered, turning to face Yoongi with a brave smile. She definitely seemed to have calmed down but somehow Yoongi could tell that she was still shaken.

"I should have asked you before pulling you on that thing,"  Yoongi apologised and cleared some of the space between them by stepping forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.

Adrienne responded by nodding and staking a step forward. Her hand resting over his, curling her fingers around the back of his palm. "It's alright, really. You didn't know and it wasn't as bad as it normally is, thanks for holding me and sorry about the makeup on your shirt."

"Don't worry about it," Yoongi said, his voice still sweet as honey as he moved his hand up to cup her jaw between his palm. His thumb gingerly grazing over the swell of her cheek with care. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Adrienne nodded again and they shared a moment of tacit silence before the unmistakable sound of Taehyung and Jimin both yelling out 'noona'  made them separate and drop their hands.

"We've been looking for you everywhere!" Taehyung exclaimed once they were closer.

"Don't lie, we just got here," Jimin reminded him.

Adrienne giggled at their small squabble as the rest of the group soon joined them and they began moving forward to find one of the new attractions. Yoongi fell behind the group when Adrienne somehow ended up in the centre and Hoseok ended up walking with him since he wanted to be there even less than Yoongi did.

"Hyung.....is that makeup on your shirt?"

"Yeah," Yoongi replied nonchalantly.

"....What happened before we got here?"

"Not today, Hobi."

"Yah! You're cheating, there's no way you could have scored a perfect score on that song!"

"I'm a professional singer, what did you expect?"

Jungkook's smug expression made Adrienne scowl but she didn't have a good excuse to debunk him or enough evidence to prove that he actually was cheating. So she kept her mouth shut and leaned back into her couch as Jungkook ticked one of his eyebrows upwards and handed the microphone to Jimin.

All seven of them were piled into Adrienne's one bedroom apartment and crowded around her small dining table. Originally this was supposed to be a small gathering for Adrienne to get to know them better musically. If she was going to be writing songs for them to sing she wanted to make sure that they, at least, enjoyed what they would be singing. Somehow that reasonable meeting turned into a potluck dinner when she offered to make them a dish from her home country and Jin offered to make a Korean dish she'd never tried before. One thing lead to another and the karaoke machine Adrienne bought on a whim a few weeks ago was dug out of her storage closet and a competition began between the rappers and singers. With Adrienne joining the rappers to make it even.

The initial goal of the evening was long forgotten after they all shared the first two bottles of soju and once Adrienne whipped up a batch of her specialty cocktail to go along with her dish any hopes of actually making music was thrown out the window. She didn't mind, however, she wanted to learn more about their musical preferences and there was no better way to do that than watching everyone sing karaoke. Despite the fact that they were slightly inebriated and gave up singing seriously a long time ago.

"Ah, oppa, I didn't expect you to like this kind of song" Adrienne chuckled at Jin's next song choice, which was the Korean version of a Spice Girls song.

"Wait, you call him oppa but not me? We're both older than you!" Yoongi berated from beside Adrienne.

The slight slur in his words made Adrienne wonder if he was drunk already but he always sounded like that. His eyes were glossy and the apples of his cheeks were a faint red hue but he was still in control of himself.

"Jin-oppa treats me well, you haven't earned that title yet Yoongi-ssi." Adrienne playful replied, making Yoongi scoff and roll his eyes.

"I'm nice to you," Yoongi gasped and leaned closer "I even made a special Korean food for you to try."

"You don't cook," she teased, watching as Yoongi grabbed one of the unopened containers from the end of the table.

"I can cook! Here try this," Yoongi exclaimed and picked up one of the red-orange oblong shaped foods out of the container and held it towards Adrienne. She attempted to take it from between his chopsticks but Yoongi pulled away and shook his head.

"Not with your hands, your mouth."

"I can feed myself, y'know."

Yoongi exhaled and gave Adrienne a pointed look.

"What did you say you wouldn't do today?"

Adrienne pressed her lips together and glanced towards the floor like a child "....Complain."

"And, what are you doing right now?"

"Complaining....." Adrienne answered with a heavy and dramatic sigh.

Yoongi grinned widely, he was enjoying the fact that he was annoying her, even pulling his hand back a few times when Adrienne leaned forward to take a bite. It wasn't until Andy tapped him on the knee that he stopped playing around and scooted closer to her.

"Okay seriously, this time. I won't pull it back." He said as he brought the chopsticks close to Adrienne's mouth, "Open," Yoongi instructed as he gently held her chin between his thumb and index finger to keep her head in place. Almost as if out of habit Adrienne closed her eyes and opened her mouth, allowing Yoongi to slide the rice cake between her parted lips.

"Good girl," he growled in a deep and almost primal whisper, making Andy's eyes pop open. She'd never heard his voice go that deep and the way he looked at her once she finally looked in his eyes made a jolt of arousal run straight through her body.

"Should we leave you two alone?" Hoseok asked, as quietly as he could over Adrienne's shoulder with an innocent grin.

"Shut up," Andy and Yoongi replied, so in sync that it made them both laugh gently.

Over by the television, however, Namjoon wasn't so amused. He had been watching them for most of the night, flirting and stealing glances at one another when they thought no one was paying attention. The way Yoongi always managed to make sure Adrienne sat next to him and how Adrienne always found some excuse to touch Yoongi while they spoke. Namjoon wondered how he hadn't noticed it before but any doubts he had about whether something was going on between them had been disproved that night. He hated that he couldn't feel anything but jealousy when his friend looked happy. 

They were both his friend but Namjoon still couldn't muster up the effort to pretend like he wasn't hurting inside. To save himself from heartache as Adrienne began cackling at a joke that could not have been that funny, Namjoon got up and silently slipped out the door. He hoped that a walk in the fresh air would clear his melancholy thoughts, he hadn't been drinking as much as everyone else did since he had to be responsible. Like always. Even on their days off his role as leader never left him.

"Hyung! Where are you going?" Jimin, who had followed Namjoon out almost immediately after he left, called from behind him.

"Uh, just for a walk. It's getting a little loud in there."

"Ah I see, do mind if I join you?"

Namjoon did mind but he shook his head anyway and started walking forward with Jimin next to him. They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the city being their only ambiance until Jimin looked over at Namjoon and sighed.

"You know there's nothing you can do right?"

Namjoon paused and tilted his head to the side "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Andy-noona and Yoongi-hyung," Jimin replied in a matter of fact tone, "That's why you came outside isn't it? You like her."

Namjoon thought about lying but there was no point in lying to Jimin, he was always so good at reading people. "I don't want to feel like this but I just can't stop myself."

"That makes sense" Jimin nodded, "But I don't think they're dating, I could be wrong but we would be able to tell if they were actually dating."

