#that and Monaco made me want to do nothing except look at pictures of monaco being nice and sunny and wish I wasn’t in England

[biropen]

About to start panic revising because I’ve just realised that it’s basically Thursday and my exams are in like three days

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (3/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Charles takes you on an adventure, that you won't forget that easily.

Warnings: angst (talks about Charles dad), comfort, google translated French

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: part 3! hope you enjoy it! feedback is appreciated!

Sitting on the passenger side of your own car is strange.

It doesn't feel completely wrong, but still, a queasy feeling spreads through you. Like when you lived with your parents. Whenever someone was visiting, your mom had said, "Just sit anywhere," and of course the guests didn't know that you had an unassigned assigned seat. And when they actually sat down in your seat and you couldn't sit in yours, you had the same feeling as you do now at this moment.

After you dressed for the weather, you grabbed your car keys and your camera. If Charles was actually taking you to the most beautiful viewpoint in the country, then maybe you could snap some pictures for your private Instagram account. Your little private photo album. With no followers, no obligations.

Charles car is at his primary residence, according to his statement. Except for a few cars, the underground garage where your car is parked is empty. Your roommate insisted on driving because, first, you don't know where the trip is going and, second, he doesn't want to tell you where to go. Grumpily, you threw him the key and he caught it with a grin. 

Then Charles made himself comfortable in the driver's seat of your old Renault as if it were his birthright. Right hand on the wheel, left elbow on the door and head propped on his hand, he maneuvers you through the streets of Monaco. Black sunglasses sit on his nose and the radio plays a pop song that somehow gets played every time you get in the car. Charles whistles along with the rhythm.

You turn in his direction. "Are you going to tell me where exactly we're going?"

Instead of answering you, he just shakes his head briefly. He runs a hand through his brown hair once, whistling merrily along. 

You roll your eyes and rub your forehead.

Not only did you just get in the car with a stranger - to be fair, it's your car and Charles isn't a stranger (anymore) - but he actually won't tell you where he's going. "Like I said, we're going to the most beautiful view," is all he replies. 

You've looked it up. According to Google, there are about fifteen lookouts. And each of them is supposed to be the "most beautiful view in Monaco," according to the websites. You looked up the locations on Google Maps, but none of them are in the direction you're heading. Maybe he's trying to kill you after all. 

"I haven't driven a real stick shift car in ages." Charles wraps his big hand around the gearshift knob to shift into the next gear. His bracelets slide from his forearm to his wrist as he does so. Without much jerking and very smoothly, you move forward.

You raise an eyebrow. "So you only drive automatic cars?"

Charles shakes his head. "My personal car - the one that's at my other apartment - is an automatic. The company car I drive is manual." His hand moves from the shift knob back to the steering wheel. His long fingers grip the worn, dark leather. 

"So what do you prefer to drive?"

He shrugs. "I like both."

You purse your lips and look out the window. You drive past small boutiques whose clothes you could never afford, and see cars whose insurance per month is sure to exceed your former annual salary. But this is nothing new to you. This is Monaco, after all. "I've never driven an automatic car before."

Charles glances over at you for a moment. "Really?" You shake your head. "It's kind of like riding a bumper car. Two pedals, gas and brake." He has to grin. "But if you ever drive automatic, please don't crash into other road users."

"Haha."

Charles drives the car out of town. The view out the window changes from old houses, whose architecture enchants you every time, to rocks and trees. By now, a quiet song is playing on the radio, Charles has stopped whistling, and somehow you're enjoying sitting here, next to your roommate, who wants to show you new, exciting things. 

It's been ages since you've been introduced to something completely new. 

The brunette turns off the main road onto a path that you would have missed yourself. It's not paved, which is why the car jolts quite a bit as you drive along. Trees and bushes line the path, and it is so narrow that it would be quite difficult if another car were to come towards you. If you were driving, you would have peed your pants for sure.

But not Charles. He drives as if he were driving this route every day. He knows where there are big rocks that he has to drive around to avoid damaging your car - which wouldn't be so dramatic - and also where he has to countersteer to avoid driving over potholes deeper than the Mariana Trench. 

When he stops after a few minutes, he turns off the car. Then he turns to you and takes off his sunglasses. "I know this place looks pretty shady, and I can understand if you don't trust me. But if you get out of here with me now, I promise you, you won't regret it." He pulls the key out of the ignition. "Unfortunately, we can't get any further here by car. That's why we have to continue on foot for a short while. If you want."

You took a leap of faith when you decided to drive here with him. And he didn't try to kill you last night. That's a big plus. And that's why you hold out your hand to him without giving it much thought. "As long as I can have the key."

A smile spreads across his face as he drops it into your hand. "Let's do it, then."

Charles wasn't lying - it's actually not a long walk. You walk side by side in silence, the key held tightly in your hand. There's not a whole lot of sunlight shining down on you through the trees, and you regret not taking a thicker jacket. You didn't expect it to be so cold in the shade. 

And then you arrive. At the most beautiful view in Monaco. 

You're standing on a small hill that can't be seen from the main road. There is a single tree here, which is why the sun can shine relentlessly on you despite the winter, warming the skin on your face. You take a few steps forward, not realizing that Charles is not following you as you take in the view.

From here, from this beautiful spot, you can actually overlook all of Monaco. The houses, the yachts, the luxury for which this country is famous. But you don't only see the typical postcard Monaco. You also see the green of the forests, small blue bays of the Côte d'Azur, which you have never seen - neither in reality nor on the Internet - and the Mediterranean Sea, which stretches out in front of you and whose sound you can hear despite the distance.

You feel Charles next to you, but can't tear your gaze away from the view. "It's..." You can't think of a suitable word to describe what you're looking at. None of the million words, both in English and the few in French, would do it justice.

"I know." His voice rings softly in your ears. "Shall we sit down?"

You settle down near the tree. The meadow is dry - thank goodness - as you sit down cross-legged, facing each other. For a few minutes, you enjoy the view in silence until Charles interrupts.

"My father showed me this spot when I was little." He plucks a few tufts of grass from the ground. "He liked to come down here when the world down there" - with a nod of his head, he points to beautiful Monaco - "got too stressful for him. Or too noisy. Or just too much." He smiles faintly. "With three young sons who liked to mess with each other, I can't blame him."

You watch as he grinds a few blades of grass between his index finger and thumb until they trickle down in small pieces. "Then he's lucky you're all grown up now."

Charles lips pucker into a thin line and he lets the remaining grass fall to the ground. He folds his hands in his lap and looks toward Monaco. Even though he has his sunglasses on, you can see he closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. "My father died when I was nineteen."

You don't know how to respond. You're glad Charles keeps talking. "Aside from my mother, he was the best and kindest person I know. He saw something good in everyone, even if they didn't deserve it. He..." Charles swallows the lump in his throat. "He always pushed me to be better, but always brought me back down to earth when I took off. He was never disappointed in me, ever."

You have to smile. "Sounds like a wonderful man."

Charles nods. "He was." He looks back down at his hands. "I miss him every day."

It's strange to hear someone talk about their parents like that when your own are the complete opposite. You can't remember your parents ever being proud of you. Their disappointment and criticism were your constant companions, which is why you couldn't wait to finally move out. And you haven't looked back since.

"I like to come here when I'm stuck. When I'm stuck in a situation where I wish I could ask him for advice. Or I'm feeling lonely." A faint smile returned to his face. "I may not get an answer here, but somehow - I don't know - I don't feel quite so alone anymore when I'm here."

You don't know what to say to him. You've known each other for less than twenty-four hours, were at each other's throats yesterday, and yet he's confided something so intangibly private to you, while you've been nothing but skeptical of him. Charles has revealed himself to you, laid bare some of his cards, made himself vulnerable. And he did so without much hesitation.

"You don't have to tell me who called you. Or whatever that person screwed up. But if you need to talk to someone, I'm here for you." He takes the sunglasses off his nose so he can really look at you, and hangs them on the collar of his sweater. The green of the woods behind you is beautiful, but nothing can compete with the green of his eyes. "That's what friends are for, after all."

You have to smile. "Are we?" You point your index finger at the distance between you. "Friends?"

You feel your question is justified. After all, your "friends" dropped you after ... after everything that happened.

Charles shrugs. "If that's what you want. After all, we live together. Of course, I don't want to force you into it, nor could I. You'd sooner smack me with a rolled-up magazine. I just think it's almost impossible for us not to become friends."

He is right. The apartment is not very big and there is no way you could avoid each other. Especially since you don't have any obligations anymore, no job to go to every day. You'll be hanging out at home all the time and you'll definitely spend all your time next to each other, as long as Charles has nothing to do either. 

That you two will become friends is inevitable.

One look at Charles and you'll throw all worries out the window. Charles, who lets you live in his apartment. Charles, who lets you have the bedroom. Charles, who can cook incredibly well. And Charles, who takes you to the most beautiful place, even though it means so much to him. 

He looks at you in surprise as you pull the car key out of your jacket pocket and toss it to him. Surprised, he catches it. "I guess I won't need to lock the bedroom door then, will I?"

Charles grins. "I promise not to kill you while you're sleeping." With his index finger, he makes a cross over where his heart beats in his chest. "I might try it when you're awake, though." He winks at you.

Your grin widens. "Luckily, there are still some magazines lying around at home that I can use to defend myself. Just please don't do it when I'm only wearing a towel. That would be an unfair fight."

Charles laughs. He laughs even though he has just expressed one of his deepest feelings and this place reminds him of someone he loved and lost. Even though he's poured his heart out to you. And yet he's sitting there, cross-legged, in front of you, and he's got his head thrown back and he's laughing so loud you're afraid he can be heard all the way to Monte-Carlo. 

And good heavens - it's the most beautiful sound you've heard in a long time. 

For a moment longer, you enjoy the moment. Despite the call and Charles past, a lightness has spread through you that you haven't felt in ages. The worries have not fallen off your shoulders, but they are no longer so heavy and you would like to thank Charles for that. But as soon as you can open your mouth, he's on his feet in front of you again, looking down at you. 

"I didn't promise you too much, did I?" Confused, you look at him. "I mean, about the view."

You shake your head and stand up as well. Side by side, you gaze down at Monaco. "It's the perfect postcard view."

Charles watches you while you take some photos with your camera. You try to take a good picture from every angle, from every position, and as far as you can tell from the small display, some of the shots don't turn out too badly. When you turn around, Charles is standing right behind you. 

"If you need another model," he puts his hands on his hips, "I'll volunteer."

You laugh. "Absolutely not. Or I'll get a crack in the lens."

He pushes his bottom lip forward and pouts. "Okay, wow. I'm going to take that personally. Then don't." He's about to turn away from you when you manage to grab the sleeve of his sweater. He glances briefly at where your fingers are gripping the fabric, and unsure, you let go. 

"All right. One photo." You raise your camera. Charles tries to get a decent stance, puts his hands in his pockets, then decides against it, crosses his arms in front of his chest, drops them again, runs his hands through his hair. "You'll have to stand in style for me to take a decent picture."

A slight blush creeps onto his cheeks. "What exactly do you want me to do? What would you like?"

You smile at him. "Relax. This isn't a professional shoot, after all." You lower the camera again. "You said you have two brothers. What's the funniest thing you've been through together?"

Charles thinks for a moment and starts to grin. As he tells you about a Christmas when Arthur had been in charge of dessert but unfortunately switched sugar for salt, making the food inedible, you snap a photo of him. His smile is wide, a dimple adorns his cheek, and the wind ruffles his hair. You don't need to snap another. This picture is perfect. 

" ... And then we went to McDonalds in the middle of the night to get ice cream," he finishes his story. He looks up. "Did you take a picture? I didn't even notice!" He stands close to you so he can see the camera's display. His perfume hits your nose. "Oh my God." He takes a step away from you, his grin wide. "I've never looked so good. Can you send this to me?"

The walk to the car takes longer than the walk there, in no small part because you don't really want to leave. You memorize every single step so you can find Monaco's most beautiful view again. 

"Thank you for bringing me here." 

He looks up from his feet and over at you. "I've never brought anyone here before." He smiles gently. "But somehow I felt like you needed this. To be away from it all for once."

"I appreciate that very much. I promise I won't tell anyone about this." You draw a cross with your index finger where your heart beats. Just like he just did. You know how much this place means to him. Never in your life would you bring anyone else here. 

Your car comes into your field of vision. In a moment you would drive back home and everything you successfully repressed until just now would be waiting for you there. But it still can't spoil your mood. Not after the beautiful morning. 

You hear Charles inhale to say something when suddenly his phone rings. Annoyed, he pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen before tossing you the car keys. You almost drop them on the floor. "I need to make a quick call." His voice tone is cold, definitely not as warm and mellow as it was just a few minutes ago. "Go ahead and get in the car. I'll be right behind you."

You nod to him and walk the few feet. You catch the beginning of the conversation anyway.

"Nous en avons déjà parlé. Je t'ai dit que je ne rentrerais pas chez moi pour le moment. Non, écoute, je n'ai ni le temps ni les nerfs pour en parler avec toi. Je suis en déplacement en ce moment. Cela ne te concerne pas". coming home – discuss – not your business

You unlock the car and plant yourself in the passenger seat, which, unlike a moment ago, no longer feels too wrong. While you can no longer understand what Charles is saying, judging by his facial expressions and gestures, it's definitely not a pleasant conversation. His face is flushed and he runs his hand through his hair several times before rolling his eyes. 

When his gaze catches yours, you feel caught. As if you're watching him do something private that's none of your business. And for a moment you think that Charles is annoyed, telling you to do something other than watch him. But he just tilts his head and smiles softly before raising a finger in the air with his free hand. His mouth moves and it looks like "One minute" and some French word you can't make out by lip-reading.

You also answer him with a smile and look at the photo on the camera again. It's a little blurry and definitely not your best work, but it was taken from a beautiful moment and is one of your favorite pictures for that alone. 

"Sorry." You barely notice Charles sitting down next to you in the car.

You drop the key into his open hand and look at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

He breathes in and out before putting the key in the ignition and letting the engine rev. He doesn't give you an answer to your question, but starts a new topic. "We're going to see Joris. I'd love to know how he got the idea to rent out the apartment without discussing it first." He doesn't smile, but his voice is no longer so callous. You just nod. 

The situation is tense, and there's nothing you can do to defuse it except sit quietly and let Charles feel his feelings without judging him. You'd like to reach for his hand and squeeze it so he knows he's not alone. But you don't dare. The look on his face when you just touched his sweater-not even Charles per se-and the thought that you might be crossing a line burns into your brain. 

You interlace your fingers in your lap and look out the window.

Of course, you don't notice that Charles' gaze briefly falls on your hands and that he wishes he could take yours in his for a little comfort.

next part

[lostinlewis]

Rendezvous ~ Part One

Rating: M

Words: 1176

The sunsetting in the distance framed the seemingly never ending sea that you sailed on with some of your closest friends, and Lewis. It was nearing the end of the day, leading into nightfall with a sense of serenity, a sense of peace; nothing calmed you like the ocean, and today was no exception. 

It was beautiful, truly picture perfect and the day would have been thought of as that, had you not had to spend it actively avoiding an awkward moment with a man you had spent the past few years sharing the most intimate of moments with, behind the backs of the rest of the world, a secret that you both held even when it ended. 

You hadn’t known Lewis would be joining you, although looking back that was pretty stupid of you considering the yacht was his. Naively you thought you would be able to navigate the weekend without a meeting with him, that idea was shattered pretty quickly on your first day in Monaco.

Lewis was hidden from view as you stepped onto the yacht, at least to your view anyway, but as you walked towards the stairs leading to the top deck, you heard the excitement from your friends as they greeted him. 

You were the last one up the stairs, taking an extra long time as you tried to compose yourself. The smile that had been on his face the whole time, as he said hello to everyone else, quickly fell to nothingness when he saw you. The eye contact between you both held for an uncomfortable amount of time, you wondered if he was as thrown off by your presence as you were, it certainly seemed like he was. 

It hadn’t ended well between you both. What had started as an exciting, spontaneous, secret rendezvous escalated to nights together that had to be planned to perfection and arguments fueled by jealousy on both parts, before you blocked his number and made it impossible for him to contact you; telling Lewis it was over, without actually telling him.

You navigated the day well away from him, it helped that the others kept him busy with stories, games and even a swim in the ocean at one point, but as the night began to surround you all, everyone had separated into their own little groups, leaving you sat on the floor of the top deck, alone, staring out into the ocean as you thought back to some of the many wild nights in which Lewis was the main character. 

The memories were so strong in your mind, you were so lost in your fantasies, that as the unique scent of Lewis engulfed you, you paid no attention; not even when you felt the brush of his impeccably smooth skin of his leg against your arm. 

“Hi.” 

Lewis’ voice was not loud, it was not alarming, if anything it was softer than usual, yet you jumped as if he had given you the biggest shock of your life. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

His hand placed on your arm and within an instant, you were calm again. 

“Hi.” 

You were proud of your ability to even form a word in response, despite the simplicity, there was something about Lewis that always rendered you weak and tonight, the first night of seeing him in months, it was even worse. 

The ocean was far easier to concentrate on than Lewis, yet less pretty; staring out at the calm waves made the closeness between you both, and the silence that accompanied it, all the more bearable. 

“You disappeared on me.” 

Lewis tried to prompt you into conversation, but you were at a loss as to a response. You had disappeared, it was true, but tonight it was the last thing you wanted to talk about.

“How have you been, Lewis?” 

Even as you asked the question, you held your focus on the water, you had no choice.  You didn’t need to see his face to know that hearing you address him by his name, and none of the affectionate pet names he had become accustomed to, bothered him. 

“Fine. Can you look at me, please?” 

Your focus held strong on the ocean, although your unwavering need to do as Lewis requested meant that you fought against every natural urge you had. 

“Sweetie, look at me…”

Lewis didn’t give you an option this time, his thick fingers rounded your chin as he cupped it, turning your gaze towards him, where he met you with the kind eyes you had become so accustomed to over the years. No matter what the situation, whether you were out to dinner or knelt in front of him, with a mouth full of every inch of him as he used your mouth like a toy, his eyes were always kind.

“See, I don’t bite.” 

You both shared a knowing smile at that remark. Lewis did bite, but only when you begged him to leave you marked like his property for weeks after.

“Lewis, I-“

“I hate that we are back to names.” His thumb brushed across your bottom lip. “I don’t know what went wrong, I don’t know what I did to make you disappear on me but I’m sorry, truly.” 

You didn’t respond, instead you held his gaze as you focused on the pad of his thumb brushing your lip as if begging for entry. 

“We had so much fun, baby girl. Didn’t we?” 

You nodded, it was undeniable. Lewis had shown you things, had taken you to places both in person and in the bedroom, that you never thought possible.

“I…I missed it.” 

“It…or me?” 

Lewis allowed the tip of his thumb to tease your tongue now as if he was feeding you, you watched him lick his own lips as if he was hungry for more. 

“Both.” 

That was all Lewis needed to hear to replace his thumb with his two fingers instead, teasing them into your mouth until he tested your gag reflex. 

“Mm, you haven’t lost it at all, have you?” 

Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes as you thought back against it, desperately wanting to please him as always. 

“I’m going to tell the captain to dock at the harbour in a few minutes, I’m going to say goodbye to every one downstairs and then we are going to come right back up here, and I’m going to spend the rest of the night making up for all of those many nights you have been empty of me. Would you like that?”

Your nodding couldn’t have been more eager, there was nothing you wanted more. 

Lewis fast replaced his fingers in your mouth with his tongue as he kissed you with so much passion it took your breath away. 

“Good girl. I promise I will make this night so special that you will never want to disappear on me again.” 

[blorbocedes]

I have been perusing the brocedes tag on ao3 (not an easy confession to make) and I've noticed that a lot of the fics make Nico out to be... desperate... trying to get Lewis to look at him etc etc. And Idk if it's just me but, and this is nothing against Lewis, I get the feeling like Nico was the one who dealt w/ the friendship breakdown better? I'm not saying Lewis is doing badly (he's got 7 WDC!) but. Nico is able to talk about him, yknow? Meanwhile as you said Lewis makes a point not to mention Nico's name (unless that has been played up by fandom as well, which is possible. I haven't watched Every Lewis Interview That Mentions Nico).

hahha you are forgiven for your crimes of perusing the brocedes ao3 tag.

you are correct in your observation that people do write nico like that, and if you're on my blog long enough you'll see me ranting about his mischaracterization in fanon. I'm going to ramble a bit; bear with me

there's actually a very simple reason for this: Lewis has a bigger fanbase. F1 has exploded much bigger than 2016. There's entire swaths of fans who have never seen Nico race live (me included), whose idea of brocedes comes from present day lewis who does not speak of nico, and nico rosberg f1 commentator who anytime he mentions lewis goes semi-viral cause he's clearly obsessed with him (it's a circle).

i actually got into f1 pretty recently so my first take on brocedes was that this Nico dude did a lot of shady shit and broke their friendship to win in 2016 and then retired. (Lewis' part and share of war crimes in that breakup is minimised as narratives are written by winners and Lewis is definitely the winner in the long run) so obviously the fics written now will reflect that, with Nico profusely begging for forgiveness/apologising and Lewis as someone hurt and in the position to forgive/accept reconciliation. (🙄)

if you're not 500 hours deep into Nico lore (and why should you be) you will accept fanon as your perception of him, which is how you'll write him, and the cycle continues... now obvious disclaimer: people can write and enjoy whatever they want, it's all made up anyway. I'm simply explaining why one particular narrative is more persistent. I'm not even going to say my perception is correct, bc I'm not immune to bias either but I have certain things I find more interesting than other things. the real reason brocedes is so compelling is bc everyone's had one explosive friendship breakup that's left them reeling and they're the perfect representation of it

my self appointed job is to comb through every Lewis interview that mentions nico haha because it's so notable the rare times he does! He has improved slightly on that regard, here's him mentioning how Nico's place was the first place he'd ever stayed in monaco, and here's him talking about Nico to Martin Brundle while looking back at some of his races.

so he Can say the nico word lol but he generally avoids it. there's also the parallel that Nico was willing to be friends after 2016 while Lewis was the one who was flipping through pages that contained his picture not wanting to look at it. but he has improved since, prob the wound was still fresh and I enjoy Lewis being sensitive and petty.

It's just Lewis wouldn't say his name for things like the DTS netflix ep where he talks about how sometimes the guy you're teammates with is your best friend, and how it creates a lot of friction. LIKE WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT MAN.

or how he had to deliberately decline sky sports interviews with Nico cause back when Nico was on paddock (🕊😔) he interviewed all the drivers except for Lewis and you KNOW sky sports would be all over that shit.

and yet, they Could stand to talk when there's no cameras filming. so... yeah. i hate those bitches and I know too much about them. whoever won the breakup, we all lost 😔

anyways happy brocedes anon, or sorry for your loss idk!

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls. 

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods. 

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires. 

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past. 

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him. 

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places. 

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease. 

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone. 

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely. 

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-" 

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue. 

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you. 

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?" 

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium. 

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back. 

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..." 

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. 

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy. 

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

[mickstart]

hi bestie, I’m honestly still in shock and disassociated with reality after what happened to lewis and I’m so scared to go on social media and look at news articles cause they’ll be going off about how lewis’ dominance is finally ending and whatnot, so I kinda wanted to rant and maybe get reassurance?? that the king is still rising and he’ll only come back stronger cause as nico said, lewis is scarier when he’s hunting from behind??

what are your thoughts on this, are we seeing a red bull resurgence or is lewis only getting stronger and more able as a driver? I’ve only recently got into f1 but I’ve known lewis for years and he’s only gotten more impressive, especially with how committed he is for the environment and equality. will France see the return of the king?? will we see lewis coming back to take the crown like he did in 2018 I think it was? When he wasn’t even leading until halfway through the season?

so sorry for the massive rant, I just wanted to get this off my chest and get some assurance, especially with how wrecked and heartbroken lewis looked yesterday...

;Hey nothing to be sorry for bestie I completely understand feeling a little Out Of It from this! I honestly haven't been able to look at post race stuff with Lewis bc the way he sounded on the radio is just haunting me. Putting this under a cut because I also needed to do a massive rant about how good Lewis is.

First of all: for sure red bull have massively improved and are the best car this year. The regulations specifically target Merc and no amount of Sky trying to downplay how much better the red bull is magically gives Merc the better car again. Valtteri is not struggling that badly with the car because he's suddenly forgotten how to drive, it is clearly a hard car to drive. Realistically, it was only a matter of time before Max and red bull led the championship at some point this year.

But honestly? In Bahrain the scenario we're in now was so far beyond my best case scenario. I truly expected max to lead the championship from bahrain and be running away with it now whilst lewis and merc tried to sort out their problems. The fact that Lewis led the championship - for MULTIPLE races - is like.... it's insane to me. Going into this season I LIKED Lewis as a person sure, but I wouldn't have said he was one of my top 3 drivers. But every single race this season he's been more impressive. His talent, how hard he works, his mentality as a competitor, it has all just been amazing to watch. It keeps hitting me that this is a seven time world champion in his strongest era. I see absolutely zero loss in Lewis' skill, if anything I think he's either still sitting on his peak or still rising.

I know it sucks right now because Monaco and Baku back to back have been terrible races for Lewis, but recency bias is a huge problem in F1 and we need to look at it in context that this feels worse BECAUSE of monaco. Neither tracks suited the W12 and in Monaco Mercedes were an absolute disaster, as poor Valtteri proves. In Baku Lewis accidentally hit one button and the restart went to hell, other than that he was flawless all race and once again got fucked by a bad mercedes pit stop. Also, Mercedes struggle with softer tyres and I think we all suspect the tyres at Baku were too soft for EVERYONE let alone a team that struggles with the softs.

Two bad calls that are entirely on mercedes, and one accidental button press. When you look at it like that absolutely nothing damns Lewis or suggests he's losing it. Quite the opposite actually. It's just unfortunate they happened one after the other.

So Mercedes need to get their shit together - they can do that - but Lewis? Lewis has been dragging these clowns to glory. Lewis has been the apex predator. This season so far has only proven his skill and regardless of what happens with the championship I think that in 5 years time - with hindsight and such - people are going to look back at this year and say that THIS is the year to watch to see an F1 legend at his peak. Lewis has pulled off miracles this year. Two bad races in a row - at tracks where he has to work the car to its absolute limits - don't diminish that.

So yeah, I think that in France Lewis is going to be back at it again. As you said, Lewis always vibes better with the tracks after mid season and at France Red Bull will lose the flexi-wing advantage. I'm not guaranteeing everything will be perfect and rosy from France onward. This is going to be a tight season, and throughout the year we're going to see this pattern of red bull and mercedes trading bad days and good days and tracks that suit either car. Be prepared for that and remember the big picture. But am I worried that Baku means it's 'over' and Lewis is going to get eaten up by Red Bull? Absolutely not.

This sport is made up on hundredths of seconds. We see singular moments where one thing going wrong reshapes the entire narrative. We live in the moment because you have to live in the moment in F1. Sometimes we need to take a step back and see the bigger picture. Lewis was pushing the car to its limits, he lost positions solely because of the team's bad pit timing, and there were tyres blowing up around him with no warning which is a problem that's haunted him before. The pressure on him was immense, and STILL it wasn't really a mental mistake it was a physical one. Not to quote god himself but "Less button?" is a relevant rant today.

I get feeling bad after that race and I'm right there with you I was just sat there in utter shock for the last two laps. But trust me bestie, Monaco and Baku are outliers and should not be counted. Lewis is at his peak and only getting better and I think that Hamilton Resurgence this year is going to be the sexiest it's ever been. You’re feeling out of it BECAUSE lewis making a mistake is so unheard of. Feeling lost and upset when Lewis makes a mistake is itself reassuring proof that Lewis is THAT bitch who is normally rock solid.

The championship is in a holding pattern, neither Max nor Lewis lost or gained anything. Baku might as well have not happened for either of them, so let's follow that example. Strike Baku from your mind, from the record. We are in the same position we were in after Monaco, except we're going to a track that SHOULD suit us more than Baku.

This isn't the first seven time world champion I've defended from the press whilst a red bull driver was leading the championship and mercedes were being clowns, and 2012 taught me how to bite.

TL;DR - Baku means nothing, this is going to be a tight season and there will be days like this, but Lewis is operating at his peak and whatever bad takes the press have this doesn't change that. Baku is over, it's time for France.

[xsecretblastsx]

1x11 - Roman Holiday

Happy Christmas Everybody! Or rather I’m trying to delude myself into thinking it’s winter because it’s awfully hot in here. Too bad the episode only lasts like 40 minutes. Anyway here’s the recap.

This one didn’t get as long as the last ones, but I’ll use the keep reading break anyway because it’s a bit more neat for everyone.

Thoughts I had while watching the episode:

The Constance choir, oh how I miss it.

 I have a coat really simliar to the one’s Jenny’s wearing, mine’s probably cheaper though. 

Global Warming Grinch! what a surprise Dan’s complaining about something yei!

Here comes Vanessa raining on Serena’s parade! Auch. I never really know with her, because she seems nice and sincere and everything, but doesn’t she realize how uncomfortable this is for Serena? She doesn’t acts like Dan’s best friend, she acts like the soul mate or something like that.

I had almost forgotten about Bart Bass, if only. It’s not like Bart knows the actual meaning of the words “I’m in love with you” but I do ser her point on this Lily, ugh. I can’t believe I typed that.