Jimin was hoping to be reassuring but Namjoon didn't reply.

"I can't tell you that what you feel will quickly pass but eventually, it won't hurt anymore. Try channeling all that energy into just being her friend. There isn't anything you can do about what she feels." Jimin capped his words with a gentle hand on Namjoon's shoulders.

"Thank you, Jimin" Namjoon answered, accompanying his gratitude with a playful ruffle of Jimin's orange tresses.

They circled the block one more time before heading back to Adrienne's apartment where everyone save for Hoseok, Yoongi and Adrienne were passed out.

"I think it might be bedtime," Adrienne said to the pair once they were back inside.

It only took a few minutes to wake everyone up and herd them out the front door, even with Jin offering to stay and help clean and Taehyung offering to spend the night so he wouldn't have to get up. Before long they were all walking down the alleyway that lead away from Andy's apartment and headed home, except Yoongi who was still lingering around the front door.

"Did you forget something?" Adrienne asked when she noticed her front door was still open.

"No, I... wanted to ask you something."He looked uncomfortable, like he already regretted what he was bout to say.

"Okay."

"Why won't you call me oppa?"

Adrienne guffawed, thinking he was joking but she stopped once she noticed that he was seriously expecting an answer.

"I....dont know? At first, I didn't because I liked annoying you but now I guess I'm just used to saying Yoongi-ssi," Adrienne explained as she folded her arms and leaned against the door frame, "If it bothers you I'll try being more respectful-"

"It's okay, I just wondered if there was a different reason." Yoongi waved her off.

"Are you sure? I don't want to offend you."

"You're not...I like the way you say my name." Yoongi smiled and patted the top of Adrienne's head before running down the alleyway to catch up with the rest of the group who were not waiting for him.

Adrienne beamed, unsure why having him pet her like a puppy made her heart flutter so much as she closed the door behind her. She assumed she was overflowing with happiness with the thought that he might be feeling the same pull that she was. That contentment filled her with joy until she turned and laid eyes on the platters and plates of leftover food that all required her attention.

"Nope, I'm going bed."

[hojpojjery]

Perception, paradigm shifts, and the “red spade” paradox.

For my Biology of Conservation and Extinction course we were asked to read through Elizabeth Kolbert’s, “The 6th Extinction,” as a sort of background knowledge and introduction to the prescience of mass extinction in the Anthropocene.  

There’s this great part where Kolbert discusses what the science historian Thomas Kuhn called the paradigm shift.  Most people are pretty familiar with this idea that throughout the history of science there are these shifts in thought resulting from one discovery.  Though one could argue that it is a bit more complex than this, the shift is in fact an illusion, and the paradigm of scientific thought is in fact in a constant state of flux as incremental knowledge spreads, it is hard to deny that certain names and discoveries stand out as remarkable to us because they serve as markers of things to come.  

As Kolbert points out, Kuhn was, in fact, referring directly to a psychology experiment done in 1949, which observed a peculiarity of human perception researchers called, “the My god!” effect.  I won’t go over the whole experiment, suffice to say when they waved a deck of cards in front of a person one card at a time, first quickly then slowly, and one of those cards is a red spade, just about everyone saw a heart instead of a spade.  People would say anything to make it as if the card was not what it really was.  The color is off, it’s really purple isn’t it that’s why I thought it was a heart not a spade, and so on and so forth until they would finally say, “my God!  That’s a red spade!”

What Kuhn observed is that once in a while someone comes around who is willing to call a red spade a red spade, or someone looks at all the available evidence and is forced to abandon whatever they’ve learned and see what’s really there.  So what’s the point?

Environmental scientists and conservationists are obsessed with the idea of finding the red spade so to speak.  The hope is that there will be a discovery, or that the discovery has happened and we are still adjusting, that has or will push us over the edge of understanding, that will show to the average person the exigence of the problem.  But there are a few big problems with this assumption.  Firstly, this assumes paradigm shifts happen because of individuals taking hard, assertive action; they assume every red spade noticed creates a paradigm shift and that the world of science necessarily penetrates and shapes the world of politics.

Here’s what I mean by this.  The only way Kuhn’s idea of a paradigm shift works is when others in the scientific sphere consider the discovery in question to be thought provoking enough to look more closely, whether it is to reject the discoverer’s conclusions or to consider their merits.  It’s also important that the preponderance of evidence becomes strong enough and large enough that no one can deny the reality (excluding those on the fringe).  As Kuhn acknowledges, this can take time, even generations to create a true paradigm shift, but scientific thought before and after the aforementioned discovery is forever changed.  

Where climate change and mass extinction are concerned, this has already happened.  The evidence is mounted and mounting, and the whole of the (credible) scientific body politic accepts the reality: mass extinction is here and it is being pushed by habitat destruction, resource extraction, and climate change, all of which are problems created by humans.  Yet those who could make the decisions necessary to stop such problems refuse to make the necessary changes or, in the case of US conservatives, even acknowledge a problem exists.  

So I’ve been thinking, it’s actually the case, when you step outside of the scientific world to the world of politics and economics, that there are two important situations in which not everyone is prepared to call a spade a spade and act accordingly no matter the degree of proof.  The first is when the original concept challenged by the redness of the spade is so ingrained in the personal beliefs and core identities of enough individuals that the mere observation that the spade may be red is viewed as a threat.  The second is when enough people who are sufficiently powerful stand to lose a lot of money should the spade in fact be red.  

It’s important to make this distinction, because the latter describes a group of people (not necessarily a coherent group) large enough and powerful enough to influence politics and economics and who internally and sometimes vocally understand the reality but choose to deny it to avoid losing profits.  The former describes a large enough (again, not necessarily coherent) group of like minded people who themselves may or may not hold any amount of appreciable power and whose internal conception of the world would turn upside-down should they acknowledge the reality.  Both are an integral part of the barrier blocking a shift of thought and action on a global scale.  If you want, the fools that espouse the obviously false ideologies of morally defunct billionaires are the brick and mortar, and the billionaires are the asshole bosses who pay their willingly participant if uncomfortably subservient work force to make this possible.

[dippedanddripped]

For almost 40 years, Tommy Hilfiger has changed how young people around the world dress. Pushing the boundaries of what a fashion business looks like commercially as a true global brand that just last year generated $4.7 billion dollars in revenue. In recent years, he’s collaborated with Kith and Vetements.

Business aside, the storied American brand reshaped what, and especially who, drove influence among youth culture. He was a pioneer in seeing musicians, especially hip hop artists, as powerful marketing vehicles that could culturally, and financially, create value for the business.

First it was Grand Puba from hip hop band Brand Nubian, who shouted out the brand in a song with Mary J. Blige. Then came the rest. Britney Spears, Lenny Kravitz, Aaliyah, Destiny’s Child, Snoop Dogg the list goes on.

Remember, this was at a time when fashion brands refused to work with hip hop artist, dismissing them as drivers of youth culture, and believing a too close association with predominantly black artists would be brand dilution. How times have changed for the better.

I called up Tommy who during our call early on in lockdown was on his boat. We discussed it all, from the early days of Destiny’s Child and Aaliyah wearing the brand to why he’s venturing outside of fashion, into tech, hospitality and media.

The below interview is a written version of ‘On the Record’ Season 2, Episode 8. It has been edited and condensed for clarity. The original interview was conducted in the beginning of the Covid 19 pandemic.

On the Meaning of Fashion Brands Today

When I started out in the fashion business, I always wanted to move beyond just being a fashion brand. I’ve always had the vision to become a pop culture purveyor and innovator in the world of F-A-M-E, the acronym for fashion, art, music, entertainment and sports. Because I think that in pop culture, fashion, art, music, entertainment and sports, you need to move the needle, make a difference in society and in the world of youth who are enamored with what’s going on in pop culture, whether it’s music oriented or connected to Hollywood or connected to maybe the tech world but whatever is really becoming influential in the world of pop culture is meaningful. [So] I’ve always wanted to surround my brand with pop culture, pop culture icons, pop culture movements and I continue to look forward and think very much that way.

On Merging Fashion with Sub Culture

In the late eighties, there was this phenomenon that was just beginning to surface. It was called Hip Hop. Hip Hop was really based on rap music and had never been exposed to the [mainstream] public, probably before 1988. The way [artists] formed, the way they dressed, their lyrics, their beats. In the mid eighties kids would walk down the streets of New York City with big boom boxes, pounding music. That was sort of the beginning of it. You would see a guy with a baseball hat backwards and an Adidas tracksuit about four sizes too big. It was just a different phenomenon that was beginning to take place. I was fortunate enough to be connected to the culture, and the Hip Hop kids at the time embraced my brand and viewed my brand as their designer brand.

Russell Simmons, who was starting his own brand, Phat Farm, said, “The reason these kids are really interested in your brand is because it makes them feel rich.” Because in the very beginning, in 1985, when I started creating my brand, I created clothes for myself and I wanted my clothes to be preppy, but I wanted to be very cool. I didn’t want them to be like Ralph Lauren or Brooks Brothers. I didn’t want them to be too aristocratic looking or uptight. I washed everything. I made everything oversized. I made everything super, super casual and relaxed and they embraced my brand as their designer brand.

On Creating His Signature Aesthetic

In 1985, when I started creating my brand, I created clothes for myself and I wanted my clothes to be preppy, but I wanted to be very cool. I didn’t want them to be like Ralph Lauren or Brooks Brothers. I didn’t want them to be too aristocratic looking or uptight. [So] I washed everything and made everything oversized. I made everything super, super casual and relaxed and they embraced my brand as their designer brand.

On His Early Love for Musicians

Prior to starting Tommy Hilfiger, when I was 18 years old, I opened a jeans shop called People’s Place. I sold bell bottom jeans, fringe vest, really cool hippy and rockstar type clothing. It was my dream to really be a musician myself, but I wasn’t talented enough, so I decided to supply musicians with clothing. To dress a lot of different rock bands and performers, but at the same time, build my own cool clothing company. It was always based on my love for music and my love for rock style. I mean the kind of clothing that the groups were wearing in the sixties and in the seventies when I was a young teen, you couldn’t find in stores. Jimi Hendrix would wear the most incredible jackets with bell-bottoms his girlfriend would sew for him. The Rolling Stones were dressing in women’s clothes. David Bowie was creating Ziggy Stardust outfits, Led Zeppelin and the Who were looking more like British Mods. All of that influenced me so much.

On the Hip Hop World Embracing Him

I wanted to connect my brand to the music world, [so] when I was embraced by the Hip Hop community, it was like a dream come true. Then Hip Hop started becoming incredibly popular. Guys like Puff Daddy and Jay Z started jumping into the arena and Dr. Dre and Tupac and the West Coast Rappers. There was this whole phenomenon happening around me, and I was designing into it because I would listen to what they would want [and] they wanted everything way oversized. They wanted all the jackets, all the shirts logoed and very, very bright. They wanted their jeans five sizes too big. They wanted brand new sneakers to wear with their baggy jeans and backwards baseball caps. Then they started wearing big gold jewelry and gold chains. They really created this phenomenal style that was way ahead of the fashion world. What it made me think at the time was that in order to survive, evolve, reinvent, and build a lasting brand, I had to stay ahead of the curve in terms of what was going on in pop culture.

On Staying Ahead of the Curve

I started dressing women in men’s clothes. We dressed Aaliyah in our menswear with pants too big, boy’s underwear, broad tops made out of underwear. Then I met this music group when they were in their early teens. They performed for me during my fashion shows. They were called Destiny’s Child. The lead singer was a girl by the name of Beyonce who also wanted to dress like a boy with Tommy logos. Within underground culture, it was embraced but it certainly wasn’t mainstream. After we ran advertising in magazines with photographs of Aaliyah wearing it, young women from all walks of life were asking for it. They would see it on Salt-N-Pepa, TLC, Missy Elliott. Female urban musicians. It was accepted and that led me to doing really cool clothes for women. But all of this taught me to stay ahead of the game and to stay very connected to music and pop culture.

On Disrupting the Traditional Fashion Calendar

I’d been doing fashion shows for over 20 some years and I thought they were antiquated. I thought just having editors and buyers in the audience and closing it off to the public was an antiquated idea. I didn’t think it was new or modern. I knew hundreds of thousands and millions of people wanted to come to see fashion shows. I thought this was really antiquated anyway that they would have to wait six months to get the clothes into the stores after everybody sees photographs of the celebrities already wearing the clothes during the show. I thought I should reinvent it and really create something brand new. So I wanted to invite the public. I wanted them to have a memorable experience. I wanted to be very democratic and I wanted to really change the rules. [So] I had to figure out how to change the design calendar and the manufacturing so I would have the products available during the show. And that took quite a while to re-adjust, but it’s worked. It’s been very successful. I think a lot of people will probably attempt to do it in the future, but not many people were successful in attempting to do it because of the logistics involved.