I really like Blair’s outif the perfect mix between school uniform and holiday spirit. Also, I love her, but what with the long face at hearing Chuck is at Monaco? She dump him, so she shouldn’t care.So.. no,  Nothing that she needs to know.

It’s sweet the amount of traditions Blair had with her dad, no wonder she wants him to move back to New York

I’ll never understand this show’s obsession with Dan’s cabbage patch doll.

Blair bear! I had totally forgot about that aww.

That look Blair share’s with her mom, haha “you don’t say what a suprise indeed”

Auch, I was vaguely wondering though in which episode Dan’s mom leaves again, not that I particularly care but I guess is this one

I know shows tape earlier than the season they’re suposed to be, but the park looks so autumm-y for Christmas, is taking me out of the mood. But since I don’t live in New York what do I know.

Blair’s skating outfit thoug, an all time fave.

I had totally forgotten Eleanor had a love interest this episode.

I mean to be fair, that watch is the kind of gift Serena would have made any boyfriend she had because it’s the kind of stuff she’s used to, and I feel for her because she was so excited, I do get where Dan’s coming from, it’s probably the same thing I would said in that situation, but aww Serena.

Again, Vanessa seems nice but, not cool girl.

Blair’s face at Chuck’s text was hilarious, though she shouldn’t be as surprised, Chuck’s pervy on a good day, and she sort of burned him. Not a good combo.

Blair Waldorf in action, sorry Roman.

I’ll never understand why Blair would ask Chuck to  don’t speak to anyone about them, like honey letting him know you want to keep that secret, is giving him levarage. 

Not a fan of having a scene were Serena is like “i came with my tail between my legs, please Vanessa help me to find Dan a gift” and even worse Vanessa is like “I would gloat, but I like you” that’s sorta gloating anyway, ugh. 

Victoria’s Secret themed Christmas party, only on gossip gir.

Rufus and Lily, acting like scaredy cats teenagers.

“Friends doesn’t steal other friends husband” you tell him Eleanor.

This loos “so promising” for  Blair, so Nate said he would go to her mom’s Christmas party, except he didn’t and nowshe’s  tracking him down because he didn’t bother telling her. Same old story.

Blair spelling it out to Vanessa, and for once I think she wasn’ wrong in what she said. Also I love it when Blair is looking out for her friends.

Honestly I would react exactly as Serena and Eric if my mom dropped on me the bomb that she’s dating Bart Bass. That’s scary.

For once I’m liking Eleanor, also she’s dead right, Blair learned scheming from her mother, unrealistic dreaming from her father. Quite the combo. That’s why I lover.

Gotta love Lilly helping Dan to get that tree inside.

I mean considering I’ve seen the whole show, sorry Howard, but your words sound a bit hollow.

Ok, Serena’s gift for Dan was nice.

Dorota’s themed aprons are such a nice little detail. 

Ngl, it mades me sad seeing Bart doing more of an effor with Lilly’s kids and never really bothering with Chuck.

Imagine if Lilly had answered the phone.

That photo of Nate looking like they’re in the Caribbean when they’re supposedly in Monace would never not be hilarious

Normally this is the part where I rant and rant about the episode, but this time I just dont’ have that much to say. I know a lot of people love this episode a lot, but I’m just not one of them, I didn’t fight it particularly memorable on first watch, and now on rewatch even less so, this episode is heavily focused on Derena and the end of the Humphrey marriage, and I don’t really care about either of those things. The only thing I really find interesting about this episode was Harold’s visit,, but on this episode for some reason Blair’s storyline felt like a B plot, that’s probably just me, but l’m finding out that episodes with a lot of Derena feel like such a drag to me now. I almost wish I could care about them again, if only for this season.

So, Blair’s dad. I’ll get it out of the way soon, I’m not a fan. He may have been the loving parent while Blair grew up, but I don’t feel he really knows her, not the way Eleanor does, and I’m not even talking about her dark side, but as Eleanor pointed out, how could he thought she would be glad he had brought over the man he left for when it was supposed to be them enjoying the holiday.

We were told on the Thanksgiving episode that that was suposed to be his first visit after moving to France, and I mentioned there that it sounded like Blair hadn’t seen her father in a long time, which isn’t nice.I feel Harold never really grasped how much he hurt his daughter when he left for France, it was a lot to take for a 16 year old girl who was a total daddy’s girl. First, there’s the separation of her parents, then the fact that her dad is gay, those two were quite a lot, and then he’s like oh I’ll move to France. I’m sure part of the reason Harold stuck in out in his marriage was Blair, and he shouldn’t have to hide who he is and keep married to Eleanor, but I think he could have thought about it and delayed his moving to France. Like Eleanor said this episode Blair might like to act like an adult, but she was at this point still very much a girl in need of her dad.

And this episode he may have said there would always be a place on his life for Blair no mather what, but it was never the same, I mean last episode was Cotillion, and Blair didn’t have any of her parents there, it was probably Dorota the one that was exicted for her, taking pictures and everything. I guess we’re supposed to think she probably talked frequently with her dad over the phone, but I feel in many ways it was mostly a superficial relationship, like I never got the impression Harold went out of his way to see his daughter. But I could be wrong.

The other bit I would like to mention is that not long ago I got an ask about what do I think Blair cared about Chuck not being into town this episode, having watched the episode again now, and I said:  i feel she believed it’s always wise to keep and eye of Chuck and be wary of his intentions, gods knows what he’ll plot just for fun, and now they share history, a secret one at that so she has reason to be cautious, considering the message he sends her at the end of the episode she wasn’t wrong. And while I still think it had a lot to do with that, I do feel having her ask him not to spill the beans, wasn’t the smartest choice, I guess she was banking on him not using it as leverage because they’re are friends and because he had let her know at one point he had felt something, it’s what I call wishfull thinking. 

On a more subconcious level I think she simply wanted to know because well she’s into him. She likes him. She ends their fling out of anger and it’s part that anger that leds her back to Nate, (and it also trills her that after so long Nate wants her, he’s going after her, not Serena). Of course at this point she’s not about to admit even to herself whatever she feels for Chuck, not only because she’s back on track with her so planned life but because well… he’s Chuck Bass, but that doesn’t mean she’s not atracted to him still.

Random bits I would love to mention

The one shot I’m writing (and hopefully finishing one of these days) is actually set between last episode and this one. Not that it wasn’t hard to guess, but I’m glad I got Nate’s location right.

Funny but like a week ago Buzzfeed shared this bit about the watch Serena gave Dan, turns’s out it costs about $25,000. 

“All the grace of Nancy Kerrigan but packing the punch of Tonya Harding” sometimes the Gossip Girl voice is just so on point. 

I’ve always loved Chuck’s voice mail “leave a message and I might listen to it”

The kind of headband Blair’s wearing at that Christmas party were sold anywhere last winter here. Guess they came back.

Lily’s golden dress makes me think of Klimt’s paintings. I like that.

Seriously Gossip Girl’s voice overs this episoder are making me laugh so much “sugar, spicy and everythin nice” not so much.

The Palace hotel decoreted for Christmats time!!  I love it so much. 

[nazario-sayeed]

Grey area (Sonia x F!MC)

Author's note: I've had part of this fic written for weeks but I just couldn't finish it; I was experiencing some serious writers block. But last night I got inspired and somehow manage to write all of it. I'm Brazilian who lives in Rio and I wanted to use that in my fic. My MC's name is Agatha. English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. 

Summary: One year after the heist, Sonia wonders where Agatha is, and whether they'll meet again (WC: around 2,100).

Rating: pretty sure it's PG-13 (kissing, sexual tension but very light) 

tag list:  @nazariortega  @duchess-ash-flame  @lahelalove @poeticscolt @donutsgirl36 @queenkaneko @msjpuddleduck@quinnskelly @flyawayboo @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard@jlpplays1 @desiree-0816 @sibella-plays-choices @mfackenthal @unwrittennovel @shreya-mackenzie @emomoustache (I'm using my general tag list from my Nik and Jaime fics, feel free to ignore me and/or let me know if I got anyone wrong) 

Sonia was sitting on her usual table, at her usual bakery, having her usual breakfast. Nothing about the present day seemed anything other than ordinary. But as she put down her coffee mug, something caught her eye on the tiny tv screen against the wall, a picture she knew all too well by now: the empty case of the crown jewels of Monaco. She didn't even need to check the calendar to realize what day it was. It's been one year.

It’s been one year since Agatha and her crew successfully stole the crown jewels of Monaco, which went down on newspapers all over the world as the greatest heist in history: no traces left behind, and none of the crew members had been located yet. All of this was being said on the morning news, and Sonia smiled despite of herself as she started to reminisce about her last encounter with the criminal who completely changed the way she viewed the world.

After the night they spent together in Vegas, Sonia hadn’t seen or heard from Agatha, but that didn't mean she hadn't been thinking about the blonde thief; she still couldn’t believe she had fallen for a career criminal. How clichê was that? Her feelings for Agatha were part of the reason she hadn't gone back to work- she was too biased to be useful.

Sonia used to think it was so simple. In her head, there used to be the side of the law and the mischievous side. Everything used to be black or white, right or wrong. But as the law favored people like Ansel, and Agatha was one of the “bad guys”, how could she ignore the grey area?

After the security fiasco at Carlisle’s wedding, Sonia decided to take some time off from work. Her head wasn’t in it anymore; she didn’t feel like she could be a part of justice when she didn’t even know who the true bad guys were. As the reporter on TV talked about the heist, Sonia couldn't help but think about Agatha; her lips, her blonde hair, her green eyes, her stunning body… A warm feeling that had nothing to do with the hot coffee spread across her body at the memory, and she let herself wonder where the now multimillionaire thief might be. Sonia hated to admit how often Agatha crossed her mind, and how much she wished she could see her again.

When she got back to her apartment, still thinking about Agatha and absently smiling, Sonia noticed something inside her mailbox, something that wasn't there before.  She picked it up and frowned in confusion. "A postcard? Who would send me a postcard?", she thought to herself. 

It featured a picture of the famous black and white sidewalk design from Copacabana Beach- a couple of miles away from Sonia's apartment in Laranjeiras. At first, it seemed like there was nothing written on it. No date, no name, no address. But as she looked closer, Sonia noticed there was actually something: a tiny note on the corner saying "2 pm".

She glanced around but there was no one on the street, no one who could possibly know who sent this. She decided to just go up to her apartment and take a closer look at it, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. As she stared at it, eyebrows furrowed, something clicked inside her mind: "Wait, 2pm? People in Brazil don't write time like that. Could it possibly be…? No, I won't let myself think about it. It's not her. It can’t be."

As much as she tried to push her own thoughts away, it made sense. Didn't it? Or was it just wishful thinking? Sonia had always loved puzzles and solving riddles, and she was good at it. She was good at following leads and finding logical patterns when nothing seemed to make sense. But all her logical, rational side would disappear when it came to Agatha, and she couldn’t think straight anymore- one of the reasons she decided to step down from her job. She sighed and looked at her phone. 9:17am. She had a long morning ahead of her.

Sonia tried to distract herself from the stubborn clock that seemed to have stopped. After what felt like an eternity, the time finally came. She swallowed her lunch in five seconds, took a quick shower and headed to Copacabana Beach. As she sat on the bus, she let her mind wonder to the possibility that it was actually Agatha waiting for her.

As an ex police officer, she knew better. She knew it was probably a bad idea to follow an anonymous, almost ominous, instruction like that. It was most likely a trap, but that small voice inside her head telling her it could be Agatha waiting for her made Sonia ignore all the obvious red flags.

Copacabana Beach was crowded, as always, and most of them were tourists enjoying the hot spring sun and photographing the illustrious, breathtaking landscape. The beach was 2.2 miles long and she didn’t know where to wait, or whom to look for, so she just walked towards its most touristy spot: the sidewalk in front of Rio’s most famous hotel, Copacabana Palace. She sat on a table of a kiosk on the beach, with her back to the sand, enjoying the warm sunshine on her skin as she took a sip of the most overpriced coconut water in the city. 

Sonia began to meticulously examine the crowd; she would feel her heart skipping a beat everytime a blonde woman walked by, which made her feel pathetic. She checked the clock and it was 1:58 pm; she was already absently tapping her foot on the wood board and biting her lips, her head frantically turning from side to side, looking for any face she might recognize- but, mostly, for one face specifically. When she realized how quickly her heart was beating, she took a deep breath and counted to three. "You need to calm down and lower your expectations", she told herself.

As her breathing began to slow down, she felt soft fingers touching her exposed shoulder and a woman's voice behind her, talking in Portuguese with a strong American accent "Com licença..." Sonia turned her head and she could swear her heart stopped for a few seconds. "Do you know what time is it?" Agatha continued, in English, smirking at Sonia through her sunglasses.

"It's… 2 pm" Sonia somehow managed to answer, not even bothering to check if she was right. She stared in disbelief at the woman in front of her, unable to move. Her hair was shorter and darker, but it was her. It was Agatha.

"I'm right on time, then" she announced, walking around Sonia and sitting at the chair next to hers.

"You're here. I can't believe you're really here, Agatha." Sonia babbled, trying to convince herself. Agatha casually leaned in on her chair and stole a sip from Sonia's coconut, before placing her hand over Sonia's on the table.

"I'm really here. And for the rest of the world, I'm not Agatha anymore, I'm Emily. But I can make an exception for you." Agatha removed her sunglasses and smiled at Sonia, looking into her eyes. The ex security agent couldn't believe her instincts were right and that Agatha had found her.

"This hair suits you, Aga… Emily." Sonia commented, dumbfolded.

"Thank you. After my last job, I had to make some changes, keep a low profile. But I'm glad you enjoyed. And you look just as good as I remembered" Agatha said, letting go of Sonia's hand to tug a lock of the Brazilian's thick hair behind her ear, their eyes locked on each other.

But Agatha's gentle touch surprised Sonia, which made her jerk away from her hand. She looked down, breaking eye contact, and bit her lip. Agatha lost her smile, looking worried. "Should I… have not come back?" she tried to catch Sonia's gaze again, but she kept looking away.

They were both silent for a few minutes. Sonia tried to understand what she was feeling before saying something. She finally let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest, and began talking with a tone that was something between angry and hurt.

"You're probably one of the most wanted criminals in the world. Interpol interrogated me for weeks, trying to locate you, and I know they haven't given up. You ruined my last job, and I helped you, and then after Vegas you just… disappeared. I should want to lock you up. I should want to handcuff you and call the agent who interrogated me and turn you away. But I..." she lost track of her thoughts, finally looking up to meet Agatha's gaze. She felt her heart melting. "I don't. At all. I should be feeling a hundred different things now and none of them should be happiness, or excitement. But here I am. And all I can think about is kissing you" she admitted, her voice breaking a litte. Agatha smirked at her.