On Honing His Design Signature

I love the fact that we years ago established a look, a feel to the brand that is standing with us today. We are, if you close your eyes and you think of a Tommy Hilfiger brand, whether it’s a pair of headphones or a pair of sneakers, you see red, white, and blue. Years ago when Nike took the name off the swoosh, I think it was in ’86. I thought, okay, Phil Knight is a genius. He just took the name of his company off his logo and people know what his logo stands for [today]. I had that dream to do that at some point in time.I did it about, I think, 10 years ago when I felt that most people knew that the red, white and blue flag is. I believe in brand identity in a big way, regardless of what you’re selling or producing. I always think it can evolve and I always think it can change and be reinvented. Whereas I think a lot of people don’t think about those things because they think that the company name is the company name and they’re going to make a certain product line and stay within those confines.

Working With Celebrities as Co-Creators

Well, this all sort of happened while we were thinking of developing the see-now-buy-now fashion show extravaganza. I thought, why are we designing all of these products when in fact, some of these young people like Gigi [Hadid] who was on our runway has a sense of style that’s very cool and relevant, and she could actually influence us? I asked her to co-design with me and we did the Tommy x Gigi collections that were incredibly successful. It wasn’t just having Gigi Hadid as the face of the brand, but as the creative influencer of the brand. Then we did the same with Lewis [Hamilton] and the same with Zendaya. I don’t want to do what was. I want to do what is next. I really believe that a lot of it has to do with a digital experience. A lot of it has to do with the type of shopping experience that is modern and new, as opposed to, I don’t know, just going into a store or going on a website, looking at still images. I really believe it’s going to change. I want to be ahead of that change.

On Expanding the Brand

We’re going forward in a new way. The livestream shopping [platform] we’re creating is really allowing us to build our own broadcast channel through social media. We really believe that getting in front of the consumer in a unique way and a modern way is the best way. I’m [also] looking at new technologies. I’m looking at the digital world and figuring out how it connects with our world. I really believe that media and entertainment are such an enormous part of our lives today. I cannot stress how important it is. I want to be a fashion media entertainment brand. I don’t want to be just a fashion brand. I think being just a fashion brand is very limiting and somewhat boring even. That’s exactly why I’m reaching beyond just fashion. So we’ll go beyond just being a fashion brand. We’re developing products that are connected to one’s lifestyle like electronics, headphones, chargers, gadgets, hotels, residences, experiences, health, and wellness. I like what’s going on in Hollywood, Silicon Valley, in the VR world. [I want to] collide all of this together and come up with our own product ranges that are outside of fashion.

It’s a risk. I think that a lot of fashion brands run by large corporations are afraid of risk. I also think that many brands might not have the vision to do it and might be afraid to do it. Many of them are somewhat myopic in my estimation. Many fashion brands are antiquated. They wouldn’t really think of doing some of the things we do and that’s okay. I do believe that many brands will try figuring out how to do see-now-buy-now going forward, but not every brand. I think that you always have to find your lane and once you find your niche, you have to expand upon it and you have to build a better mousetrap than your competition.

[oliverarditi]

Same difference

How To Be Autistic is an important book. There are, I imagine, countless books about autism: medical books, popular science books, memoirs of the parents of autistic children,  heart-warming novels about cognitively impaired savants (think of the Barry Levinson film Rain Man), and so on. Since the word autismus was coined by the Swiss psychiatrist Eugen Bleuler in 1910, a river of speech on the topic has flowed from the lips and pens of those who have worked with, cared for, or for whatever reason think they know about autistic people. What is rarely heard is the speech of those people themselves.

Such speech remains the most marginal of discourses, in a society which has been forced unwillingly over the past several decades to admit the utterances of women, blacks, queers, and other groups defined by gender, sexuality or race, to its public conversation. The autistic spectrum is more wide-ranging, more continuous and more extensive than people are generally aware, so of course there has been widely disseminated writing, scholarship, political discourse and art produced by people somewhere on that spectrum, those that have found it possible to pass as neurotypical, but it has not been acknowledged as autistic speech, and it is required to adopt neurotypical discursive norms if it is to be admitted as valid.

It now seems self-evident that it is unjust for light-skinned black people to need to pass to be treated equally, but from what I have heard it seems that the therapeutic aim of much treatment offered to autistic people is aimed at precisely that goal: at enabling them to go out in public without behaving in a manner which makes the neurotypical uncomfortable, or which draws attention to their difference. The silencing and occlusion of their speech is not only unjust, however, but it necessarily hampers any effort to understand autism, biologically, psychologically, socially, or simply as a way that a significant minority of human beings experience the world.

There is some movement towards justice. The very existence of the term ‘neurotypical’, which marks an unmarked, privileged identity, in the same way as the terms ‘white’, ‘heterosexual’ and ‘male’, renders visible the social and cultural construction of the category ‘autistic’. There can be no hard boundary around such a category, and no simple set of universal, easily discerned characteristics which place certain people unequivocally within it, and others outside it. Although there are those autistic people who appear to be ‘disabled’, there is no reason to assume that every aspect of difference in their behaviour can be ascribed to their autism, and there is equally no reason to assume that anyone who appears to be neurotypical does not perform some behaviours characteristic of the autistic spectrum.

Charlotte Amelia Poe’s voice is probably the first I have heard that proudly owns its origin in the lived experience of autism. They speak with clarity and insight, and importantly, without aping forms of speech that deny their origins in difference. There is difference in every subjectivity, but the forms of speech that are accorded the greatest status, delivered in orderly, formal prose like that which I am writing here, obscure it, pretending for the sake of reaching an audience that their originators are white, male and heterosexual. That is the speech which says ‘I have authority’, and ‘you should hear this’ – although nobody living is ever uncomplicatedly white, male, heterosexual or neurotypical. Those identities are born out of compromises and negotiations around a fundamental untruth: that anyone is identical to anyone else. The one thing you can say with certainty about an average, is that it is never found in the wild.

Personally, I’ve seized the voice of authority with both hands, and to be honest I hide my own difference behind a mass of cultural capital I’ve stolen through self-directed reading and thought – after all, don’t successful bank robbers lead middle-class lives? But I had to learn as an adult to perform this identity, this white, middle-class, male, heterosexual disguise I wear for convenience, and I feel no more identification with any of those categories than I do with the academic hierarchies I’ve quietly plundered. Like a career criminal on a Home Counties golf course, I never quite fit. My performance is a species of cowardice: my feelings towards race or class are agonistic, and towards gender or sexuality they are queered, but few people I meet would guess that. Poe’s courage in allowing the voice of their suffering to spill across the pages of their book like blood stands in stark contrast to my timid and etiolated critical speech. They issue a challenge to us all.

I can identify with many of the educational experiences Poe relates in their unaffected, conversational prose; but where the difference noted by my peers and teachers was a consequence of my upbringing, theirs was rooted in neurology, and the adjustments they were required to make were orders of magnitude greater and more damaging. They set out their experience here in a series of short, thematic essays, which do produce a chronological narrative, but which are each focussed more on describing the consequences an aspect of society’s refusal to accommodate their needs, than on moving the story on in a way which will keep us entertained. Along the way they dynamite many myths into dust.