"Well, you know I'm not against the idea of you handcuffing me. But maybe we're too exposed here" she teased, and Sonia could feel her cheeks blushing when she thought of their encounter during Carlisle's wedding, when she first admitted to herself that the thief had her smitten. Agatha leaned forward, her face coming closer to Sonia's, whose breath got caught in her throat as she felt the other woman's breath on her lips. "And I'm definitely not against the idea of you kissing me" she whispered, her lips almost touching Sonia's. She cautiously placed a hand on Sonia's thigh, and touched the agent's cheek with the other. The Brazilian woman felt her skin on fire where Agatha was touching her, and she let out a small gasp as the thief closed the distance between them, capturing her lips on a gentle kiss.

Sonia seemed to wake up from a trance when she felt Agatha's lips on her own. It took her a few seconds to react but once she realized what was happening, her whole body responded to the familiar feeling of Agatha's kiss and touch. Sonia put one hand on the woman's neck, pulling her close, and hugged her waist with the other. Agatha couldn't help the small moan that escaped her lips when she felt Sonia pulling her closer. Their kiss grew more passionate by the second and after a few minutes they broke apart, both a bit breathless, their faces flushed. Everyone around them was staring uncomfortably at the two women, but they only had eyes for each other.

"Now do you believe I'm here?" Agatha teased, placing a kiss on Sonia's cheek, who let out a small laugh before meeting her eyes. She placed her hand over where Agatha's rested on her thigh, running soothing circles on the back of her hand.

"I might need a little more convincing." She provoked, and Agatha smiled and bit her lips. She gave Sonia a quick peck on the lips and reluctantly pulled away, gesturing as to acknowledge their very public setting.

"Don't worry, I'll take my time convincing you. But maybe we can get out of here? I wouldn't want to break the law by committing public indecency, you know." the criminal joked, and Sonia laughed despite of herself, rolling her eyes. She was feeling light and content for the first time in months.

"My place is close. We can go there. But I have to warn you about something…" Sonia leaned in, letting her mouth brush over Agatha's ear "I still have my handcuffs. Maybe I should use them on you, just in case you're planning on running away from me again."

Agatha felt a shiver run through her body, despite of the warm weather. She tightened her hold on Sonia's leg for a second, holding back a moan.

"I don't plan on leaving anytime soon. But maybe you should cuff me, just to be sure… And then you can do whatever you want to me" she teased, pulling back and smiling seductively at Sonia. "What do you say? Let's get out of here?"

Sonia didn't bother answering. She grabbed the thief's hand and pulled her away from the uneasy looks from the people around them, clearly uncomfortable with their passionate display of affection, but the women didn't care about any of them. As they made their way to Sonia's place on the back of the cab, they couldn't stop smiling at each other.

Sonia wasn't thinking about the irony of it all. She didn't care that Agatha was on the most wanted list and that she once was a law enforcement agent. She had tried to fight her feelings ever since she and Agatha left that prison island together, but when she finally let go at Carlisle's wedding, she knew there was no going back. That was the first time she wasn't thinking about right or wrong. If the grey area meant she could go back to her place with Agatha and do all the things she's been thinking about since they parted ways in Vegas, then grey was her new favorite color.

[hoodedscarlet]

Title: A Picture In Blue Fandom: Overwatch Ship: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada Warnings: PWP, Rough Sex, Face-Fucking, Grinding, Dirty Talk, Power Exchange, Dom/sub, Suits, Light Pet Play Themes WC: 4835 Read on AO3 here

-x-

The mission was nothing to write home about on the surface; some casino in Monaco with corrupt Talon agents and blood money on their hands. Jesse knew that they'd have to dress the part to even get in the door; nice clothes, good hair, the regular works to blend in among the rich.

But he hadn't expected this - Hanzo walking out dressed up like he owned the place, hair slicked back and suit immaculately fitted. He looked good enough for McCree to sink to his knees in awe - and with him down there, looking at Hanzo with doe eyes, both of them had some ideas for how they should spend the time before the mission...

-x-

He’s dressed to the nines, sleeves rolled and collar starched - a dream of a white collar businessman even with his bow within reach, despite Jesse knowing so well the strength of he man beneath the suit. He reeked of ostentation, of the refined nature only acquired through the filth of money. No off the rack vest fitted a man like this one did, no machine embroidery could match the level of detail of that on his sleeve. But even in their finery, the clothes didn’t wear Hanzo - no, he sat as if he were royalty, lax in an outfit that would dwarf lesser men.

Their surroundings certainly called for it; even though this was just a hotel, lodgings before the mission itself commenced, it seemed Winston had deemed it necessary for them to stay in a place as fancy as the casino they were eventually going to. At least, it was the only explanation that Jesse could come to as to why there was whiskey on the house and finery everywhere he looked. Despite his own fondness of the liquor it was Hanzo who was taking advantage of it right now, whiskey stones clinking as he took a sip of the honey coloured liquid. It was fitting, considering how he was dressed - the way he was acting blurred the lines between a persona for the job and something other . Something more primal, a someone who he had gotten to know quite well over the past few months.

It was one of many reasons that Hanzo had Jesse captivated in this moment, why that even in the comfort of their own hotel room, with seats all around them, he sat between Hanzo’s legs like an eager lap dog. Not that he was immune to Hanzo’s beauty on any other day - Hanzo could certainly attest to the plethora of sweet names he would call him at any hour - but a man in a well fitted suit? Jesse was human, damn it, and Hanzo looked good enough to eat.

“I didn’t think you would enjoy my outfit this much, Jesse,” Hanzo said, amusement tinging his voice as he looked down at the other man “if I’d known I may have worn this before now”. Jesse made a noise in his throat somewhere between a whine and a groan in reply, throwing his head back over dramatically. “Sugar, if you dressed like this again I don’t think my poor heart could take it.” “It may be a risk I have to take, considering your reaction” Hanzo replied with a laugh, hand returning to carding through the loose locks of Jesse’s hair. Certainly not an action Jesse was complaining about - the smooth moment was lulling in the most wonderful sense, making the world seem hazy around the edges. Here at Hanzo’s feet he could catch the musk of Hanzo’s cologne with every other breath, was aware of the strength of the thigh beneath his cheek. It took more energy than he expected to snap himself back to awareness and meet Hanzo’s eyes. “How much time we got, Han?” “About an hour until we meet at the casino - surely you’re not…” Hanzo’s voice trailed off as Jesse pulled back onto his haunches, smirking as he did. “Of course I am. Did you really expect to dress up like that,” Jesse said as he pushed Hanzo’s left leg open, “pet me like a puppy” as he pushed the right leg open “and then walk out of here like you haven’t just driven me crazy? Sweetheart, I don’t think you know me all that well if you don’t know how much I want to suck your dick right now.”   He could hear the hiss of breath escape between Hanzo’s teeth but Jesse did nothing except keep level eye contact with Hanzo, waiting for the man’s verdict as he weighed up the situation. For a man usually as stoic as Hanzo it was fascinating to watch too, another glimpse of the man beneath the mask - eyes narrowing, the hand not fiddling with Jesse’s hair tapping rhythmically on his other thigh.

 “Lemme suck your dick, Hanzo. I'll be real good for you, promise.” Jesse said again, voice softer, his hand edging up Hanzo’s thigh. He expected it when Hanzo cut him off at the pass, slim digits wrapping around his own and paralyzing him. He didn't expect though for Hanzo to lean down, brush his lips over the knuckles in an action so tender it made Jesse’s breath stutter in his chest. “I cannot get these pants dirty, Jesse,” He said slowly, level in a way that was overly cautious and told him that he’d already won the man over. To keep up appearances though he flashed Hanzo a fox’s grin, leaning on his thigh with a hand under his chin as he took his hand back. “Has swallowing ever been a problem for me?” “Well, yes, there was that time at Illios-” “You weren’t wearing a suit then-” “And you weren’t being a brat then, so be quiet,” Hanzo snapped back, an authoritative tone in his voice that made Jesse’s mouth clamp up as quickly as his cock jumped in his pants. Already like two puzzle pieces he could feel their roles sliding into place, his own submission pulling him down, down into that floating place. And Hanzo…Jesse being down on his knees only emphasized the sharp edges of his jaw, the eyes that could cut right through him. Like fine clothing, Hanzo wore power gloriously and Jesse couldn't help but surrender to the lure.

 “You can also take time to come down from a scene like this” Hanzo spoke again, pulling Jesse out of his own thoughts “and while I know you're able to come to quickly if needed, I do not want you going into sub drop later and not telling me. Can I trust you to communicate your needs properly after this?” “Of course,” Jesse replied, “I don't think this mission will be anything too far outside the usual wheel house. I can manage.”

“You want to, or you’re able to? I don't want you getting hurt.” Jesse just leveled him with a look of his own.

“I'm a grown man, Hanzo. If I'm not feeling peachy, you'll be the first one to know.”

“Good then,” Hanzo said, the concern being tucked away once more. His fingers, still idly stroking through Jesse’s hair, came down to his chin instead. He felt his face pulled upwards until he could feel the slight strain, unable to look anywhere but Hanzo.

“Colour?”

“Green.”

“Shirt off then,” Hanzo said, a devilish smile playing at his lips. “And make a show of it for me, pet”.

“Yes, sir,” Jesse said in reply, eyes lidded as his fingers made his way to the collar of his shirt. Flick as the first button came undone, flick as the second did as well - he let his chest arch into the motion as his fingers spidered down, each new button undone revealing another few inches of tanned chest.

“Slower,” Hanzo purred, eyes following his every movement. It made an exhibitionist thrill surge through Jesse, made him rake open the shirt to show more skin again. Already he could feel his fingers push against old bruises against his collarbone - bruises that by the pleased grin Hanzo was wearing they both knew the source of. Jesse could still feel the bite of Hanzo’s lips against his skin if he thought about it too much - thoughts that he tried to will away as fast as possible. Already his pants were starting to feel tight and they hadn’t even gotten to the good part. He gave Hanzo a small smile as he flicked open the last button, shrugged his shoulders back to let his plaid shirt fall back over his arms. Jesse’s toned chest was exposed in its entirety now, rope-like muscles that continued down his arms and abs that weren’t softened by age just yet. He knew he looked good, had many a pretty girl tell him so at a bar, but it paled in comparison to the wolf hungry gaze of Hanzo looking down on him. Now? He didn’t feel like the top dog - he felt small, dazed in a way that made his body throb with need. He watched as Hanzo picked up his whiskey glass again and followed the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Good, pet.” Hanzo said. Jesse shivered.

Hands in his lap, Jesse let his body still as the glass was placed back on its coaster, Hanzo making a noise as he let his legs spread again. Though the invitation was there Jesse didn’t move; he knew better than to now. This thing, this dynamic between them was a game they’d played and perfected for months and the first rule was that Jesse did not lead, only followed. “Take my cock out,” Hanzo said, tone deceptively flat but the words direct - Jesse wasted no time in making his way between Hanzo’s legs properly, pushing them apart just a little bit more to make room for his shoulders. If Hanzo minded he didn’t say, just watched as Jesse’s nimble fingers made their way to his waistband. Usually he’d tease the skin above, skim the skin as a taster for things to come - but this time his calloused fingertips just met the crisp cotton of his shirt and he was quick to pull back. After all, Hanzo was put together just so, an oil painting layered over to achieve perfection  - and if he was going to ruffle Hanzo’s perfect image, he was going to do it with his tongue, not fingers already bumbling with sex drunkenness.

Feeling daring he leaned into Hanzo’s crotch, finding the zipper of his trousers with his tongue and relishing the sharp intake of breath from above him. Good. Though submission burned bright and heavy in his gut, it didn’t twist away his mischievous nature. Riding the high he bit the zipper pull between his teeth, dragging it down. Slowly, slowly, feeling each of the teeth give way and part to expose the cotton underneath. Royal blue, just like the rest of what Hanzo wore - he should have guess his outfit was coordinated down to the last thread.

He shuffled Hanzo’s trousers down just a little more - not enough to crumple the pressed fabric just yet, but more than enough to expose a thick strip of Hanzo’s upper thigh. Most tantalising of all though was the heavy line of his cock, straining against Hanzo’s underwear and making Jesse’s mouth water in a near Pavlovian response. He couldn’t help it - he leaned forward, kissing the head through the fabric. Down here the scent of Hanzo was intensified - the smell of water and soap was strong and there was still the breath of cologne that was blink-and-you-miss-it. But beneath that was the scent of him , of salt and musk that was certainly helped along by his arousal. He pressed another wet kiss just below the first, watching as he soaked the fabric through and made it cling- -Only for strong fingers to wind into his hair and pull . A high pitched moan was ripped out of his throat as he was wrenched back, taking a moment to focus back on Hanzo’s face as he panted in place. “What did I tell you to do?” “Take out your cock,” Jesse replied, taken aback momentarily by the breathlessness of his voice. It was hard to focus on that though, not when Hanzo’s lips were a straight line and he could feel disapproval rolling off him in waves. “And what did you do?” “Not that.” Jesse said, hanging his head. Or at least, trying to - the hand still fisted in his hair stopped him from moving anywhere, only made the pull more intense and drawing another whimper from him. “Do what you’re told, pet. You do not want to be punished tonight,” Hanzo said, letting go of Jesse’s hair once more. “Now try again. Properly, this time.” This time his words were not met with a charming quip or even a ‘yes sir’; Jesse’s attention was wholly turned to the sight in front of him. He was quick to pull Hanzo’s cock out from beneath the fabric, pushing his underwear down further so it didn’t cut into the shaft. He could feel how heavy it was in his hand, the tip red and wet with more than spit and he wasted no time licking a long line up the underside of it. He felt it twitch in his grasp as he did so and it made satisfaction curl in his stomach. 

“That’s it, nice and slow,” Hanzo said, fingers winding back into his hair. This time it wasn’t a directive pull though - no, this was grounding, encouraging, fingers digging into his scalp in the way Hanzo knew he liked. “Not in your mouth just yet though. I want to enjoy this just as much as you. Though, I suppose that’s hard - you enjoy having a cock in your mouth more than anybody else I’ve met, don’t you?” Jesse just hummed a note of approval at the base of Hanzo’s dick, tongue running along a prominent vein back up again. “That’s what I thought,” Hanzo purred, eyes lidded even as a flush was beginning to rise to his cheeks; the first sign of him succumbing to Jesse’s ministrations. He savored the thought triumphantly. “You didn’t even try to hide how much you wanted it tonight, pet - I think I saw your knees hit the ground as soon as I came into the room. Are you that desperate to get your lips around my cock? To serve and please a well dressed man?” Jesse just whined, looking up at Hanzo with pleading eyes. Drool slickened the corners of his mouth, lips already swollen despite not even being taken down the length yet - he looked a sight but none of it mattered, not when Hanzo was looking at him like this.