Their empathy and compassion emerge on every page, the love they feel for those close to them, and their profound sympathy for the pain caused to those people by the complicated business of supporting them on their difficult path through life. The stereotype of the autistic person as one who does not identify emotionally with their fellow human beings is in fact a description of a psychopath, and seems a far apter characterisation of the perpetrators of the shocking injustices to which Poe has been subjected. Some teachers and fellow pupils behaved towards them in unreasonable and vindictive ways which I recognised immediately, from my own experience of attending school without having been trained to conceal my difference. Poe was frequently made to feel that their illness was a moral failing, and the trauma of their school years has clearly shaped them profoundly, leaving them with wounds that will be a long time healing. One can only wonder what such a compassionate and creative person would have done with life had they been nurtured in education, had their behaviours been accepted for what they are – the necessary performance of their self.

Poe came to publish this memoir not necessarily as a consequence of winning the inaugural Spectrum Art Award in 2018, but in the immediate aftermath of doing so. From their account, it seems unlikely that anyone was as surprised by this as them. The award is open to any adult UK artist on the autistic spectrum, which includes many people with long established artistic careers, and to hear Poe tell it, the video piece with which they won, also titled How To Be Autistic, was made with little premeditation and no background as a gallery artist at all. In fact, their memoir describes the development of their practice almost exclusively in relation to writing – particularly through the domain of fan-fiction, one of the most marginalised and unvalued forms of literary discourse.

The texture of the prose with which Poe tells their story is also, quite deliberately, not literary or authoritative, but marginal: it is carefully written, with craft and care, but it is rigorously, proudly, combatively spoken from a subject position at the very fringe of culture and society. Poe does not say ‘listen, we autistic people can talk just like you’, but ‘this is how I speak’. Gently and vulnerably, they square up, and throw the first devastating punch.

This book is important. It is important because its voice, strident and brazen, will be heard by many autistic people who thought that the voices of people like them would never be admitted to public discourse. For them, especially for notionally atypical autistic people, such as women, it will say they are equally deserving of a voice and an audience, irrespective of their difference, and it will also say that others feel what they are feeling, that others suffer and not only survive, but succeed in spite of suffering. But because Poe’s is a voice of difference, it also speaks powerfully to many who are not on the autistic spectrum: those who, like me, may feel their difference intensely, and exhibit some behaviours characteristic of autism (I took Poe’s advice to take an online AQ test, and discovered that although I’m socially confident, and scored low overall, my many ritualised, routine behaviours score high).

To us it says that autistic people may be neurologically divergent, may have a particular experience of difference which we can’t know directly, but we can put ourselves in their place; we can imagine what it is like to be compelled to behave in ways that bring us up against the hard limits of social expectation. And I think it’s likely that ‘us’ includes almost everyone. Anyone who can’t recognise any aspect of their own behaviour in a description of the autistic spectrum, or who owns no other sense of difference or otherness, is probably lying to themselves. And that’s why this book is so important, coming as it does at a time when difference is overemphasised and negatively fetishised in our societies: it teaches us that we are all the same, not because we are all the same, but because we are all different.

[geek-patient-zero]

Part 1, Chapter 7

Or: Lameth the Suburbanite Schlub

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Trilogy Volume 1

St. Louis—March 11, 1994

When we last left Dire McCann, he had three problems: the mystery of the Red Death and what connection he could have with the rising Nictuku, Flavia figuring out that he’s secretly an ancient and powerful Methuselah possessing a human body, and Rachel Young, the singer from The Club Diabolique and suspected assassin of Tyrus Benedict, stealing his mail from his office while he was out. Now he’s leaving his office and going home to have a drink, think about those problems a little more, and hit the hay.

For the first two pages, the narrative further establishes how the World of Darkness is a Harsher, Crueler Version of Our World, and how cautious, suspicious, and prepared McCann is as a result. He waits ten minutes and spends more money for a security guard to get his car out of a city-run underground parking lot.

Despite security cameras and motorcycle patrols, muggings, rapes, and murders were common occurrences in these parking garages. Rumors had it that the security patrols were the ones responsible for many of the crimes. No one knew for sure, as dead men told no tales.

Evil rent-a-cops aren’t the only plague on the city.

McCann didn’t mind spending the extra money if it avoided unnecessary confrontation. The city was a dangerous place. Urban America was increasingly becoming a jungle in which only the strongest and smartest survived. More people died these days from gunshot wounds than from any disease.

But don’t worry. Our government’s hard at work making sure preventable illnesses come in at a close second.

The government claimed that crime was under control. But nobody believed the politicians. The truth was on the streets.

Survival depended more on recognizing the perils that haunted daily life and adjusting to them than on superior firepower. A fact of life in the nightmarish world of modern society was that someone else always possessed superior weaponry.

Good to know in the Stark, Desolate Landscape of the World of Darkness, with all it’s vampires, werewolves, and wraiths, gun violence is still the bigger problem. ‘Murika!

McCann lives in the suburbs, instantly losing some cool points. I bet you thought, after all that talk about Urban America being a jungle where only the strong survive, he’d live in a shitty apartment in the city where you need to have street smarts to survive just getting to your floor. Nope. Suburbs. It makes all the stuff about how dangerous the city is sound like a sheltered suburbanite repeating something Tom and Susan told them in hushed tones at the Nelsons’ yard sale.

But McCann doesn’t want to live just anywhere. He wants somewhere private and secure.

McCann lived in a small brick home in a new development a few blocks off Highway 80. Located on a wide lot at the end of a quiet street, it was surrounded by a wrought-iron security fence, isolating the building from the rest of the block. Which was exactly what the detective desired. He wanted to be left alone. In these troubled times, no one considered his security measures the least bit unusual.

One of those homeowners, huh? There’s at least one house on the block that has security cameras or a pack of doberman guard dogs or something, even in the safest neighborhood. Who knows, there could be an “urban” person a few blocks closer to the highway just waiting to case your home.

He had bought the house for cash less than a year before, when he first decided to settle in the St. Louis area. He knew none of his neighbors and had no interest in meeting them. He worked at night and slept during the day. The few times he had seen anyone he had raised a hand in greeting, but said nothing. McCann considered his home a safe place to rest and relax. His office served as his base of operations. He socialized in neither of them.

Someone’s never watched The ‘Burbs. Buying a house with cash, surrounded by a wrought-iron leave-me-the-fuck-alone security fence, working and sleeping at odd hours, and never speaking to anyone? All while living near people often stereotyped as gossipy rumormongers who never mind their own business and spy on anyone “unusual”? A private person like McCann should never be able to rest and relax. He’d live in fear that somehow, someday, Tom Hanks would break into his house and discover all his World of Darkness secrets.

Alright, enough talking about suburbs like I don’t comfortably live in one. McCann parks his car in the garage but before he enters his house, he checks on his real security system by placing his hand on the wall.

Certain arcane rituals from the dawn of civilization imbued a home with the personality of its owner.

McCann’s house is also a smug secretive jerk who thinks it’s the greatest and wisest schemer ever. Aww, look, he’s comforting the sexy white house across the street whose neighbor burned down. Oh no, it accidentally gave away its biggest secret!

A master magician, and McCann was among the greatest ever to walk the Earth, could immediately sense any disturbance in their dwelling.

I know I said McCann only knew simple parlor tricks to barely pass as a mage, but I might’ve downplayed the true extent of his powers. A bit.

There was none. McCann was safe. At least for the moment, neither the Red Death nor the mysterious Ms. Young had discovered his hideaway.

Shame. It would’ve been funny if he went inside and scary ol’ Red Death was casually relaxing on his couch like Darkseid.

Later, McCann’s sitting in his sofa, drink in hand, listening to Billie Holliday on the stereo. We get a description of the room, and it’s nothing special. Sofa, coffee table, no TV. McCann believes in “simple comforts” but the real point is that he doesn’t have many valuable possessions because he moves around a lot, never staying in one place for long. Reminds me of a friend of mine. He said he had wanderlust, but I suspect he just didn’t know what he wanted to do in life, chasing one passion before getting distracted by another. Lost track of him somewhere down in Florida. McCann moves around for a very different reason, though. His wandering was necessary for his “complex scheme.”

But as he relaxes, he wonders if all his moving around and plotting is even worth it anymore.

At times, he wondered why he still bothered playing the game. So many of his kind no longer struggled. Some had plunged into the great unknown from which there was no return, while others had retreated from cruel reality into a dreamworld of their own creation. He was among a handful who continued fighting. In truth, the prize hardly seemed important any longer. It was the diversion that kept him amused.

The detective shook his head and finished his nightcap. He had engaged in this mental exercise a thousand times and never arrived at a satisfactory conclusion. He was like Ol’ Man River, ‘tired of living, but scared of dying.’ For those like himself, there were no easy answers. Just more questions.

McCann finishes his introspective episode and thinks about the group he learned the Red Death was part of thanks to his bullshit telepathy power; The Children of Dreadful Night. He’s never heard of them before, but the “Dreadful Night” part makes him suspect they’re a Gehenna cult. They’re typically groups of vampires who either want to prevent Gehenna or find a way to save themselves from the Antediluvians when it begins. Then there are the ones who want to help bring it about, but the narrative is focusing on the ones who fear Gehenna for one reason or other. Technically the Sabbat is one huge Gehenna cult, but they’re much more powerful and influential than the smaller groups the term usually refers to. More cults have been springing up lately.

As it did many mortals, the approaching end of the millennium frightened them.

Oh right, the Y2K bug. I doubt that’s calming the Kindred down either.

McCann used to think the cultists were just a bunch of fringe crazies, but now, with the Red Death...

Speaking of, remember when McCann used his brain probe on the Red Death and learned that he both recognized him and had a pretty awesome counter for his psychic powers? He’s worried about that too. It means that Red D. knows his true identity somehow. He’d kept a low profile the past few decades, presumably while separating his Dire McCann identity from whatever one he was using just before that, and preferred “to forward his schemes through unsuspecting agents.” Whatever those agents were doing, no one should have suspected McCann was involved.

He felt certain no evidence existed associating the human detective, Dire McCann, and Lameth, the Dark Messiah of the Kindred.

Wow, okay, so that’s one of the floweriest wannabe impressive not impressive fucking 90′s Image Comics titles you can give a shmuck like McCann. Not to mention redundant. We already had ~*~The Dark Angels~*~, did we also need ~*~The Dark Messiah~*~ too?

The funny thing is, I think Weinberg knew that title was over-the-top. Back when McCann was thinking about the Children of Dreadful Night, there’s a line about how “Kindred possessed a bizarre fondness for nicknames.” Like he thought that if he didn’t show at least a hint of irony, every nerd, geek, or corporate suit that worked on nerd and geek franchises would rise as one, like a perma-virgin hivemind, and institute a cross-genre ban on “The Dark” as part of a character’s title, rank, or nickname. And then where would vampire fiction be?

Shaking his head, McCann wondered if Anis was behind the attack. She was one of the few Kindred who knew many of his secrets. And, like him, she continued to plot, undaunted by the centuries.

Hold up. I know what you’re all thinking. Anis is a perfectly legit Arabic name. Quit giggling.

McCann considers the other weird things that happened last night. Ms. Young was genuinely terrified of the Red Death, convincing McCann that they weren’t working together, but he still believes she killed Tyrus Benedict, stole the Baba Yaga photos, and later stole his mail from his office. And there was that phone call he got, the one warning him of the attack before it happened, made from an out of service phone booth, whose information was erased from McCann’s recording devices the moment it ended. Or, as the narrative puts it:

Reality had twisted immediately after he received the warning, which hinted that an extremely potent mage was at work.

Oh great. Actual mages.

Then there’re the assassins. We already know that Makish hired them on the Red Death’s orders, but McCann doesn’t yet. 

He still has the billfold he pocketed from one of the assassins.

Except for the money he had removed earlier, it was absolutely empty. However, that didn’t mean that it couldn’t reveal secrets.

The detective rested the leather billfold on the coffee table. Placing both hands on it, he let loose the full power of his mighty will. The air wavered with titanic energies. Squeezing his eyes shut, McCann concentrated on a solitary word. Find.

Despite that whole thing about the air wavering with titanic energies, what he’s doing is most likely The Spirit’s Touch, a power from the third tier of the Auspex discipline, which let’s you use an object’s “resonance” to learn things about it and its owner. Pretty basic, and you don’t have to be a Dark Messiah from the dawn of time to use it, but handy for detective work like this.

This is also the second time that a Kindred discipline being used is described as someone using their “mighty will.” I know some powers were namedropped earlier, like Fires of the Inferno and Body of Fire, but it makes me wonder how many listed disciplines actually have names in-universe. If a player has their character activate Awe, in-universe does the character think “I’m using Awe, the first tier Presence power”? Or “I will extend my mighty will to get everyone’s attention”? Like how Superman’s laser vision is just called laser vision and not “Burning Gaze of Rao.” 

Not that Weinberg should’ve used the discipline name every time. “The detective used Auspex” would be much duller writing.