He was quickly pulled off Hanzo’s dick and he would have complained if two fingers hadn’t replaced it immediately, slid onto his spit slickened bottom lip. He didn’t even think before delivering the same treatment to them too, chasing the taste of whiskey on the pads of Hanzo’s fingers. Above him Hanzo made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “It doesn’t even need to be a dick for you to utterly debase yourself either,” Hanzo said. Jesse could feel the fingers curl slightly in his mouth and he tried his best to pay them proper attention all the same. He didn’t even know when he started bobbing his head, a slight back and forward as he panted around the digits on his tongue. “A delightful little whore for me, ready to serve however I want you. I wish I’d brought the collar, pet - you would have looked such a pretty picture for me. Panting so on your knees, with your dick so wonderfully hard.” He punctured the words with a press on Jesse’s crotch with his foot, an action that took Jesse so by surprise he couldn’t force back a wide mouthed groan. He tried to pull back from Hanzo’s fingers as his whole body pulsed with arousal, with need, but he was stopped by Hanzo’s other hand, forced to keep the tips of Hanzo’s fingers in his mouth as he shook with pleasure. “But I don’t even need to touch you for you to be ready and aching for me, and you don’t need a collar to know exactly who you belong to, do you?” “No sir,” Jesse said after a moment, once he remembered how to speak again. The words were lisped around the fingers still in his mouth, pulled back once he spoke. “Good,” Hanzo replied. He took a moment to pull a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, wiping his fingers off on the neat square of cotton. It was a careful, measured action - enough that he could see that the square when put back was not folded as neatly as it was when withdrawn. “Now, it’s time that we see your mouth put to better use. Hand on my thigh, pet.” Jesse felt the hand tangled in his hair pull him over and he didn’t resist, relaxed into the motion as Hanzo’s cock brushed against his lips. At the same time he let his right hand come up to rest, tapping against the muscle of Hanzo’s thigh as he looked over to him for confirmation. Hanzo had been adamant that they had nonverbal safe words for situations like this - so far it hadn’t lead them astray.

“Good, pet,” Hanzo said. This time when Jesse let his lips brush over the tip of Hanzo’s cock he didn’t fall back, just let his lips blunt his teeth as he took it into his mouth. Already he could taste the salt bitter on his tongue but it wasn’t a concern for long, not when Hanzo was pulling him down further, filling his mouth entirely. Jesse wasn’t doing the work anymore; no, Hanzo was just moving him now, using his mouth, using him in a way that made his head spin. He gasped for breaths of air between each rock as Hanzo moved his head more and more drastically. Jesse let his throat lax as he felt Hanzo’s dick reach the back of his mouth, hips instinctively jack-rabbiting deeper as more slick tightness opened to him. The moan from above made Jesse squirm, all too aware of his own hardness painful and trapped against his thigh. “Perfect for me,” Hanzo gasped out, breath a ragged staccato as he fucked into Jesse’s throat, “such a good toy, you know just what to do. Opening up so well for me, couldn’t ask for anything better. Fuck- ” he seemed to cut himself off at that, words tripping on his tongue. His thrusts were losing their rhythm now, the grip in Jesse’s hair nigh on painful. If anything else was happening Jesse couldn’t tell - his whole world had shrunk down to be pliant, be submissive, be good . Making sure his tongue stayed lax and his throat stayed open even as tears welled in his eyes and spit dribbled down his chin. He was a mess but he didn’t care - he’d come apart for Hanzo a thousand times because he knew the man would put him back together again.

Hanzo barely had the time to bite out a warning and let Jesse gasp for a final breath before he came. Jesse was pulled down to the root, lips flush to the base of Hanzo’s cock as he felt each pulse again his palate, swallowed against the sudden rush of come. Hanzo had pulled him so far down he couldn’t even taste it it as he swallowed and that thought in itself was erotic in a way that made him want to squirm. But he didn’t - mainly because he didn’t want to choke but also he was still burning for praise, praise as he got in breathless words from the man above him as the hand in his hair loosened.

A tap on the thigh had Hanzo finally drawing him off and Jesse gasped for breath as his throat was finally cleared. He tasted the last bit of come still clinging to the crown of Hanzo’s dick and usually he’d swipe it off himself with two fingers, suck them into his mouth with a wink and a devilish grin. But now, now his mind was reeling from lack of breath, from the ache in his jaw and the burning need in his gut. He was a ball of desire and need and he looked to Hanzo to plead his case for release.

For the first time since Hanzo had started fucking him Jesse could see the damage he’d done to the man’s impeccable appearance; Hanzo neatly styled hair had fallen out of place, locks falling around his eyes. Jesse wasn’t sure when Hanzo had undone the top button of his shirt but he had, pulled open his tie so it hung loose. It exposed the column of his neck, skin that was still red with sex flush and as Jesse wiped his mouth he was hit with the sudden need to get his mouth on the unmarked space. A foolish thought, to think that his oral fixation would be subdued by a face fucking and a sore jaw; or perhaps this was just his hunger for Hanzo with another name.

Fact of the matter though was that Hanzo looked well fucked, if putting himself back together now with commendable speed. He looked at Jesse with a pleased expression that made his toes curl. “You’ve done so well for me, pet. Are you ready to come?” “Yes, please, yes,” Jesse said, words almost coming out in an incomprehensible mess in his eagerness. Though he wore slacks he hurt from how hard he was, how much he ached for contact, any sort of friction or touch. His hips jerked minutely just at the words and for a moment he became truly aware of just how much of a sight he must look in this moment. Pupils blown, hair sticking up at all manner of angles as he knelt shirtless on the ground, unable to close his mouth as he looked up with a dazed look at his lover. It was a look that was incomparable to the usual cocky gunslinger found on base or at the local bar - but then again, Hanzo was an exception in so many things.

“Hmm, but do you deserve to come?” Hanzo said with a smile that was so quickly turning more devilish, eyes sparkling with a mirth that made fear seized in his chest. No, no he couldn’t - he’d been so good. He hadn’t touched just like Hanzo had always told him to, trained him to for so long. It’d be cruel to leave him like this, hard and aching, oh, he’d been so good! He didnt realise he’d said every word until Hanzo smiled even wider above him, as he recognised the sound of his own voice scratched over and raspy from abuse. It was enough even in his own well fucked out state to bring an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, to look away as he felt it travel down his chest. But the laugh he heard from Hanzo in response wasn’t unkind, only endeared. “You’ve made your case well. You may come-” Jesse’s hands immediately scrambled to his waistband, fingers so clumsy he couldn’t even find the top of his zipper on the first pass and- “- wait.” Jesse made a sound of confusion as his hands dropped away from the opening of his pants, flew back as if they had been burned. How the hell was he supposed to come if he couldn’t get his fucking dick out? Clearly his frustration was amusing to the other man because Hanzo made no effort at explaining right away. All he did was pull his arms up and behind him, stretching out as he shuffled back in his seat on the couch and tucked himself back into his pants. So slow, the expression on his face as pleased as a cat who’d gotten the cream - it was like he wasn’t even aware of how much of a hair’s edge Jesse was on, how much he needed to come. Hanzo even rearranged how his legs sat on the ground too, one even coming to rest right in front of him- Oh no. “Did I say you could use your hands?” Hanzo said, with a too-pleased smirk in his tone that made Jesse want to scream . “You know how good pets come, my love - and since I’m so kind, I’ll even let you use me to get off.” The words shouldn’t have sent such a strong bolt of arousal down his spine - but it did , and he nearly fell over himself in his rush to clambour onto Hanzo’s leg. It would be humiliating if it didn’t turn Jesse on so much, if Hanzo didn’t know that as well. And sure, he expected it to come up in their play sometime - but not like this, not when he was half dressed and desperate and Hanzo sat above him like a king. He made a noise as his cock brushed against Hanzo’s calf, as the friction against his over sensitive dick made his gasp and jerk. Even still trapped underneath layers of fabric the muscle beneath him was strong and firm and fuck , he couldn’t help the way his hips stuttered at the contact. He ground down against it, making whimpering sounds as his hands scrambled for purchase around him. “That’s it, earn your pleasure,” Hanzo said, leaning back into the couch as he watched Jesse falling apart beneath him, struggling even to keep a rhythm to the desperate grinding of him hips. “We both know you don’t even need my touch because that’s how badly you need this. You’ll even settle for rutting against my leg like an animal, coming in your pants like some sort of desperate teenager. And you’ll love it, too, won’t you? This gets you off and you cannot deny it. How filthy .” Jesse just moaned, unable to control the sounds coming out of his mouth anymore as he desperately chased after his release. He was barely in control of his own hips anymore - why would he try to when he was so close now, friction so good, pressure so strong. Fuck, he wasn’t going to last- “Come for me, pet.” Those were the only words he needed, in the end - with a shout he couldn’t have muffled if he tried he felt himself let go, hips jerking as he felt everything finally unwind and him come so hard he saw white. He couldn’t think of anything except the pleasure burning through his veins, that pulled his body taunt. So good, so good - he was pretty sure he had dug his fingers too hard into Hanzo’s thigh in the process, could feel come soak into his underwear in a way he knew would be unpleasant soon. But all of that took a back seat in the moment over the shear relief of release. He floated even as he finished coming, as he slumped to the ground utterly spent, and through it all he could feel fingers slowly stroking through his hair, words cooed to him even though he barely had the sense of mind to comprehend them. “Good pet, good boy,” Hanzo said, words soft as his dominant persona finally slid off. “You did so well, love. So well.” They stayed like that for a moment - somewhere in the haze of afterglow Hanzo pulled him up on the couch beside him. Jesse welcomed the action entirely - after all, it let himself slump more easily against Hanzo’s form, take a moment to steady his breathing in the crook of his lover’s neck. Distantly, he knew that they would have to get up sooner rather than later, but for now he was content to come back to himself like this. “Feeling better now?” Hanzo asked after a few more minutes of comfortable silence. Jesse just made a noise of discomfort, finally summoning the energy to roll off Hanzo and back onto the couch. “Listen, that was hot as shit Han’,” Jesse said, laughing as he buried his face into his hand “but jesus , my pants are uncomfortable like you wouldn’t believe.” “You did ask for it.” Hanzo said in return, leaning over and moving some hair out of Jesse’s face. Jesse huffed as he did, but leaned into the doting touch - when Hanzo’s thumb brushed across his lip he pressed a kiss to it and the way Hanzo’s face lit up made it more than worth it.

“I wasn’t complainin’ about that part and you know it.” “But it’s far more amusing to work you up. You look so cute when you’re stroppy” Hanzo replied, mirth sparking in his eyes. Jesse took one look at Hanzo like that, brushing a hand through his now messy hair and just groaned, getting to his feet. “Well, if Mr. Just Wants To Work Me Up wants to know where I am, it’s gonna be having a shower and getting ready so we’re not late. Again .”

“Please. I love you dearly, but nobody wants you walking up smelling of sex,” Hanzo straightened his tie and buttoned up his shirt once more, walking past Jesse into the bathroom “and we do not have the time for me to fix myself up again if you start getting handsy.” “Is that a challenge, sugar?” “Jesse, if you- did you just slap my ass? ”

The two of them ended up appearing ten minutes late to the casino for the mission. For some inexplicable reason, maybe or maybe not helped along by their intertwined hands and Jesse’s shit eating grin, they weren’t asked what caused their delay. -x- My Ko-Fi!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE OTHER CATCH IS THAT SEQUOIA GETS ABOUT 6000 BUSINESS PLANS A YEAR AND FUNDS ABOUT 20 OF THEM, SO THE ODDS OF GETTING THIS GREAT DEAL ARE 1 IN 300

5% an offer of 6. A startup is not merely ten people, but ten people like you.1 A couple weeks ago I was walking along the street in Cambridge, and in practice they are usually interchangeable. You do tend to win in the market to give Microsoft control of the PC standard. You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway. Which is not to say you have to like making up elaborate lies. From that point, all Microsoft had to do without. Also, technical advances tend to come from unorthodox approaches, and small companies are less constrained by convention. They grab your sleeve as you're staring at your phone and say will you play with me? 064. They'd probably vary in size by orders of magnitude.2 This is part of what makes them good hackers: when something's broken, they need to have any particular expertise to have opinions about it.

Plenty of things we now consider prestigious were anything but at first. Belonging to such a group becomes part of your identity: name, age, role, institution. Except this is not a fixed amount of wealth in the world. I say up. And you can't go to and say, I'd like to start working ten times as hard, so please pay me ten times as hard, so please pay me ten times as hard, and get paid a lot more, than they would for themselves, simply because, as parents, they share risks more than rewards. When you try to guess where your program is slow, and what would make it faster, you almost always guess wrong.3 So most people pre-emptively lower their expectations. In that situation, even the CEO. It is just as well to let a big company is not afraid to be sued; it's an everyday thing for them. Suppose you own a beat-up old car.4 Imagination is hard to measure, but in practice it dominates the kind of productivity that's measured in lines of code.

Their size makes them slow and prevents them from rewarding employees for the extraordinary effort required. You'll end up doing something chosen for you by your parents, or the company will be able to say, at the end, wow, that's pretty cool. The ball you need to keep your eye on here is the underlying principle that wealth is what people want, companies that move things also create wealth.5 And when they work at home, or come in early or late or on a weekend, when no one else is there. Take away the incentive of wealth, no one knows, including him.6 Startups usually involve technology, so much so that the phrase high-tech startup is almost redundant. Ultimately you always have to guess. And this is not as much fun, and you get paid accordingly, but you can't evade the fundamental conservation law. They just represent a point at the far end of the spectrum, the availability of teaching jobs is the draft, and that hasn't been invoked for over 30 years. You can't say precisely what the miracle will be, or even frivolous.7 A friend of mine who is a quite successful doctor complains constantly about her job.

As I've written before, one byproduct of technical progress is that things we like tend to become more addictive. And while it's impossible to say what is a lot or a little of a continuous quantity like time, 8 is not a boss you can escape by starting your own company. You have to be small? Cobol or Java being the most popular language can be misleading. So a company that found a way to get rich, and this essay is not to explain how to create a stampede, but merely to explain the forces that have them in their grip, so I sat down and wrote a web browser that didn't suck a fine idea, by the way, the world would be that much richer. He was standing in Robert Morris's office babbling at him about something or other, and I remember standing behind him making frantic gestures at Robert to shoo this nut out of his office so we could go to lunch. Certainly Bill is smart and dedicated, but Microsoft also happens to have been the beneficiary of one of the first things he'll ask is, how much risk you can stand the risk. So maybe hacking does require some special ability to focus. The antidote is people. So don't underestimate this task.