The detective learns that the billfold’s from Washington, D.C.  It was stolen from a government file clerk by the assassin, just so he’d have somewhere to keep the money McCann found in it. We learn about the Kindred’s political situation in Washington. The part of it that doesn’t involve the spreading gang wars.

The nation’s capital had long been a source of friction between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. Though the Camarilla controlled the city, both organizations had agents in the suburbs.

Must be like a cross between Desperate Housewives and Cannibal Holocaust out there. A bit of Weeds, too.

The constantly shifting population also brought in new Kindred. Each sect controlled politicians and lobbyists.

I always had my suspicions about the Long Pig Lobby.

However, the frequent changes in government officials thwarted their ambitions for absolute domination of the government.

That darned democracy, making life in Washington for the vampires inconvenient. Someone should do something abou- Actually, no, that joke doesn’t work. Certain officials come and go in the capital even faster nowadays.

The city was a potential battleground between the cults. The Camarilla held it, but Sabbat forces surrounded it. Sooner or later, warfare between the two groups was bound to explode.

McCann had carefully avoided the city. He disliked being too visible anyplace where the balance of power was in flux. He worked best when in the shadows. However, this assassination attempt hinted that perhaps he had made a mistake by ignoring the metropolis.

After much time spent thinking and thinking, the detective’s all thunk out and decides to go to bed. He mentally checks his magic defenses on the way to his bedroom. And one other thing.

With a wan smile, he rested one hand on a small, detailed sculpture resting on the end table in his bedroom. Carved from sandstone, it depicted a man’s face remarkably similar to his own. Not particularly large or impressive, the statue originally came from Egypt and was over four thousand years old. It had been with McCann for a very long time.

Did you get that Dire McCann is super old? Need it hammered in a little more? You dumb bastards?

If you got rid of that last sentence, this could be a nice little moment for McCann’s character. Him looking at the statue, briefly allowing himself to feel nostalgia for an age and people gone by. A moment where he drops the master schemer act and let’s the old man out. A little heartwarming. A little sad. But the last sentence turns it into another reminder of something we already know.

Eh, maybe I’m being too nitpicky. Looking too hard for flaws.

The detective grinned, remembering Flavia’s tale of Masqueraders. It was an entertaining fable. He wondered how she would react to the truth. Maybe, someday, he would tell her.

No, fuck it, this one I have something to say about.

Back when Flavia was explaining her “tale of Masqueraders,” this was how McCann reacted:

McCann laughed, trying to appear amused. “What utter nonsense.”

and

McCann forced himself to remain quiet. He had said too much already.

And when he’s back in his office, reflecting on his conversation with Flavia:

McCann, sitting behind his desk in his office an hour later, sighed heavily. The detective folded his arms across his chest. For all her grief, the Dark Angel had not stayed in mourning very long. He trusted Flavia not to reveal her suspicions to the Prince for as long as it suited her purposes, and not a second more. If not handled properly, the Dark Angel could prove to be as dangerous to him as the Red Death

Those aren’t the actions and thoughts of a guy who a few hours later would be thinking “Silly bitch, what an amusing fable. Maybe one day I’ll tell her what I really am.” That’s someone whose intimidated by what she knows, and wary of what she’ll tell her fifth-generation vampire boss.

Flavia said that Masqueraders are Methuselahs who possess mortal bodies while in torpor in order to experience life like a mortal again, while giving them some Kindred powers to protect them. McCann is secretly a Methuselah named Lameth, over four thousand years old and notable enough to earn a title like “The Dark Messiah.” We’re also told that his current body is mortal, aside from a few Kindred powers. A detail we’ll learn in a few chapters may complicate things, but for now the similarities are spot on, and back in Chapter Five McCann knew that.

Flavia may be the very definition of what feminist media critics call a Strong Female Character (i.e. a character whose presented as a well-written woman because she’s physically strong and capable of *gasp* holding her own against a man, but in the overall narrative is a satellite character revolving around a male character, often used as fanservice, a love interest, or a prize to be won despite her “strength”) and maybe it’s a leap of logic to get “secret ancient vampire” from a human who can stop one of her attacks, but she more or less figured McCann out, and he knows it. The detective shouldn’t get all haughty or dismissive now because she might not know every detail. Or because she doesn’t know he’s actually ~*~Lameth, the Dark Messiah of the Kindred~*~ and not Sven, the Socially Awkward Apostle of the Kindred. She got your number, dick.

Anyway, the smug bastard goes to sleep and the chapter ends.

[theconservativebrief]

In recent years, leaders of the Republican Party have become aware that denying the existence of global warming makes them look like idiots. Changes in climate have become obvious, not just to scientists, but to ordinary people — they can be directly measured, with such exotic instruments as a “thermometer.” Majorities of every group except the most conservative Republicans (who will trust their media over their lying eyes) believe it is happening.

Denying visible, tangible reality is a dicey business, even for the modern US right. It makes the party look like a death cult. So Republican climate-communication strategy has undergone something of an adjustment.

Not a large adjustment, mind you. The GOP remains dead set against doing anything about climate change, against any policy that would threaten the profits of fossil fuel companies. That is the non-negotiable baseline, despite a few fringe figures who signal otherwise (until the time comes for votes).

But front-line, hardcore denialism of the “it’s a hoax” variety has largely receded to the base. Republican leaders and spokespeople have moved back to the next line of defense: Yes, the climate is changing, but we don’t know to what extent humans are responsible.

Professional double-talker Marco Rubio, senator from the climate-battered state of Florida, ran a version of this on CNN’s Jake Tapper show about a week ago.

“Sea level rise and changes in the climate, those are measurable,” Rubio said. “I don’t think there’s a debate about whether that’s happening because you can measure that.” See? He’s a reasonable guy! Not some crazy denier.

“The secondary aspect,” he adds, “is how much of that is due to human activity…”

Tapper pushes on: “Do you believe it is man-made?”

“Humanity and its behavior, scientists say, is contributing to that,” Rubio acknowledged. “I can’t tell you to what percentage is contributing and many scientists would debate the percentage is contributable to man versus normal fluctuations, but there’s a rise in sea level, temperatures are warmer in the waters than they were 50, 80, 100 years ago. That’s measurable.”

In short: The climate is changing but we’re not sure why.

Make note of what policy might follow from this perspective. We don’t really know how much humans are contributing to climate change, so there’s no sense in trying hard to reduce our emissions. But we do know sea levels are rising — “that’s measurable” — so we know we need to build up Fortress America to withstand the changes.

This thinking leads directly to the ideal reactionary climate policy: all adaptation, no mitigation. That would benefit only local constituencies (“America first!”), not the world; it would exacerbate, not ameliorate, inequality; and it would give the federal government carte blanche to hand out adaptation funding under the guise of “security,” where it will not be too closely scrutinized.