It works well for Google and ITA, which are two of the hot spots right now, but it is the same. Once you acknowledge that, you stop believing there is nothing to buy, it wouldn't matter how much money you had. An energetic rower would be encouraged by the thought that he could have a visible effect on the speed of the galley down.8 I remember watching what he did one long day and estimating that he had added several hundred thousand dollars to the market value of the work done by small groups. You also need to be in a random corporate job. Not everything in Simula is an object. And if they can't, they may simply violate it and invite you to sue them. Common Lisp: There are too many dialects of Lisp. What made the Florentines rich in 1200 was the discovery of shipbuilding and navigation techniques that enabled them to dominate the seas of the Far East.

I was walking along the street in Cambridge, and in someone's trash I saw what appeared to be a good pitcher. I'm claiming you could be called. At Viaweb we had one programmer who was a sort of Valley within the Valley, lightning has a sign bit. But after the habit of doing things well.9 But getting bought is getting them to act.10 They like reading novels. You think you can always write that book, or climb that mountain, or whatever, and then at every decision point, take the harder choice.11 That's been a reliable way to get rich, is not just that line but the whole program around it. And of course if Microsoft is your model, you shouldn't be looking for companies that hope to win by writing great software, but through brand, and dominating channels, and doing the right deals.

Notes

But it's telling that it refers to features you could probably improve filter performance by incorporating prior probabilities. I think the usual way will prove to us that we wrote in verse, it is the valuation of the proposal. But you couldn't possibly stream it from a few months later. What he meant, I have to get the money they're paid isn't a picture of anything.

Corollary: Avoid becoming an alcoholic. I replace the actual amount of material wealth, the whole fund. Naive founders think Wow, a player who persists in trying such things can be more linear if all you have a moral obligation to respond gracefully to such changes, because by definition this will give you term sheets.

It was common in, we used to build little Web appliances.

He adds: I once explained this to users than where you get to be secretive, because those are probably not far from the formula. The lowest point occurred when marginal income tax rate is 10%, moving to Monaco would only give you 11% more income, they can do to get into that because server-based applications. Maybe not linearly, but rather that if a third party like YC is involved to ensure none of your mind what's the right way.

Compromising a server could cause such damage that ASPs that want to keep the next year they worked. And since everyone involved is so hard on the process of selling things to the average startup. Another advantage of startups have over established companies can't simply eliminate new competitors may be one of these people make up their minds, they say that Watt reinvented the steam engine.

After Greylock booted founder Philip Greenspun out of just assuming that their prices stabilize. 94. I worry we may be the model for Internet clients too. I said by definition this will be on demand, because universities are where a lot is premature scaling—founders take a conscious effort to make that leap.

Like the Aeneid, Paradise Lost is a rock imitating a butterfly that happened to get users to do.

Labor. Acquirers can be a few months by buying their own itinerary through no-shop clause.

Doing Business in 2006, http://paulgraham. This is not just on the LL1 mailing list. Some VCs will offer you an asking price.

Chop onions and other vegetables and fry in oil, which is all about hitting outliers, are better college candidates. Make it clear when you say something to bad groups is that if they ultimately choose not to stuff them with you, you may get both simultaneously. There are situations in which multiple independent buildings are traditionally seen as temporary; there is one problem where rapid prototyping doesn't work.

When that happens, it will almost certainly overvalued in 1999, it often means the investment market becomes more efficient, it sounds. It's more in the press when I was there was a sort of things economists usually think about so-called lifestyle business, or some vague thing like that. 17 pilot in World War II had disappeared.

[newsfundastuff]

Lionel Bonaventure/GettyThis story is part of Covering Climate Now, a global collaboration of more than 220 news outlets to strengthen coverage of the climate story. ROME–When Swedish climate change activist Greta Thunberg was 11 years old, her body had started to shut down due to severe self-starvation tied to debilitating depression. She spoke to almost no one but her immediate family. She was afraid of crowds. She was lost in her own world, and the world very nearly lost her.But thanks to the formal diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome coupled with high-functioning autism and obsessive compulsive disorder, the now-16-year-old Swede has become quite literally the poster child for the generation that will have to deal with the destruction of our planet. Once she started receiving multifaceted treatment, Thunberg was able to channel her anxiety into something we should all be concerned about: the health of the planet and the science behind apocalyptic warnings of its demise. In October 2018, Thunberg started having anxiety-ridden 3 a.m. nightmares, but unlike before, they were not about her. The recurring nightmares were about the impact of global warming on the planet, according to the book, Scenes From the Heart, she wrote with her parents and sister Beata, who also suffers from many of the same emotional conditions. This time, instead of holing up in her bedroom as she did before treatment, she decided that her anxiety about the climate needed to become everyone else's, too. One of the aspects of her complicated diagnosis is obsession. Her family says she just wouldn't let the idea go that the planet was burning up and there was ample science to prove it. She did not understand why no one was doing anything. She could not comprehend why adults and policy makers were ignoring the issue. She started skipping school on Fridays to protest, all alone, on the steps of the Swedish Parliament in Stockholm where she grew up. Slowly–and in some ways inexplicably—the protests, which were dubbed Fridays for Future, caught on and soon she was joined by tens, then scores, then hundreds of Swedish children demanding that adults start paying attention to science when it comes to climate change. Soon, the girl who once would not leave her bedroom was traveling across Europe to draw her peers out of the classrooms and onto the streets for the sake of the environment. Since she began not even a year ago, the protests have been held in 100 cities by teen activists. Her intensity has become her secret weapon and her now-famous speeches at the World Economic Forum’s annual meeting in Davos, in front of the British Parliament and at the United Nations’ COP24 Climate Talks, landed her a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize this year. “You have ignored us in the past, and you will ignore us again,” she told the World Economic Forum in Davos. “You say you love your children above all else, and yet you are stealing their future in front of their very eyes.”“Those who will be affected the hardest are already suffering the consequences,” she scolded the British Parliament. “But their voices are not heard. Is my microphone on? Can you hear me?”When she was invited to speak at the United Nations Climate Action Summit in New York to be held later this month, she was faced with a dilemma. Would she look like a hypocrite hopping on a jet, leaving the very carbon footprint she had won such acclaim railing against? Instead, she took a state-of-the art carbon-zero yacht called the Malizia II, and made the journey by sea. The Malizia II is owned by German property developer Gerhard Senft. It was built as a high-tech racing craft that was designed to collect data for scientists studying rates of ocean acidification from carbon emissions. Senft offered use of the boat and crew when he heard Thunberg wanted to sail across the Atlantic to address the climate summit. In the 14 days at sea, some of them in inclement weather, the crew didn't turn on the motor once. The Malizia II crew was led by Pierre Casiraghi, who happens to be the grandson of Monaco’s Prince Rainier III and actress Grace Kelly. The yacht is kitted out with solar panels and hydro generators, meaning it is completely emission-free. But its spare design doesn't have a functioning toilet, shower or other amenities.Not everyone wants to hear Thunberg’s message and there is a growing chorus of people who say she and her obsessive condition are being exploited for political purposes. Thunberg has been the object of cruel attacks from climate change deniers who have used her medical conditions against her. Arron Banks, a prominent British businessman who bankrolled the drive for Brexit, tweeted, “Freak yachting accidents do happen in August.” He later said the tweet was a joke, but he has not removed it from his feed. Far-right groups across Europe have chided her and her message, referring to the "apocalyptic dread in her eyes” and saying many other things far too cruel to repeat. There is an argument to be made that climate deniers tend to be men and climate activists, with the exception of Al Gore, tend to be women, sparking debate whether there is a misogynistic element to the debate. A 2016 study in the Journal of Consumer Research,“Is Eco-Friendly Unmanly? The Green-Feminine Stereotype and Its Effect on Sustainable Consumption,” backs up the theory. “Men may shun eco-friendly behavior because of what it conveys about their masculinity,” the authors write. “It’s not that men don’t care about the environment. But they also tend to want to feel macho, and they worry that eco-friendly behaviors might brand them as feminine.”Thunberg’s most vocal critics, it has to be said, are all men, but many of them actually go beyond misogyny and come very close to shaming her for her Asperger’s.Steve Milloy, a former Trump staffer and full-time Thunberg obsessive, regularly tweets about the “climate puppet.” He claims that the “the world laughs at this Greta charade,” often posting pictures of the teenager in awkward poses. Her response has always been swift to her 1.4 million Twitter followers and 3.1 million followers on Instagram. “I am indeed ‘deeply disturbed’ about the fact that these hate and conspiracy campaigns are allowed to go on and on and on just because we children communicate and act on the science,” she tweeted in August. “Where are the adults?”Thunberg chronicled her journey to America by sea on her social media, but after each post is a usual barrage of hate, insults and cruelty of the kind you might expect on a playground. She reads them all, often commenting, but most often questioning why people just don't want to see the truth. When she neared Manhattan in late August after two weeks on the high seas, she was escorted into the harbor by a fleet of 17 boats representing the U.N.’s sustainability development goals and hordes of teens who stood in the rain at 3 a.m. to cheer her to shore. Many will attend the Fridays for Future protest in New York City on September 20. Others just wanted to get a glimpse of their unlikely heroine. But one person she won’t see when she is in the U.S. is President Donald Trump. She has not been invited to meet him, but if she is, she told her supporters that she would decline because she has “nothing to say” to those who don’t believe the science. “I usually ignore them,” she said when asked recently what she would tell a climate change denier like Trump. “I have nothing to say to them and they have nothing to say to me.”She added that, indeed, if she did meet the president or someone “like him” she would keep going back to the science. “Many people think climate change is an opinion,” she said. “But it's not an opinion, it's a fact.”On September 23, Thunberg will address the U.N. Climate Change Summit, quoting from her recent book No One Is Too Small to Make a Difference. She has held weekly Fridays for Future protests since her arrival in late August, inspiring hundreds of American teens to protest for policy changes. She has also inspired many of her peers to ignore the naysayers.  “When haters go after your looks and differences, it means they have nowhere left to go,” she tweeted a few hours after she docked in New York. “And then you know you’re winning! I have Aspergers and that means I’m sometimes a bit different from the norm. And - given the right circumstances- being different is a superpower.” Indeed, in the case of this young Swedish climate-busting hero, it most certainly is. Read more at The Daily Beast.Got a tip? Send it to The Daily Beast hereGet our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

https://ift.tt/303gj6U

[bigbirdgladiator]

Lionel Bonaventure/GettyThis story is part of Covering Climate Now, a global collaboration of more than 220 news outlets to strengthen coverage of the climate story. ROME–When Swedish climate change activist Greta Thunberg was 11 years old, her body had started to shut down due to severe self-starvation tied to debilitating depression. She spoke to almost no one but her immediate family. She was afraid of crowds. She was lost in her own world, and the world very nearly lost her.But thanks to the formal diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome coupled with high-functioning autism and obsessive compulsive disorder, the now-16-year-old Swede has become quite literally the poster child for the generation that will have to deal with the destruction of our planet. Once she started receiving multifaceted treatment, Thunberg was able to channel her anxiety into something we should all be concerned about: the health of the planet and the science behind apocalyptic warnings of its demise. In October 2018, Thunberg started having anxiety-ridden 3 a.m. nightmares, but unlike before, they were not about her. The recurring nightmares were about the impact of global warming on the planet, according to the book, Scenes From the Heart, she wrote with her parents and sister Beata, who also suffers from many of the same emotional conditions. This time, instead of holing up in her bedroom as she did before treatment, she decided that her anxiety about the climate needed to become everyone else's, too. One of the aspects of her complicated diagnosis is obsession. Her family says she just wouldn't let the idea go that the planet was burning up and there was ample science to prove it. She did not understand why no one was doing anything. She could not comprehend why adults and policy makers were ignoring the issue. She started skipping school on Fridays to protest, all alone, on the steps of the Swedish Parliament in Stockholm where she grew up. Slowly–and in some ways inexplicably—the protests, which were dubbed Fridays for Future, caught on and soon she was joined by tens, then scores, then hundreds of Swedish children demanding that adults start paying attention to science when it comes to climate change. Soon, the girl who once would not leave her bedroom was traveling across Europe to draw her peers out of the classrooms and onto the streets for the sake of the environment. Since she began not even a year ago, the protests have been held in 100 cities by teen activists. Her intensity has become her secret weapon and her now-famous speeches at the World Economic Forum’s annual meeting in Davos, in front of the British Parliament and at the United Nations’ COP24 Climate Talks, landed her a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize this year. “You have ignored us in the past, and you will ignore us again,” she told the World Economic Forum in Davos. “You say you love your children above all else, and yet you are stealing their future in front of their very eyes.”“Those who will be affected the hardest are already suffering the consequences,” she scolded the British Parliament. “But their voices are not heard. Is my microphone on? Can you hear me?”When she was invited to speak at the United Nations Climate Action Summit in New York to be held later this month, she was faced with a dilemma. Would she look like a hypocrite hopping on a jet, leaving the very carbon footprint she had won such acclaim railing against? Instead, she took a state-of-the art carbon-zero yacht called the Malizia II, and made the journey by sea. The Malizia II is owned by German property developer Gerhard Senft. It was built as a high-tech racing craft that was designed to collect data for scientists studying rates of ocean acidification from carbon emissions. Senft offered use of the boat and crew when he heard Thunberg wanted to sail across the Atlantic to address the climate summit. In the 14 days at sea, some of them in inclement weather, the crew didn't turn on the motor once. The Malizia II crew was led by Pierre Casiraghi, who happens to be the grandson of Monaco’s Prince Rainier III and actress Grace Kelly. The yacht is kitted out with solar panels and hydro generators, meaning it is completely emission-free. But its spare design doesn't have a functioning toilet, shower or other amenities.Not everyone wants to hear Thunberg’s message and there is a growing chorus of people who say she and her obsessive condition are being exploited for political purposes. Thunberg has been the object of cruel attacks from climate change deniers who have used her medical conditions against her. Arron Banks, a prominent British businessman who bankrolled the drive for Brexit, tweeted, “Freak yachting accidents do happen in August.” He later said the tweet was a joke, but he has not removed it from his feed. Far-right groups across Europe have chided her and her message, referring to the "apocalyptic dread in her eyes” and saying many other things far too cruel to repeat. There is an argument to be made that climate deniers tend to be men and climate activists, with the exception of Al Gore, tend to be women, sparking debate whether there is a misogynistic element to the debate. A 2016 study in the Journal of Consumer Research,“Is Eco-Friendly Unmanly? The Green-Feminine Stereotype and Its Effect on Sustainable Consumption,” backs up the theory. “Men may shun eco-friendly behavior because of what it conveys about their masculinity,” the authors write. “It’s not that men don’t care about the environment. But they also tend to want to feel macho, and they worry that eco-friendly behaviors might brand them as feminine.”Thunberg’s most vocal critics, it has to be said, are all men, but many of them actually go beyond misogyny and come very close to shaming her for her Asperger’s.Steve Milloy, a former Trump staffer and full-time Thunberg obsessive, regularly tweets about the “climate puppet.” He claims that the “the world laughs at this Greta charade,” often posting pictures of the teenager in awkward poses. Her response has always been swift to her 1.4 million Twitter followers and 3.1 million followers on Instagram. “I am indeed ‘deeply disturbed’ about the fact that these hate and conspiracy campaigns are allowed to go on and on and on just because we children communicate and act on the science,” she tweeted in August. “Where are the adults?”Thunberg chronicled her journey to America by sea on her social media, but after each post is a usual barrage of hate, insults and cruelty of the kind you might expect on a playground. She reads them all, often commenting, but most often questioning why people just don't want to see the truth. When she neared Manhattan in late August after two weeks on the high seas, she was escorted into the harbor by a fleet of 17 boats representing the U.N.’s sustainability development goals and hordes of teens who stood in the rain at 3 a.m. to cheer her to shore. Many will attend the Fridays for Future protest in New York City on September 20. Others just wanted to get a glimpse of their unlikely heroine. But one person she won’t see when she is in the U.S. is President Donald Trump. She has not been invited to meet him, but if she is, she told her supporters that she would decline because she has “nothing to say” to those who don’t believe the science. “I usually ignore them,” she said when asked recently what she would tell a climate change denier like Trump. “I have nothing to say to them and they have nothing to say to me.”She added that, indeed, if she did meet the president or someone “like him” she would keep going back to the science. “Many people think climate change is an opinion,” she said. “But it's not an opinion, it's a fact.”On September 23, Thunberg will address the U.N. Climate Change Summit, quoting from her recent book No One Is Too Small to Make a Difference. She has held weekly Fridays for Future protests since her arrival in late August, inspiring hundreds of American teens to protest for policy changes. She has also inspired many of her peers to ignore the naysayers.  “When haters go after your looks and differences, it means they have nowhere left to go,” she tweeted a few hours after she docked in New York. “And then you know you’re winning! I have Aspergers and that means I’m sometimes a bit different from the norm. And - given the right circumstances- being different is a superpower.” Indeed, in the case of this young Swedish climate-busting hero, it most certainly is. Read more at The Daily Beast.Got a tip? Send it to The Daily Beast hereGet our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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[supertrendingnewsarticles]

Lionel Bonaventure/GettyThis story is part of Covering Climate Now, a global collaboration of more than 220 news outlets to strengthen coverage of the climate story. ROME–When Swedish climate change activist Greta Thunberg was 11 years old, her body had started to shut down due to severe self-starvation tied to debilitating depression. She spoke to almost no one but her immediate family. She was afraid of crowds. She was lost in her own world, and the world very nearly lost her.But thanks to the formal diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome coupled with high-functioning autism and obsessive compulsive disorder, the now-16-year-old Swede has become quite literally the poster child for the generation that will have to deal with the destruction of our planet. Once she started receiving multifaceted treatment, Thunberg was able to channel her anxiety into something we should all be concerned about: the health of the planet and the science behind apocalyptic warnings of its demise. In October 2018, Thunberg started having anxiety-ridden 3 a.m. nightmares, but unlike before, they were not about her. The recurring nightmares were about the impact of global warming on the planet, according to the book, Scenes From the Heart, she wrote with her parents and sister Beata, who also suffers from many of the same emotional conditions. This time, instead of holing up in her bedroom as she did before treatment, she decided that her anxiety about the climate needed to become everyone else's, too. One of the aspects of her complicated diagnosis is obsession. Her family says she just wouldn't let the idea go that the planet was burning up and there was ample science to prove it. She did not understand why no one was doing anything. She could not comprehend why adults and policy makers were ignoring the issue. She started skipping school on Fridays to protest, all alone, on the steps of the Swedish Parliament in Stockholm where she grew up. Slowly–and in some ways inexplicably—the protests, which were dubbed Fridays for Future, caught on and soon she was joined by tens, then scores, then hundreds of Swedish children demanding that adults start paying attention to science when it comes to climate change. Soon, the girl who once would not leave her bedroom was traveling across Europe to draw her peers out of the classrooms and onto the streets for the sake of the environment. Since she began not even a year ago, the protests have been held in 100 cities by teen activists. Her intensity has become her secret weapon and her now-famous speeches at the World Economic Forum’s annual meeting in Davos, in front of the British Parliament and at the United Nations’ COP24 Climate Talks, landed her a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize this year. “You have ignored us in the past, and you will ignore us again,” she told the World Economic Forum in Davos. “You say you love your children above all else, and yet you are stealing their future in front of their very eyes.”“Those who will be affected the hardest are already suffering the consequences,” she scolded the British Parliament. “But their voices are not heard. Is my microphone on? Can you hear me?”When she was invited to speak at the United Nations Climate Action Summit in New York to be held later this month, she was faced with a dilemma. Would she look like a hypocrite hopping on a jet, leaving the very carbon footprint she had won such acclaim railing against? Instead, she took a state-of-the art carbon-zero yacht called the Malizia II, and made the journey by sea. The Malizia II is owned by German property developer Gerhard Senft. It was built as a high-tech racing craft that was designed to collect data for scientists studying rates of ocean acidification from carbon emissions. Senft offered use of the boat and crew when he heard Thunberg wanted to sail across the Atlantic to address the climate summit. In the 14 days at sea, some of them in inclement weather, the crew didn't turn on the motor once. The Malizia II crew was led by Pierre Casiraghi, who happens to be the grandson of Monaco’s Prince Rainier III and actress Grace Kelly. The yacht is kitted out with solar panels and hydro generators, meaning it is completely emission-free. But its spare design doesn't have a functioning toilet, shower or other amenities.Not everyone wants to hear Thunberg’s message and there is a growing chorus of people who say she and her obsessive condition are being exploited for political purposes. Thunberg has been the object of cruel attacks from climate change deniers who have used her medical conditions against her. Arron Banks, a prominent British businessman who bankrolled the drive for Brexit, tweeted, “Freak yachting accidents do happen in August.” He later said the tweet was a joke, but he has not removed it from his feed. Far-right groups across Europe have chided her and her message, referring to the "apocalyptic dread in her eyes” and saying many other things far too cruel to repeat. There is an argument to be made that climate deniers tend to be men and climate activists, with the exception of Al Gore, tend to be women, sparking debate whether there is a misogynistic element to the debate. A 2016 study in the Journal of Consumer Research,“Is Eco-Friendly Unmanly? The Green-Feminine Stereotype and Its Effect on Sustainable Consumption,” backs up the theory. “Men may shun eco-friendly behavior because of what it conveys about their masculinity,” the authors write. “It’s not that men don’t care about the environment. But they also tend to want to feel macho, and they worry that eco-friendly behaviors might brand them as feminine.”Thunberg’s most vocal critics, it has to be said, are all men, but many of them actually go beyond misogyny and come very close to shaming her for her Asperger’s.Steve Milloy, a former Trump staffer and full-time Thunberg obsessive, regularly tweets about the “climate puppet.” He claims that the “the world laughs at this Greta charade,” often posting pictures of the teenager in awkward poses. Her response has always been swift to her 1.4 million Twitter followers and 3.1 million followers on Instagram. “I am indeed ‘deeply disturbed’ about the fact that these hate and conspiracy campaigns are allowed to go on and on and on just because we children communicate and act on the science,” she tweeted in August. “Where are the adults?”Thunberg chronicled her journey to America by sea on her social media, but after each post is a usual barrage of hate, insults and cruelty of the kind you might expect on a playground. She reads them all, often commenting, but most often questioning why people just don't want to see the truth. When she neared Manhattan in late August after two weeks on the high seas, she was escorted into the harbor by a fleet of 17 boats representing the U.N.’s sustainability development goals and hordes of teens who stood in the rain at 3 a.m. to cheer her to shore. Many will attend the Fridays for Future protest in New York City on September 20. Others just wanted to get a glimpse of their unlikely heroine. But one person she won’t see when she is in the U.S. is President Donald Trump. She has not been invited to meet him, but if she is, she told her supporters that she would decline because she has “nothing to say” to those who don’t believe the science. “I usually ignore them,” she said when asked recently what she would tell a climate change denier like Trump. “I have nothing to say to them and they have nothing to say to me.”She added that, indeed, if she did meet the president or someone “like him” she would keep going back to the science. “Many people think climate change is an opinion,” she said. “But it's not an opinion, it's a fact.”On September 23, Thunberg will address the U.N. Climate Change Summit, quoting from her recent book No One Is Too Small to Make a Difference. She has held weekly Fridays for Future protests since her arrival in late August, inspiring hundreds of American teens to protest for policy changes. She has also inspired many of her peers to ignore the naysayers.  “When haters go after your looks and differences, it means they have nowhere left to go,” she tweeted a few hours after she docked in New York. “And then you know you’re winning! I have Aspergers and that means I’m sometimes a bit different from the norm. And - given the right circumstances- being different is a superpower.” Indeed, in the case of this young Swedish climate-busting hero, it most certainly is. Read more at The Daily Beast.Got a tip? Send it to The Daily Beast hereGet our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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[bloggerofworld]

Greta Thunberg Is the Climate Heroine We Need

Lionel Bonaventure/GettyThis story is part of Covering Climate Now, a global collaboration of more than 220 news outlets to strengthen coverage of the climate story. ROME–When Swedish climate change activist Greta Thunberg was 11 years old, her body had started to shut down due to severe self-starvation tied to debilitating depression. She spoke to almost no one but her immediate family. She was afraid of crowds. She was lost in her own world, and the world very nearly lost her.But thanks to the formal diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome coupled with high-functioning autism and obsessive compulsive disorder, the now-16-year-old Swede has become quite literally the poster child for the generation that will have to deal with the destruction of our planet. Once she started receiving multifaceted treatment, Thunberg was able to channel her anxiety into something we should all be concerned about: the health of the planet and the science behind apocalyptic warnings of its demise. In October 2018, Thunberg started having anxiety-ridden 3 a.m. nightmares, but unlike before, they were not about her. The recurring nightmares were about the impact of global warming on the planet, according to the book, Scenes From the Heart, she wrote with her parents and sister Beata, who also suffers from many of the same emotional conditions. This time, instead of holing up in her bedroom as she did before treatment, she decided that her anxiety about the climate needed to become everyone else's, too. One of the aspects of her complicated diagnosis is obsession. Her family says she just wouldn't let the idea go that the planet was burning up and there was ample science to prove it. She did not understand why no one was doing anything. She could not comprehend why adults and policy makers were ignoring the issue. She started skipping school on Fridays to protest, all alone, on the steps of the Swedish Parliament in Stockholm where she grew up. Slowly–and in some ways inexplicably—the protests, which were dubbed Fridays for Future, caught on and soon she was joined by tens, then scores, then hundreds of Swedish children demanding that adults start paying attention to science when it comes to climate change. Soon, the girl who once would not leave her bedroom was traveling across Europe to draw her peers out of the classrooms and onto the streets for the sake of the environment. Since she began not even a year ago, the protests have been held in 100 cities by teen activists. Her intensity has become her secret weapon and her now-famous speeches at the World Economic Forum’s annual meeting in Davos, in front of the British Parliament and at the United Nations’ COP24 Climate Talks, landed her a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize this year. “You have ignored us in the past, and you will ignore us again,” she told the World Economic Forum in Davos. “You say you love your children above all else, and yet you are stealing their future in front of their very eyes.”“Those who will be affected the hardest are already suffering the consequences,” she scolded the British Parliament. “But their voices are not heard. Is my microphone on? Can you hear me?”When she was invited to speak at the United Nations Climate Action Summit in New York to be held later this month, she was faced with a dilemma. Would she look like a hypocrite hopping on a jet, leaving the very carbon footprint she had won such acclaim railing against? Instead, she took a state-of-the art carbon-zero yacht called the Malizia II, and made the journey by sea. The Malizia II is owned by German property developer Gerhard Senft. It was built as a high-tech racing craft that was designed to collect data for scientists studying rates of ocean acidification from carbon emissions. Senft offered use of the boat and crew when he heard Thunberg wanted to sail across the Atlantic to address the climate summit. In the 14 days at sea, some of them in inclement weather, the crew didn't turn on the motor once. The Malizia II crew was led by Pierre Casiraghi, who happens to be the grandson of Monaco’s Prince Rainier III and actress Grace Kelly. The yacht is kitted out with solar panels and hydro generators, meaning it is completely emission-free. But its spare design doesn't have a functioning toilet, shower or other amenities.Not everyone wants to hear Thunberg’s message and there is a growing chorus of people who say she and her obsessive condition are being exploited for political purposes. Thunberg has been the object of cruel attacks from climate change deniers who have used her medical conditions against her. Arron Banks, a prominent British businessman who bankrolled the drive for Brexit, tweeted, “Freak yachting accidents do happen in August.” He later said the tweet was a joke, but he has not removed it from his feed. Far-right groups across Europe have chided her and her message, referring to the "apocalyptic dread in her eyes” and saying many other things far too cruel to repeat. There is an argument to be made that climate deniers tend to be men and climate activists, with the exception of Al Gore, tend to be women, sparking debate whether there is a misogynistic element to the debate. A 2016 study in the Journal of Consumer Research,“Is Eco-Friendly Unmanly? The Green-Feminine Stereotype and Its Effect on Sustainable Consumption,” backs up the theory. “Men may shun eco-friendly behavior because of what it conveys about their masculinity,” the authors write. “It’s not that men don’t care about the environment. But they also tend to want to feel macho, and they worry that eco-friendly behaviors might brand them as feminine.”Thunberg’s most vocal critics, it has to be said, are all men, but many of them actually go beyond misogyny and come very close to shaming her for her Asperger’s.Steve Milloy, a former Trump staffer and full-time Thunberg obsessive, regularly tweets about the “climate puppet.” He claims that the “the world laughs at this Greta charade,” often posting pictures of the teenager in awkward poses. Her response has always been swift to her 1.4 million Twitter followers and 3.1 million followers on Instagram. “I am indeed ‘deeply disturbed’ about the fact that these hate and conspiracy campaigns are allowed to go on and on and on just because we children communicate and act on the science,” she tweeted in August. “Where are the adults?”Thunberg chronicled her journey to America by sea on her social media, but after each post is a usual barrage of hate, insults and cruelty of the kind you might expect on a playground. She reads them all, often commenting, but most often questioning why people just don't want to see the truth. When she neared Manhattan in late August after two weeks on the high seas, she was escorted into the harbor by a fleet of 17 boats representing the U.N.’s sustainability development goals and hordes of teens who stood in the rain at 3 a.m. to cheer her to shore. Many will attend the Fridays for Future protest in New York City on September 20. Others just wanted to get a glimpse of their unlikely heroine. But one person she won’t see when she is in the U.S. is President Donald Trump. She has not been invited to meet him, but if she is, she told her supporters that she would decline because she has “nothing to say” to those who don’t believe the science. “I usually ignore them,” she said when asked recently what she would tell a climate change denier like Trump. “I have nothing to say to them and they have nothing to say to me.”She added that, indeed, if she did meet the president or someone “like him” she would keep going back to the science. “Many people think climate change is an opinion,” she said. “But it's not an opinion, it's a fact.”On September 23, Thunberg will address the U.N. Climate Change Summit, quoting from her recent book No One Is Too Small to Make a Difference. She has held weekly Fridays for Future protests since her arrival in late August, inspiring hundreds of American teens to protest for policy changes. She has also inspired many of her peers to ignore the naysayers.  “When haters go after your looks and differences, it means they have nowhere left to go,” she tweeted a few hours after she docked in New York. “And then you know you’re winning! I have Aspergers and that means I’m sometimes a bit different from the norm. And - given the right circumstances- being different is a superpower.” Indeed, in the case of this young Swedish climate-busting hero, it most certainly is. Read more at The Daily Beast.Got a tip? Send it to The Daily Beast hereGet our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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from Blogger https://ift.tt/2Ib2TuH