Nationalism + graft = that’s the right-wing sweet spot.

Rubio’s is not a new rhetorical ploy, of course, nor is it unique to him. But it has helped the GOP wriggle out from under the uncomfortable “denier” label. Conservative leaders who pull this move tend to get the headlines they want: “Republican acknowledges climate change.”

There are two things to say about this rhetorical move by the GOP.

First, this is still denialism. It doesn’t get Republicans out of the trap like they think it does, unless the media is incredibly lazy. (Ahem.) Second, and more broadly, the ever-shifting rhetoric of climate denial reveals that particular arguments about science were never really offered in good faith. The fact is, the GOP is the party of fossil fuels; it recognizes, accurately, that to acknowledge climate change is to empower its opponents.

Firstl, and we’ll put this in bold, so perhaps everyone in US media and politics can absorb it once and for all:

Denying human responsibility for climate change is climate change denial.

Human responsibility is the whole point. It is the heart of the matter. That is precisely what the much-discussed scientific consensus is a consensus about. Denying it — or muddying it up, saying “many scientists would debate the percentage [that] is contributable to man versus normal fluctuations” — is what we mean when we talk about denialism.

It’s just not true that “many scientists” debate the human contribution to climate change. Climate scientists are effectively certain that human beings are responsible for most or all of the warming over the past few centuries. (Or more than all of it — there’s some evidence we’d be drifting toward an ice age if not for global warming.)

Nothing is 100 percent certain in science, but the reports from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), which summarize the state of science, express a 95 percent confidence that humans have caused more than half and most likely all or more than all of recent global temperature rise. That is about as close to certain as scientists ever get about anything.

Here, from Skeptical Science, is a selection of independent peer-reviewed studies and their conclusions about the balance of human and natural “forcings” that warm the climate:

Skeptical Science

As you can see, most put the human contribution at or above 100 percent. Natural forcings are small and possibly negative, i.e., cooling.

So: Yes, humans are causing global warming and the only thing that can slow it is a rapid reduction in human greenhouse gas emissions. That is a fact, at least insofar as anything counts as a fact in these ridiculous post-truth times. There is simply no other plausible story.

Having just made that basic argument for the 12 billionth time in my career, let me follow up by pointing out that making that argument is almost certainly futile. There is no interlocutor on the other side interested in arguments of facts. There’s no one to talk to.

To see the true nature of right-wing climate denialism, it’s better to look past people like Rubio, who have trained their whole lives to pass as moderate on Sunday talk shows. Instead, the real truth of right-wing tribalism works on climate change is embodied by none other than President Donald Trump.

Consider Trump’s responses to the questioning of Lesley Stahl of 60 Minutes on the subject of climate change. Historians will marvel over this document:

Lesley Stahl of 60 Minutes presses Trump about his climate change views. He says: “I think something’s happening. Something’s changing – and it’ll change back again. I don’t think it’s a hoax, I think there’s probably a difference. But I don’t know that it’s man-made.” pic.twitter.com/MAIO1gJNKY

— Daniel Dale (@ddale8) October 14, 2018

There’s no argument here. Trump does not make arguments. There are just … phrases, unconnected to the phrases that precede and follow them. It’s just bits of rhetoric Trump has heard — his impression of what his people say about these things — jumbled up in his brain.

Note that someone clearly told him before the interview that the “hoax” thing is a trap and he should not outright deny climate change. You can tell, because he just blurts it out: “I don’t think it’s a hoax.” And then, “I’m not denying climate change.”

But if you rewind or fast forward through the phrases, you can find plenty that do exactly those things. He says “something’s changing and it’ll change back again.” That’s denying climate change. He says “I don’t know that it’s manmade.” That’s denying climate change (see above). He says there’s no way to know if Greenland glaciers would be melting without human activity. That’s denying climate change.

She protests: “But that’s denying it.” She asks, “What about all the scientists?”

“Scientists also have a political agenda,” he says. That sounds like he’s calling it a hoax!

The point here is not to catch Trump in a contradiction. Trump contradicts himself every time he opens his mouth. He does not have beliefs as such, not like we ordinarily understand them, and so he can’t really contradict himself. Nothing divided by nothing is nothing.

Rather, the point is that Trump, in this as in so many other areas, is a rawer, truer reflection of right-wing thinking on this subject.

Listening to him talk, it’s clear that everything is geared around defending the right’s tribal position. He just says whatever comes to mind in that pursuit, grabs whatever talking point bubbles up from his Fox-informed subconscious. It doesn’t matter — I’m sure it never occurs to him — that half the things he says don’t fit with the other half. He’s not offering good-faith arguments, statements of fact or reasoning meant to be subject to critical scrutiny.

Persuasion is not any part of this, in either direction. The goal is only to deflect, confuse, and mislead, in defense of the status quo.

That is obviously true when it comes to Trump, because he scarcely tries, indeed doesn’t know how, to pretend otherwise. But it’s just as true of the entire conservative movement, for decades now.

All the denialist talking points — nefarious scientists, sunspots, natural cycles — have their true believers in the base, among the chumps who drink the Kool-Aid and fill up the comment sections.

But the motive force is not any assessment of science. It’s the tight alliance between the cultural politics of white resentment and the power of fossil fuel and related industries. To acknowledge anthropogenic climate change is to empower liberals, open the door to additional taxes and regulations, and threaten the power of the fossil fuel industry.

The Republican Party as currently constituted will simply never do those things. Ever. The arguments are secondary.

Media Matters

It’s difficult for people who care about climate change to accept this. It implies that all those hours spent earnestly arguing about climate science have been, to a first approximation, wasted. And it’s been a lot of hours — thousands and thousands of hours, spent by people of good faith in hopes that evidence and reason can change minds.

But it always should have been obvious that those with power connected to fossil fuels will not give up that power without a fight. They certainly will not give it up based on scientific or humanistic considerations. They will defend their prerogatives and privileges, as those with power always have, throughout history.

And they will always find people who will defend their interests, using whatever language serves the purpose. The arguments offered to the public may be scientific, political, or economic, or some jumble thereof, as with Trump. They may make occasional rhetorical concessions, if the tide of public opinion threatens them. They will perform substantive engagement, to the extent circumstances demand it.

But defense of the status quo is the point, not the arguments. And the only way it can be overcome is through power and money, i.e., organized political opposition. Focusing on the words — scrutinizing the exact mathematical degree of denial displayed in a particular Republican’s comments, as though it reflects anything deeper — is just getting played.

They are gaslighting, not persuading, and it will end when they are beaten and removed from office, not when climate scientists find just the right argument.

Original Source -> Yes, Republicans are still denying climate change

via The Conservative Brief