[worldnews-blog]

Lionel Bonaventure/GettyThis story is part of Covering Climate Now, a global collaboration of more than 220 news outlets to strengthen coverage of the climate story. ROME–When Swedish climate change activist Greta Thunberg was 11 years old, her body had started to shut down due to severe self-starvation tied to debilitating depression. She spoke to almost no one but her immediate family. She was afraid of crowds. She was lost in her own world, and the world very nearly lost her.But thanks to the formal diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome coupled with high-functioning autism and obsessive compulsive disorder, the now-16-year-old Swede has become quite literally the poster child for the generation that will have to deal with the destruction of our planet. Once she started receiving multifaceted treatment, Thunberg was able to channel her anxiety into something we should all be concerned about: the health of the planet and the science behind apocalyptic warnings of its demise. In October 2018, Thunberg started having anxiety-ridden 3 a.m. nightmares, but unlike before, they were not about her. The recurring nightmares were about the impact of global warming on the planet, according to the book, Scenes From the Heart, she wrote with her parents and sister Beata, who also suffers from many of the same emotional conditions. This time, instead of holing up in her bedroom as she did before treatment, she decided that her anxiety about the climate needed to become everyone else's, too. One of the aspects of her complicated diagnosis is obsession. Her family says she just wouldn't let the idea go that the planet was burning up and there was ample science to prove it. She did not understand why no one was doing anything. She could not comprehend why adults and policy makers were ignoring the issue. She started skipping school on Fridays to protest, all alone, on the steps of the Swedish Parliament in Stockholm where she grew up. Slowly–and in some ways inexplicably—the protests, which were dubbed Fridays for Future, caught on and soon she was joined by tens, then scores, then hundreds of Swedish children demanding that adults start paying attention to science when it comes to climate change. Soon, the girl who once would not leave her bedroom was traveling across Europe to draw her peers out of the classrooms and onto the streets for the sake of the environment. Since she began not even a year ago, the protests have been held in 100 cities by teen activists. Her intensity has become her secret weapon and her now-famous speeches at the World Economic Forum’s annual meeting in Davos, in front of the British Parliament and at the United Nations’ COP24 Climate Talks, landed her a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize this year. “You have ignored us in the past, and you will ignore us again,” she told the World Economic Forum in Davos. “You say you love your children above all else, and yet you are stealing their future in front of their very eyes.”“Those who will be affected the hardest are already suffering the consequences,” she scolded the British Parliament. “But their voices are not heard. Is my microphone on? Can you hear me?”When she was invited to speak at the United Nations Climate Action Summit in New York to be held later this month, she was faced with a dilemma. Would she look like a hypocrite hopping on a jet, leaving the very carbon footprint she had won such acclaim railing against? Instead, she took a state-of-the art carbon-zero yacht called the Malizia II, and made the journey by sea. The Malizia II is owned by German property developer Gerhard Senft. It was built as a high-tech racing craft that was designed to collect data for scientists studying rates of ocean acidification from carbon emissions. Senft offered use of the boat and crew when he heard Thunberg wanted to sail across the Atlantic to address the climate summit. In the 14 days at sea, some of them in inclement weather, the crew didn't turn on the motor once. The Malizia II crew was led by Pierre Casiraghi, who happens to be the grandson of Monaco’s Prince Rainier III and actress Grace Kelly. The yacht is kitted out with solar panels and hydro generators, meaning it is completely emission-free. But its spare design doesn't have a functioning toilet, shower or other amenities.Not everyone wants to hear Thunberg’s message and there is a growing chorus of people who say she and her obsessive condition are being exploited for political purposes. Thunberg has been the object of cruel attacks from climate change deniers who have used her medical conditions against her. Arron Banks, a prominent British businessman who bankrolled the drive for Brexit, tweeted, “Freak yachting accidents do happen in August.” He later said the tweet was a joke, but he has not removed it from his feed. Far-right groups across Europe have chided her and her message, referring to the "apocalyptic dread in her eyes” and saying many other things far too cruel to repeat. There is an argument to be made that climate deniers tend to be men and climate activists, with the exception of Al Gore, tend to be women, sparking debate whether there is a misogynistic element to the debate. A 2016 study in the Journal of Consumer Research,“Is Eco-Friendly Unmanly? The Green-Feminine Stereotype and Its Effect on Sustainable Consumption,” backs up the theory. “Men may shun eco-friendly behavior because of what it conveys about their masculinity,” the authors write. “It’s not that men don’t care about the environment. But they also tend to want to feel macho, and they worry that eco-friendly behaviors might brand them as feminine.”Thunberg’s most vocal critics, it has to be said, are all men, but many of them actually go beyond misogyny and come very close to shaming her for her Asperger’s.Steve Milloy, a former Trump staffer and full-time Thunberg obsessive, regularly tweets about the “climate puppet.” He claims that the “the world laughs at this Greta charade,” often posting pictures of the teenager in awkward poses. Her response has always been swift to her 1.4 million Twitter followers and 3.1 million followers on Instagram. “I am indeed ‘deeply disturbed’ about the fact that these hate and conspiracy campaigns are allowed to go on and on and on just because we children communicate and act on the science,” she tweeted in August. “Where are the adults?”Thunberg chronicled her journey to America by sea on her social media, but after each post is a usual barrage of hate, insults and cruelty of the kind you might expect on a playground. She reads them all, often commenting, but most often questioning why people just don't want to see the truth. When she neared Manhattan in late August after two weeks on the high seas, she was escorted into the harbor by a fleet of 17 boats representing the U.N.’s sustainability development goals and hordes of teens who stood in the rain at 3 a.m. to cheer her to shore. Many will attend the Fridays for Future protest in New York City on September 20. Others just wanted to get a glimpse of their unlikely heroine. But one person she won’t see when she is in the U.S. is President Donald Trump. She has not been invited to meet him, but if she is, she told her supporters that she would decline because she has “nothing to say” to those who don’t believe the science. “I usually ignore them,” she said when asked recently what she would tell a climate change denier like Trump. “I have nothing to say to them and they have nothing to say to me.”She added that, indeed, if she did meet the president or someone “like him” she would keep going back to the science. “Many people think climate change is an opinion,” she said. “But it's not an opinion, it's a fact.”On September 23, Thunberg will address the U.N. Climate Change Summit, quoting from her recent book No One Is Too Small to Make a Difference. She has held weekly Fridays for Future protests since her arrival in late August, inspiring hundreds of American teens to protest for policy changes. She has also inspired many of her peers to ignore the naysayers.  “When haters go after your looks and differences, it means they have nowhere left to go,” she tweeted a few hours after she docked in New York. “And then you know you’re winning! I have Aspergers and that means I’m sometimes a bit different from the norm. And - given the right circumstances- being different is a superpower.” Indeed, in the case of this young Swedish climate-busting hero, it most certainly is. Read more at The Daily Beast.Got a tip? Send it to The Daily Beast hereGet our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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Lionel Bonaventure/GettyThis story is part of Covering Climate Now, a global collaboration of more than 220 news outlets to strengthen coverage of the climate story. ROME–When Swedish climate change activist Greta Thunberg was 11 years old, her body had started to shut down due to severe self-starvation tied to debilitating depression. She spoke to almost no one but her immediate family. She was afraid of crowds. She was lost in her own world, and the world very nearly lost her.But thanks to the formal diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome coupled with high-functioning autism and obsessive compulsive disorder, the now-16-year-old Swede has become quite literally the poster child for the generation that will have to deal with the destruction of our planet. Once she started receiving multifaceted treatment, Thunberg was able to channel her anxiety into something we should all be concerned about: the health of the planet and the science behind apocalyptic warnings of its demise. In October 2018, Thunberg started having anxiety-ridden 3 a.m. nightmares, but unlike before, they were not about her. The recurring nightmares were about the impact of global warming on the planet, according to the book, Scenes From the Heart, she wrote with her parents and sister Beata, who also suffers from many of the same emotional conditions. This time, instead of holing up in her bedroom as she did before treatment, she decided that her anxiety about the climate needed to become everyone else's, too. One of the aspects of her complicated diagnosis is obsession. Her family says she just wouldn't let the idea go that the planet was burning up and there was ample science to prove it. She did not understand why no one was doing anything. She could not comprehend why adults and policy makers were ignoring the issue. She started skipping school on Fridays to protest, all alone, on the steps of the Swedish Parliament in Stockholm where she grew up. Slowly–and in some ways inexplicably—the protests, which were dubbed Fridays for Future, caught on and soon she was joined by tens, then scores, then hundreds of Swedish children demanding that adults start paying attention to science when it comes to climate change. Soon, the girl who once would not leave her bedroom was traveling across Europe to draw her peers out of the classrooms and onto the streets for the sake of the environment. Since she began not even a year ago, the protests have been held in 100 cities by teen activists. Her intensity has become her secret weapon and her now-famous speeches at the World Economic Forum’s annual meeting in Davos, in front of the British Parliament and at the United Nations’ COP24 Climate Talks, landed her a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize this year. “You have ignored us in the past, and you will ignore us again,” she told the World Economic Forum in Davos. “You say you love your children above all else, and yet you are stealing their future in front of their very eyes.”“Those who will be affected the hardest are already suffering the consequences,” she scolded the British Parliament. “But their voices are not heard. Is my microphone on? Can you hear me?”When she was invited to speak at the United Nations Climate Action Summit in New York to be held later this month, she was faced with a dilemma. Would she look like a hypocrite hopping on a jet, leaving the very carbon footprint she had won such acclaim railing against? Instead, she took a state-of-the art carbon-zero yacht called the Malizia II, and made the journey by sea. The Malizia II is owned by German property developer Gerhard Senft. It was built as a high-tech racing craft that was designed to collect data for scientists studying rates of ocean acidification from carbon emissions. Senft offered use of the boat and crew when he heard Thunberg wanted to sail across the Atlantic to address the climate summit. In the 14 days at sea, some of them in inclement weather, the crew didn't turn on the motor once. The Malizia II crew was led by Pierre Casiraghi, who happens to be the grandson of Monaco’s Prince Rainier III and actress Grace Kelly. The yacht is kitted out with solar panels and hydro generators, meaning it is completely emission-free. But its spare design doesn't have a functioning toilet, shower or other amenities.Not everyone wants to hear Thunberg’s message and there is a growing chorus of people who say she and her obsessive condition are being exploited for political purposes. Thunberg has been the object of cruel attacks from climate change deniers who have used her medical conditions against her. Arron Banks, a prominent British businessman who bankrolled the drive for Brexit, tweeted, “Freak yachting accidents do happen in August.” He later said the tweet was a joke, but he has not removed it from his feed. Far-right groups across Europe have chided her and her message, referring to the "apocalyptic dread in her eyes” and saying many other things far too cruel to repeat. There is an argument to be made that climate deniers tend to be men and climate activists, with the exception of Al Gore, tend to be women, sparking debate whether there is a misogynistic element to the debate. A 2016 study in the Journal of Consumer Research,“Is Eco-Friendly Unmanly? The Green-Feminine Stereotype and Its Effect on Sustainable Consumption,” backs up the theory. “Men may shun eco-friendly behavior because of what it conveys about their masculinity,” the authors write. “It’s not that men don’t care about the environment. But they also tend to want to feel macho, and they worry that eco-friendly behaviors might brand them as feminine.”Thunberg’s most vocal critics, it has to be said, are all men, but many of them actually go beyond misogyny and come very close to shaming her for her Asperger’s.Steve Milloy, a former Trump staffer and full-time Thunberg obsessive, regularly tweets about the “climate puppet.” He claims that the “the world laughs at this Greta charade,” often posting pictures of the teenager in awkward poses. Her response has always been swift to her 1.4 million Twitter followers and 3.1 million followers on Instagram. “I am indeed ‘deeply disturbed’ about the fact that these hate and conspiracy campaigns are allowed to go on and on and on just because we children communicate and act on the science,” she tweeted in August. “Where are the adults?”Thunberg chronicled her journey to America by sea on her social media, but after each post is a usual barrage of hate, insults and cruelty of the kind you might expect on a playground. She reads them all, often commenting, but most often questioning why people just don't want to see the truth. When she neared Manhattan in late August after two weeks on the high seas, she was escorted into the harbor by a fleet of 17 boats representing the U.N.’s sustainability development goals and hordes of teens who stood in the rain at 3 a.m. to cheer her to shore. Many will attend the Fridays for Future protest in New York City on September 20. Others just wanted to get a glimpse of their unlikely heroine. But one person she won’t see when she is in the U.S. is President Donald Trump. She has not been invited to meet him, but if she is, she told her supporters that she would decline because she has “nothing to say” to those who don’t believe the science. “I usually ignore them,” she said when asked recently what she would tell a climate change denier like Trump. “I have nothing to say to them and they have nothing to say to me.”She added that, indeed, if she did meet the president or someone “like him” she would keep going back to the science. “Many people think climate change is an opinion,” she said. “But it's not an opinion, it's a fact.”On September 23, Thunberg will address the U.N. Climate Change Summit, quoting from her recent book No One Is Too Small to Make a Difference. She has held weekly Fridays for Future protests since her arrival in late August, inspiring hundreds of American teens to protest for policy changes. She has also inspired many of her peers to ignore the naysayers.  “When haters go after your looks and differences, it means they have nowhere left to go,” she tweeted a few hours after she docked in New York. “And then you know you’re winning! I have Aspergers and that means I’m sometimes a bit different from the norm. And - given the right circumstances- being different is a superpower.” Indeed, in the case of this young Swedish climate-busting hero, it most certainly is. Read more at The Daily Beast.Got a tip? Send it to The Daily Beast hereGet our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.